Gift of Love

by Nora Kay

Genres: Sagas

Synopsis

Dark-haired and slender, Lois Pringle has always known that she's the odd one out in her family. Her mother makes it only too plain that she prefers Lois's two plump, flaxen-haired sisters. But Lois manages to escape a life of household drudgery by going to work as a secretary for wealthy John Latimer. By this time she has blossomed into a beauty, attracting the attention of several admirers including her elder sister Marie's young man, the well-connected Stephen Hammond. It is a situation that is bound to cause resentment and heartache. For there are shameful family secrets in Lois's past: secrets that are finally revealed with the most unpredictable and far-reaching consequences. The Northern Echo loved this book: 'A stirring tale, rich in heartache and warmth with an unquenchable zest for life.'

Release date: May 23, 2013

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 352

Sample

The garden was looking tired. It was late summer and the roses were past their best. The long dry spell had taken its toll leaving the grass parched and the earth cracked and
grey. A good downpour would do a lot of good but it was dangerous to wish for rain. Once it began it forgot to stop.

Lois wiped her brow and looking about her thought there was little to show for her hard work. Putting down the trowel she went over to sit on the wooden bench below the kitchen window. In her
sleeveless blue cotton dress, faded from so many washings and with brown sandals on her bare feet, sixteen-year-old Lois Pringle leaned back, closed her eyes against the strong sunshine and
listened to the distant droning of a bee. She must have dozed off and when she opened her eyes the voices drifted out to her.

‘Andrew, what are you doing home at this time? Is anything wrong? Are you unwell?’

Lois heard the alarm in her mother’s voice and wondered too. Her father was never home in the afternoon; he should have been in his office in Dundee.

‘Does something have to be wrong?’ The voice was impatient. ‘If you must know the painters were in the office over the weekend and that sickening smell of paint was giving me a
headache.’

‘Didn’t you think to open the windows?’

‘Harriet, I may only be a humble accountant but please give me credit for some sense. Of course I opened the windows, opened the damn things as far as they would go.’ He didn’t
add that as far as they would go was only about an inch and that the paint wouldn’t let them budge.

‘Yes, well, people don’t always remember to do the obvious.’

Lois smothered a giggle. How like her mother.

‘Perhaps not, but I have brought work home with me so I have no need to feel guilty.’

‘I should just think not. You give that office more than its fair share of your time.’

‘The work has to be done, Harriet, and we older ones are expected to show an example. Is this you on your way out?’

‘Not just yet, I’ve time to make a cup of tea.’

‘That would be welcome. I’ll have it here then take myself off to the study.’

Lois heard the rush of water as her mother filled the kettle.

‘Biscuits, dear, or would you prefer a piece of cake? The sultana is finished and the bought Madeira is quite dry I’m afraid. With me rushed off my feet there has been no time for
baking and Lois shows no interest in learning.’

Lois made a face.

‘A biscuit will do very well and since you have mentioned Lois this might be a good opportunity to talk about something that is beginning to worry me. No, not beginning, it has been
concerning me for some time.’

‘Really! And what might that be may I ask?’

‘Lois. Where is she by the way?’

‘In the garden.’

This was the time to get up and walk away. Lois remembered the old saying that listeners never hear any good of themselves. It was unlikely to be of any importance but if she just crept away she
would forever wonder what it was she had missed.

‘I can’t think what there is to discuss,’ her mother continued.

‘Can’t you?’

‘No, I cannot and do remember, Andrew, that I haven’t all day. I’m going out.’

‘Another meeting?’

‘Yes, another meeting and do I detect sarcasm?’

‘Not at all, dear, but as I have said before you do too much. It is wise to be able to delegate and you should remember that.’

‘Do you? Delegate I mean?’

‘I’m learning to.’

‘I prefer to do things myself and that way I know they are done properly.’

‘Yes, well, I don’t suppose you’ll change and now to what I was going to say about Lois.’

‘Are you by any chance suggesting that I am failing in my duty to my family?’

‘Not at all. You are a good mother, Harriet, but you do rather favour Marie. No, Harriet, don’t interrupt, let me have my say then you can have yours. A mother can have her favourite
child, it is quite natural, but what a mother must never do is to let it show. Children soon forget the kindnesses shown to them but they do not forget or easily forgive those they consider have
treated them badly.’

