Not now, he told himself. Not after all these years.
But the memory of Orla would not be chased away so easily. And as he had so many times since her tragic death last year, he thought how it still didn’t seem possible that she could have drowned. All these months on, and he couldn’t bear to think of her life ending that cruel way.
To stop himself from getting upset, he took a gulp of his wine and asked the question he’d wanted to ask since arriving. Or rather since Alastair had called to say he was home early.
‘Well then, Alastair,’ he said, ‘you’ve kept us in suspense for long enough. Out with it, what momentous thing is it you want to tell us?’
‘Yes,’ joined in Danny, ‘you have to admire our display of self-restraint in not tying you to a chair and shining an interrogation light into your eyes. I must say, it’s not like you to be so secretive, or more accurately, so mysterious.’
‘That’s rich coming from you, Danny,’ replied Alastair, ‘when you kept your heart attack from me. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive you for that.’
‘I’ve explained why we did that,’ replied Danny with a frown. ‘We didn’t want anything to spoil your time away.’
‘And if you’d died?’
Simon winced. He noticed Frankie and Jenna did too. It wasn’t like their old friend to be so blunt. ‘Come on, Al,’ he placated, ‘let it go. The important thing is, we’re all here now and hanging on your every word.’
‘Yes,’ said Rachel, ‘we’re all desperate to know your big news. The hot money is on you having met somebody.’
Awkward laughter rippled around the group. Trust Rachel to say out loud what they were all thinking. To Simon it was inconceivable that Alastair would find somebody to replace Orla, and so soon. Surely Alastair knew that it would be nigh on impossible for anyone new to fit into their close-knit circle? They were far too well-established a group of friends for a stranger to be able to find their place within their number; that person would always feel an outsider, no matter how hard they tried to welcome her into the fold.
With everybody now waiting for Alastair to speak, Simon watched his friend’s sun-tanned face break into a smile, the lines around his eyes crinkling.
‘You’re absolutely right, Rachel,’ Alastair said. ‘I did meet somebody while I was away. It was the last thing I expected to happen, but to my surprise, and delight, I suddenly realised I was happy again. Really happy. And it was all down to this incredible woman!’ He shook his head. ‘Just listen to me; I sound like a teenager explaining his first crush.’
‘Well,’ said Frankie, in the pin-drop silence that followed Alastair’s words. ‘How wonderful for you.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Danny, ‘you deserve to be happy.’
‘Where did you meet her?’
‘What’s her name, and when do we meet her?’
‘Where does she live?’
‘How old is she and what’s she like?’
Alastair laughed and raised a hand. ‘One question at a time!’
Interestingly, the questions had all come from the children, mostly Rachel. Simon wanted to feel happy for his old friend, but he couldn’t summon that one vital emotion. All he felt, and he couldn’t really say why, was that this was a betrayal of their friendship.
Irritation was lurking there as well, for hadn’t Sorrel predicted that this would be the case, and hadn’t he said that Alastair would never get involved with anyone, that Orla was irreplaceable? Next to him, her expression unreadable, Sorrel sat with her arms folded across her chest. She was probably thinking,Told you so.He reached for the bottle of wine on the table in front of him to refill his glass.
‘Her name’s Valentina,’ Alastair said, ‘and we met while I was scuba diving in Sri Lanka. She lives in Paris for now; before that she was in St Petersburg.’
‘She gets about, doesn’t she?’ remarked Callum.
‘What do you mean byfor now?’ asked Sorrel.
Oh God, thought Simon. ‘For now’ means until she comes here to Linston End.
‘I’ll get to that in a moment,’ said Alastair. ‘Any chance of anybody else having some of that wine, Simon?’
Simon passed him the bottle, his gaze lowered. He couldn’t bring himself to look at his old friend, didn’t trust his face not to give him away, that he hated the sound of Valentina and all her cosmopolitan gallivanting. She was a threat; he just knew it. With her in the picture nothing would ever be the same again between them. This was the end of all that had gone before. It was the end of an era. He downed the wine in his glass with one angry gulp.
Bloody hell, he then thought, he was overreacting big time! What had got into him? Give the guy a break, he told himself. Let him be happy. Was that too much to ask? Who knew, odds on this Valentina would be no more than a brief holiday fling. A means for Alastair to put Orla’s death behind him.
‘So how old is she?’ This was from Sorrel, her tone feather-light, as though she were asking something as insignificant as what the time was.
