‘Does that make a difference to you?’
‘I know what you’re getting at, but in my mind, forgiveness hung on the fact that Sorrel had paid me back for what I had so nearly done, and that was fifteen years ago.’
‘You thought she knew, so it was quits? Is that what you mean?’
Simon nodded. ‘It occurred to me that Orla might have said something, or hinted at what we’d done, just to taunt Sorrel. She could be mischievous like that, couldn’t she?’
Danny smiled. ‘Oh yes, she loved playing games.’
In spite of everything, Simon smiled too. ‘Didn’t she just?’ he murmured.
‘Do you think it might help if Frankie or I spoke to Sorrel?’
‘What, play at being mediators?’
‘Yes. Would it do any harm?’
‘Probably not, but the bigger question is what do I want? Do I want to be with a wife who maybe has never truly loved me, because that’s the way it’s looking.’
‘We all love in different ways, Simon. Don’t you think Sorrel would have left you already if she didn’t love you?’
‘Oh, Danny, you’re such a tireless advocate of seeing the good in people, aren’t you?’
‘It’s better than always seeing the bad. But can you really imagine a life without Sorrel?’
Simon shook his head. ‘No,’ he said sadly. ‘No I can’t. But it’s more a case of what she wants.’
‘There’s always a way back, if it’s what two people want. Maybe all that was needed was for the truth to come out, no matter how painful, because only then can things be put right.’
‘Danny, I applaud you for being so positive.’
‘Don’t applaud me too much, it’s easier to think about another person’s problems than one’s own.’
Simon put down his mug and slumped back in his chair. ‘I still can’t believe what that madwoman did to your house. I guess this will put your plans to move to the Broads on hold now?’
‘It will, yes. But perhaps that was nothing but a dream. The sensible thing would be to fix the house and stay here in Suffolk.’
‘Who the hell wants to be sensible, Danny? If you have a dream, bloody well follow it, and while you still can!’
Danny smiled. ‘That was Alastair’s attitude.’
At the mention of their friend’s name, the memory of the dream Danny had woken him from came back to Simon. He’d never been one for analysing dreams, but this one really didn’t require much figuring out. What disturbed him was the sensation it had left him with, that despite everything – the betrayal and lies – he was mourning the loss of his closest friend.
It then struck him with a chill that Danny had put Alastair in the past tense.
ThatwasAlastair’s attitude.
They were just finishing their drinks when there was a ring at the doorbell.
‘Who the hell can that be?’ said Simon, glancing up at the clock. It was half past three in the morning.
With Danny alongside him, he went through to the hall and cautiously opened the front door.
Two police officers stared back at him. ‘Mr Simon Wyatt?’ one asked.
‘Yes,’ he replied apprehensively.
‘May we come in, please?’