‘Words fail me, they really do. Winnie cannot possibly feel neglected. As the youngest—’

‘Winnie, I quite agree, comes in for a fair share of your loving care. I am not disputing that. Lois, on the other hand, is not so lucky.’

‘That is untrue. I do my best for that girl but she is difficult and I’m going to say it, ungrateful.’

‘Why on earth should Lois be grateful? Do the other two show any gratitude?’

‘This conversation is becoming ridiculous. Do you want more tea?’

‘No, thank you.’

‘Then I’ll empty the teapot.’

‘Don’t bother, sit where you are until we have this out.’

‘Very well, Andrew, since you’ve brought up the subject, what about you? You show your preference for Lois.’

‘I don’t think so, but if it is true it is only very recently. Harriet, I am not blind to the way you treat Lois. She is always the last to be considered and taking her away from
school when she wanted to stay on was unforgivable.’

‘I can’t do everything, I need some assistance in the house.’

‘But why Lois? She is the brightest of the three and the one to have benefited from extra schooling.’

‘I don’t recall there being much opposition from you?’

‘I know and I bitterly regret it. There were serious problems at work causing me a great deal of worry but even so that is no excuse. Tell me, Harriet, was it spite? Were you afraid of
Lois getting the qualifications that were beyond Marie?’

‘Now you are being insulting.’

‘No, I just want this all out in the open. Marie was hopeless at school and desperate to leave. Surely she was much better suited to give you the assistance you claim you need.’

‘With Marie’s looks and charms she doesn’t need to be academic. Few boys are drawn to brainy girls,’ she said smugly.

‘I disagree but never mind that.’

‘For your information, Marie is doing very well in her job and has a real flair for fashion. In fact there is the possibility of promotion.’

‘In a small dress shop? Don’t make me laugh. What possible promotion can there be other than a bob or two on her wages? Now had she been working in a department
store—’

‘I would not have allowed my daughter to work in a store. Madame Yvette’s, I’ll have you know is a high-class establishment and she is just delighted with Marie.’ There
was a pause, then she added, ‘She is so pretty and charming.’

‘Who Madame or Marie?’

‘Don’t be flippant, Andrew.’

‘My dear Harriet, surely you haven’t been taken in by Madame Yvette? The woman is no more French than you are. That frightful accent is put on to impress the customers.’

‘May I ask how you happen to be so knowledgeable about Marie’s employer?’

‘Office gossip I’m afraid. Madame Yvette, in real life, was plump little Lizzie Robertson. She was at school with the mother of one of my juniors. Bob Fairlie heard them talking,
remembered me telling him where Marie worked—’

‘And you had a good laugh?’

‘We did as a matter of fact.’

‘Could we end this conversation here and now?’

‘In a minute. All I ask is that you treat the three of them the same. Lois is a nice child.’

‘She is moody and difficult and not a bit like the other two. You don’t have her all day, I do.’

‘In other words I’m wasting my breath?’

‘Yes, you are.’

There was a long pause and Lois made to get up, then stayed put when her father spoke again.

‘Lois tells me that she is doing well at evening school and her shorthand and typing speeds are good. She is hoping for a job in an office.’

‘Not with you I hope?’

‘No, I agree that would be unwise but I have contacts that may prove helpful.’

‘And what about me or are my needs of no importance?’

‘You have Mrs Briggs to do the heavy work and the woman might be prepared to do extra if she were asked. I don’t keep you short of money.’

‘I never suggested you did. As for Mrs Briggs, to ask that woman to do anything other than scrub floors would be like letting a bull into a china shop.’

‘If she is that bad get someone else.’

‘Not as easy as you think. Domestic help is becoming extremely difficult to come by and I need someone I can trust. Lois is far from ideal but at least she can be left in the house. Oh,
for goodness sake, would you look at the time? I’ve missed my bus and I pride myself on never being late. This is your fault, Andrew.’

‘Don’t upset yourself the car is at the gate and I’ll run you to where you want to go.’

‘The church hall.’

