Simon wasn’t fooled. His wife might be pleased that she’d been right with her prediction that Alastair had met somebody, but she would be no happier about accepting a girlfriend into their midst than Simon. Almost holding his breath, he waited for Alastair’s answer, willing his friend not to embarrass himself, or them.
‘Valentina’s forty-six,’ Alastair said, adding with a chuckle, ‘so a very respectable age, which I hope puts your minds at rest that I haven’t made a fool of myself over some scandalously young girl.’
‘As if we’d ever think that.’
‘You’re such a liar, Danny, of course that was exactly what you were thinking. I can’t say I blame you; it happens all the time to vulnerable old fools like us.’
‘Hey, speak for yourself about being an old fool,’ said Simon, making an effort to lift his mood and to look directly at Alastair.
Alastair smiled, but didn’t return Simon’s gaze. ‘In answer to the question about when you’ll get to meet Valentina, she’s hoping to join us in a few weeks. She’s looking forward to meeting you; I’ve told her so much about you all.’
‘Is it serious between you two, Uncle Al? I mean, are you going to get married?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Rachel,’ said Simon with a loud guffaw of laughter. ‘They’ve only just met.’ Immediately he regretted his words, and his dismissive tone.
Alastair raised his glass to his lips and looked straight at Simon, and for the first time that evening, their eyes met head on. ‘It’s not that ridiculous,’ he said quietly. ‘People often fall in love at first sight.’
‘Well yes,’ said Simon, back-pedalling, ‘but not at our age, not when we know a bit more about life. It’s not as if we’re at the mercy of our emotions now, not like when we were young and foolish.’
‘Dad, I think you’d better be quiet,’ said Callum, ‘you’re digging yourself a massive hole there.’
Alastair laughed. He’d done that a lot this evening, thought Simon bitterly, and not once had it sounded genuine to him.
‘Actually,’ said Alastair, ‘and I know you might find this hard to believe, but Rachel’s question is perfectly valid. It is serious between Valentina and me.’ He paused, as if needing to summon the courage to continue. He cleared his throat and swallowed. Simon knew him well enough to know that was a sign he was nervous. ‘So serious, in fact,’ he continued, ‘that I’ve taken the decision that it’s time to make some big changes in my life. I’ve decided to sell Linston End. Valentina and I are going to buy somewhere else and build a new life together.’
His words threw them all into a stunned silence.
Rachel was the one to break it. ‘But you can’t!’
Everyone turned to look at her.
‘You can’t sell Linston End,’ she said. ‘It’s just not …’ her voice trailed away. ‘It’s your home. It’s part of you. Part of Orla too. Part of all of us. You can’t sell it!’
Every word was true to Simon’s ears. There was a collective history here, of lives combined, lives shared. How could Alastair think of selling this beautiful house? Had he lost his mind while he’d been away?
Simon watched his friend look at Rachel with the sort of kindly patience he’d always reserved for her when she was upset. ‘I know all that,’ he said softly, ‘and believe me, Rachel, this wasn’t an easy decision for me to make. But I know it’s the right one. I need to make a clean break of it, create a new home and a new life for myself.’
‘But what about us?’ she persisted. ‘You can’t just forget about us, surely? And what about my wedding? You promised me that we’d have the reception here. You and Orla made that promise.’
As selfish and as childishly trivial as her protests sounded, his daughter’s obvious distress touched Simon, caused him to feel an illogical hatred towards this Valentina woman, a woman who hadn’t yet set a physical foot into their lives, but who was already a divisive influence. Was that why he had felt Orla’s presence, Simon wondered?
Shocked that he could even consider such a thing, he blinked hard. Since when had he started to believe in ghosts? But was it possible? Could it be that Orla’s spirit had known this conversation was about to take place and wanted to be here with them? Did she want them to stop Alastair from going ahead with this reckless plan?
It was then, while Simon was contemplating the irrational state of his mind, that Danny spoke.
‘From what you’re saying, it sounds as if this will be our last summer together here at Linston End?’
‘Yes,’ said Alastair. ‘It will be.’
Chapter Eight
Frankie lay in the darkness waiting for Danny to come back to bed. He was in the bathroom. He’d been there for some time, longer than his usual nocturnal visits went on for. But then they had all drunk rather a lot – before, during and after Alastair was delivering his bombshell.
It was absurd to think of his news in those terms, but there was no getting around the hard irrefutable fact that it really had come as a huge shock. Certainly Frankie and Sorrel had both pondered the strong possibility of Alastair meeting somebody while he was away, but to come back and announce he was selling his beloved home, that absolutely had not figured in their second-guessing.
For a charming and attractive man like Alastair – a man who had always taken great care over his appearance – it was almost guaranteed that women would be drawn to him. Frankie wouldn’t go so far as to say he was an excessively vain man, but he’d always been driven by the kind of pride Danny and Simon had never really possessed. He probably only weighed a stone more than he had when he’d been in his twenties; neither Danny nor Simon could say the same, but then they had settled for playing golf rather than running on a regular basis. And unlike Simon who had lost a good deal of his hair, Alastair had kept his, with only minimal grey at the temples. Danny could also boast a full head of hair, but the pepper was shot through with a lot more salt these days.
Equally, Frankie and Sorrel had not escaped the ravages of time completely unscathed. There would be no chance of Frankie squeezing into the dress she had worn on her wedding day, that’s if she still had it; she was definitely a size 12 now, as opposed to the size 8 of then. Her light brown hair had long since been given a helping hand by a clever hairdresser, and the same was true for Sorrel in maintaining the striking ice-blonde look she had always favoured.
