Chapter Thirty
The next morning Danny was awake early, having slept badly. He’d eaten too much and drunk too much, and stayed up much too late the night before, despite Frankie’s warning him not to overdo it. His punishment was a restless night of indigestion, accompanied by the paralysing fear that it wasn’t indigestion he was suffering, but his heart about to pack up. The arrival of dawn, after no more than a couple of hours’ sleep, and the knowledge that he hadn’t died, as absurd as that sounded, came as a huge relief.
Out of bed, carefully, so as not to disturb Frankie, he slipped on his dressing gown. In the bathroom, he looked through the window and saw a gauzy layer of mist suspended over the river. A pair of swans came into view, trailed behind by five grey cygnets. It was a beautifully tranquil sight, and one that made him glad to be alive. Thank God, he thought, somewhat melodramatically, he’d cheated death to see another day!
Downstairs he made himself a cup of tea and took it outside to the terrace, the scene of last night’s gathering. It had gone better than Danny had feared it might. He’d been worried about Simon and the quantity of alcohol he’d drunk, but really Sorrel was the one who had been the loose cannon. But then Sorrel had always had a knack for causing an undercurrent of disquiet when she chose. They had lived with this habit of hers for so long they scarcely noticed it, much less challenged her over it, but last night she had made herself look cattily mischievous in pointedly dragging Orla’s name into the conversation. She had done it at least three times in Danny’s hearing.
He had never quite been able to put his finger on why Sorrel behaved this way, other than in this instance the possibility that Frankie’s long-held suspicions were not without some element of truth: that Sorrel had never forgiven Alastair for dropping her in favour of Orla. Frankie’s other theory was that Sorrel had regarded marrying Simon as accepting second best – if she couldn’t have Alastair, she’d do the next best thing and have one of his closest friends. At the time Danny and Frankie were already a well-established couple, so that just left Simon.
Danny hated to think that there could be any truth in this, that Simon could be considered as second best. He loved Simon, and Alastair, as he would two brothers, or how he imagined he would love a pair of brothers had he had any. Yes, Simon had his faults, but didn’t they all? He for one was no shining example of perfection, he was a nit-picker who worried over the smallest of things.
But was it possible that Sorrel still harboured feelings for Alastair; was that why she had tried to make things awkward for Valentina, had jealousy been the cause of her behaviour? And did that explain the tightrope tension that had occasionally shown itself between Sorrel and Orla? Danny had always put that down to a clash of personalities, but maybe there was more to it.
‘You’re such an innocent,’ was the oft-made remark by Frankie about his inability to grasp the subtle nuances of behaviour that went on right under his nose. Or even the downright obvious for that matter.
‘Your problem is that you expect everybody else to behave as well as you do,’ was another of Frankie’s comments. That was certainly true. His parents, Rosamunde and Michael, had been Quakers and had brought him up to believe in the essential goodness of every individual, and not to judge without walking a mile in another person’s shoes.
As a teenager he had not taken well to sitting still for an hour during a Quaker meeting, though what child would? But now he could sit in contented silence for hour after hour if given the chance. He could certainly do that here at Linston End. The sense of calm he derived from being by the river was, he imagined, not unlike the uplifting stillness his parents must have experienced during those long silent meetings.
Frankie had been right when she’d said coming here would do them both good. Suzie Wu and her accusations had taken its toll on him. The woman may have been exposed as a liar and maybe a thief – that was yet to be fully proven – but her sudden disappearance had left him with a troubled feeling that the matter had not been brought to a proper close.
But there was nothing he could do about it, so, as Frankie would be only too quick to tell him, it was better to put it out of his mind and enjoy being back here at Linston End.
Beyond the garden the river was as smooth as glass. It was a beautifully calming sight. The mist had almost gone; just the faintest trace remained.How could Alastair give this up?thought Danny with sadness. Was he really making the right decision? Selfishly Danny would miss the old place; it had brought them such pleasure over the years and provided a treasure trove of happy memories. But give it up his friend must if he were to embark on a new life. Maybe he was simply haunted by Orla’s presence too much to be comfortable here anymore.
‘Good morning, Danny, may I join you?’
He started at the request and the sight of Valentina whose approach he hadn’t heard. His surprise must have shown on his face. ‘If you would prefer to sit alone,’ she said, ‘I will leave you in peace.’
‘No, no,’ he responded, rubbing self-consciously at his unshaven chin, ‘please join me, but I must apologise for being in my pyjamas and dressing gown.’ In contrast to his dishevelled appearance, she was already immaculately dressed in vermilion pink jeans with a white silk blouse and a strand of pearls around her neck. Draped over her shoulders was a cashmere sweater the same colour as her jeans. She looked as elegant as she had yesterday.
She waved his comment aside and sat down. ‘It is a very smart dressing gown you are wearing, why should you not show it off in this lovely garden?’
‘Frankie made it for me as a matter of fact. I’ve had it for years.’
‘Really?’Adding to his discomfort, she eyed the cream and navy-blue silk fabric that had most definitely seen better days. ‘What a talented woman Frankie is. And what a lucky man you are to have her as your wife.’
‘You’re right, I am lucky.’
‘Then that makes two of us, for I also am very lucky to have met Alastair. Do you think he was lucky to meet me?’
Taken off guard, Danny squirmed. ‘Goodness,’ he said, ‘what a question.’
‘No, it is a very simple question and requires only a very simple answer, yes or no.’
Composing himself, he said, ‘The answer is yes, of course Alastair is extremely lucky to have met you. What man wouldn’t be?’
She gave him a wildly disarming smile. ‘You’re so sweet, Danny, just like Alastair described to me. He told me also that you had a difficult time as a boy, that you were not wanted.’
Her words were like a stab to his heart. But she blithely carried on.
‘That is to say, you didn’t find a loving family to look after you until you were a teenager.’
‘I was ten,’ he said quietly, wondering why she had taken the conversation in this particular direction. He felt she was being unduly intrusive and was irritated that Alastair had divulged such personal information about him. But then why wouldn’t he, when he wanted Valentina to meet his closest friends and get to know them? To know people properly, you had to understand them.
‘And then your life changed for the better, no?’ she continued.
‘Much better,’ he asserted. ‘My adopted parents couldn’t have been nicer, they were enormously generous-hearted and gave me the kind of loving home I’d always wanted.’