There was the sound of a chair being scraped back and Lois kept out of sight until she heard the car start up. Then she went in by the back door which was open to let the air in and through the
scullery to the kitchen. Two cups and saucers were on the table together with the biscuit tin which was open showing the rush her mother had been in. Lois helped herself to a custard cream and
poured herself a cup of tea. Nursing the cup, Lois thought back to how barren her childhood had been. If it had been the same for Marie and Winnie she could have accepted that her mother was one of
those women who find it hard to show affection. But her mother wasn’t made like that. There had been no lack of warmth for her sisters. Was it surprising then that the feeling that there must
be something wrong with her had taken root? She had tried so hard to win her mother’s love and when she failed, Lois recalled the despair of her anger and the deep, deep hurt. Young as she
was some kind of pride had made her pretend that she didn’t care. Only she did, she cared so very much – it was her own lonely, private misery.

Muirford where the Pringles had their home was a thriving coastal town on the east coast of Scotland not far from the city of Dundee famous for its Jute, Jam and Journalism.
The train stopped briefly at Muirford to pick up its passengers. It was an attractive station with a lovely floral display that drew many exclamations of delight. The stationmaster, a portly man
with a round smiling face, took full credit. The inhabitants and especially those who made use of the station, were justifiably proud that for the last five years – 1925 to 1930 – the
station had won the prestigious award for being the cleanest and the best kept.

Most of the passengers for the first train of the day were smartly dressed businessmen carrying brief-cases and umbrellas who preferred to put some distance between home and their place of work.
Occasionally Andrew Pringle used his car for the journey though he favoured the train since it gave him the chance to relax and read his newspaper which he bought at the station kiosk. The local
paper was delivered to the house but not until after he had left. This suited Harriet since, had her husband taken the Courier with him, she would not have seen it until the evening. That is
if he remembered to bring it home.

The house the Pringles lived in was known as Laurelbank and was a detached villa in Greenacre on the outskirts of Muirford. This was a quiet residential district with a close-knit community
enjoying many of the advantages of a village. The church, St David’s, was within walking distance and each Sunday morning the bells rang out at ten fifty and continued ringing until the
service began at eleven. St David’s was where the family worshipped and had their own pew for which they paid a half-yearly sum. Sitting for an hour and a quarter on a hard wooden seat was
anything but comfortable and Harriet had finally persuaded her husband to follow others’ lead and have a cushioned seat that stretched the full length. Individual cushions were inclined to go
astray. Since Andrew attended church only occasionally the matter was of little importance to him but it made a big difference to the others. There were fewer grimaces when they got up.

The accommodation at Laurelbank consisted of a good-sized, well-furnished sitting-room and a square-shaped dining-room. Both rooms had a bay window. The curtains in the sitting-room were a deep
blue velvet with a matching pelmet whilst the ones in the dining-room were cream and brown and in a floral pattern. Some years ago when the family was very young, a large cupboard had been turned
into a downstairs cloakroom with a toilet and washhand basin. This convenience reduced wear on the stair carpet and frayed tempers in the morning since Andrew had first use of the bathroom and the
others made do with the cloakroom. Also downstairs was a large kitchen with shelves and cupboards. The tiny scullery had a sink and a draining-board and under it a clutter of enamel basins and a
pail. Andrew’s study was between the living-room and the dining-room. Upstairs were three bedrooms, a boxroom and a bathroom. The bath was white with claw feet and a cork mat sat on the
linoleum which was blue and white. There were shelves beside the window and on one was Andrew’s shaving kit.

The front rooms had a lovely view of green fields and beyond that were rolling hills. From the upstairs back windows could be seen slate-roofed houses and in between them a tantalising glimpse
of the sea.

Since neither Andrew nor Harriet were keen gardeners – Andrew confessed to not knowing a flower from a weed – it was fortunate that the garden was not over-large. They did have a
gardener of sorts, an elderly man who came to Laurelbank twice a week in the growing season and at odd times when a clean-up was necessary. The front garden was smallish and on a slope which made
gardening more difficult. Angus McGregor regularly complained about his back and grumbled as he laboured. His work was far from satisfactory which was why Lois had to help. On several occasions
Harriet had tried to dispense with the gardener’s services but Angus chose not to listen and turned up just as usual. A replacement would have been far from easy unless Harriet was prepared
to pay a lot more and as Angus probably knew this, things just carried on in the same way.

Down at the foot of the garden was a clump of berry bushes and most years there was a good yield from them. By the end of the jam-making season the shelves in Harriet’s kitchen would be
filled with jars lined up like soldiers on parade. Each one had a label showing the contents to be either blackcurrant or raspberry and giving the date of making. In a corner and protected from the
birds, was a small bed of strawberries which might produce enough for eating for two or three nights and take the place of a pudding. They were delicious served with a sprinkling of caster sugar
and a dollop of thick cream when the dairy could oblige.

To buy strawberries for jam was considered by many housewives, including Harriet, to be ridiculously expensive and picking one’s own made good sense. Harriet arranged a day when the girls
were to be at home and the weather favourable. They would sit down to have a picnic meal in some farmer’s field, occasionally joining like-minded people but more often keeping to themselves.
The picking of the berries was left to the young ones. Harriet’s back wouldn’t take the strain but from where she sat she was able to keep an eye on the Pringle girls as they selected
the biggest and juiciest to put in their containers.

Mindful of her duties, Lois first cleared the table then, getting out a sharp knife, began on the vegetables. Marie and Winnie preferred to take sandwiches with them rather
have the rush to get home and back in an hour. Andrew made do with a light lunch in a nearby restaurant.

This meant that at six o’clock or close to it, the Pringles sat down together for their main meal of the day which they ate in the dining-room. The three courses were followed by tea or
coffee with Andrew preferring coffee and the others tea. Marie, believing it to be more sophisticated to drink coffee, was trying to acquire a taste for it. Harriet dished up the food in the
kitchen and Lois carried the plates through. The clearing up was left to Lois with Winnie occasionally giving a hand.

Lois didn’t suppose she was overworked, it was just that she could call no particular time of the day her own. Evening school took up three nights a week which left little time for
enjoyment, but she didn’t mind since it was the way to get qualifications which would enable her to apply for an office job.

The preparations for the meal complete, Lois dried her hands on the towel and went through to the sitting-room. She would have half an hour with her library book. Sitting down she opened it at
the place and with her legs tucked under her began to read. So engrossed was she that the half-hour became an hour and Lois only realised that her mother was in the room when she heard the voice
rich with disapproval.

‘I might have known. Really, Lois, you are the limit. Is this all you can find to do?’

Lois looked up guiltily and closed the book, forgetting in her haste and confusion to put in the bookmark. Then she felt a spurt of anger.

‘Is it so dreadful to come home and find me reading?’

‘At this time of day it is,’ Harriet snapped. Her feet were killing her and that wasn’t improving her temper. ‘What about the evening meal? Did you give any thought to
that?’

‘All taken care of.’

‘And, of course, you never look for work, that would never occur to you. There is always work to be done in a house, Lois.’

Then why don’t you stay in and do it? It was what Lois longed to say and one day she would pluck up courage to say just that. Or would she?

Harriet Pringle was forty-six, of medium height and quite pleasant-looking when her face wasn’t creased in a frown. Despite depriving herself of the sweet dishes she loved, her figure was
thickening. Her complexion remained good but her blond hair had darkened to a nondescript colour. She had thick, shapeless legs and suffered badly from swollen ankles which bulged over her sensible
brown brogues.

After undoing the buttons of her tweed costume jacket, Harriet sat down on the pale pink sofa and, with one foot, dragged over the stool and put her feet on it.

‘That’s better. What a relief to be sitting down,’ she said with a deep sigh. ‘I’ve hardly been off my feet all day.’

‘Why don’t you ease off and let someone else do something for a change?’ Lois asked as she adjusted the chairback cover.

‘This awful heat has a lot to do with my tiredness, we aren’t used to it,’ Harriet said avoiding a direct answer. ‘A light dress and cardigan would have been more
suitable but one can never be sure, the weather can be so changeable. As for someone doing something . . .’ She shook her head. ‘None of them, Lois, would have the faintest idea of how
to go about it. They are like children and have to be told everything. Making the tea and preparing sandwiches is about their only strength.’

‘That could be because it is all they are asked to do,’ Lois almost said, but stopped herself in time. ‘You should try explaining to them what it is you want. They can’t
all be stupid.’

‘I’m not so sure.’

Harriet, like a lot of domineering women, didn’t think of herself as bossy but rather as super efficient. She fought tooth and nail to get a place on every committee in the firm belief
that those same committees would not long survive without her organising skills. If the ladies of Greenacre resented the way Harriet threw her weight about, and most of them did, they had the good
sense to keep quiet. No one actually liked the woman but all were agreed that when it came to the bit, Harriet Pringle was the driving force that got things done.

‘I forget if this is the day that Winnie goes straight from school to her piano lessons?’

‘It is.’

Harriet smiled. Fourteen-year-old Winnie had gained her first certificate a year ago with just three marks short of honours.

‘So nice to have a pianist in the family and such an accomplishment for a young girl. We must give her all the encouragement we can.’

The removal of the secondhand piano from the sitting-room into the dining-room had not pleased Harriet one bit but in this her husband had been adamant. He had no objections, he said, to his
youngest daughter learning the piano but he wanted some peace when he got home. Scales were the worst and got on his nerves. The sitting-room was where he read his papers and he had no intention of
changing his routine and no, he would not go into his study. This was all explained to an angry Harriet who was prepared to stand her ground until Andrew threatened to take himself to his local if
his wishes weren’t carried out there and then.

That had the desired effect as he expected it would. As a child Harriet could remember how fond of the bottle her father had been and the times she had blushed with shame to see him stagger
home. Andrew was a moderate drinker and she wanted to keep it that way.

There were no casters on the piano and it took the five of them, with many stops for rests, to carry it into the dining-room then position it against the wall opposite the sideboard. Somehow it
didn’t look right, just out of place. Harriet tried altering the position of the other furniture but it still didn’t look right and by this time they were all exhausted.

‘Evening classes again tonight?’

‘Yes.’

‘Three nights a week, isn’t that rather overdoing it?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Dressmaking, now if you were doing something useful like that I could understand it.’

‘Dressmaking or sewing of any kind doesn’t happen to interest me.’ Her mother knew that.

‘More’s the pity. Think how handy it would be and the savings if you could run up a dress or a skirt. Becky Calderwood makes all her own clothes.’

Lois had seen some of Becky’s attempts. ‘I know.’ She didn’t add that it showed, but perhaps her tone of voice said it for her.

‘Admittedly Becky isn’t very good yet, but she’s keen and she’ll improve.’

‘No doubt she will.’ Lois paused. ‘Mum, you know perfectly well why I am attending evening school. I want to get some qualifications so that I can get a job.’

Lois dreamed of getting a job, any job in fact just so long as it got her away from the house. She imagined the freedom it would give her and if she saved very, very hard perhaps in time she
could leave home altogether. Of course she would be sad to leave her dad and Winnie, Marie too but not so much in Marie’s case. No more than idle dreams, she didn’t see it ever
happening, but if she got a job it would be a beginning.

‘What makes you think you will be better off in an office?’

‘I don’t, but I would like the opportunity to find out.’

‘You, my girl, don’t know when you are well off.’

Lois thought about her day and the dreariness of it. Up first in the morning to get the breakfast started. Mrs Briggs did the scrubbing and the heavy work but even so there was plenty to do and
her mother was doing less and less. If she had fixed hours she would know where she stood and then there was the matter of money. She got pocket money and her clothes were bought for her, but there
was no wage packet. She had never had the thrill of opening one yet.

‘I don’t consider that I am well off and if you want the truth, Mum, I feel exploited.’

‘Exploited!’ Harriet spluttered. ‘Would you mind explaining that to me if, indeed, you know the meaning of the word?’

‘I do and I’ll explain with pleasure.’ Lois was surprised and pleased at the calm of her voice when inside she was shaking. ‘It suits you very well to have me at home
since it leaves you free to serve on all those committees of yours and attend all the meetings. If I wasn’t here you would have to rush home to see to the meals.’

‘How dare you speak to me like that, you impudent hussy.’ Blotches of angry colour burned high in Harriet’s cheeks.

Lois’s courage hadn’t failed her yet and she wouldn’t stop now. If she did she would never have the courage again.

‘Yes, I’m daring to speak to you like this because I want you to realise what you have done to me.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I was doing well at school, my teachers told
you that and I was keen to stay on. You, however, had other plans for me and all my pleading was in vain.’

‘You weren’t victimised, Marie left when she was fifteen,’ Harriet snapped.

‘That’s true. Marie was desperate to get away and you know the reason for that. Academically she was poor and there would have been no point in her remaining at school. She would
have had to repeat a year and that would have meant her being with me and that would never have done.’

‘Marie has brains, she just didn’t use them.’

Lois knew that wasn’t true. She was a year behind Marie but even so she had been able to help her with her homework. Marie had struggled to keep up with the others in her class and then
when she couldn’t she had just given up.

‘Marie wanted to leave school the minute she could and what I can’t understand is why Marie couldn’t have stayed at home.’

Harriet took her time before replying. ‘You won’t recall because you don’t wish to but it so happens that when Marie left school I wasn’t so heavily involved in my
committees and charity work.’

‘No, it is just since I’ve been at home.’

Harriet overturned the stool then righted it. Raising her face she looked at Lois coldly.

‘It is completely out of the question for Marie to be at home.’

‘Would you mind telling me why?’

‘Marie is holding down a responsible job.’

‘No, she isn’t, anybody could do what she does.’

‘Really, what a dreadful thing to say, but typical of you. Jealousy is your trouble, you have always been jealous of Marie.’

Lois shook her head. ‘You couldn’t be more wrong.’

‘I’m not wrong. You are jealous because Marie is so popular and never without a boyfriend whilst you—’

‘I don’t get much chance to go out and meet anyone,’ she shouted. Her courage was beginning to fail her and Lois felt like weeping.

‘You are not a prisoner.’

‘Why do you like to hurt me?’ Lois burst out.

‘What nonsense you talk. You have nothing to complain about, you have a good home—’

‘Yes, Mum,’ Lois said wearily. ‘I share it with Marie and Winnie but what I don’t share . . .’ She stopped.

‘Go on, finish what you were going to say.’

‘You’ve never loved me, never shown me any affection.’

‘Have I ever lifted a hand to you?’

‘No, but then neither have you to Marie and Winnie.’

‘There was never any necessity, they are good girls.’

‘And I’m not?’

‘You, Lois, are not a very lovable person,’ Harriet said cruelly, then wished the words unsaid when she saw the stricken look on Lois’s face. But it was too late, she
couldn’t take them back.

‘One day, Mum,’ Lois said unsteadily, ‘one day when it is too late you are going to be sorry for the way you have treated me.’

‘Oh, for goodness sake pull yourself together, you see slights where none are intended.’

It came as a relief to both of them when Winnie came bursting in. In one hand she had a bulging schoolbag and in the other a music case. Both got dumped on the floor and then sensing an
atmosphere she looked from one to the other.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Need you ask? Madam, here, just being her awkward self.’

‘Lois isn’t awkward, Mum,’ Winnie said quietly. ‘You never pick on Marie or me, it is always Lois and I just wish you wouldn’t.’

‘Winnie, my dear, I don’t pick on anyone. You aren’t here all day and Lois, if she got away with it, would do as little as possible.’

‘You’re out most of the time and I bet she does plenty. Lois wants to go out to work like Marie and why shouldn’t she?’

‘I need her at home, that’s why.’

‘You could have me. I’m a dunce and I would be better at home helping you. In fact come to think about it that is what I’d like to do.’

‘Now, now! You are just being a silly girl,’ Harriet smiled. ‘I want to hear your news, how did the music lesson go? Is Miss Reid pleased with your progress?’

Winnie scowled. The lesson hadn’t gone well and Miss Reid had been anything but pleased. ‘You are losing interest, Winnie,’ she had said, ‘and when that happens it is
useless to go on.’ Winnie knew it to be true but there was no point in trying to tell her mother that. Her mother had set her heart on having a pianist in the family and that was that.

‘How should I know?’

‘Doesn’t she say?’

Winnie shrugged.

‘Oh dear, in a mood are we?’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘I’m sure Miss Reid is pleased, dear. I, myself, can hear how well you are getting on. It is just a case of practice, practice, practice. That is what makes a good
pianist.’

‘How wrong you are, Mum, musicians are born with a gift, the rest of us are just plodders.’

‘You are no plodder, you have a certificate.’

‘Oh, Mum,’ Winnie said wearily.

‘You sound tired and, of course, it is a longish day for you. A glass of milk will keep you going until your father gets home. Lois, go and see to it.’

‘I don’t want a glass of milk and if I did I’m perfectly capable of pouring one out for myself.’

Harriet sighed and got heavily to her feet. ‘That outburst of