‘It’s not,’ said Frankie, putting a hand on his forearm. ‘And perhaps now isn’t the time to question things. Let’s go and see the others.’
‘Of course,’ he said with a shake of his head, ‘I’m being selfish, thinking of myself.’
‘You’re not being selfish,’ said Frankie. ‘It’s understandable that you should have doubts when you’re on the verge of taking such a massive step.’
‘It’s not doubts exactly,’ Alastair said, ‘it’s disappointment. I thought you’d all be happy for me.’
‘Look,’ said Danny with surprising firmness, ‘we’ve all had a hell of a shock in the last twelve hours, and Frankie’s right, now isn’t the time for this conversation, or for you to question things.’
Again Alastair shook his head. ‘You always were the wise one of the three of us.’
Danny smiled. ‘Not difficult, given who I’m up against.’
‘Cheeky sod.’
‘An exceptionally wise cheeky sod, I think you’ll find.’
They’d only walked on a few yards when Alastair said, ‘Do you believe Nikolai and Irina are to blame?’
It was Frankie who answered him. ‘It was an accident, Alastair, they may have been reckless, but it wouldn’t be fair to heap the blame on them.’
‘Would you say that if it had been Jenna who nearly drowned?’
‘I’d like to think so.’
Alastair wasn’t convinced. ‘But we know that if they hadn’t suggested going out in the boat the accident wouldn’t have happened. They were the catalyst. Good God,’ he said with a weary shake of his head, ‘when I think how Orla and I drummed it into the three children when you entrusted them to stay with us every summer, nevereverto take unnecessary risks when out on the water. What the hell went wrong?’
‘It was a bad judgement call on Rachel’s part,’ answered Frankie, ‘and carelessness on Nikolai and Irina’s, but not vindictiveness. They did not come here with the intention of hurting anybody; it would be madness to suggest they did.’
‘But what the hell made them want to go and see where Orla drowned?’
‘Morbid curiosity I expect,’ said Danny with a shrug. ‘Wouldn’t we have done the same at their age after an evening of drinking?’
These were all points he must put to Simon, Alastair thought, as once again they continued towards the house. But would Simon listen? He was such a hothead, would he listen to logic, or would he be led by his heart?
But then who was he to accuse Simon of being led by his heart, hadn’t he done exactly that when he met Valentina? Hadn’t he always done it? First Orla, then Valentina?
But not Sorrel. Poor Sorrel. She was the exception. She had had nothing to do with his heart. Had she ever forgiven him? Or was that arrogant of him to assume she still gave a thought to his cruelty? And he had been cruel. Unconscionably cruel. To an extent he could clear his conscience with regard to his first act of unkindness, on the grounds that had he not cast her aside in favour of Orla, she wouldn’t have married Simon and there would be no Callum and Rachel. His second act of callousness, and his most regrettable, was not so easy to dismiss.
‘Things always work out in the end for the best,’ Valentina had said only last night when they’d gone to bed, oblivious to the drama about to unfold. He hoped to God that was true, because at this precise moment nothing felt right. He wasn’t given to bouts of defeatism, but he felt as though everything was stacked against him, that the life he’d set his heart on with Valentina was fast slipping out of his grasp.
From nowhere he heard Orla laughing at him. Laughing at his naïve belief that he could have imagined she would let him go so easily.
‘You’re mine … you’ve always been mine, and you’ll always be mine …’
Those were the words they used to exchange with each other with such loving passion. They were the last words she said to him before she drowned, but they had not been uttered with loving passion. Far from it.
Chapter Forty-Five
As he followed Frankie and Alastair through the open doors of the conservatory, Danny braced himself for what lay ahead.
Never keen on confrontation, having spent too much of his childhood exposed to it while being shunted around children’s homes and foster families, he was determined to ensure that the tension which had been steadily building was not about to explode into a situation that could never be recovered from.
Danny couldn’t honestly say he had taken a great liking to Valentina, but for the sake of Alastair’s happiness he knew he had to make more of an effort to think well of her. After that exchange in the garden just now, Danny sensed the first chink in Alastair’s certainty. Had Simon been there, he would have jumped on it, but Danny knew better; a softly-softly approach was by far the more effective course of action.
God knows he wanted his old friend to be happy, to find love again and start afresh, but not at the expense of everything else he’d previously held dear. Or was that a presumption on Danny’s part, that what used to be important to Alastair, was still?
Wasn’t starting afresh something he wanted to do in moving here to the Broads? Why was it acceptable for him and Frankie to up sticks, but not for Alastair? Because bluntly, it didn’t feel right what Alastair was doing, it was too much too soon. He was a man still grieving, a man still coming to terms with the death of his wife and in such tragic circumstances. Danny had seen how he had reacted when they’d entered the broad where Orla had drowned – the whiteness of his knuckles as he clenched his fists, and the ghastly look of foreboding on his face. He’d looked haunted, almost as if he was terrified they might come across Orla’s dead body floating in the water. Even if it had been an irrational fear, it had felt real enough for Danny to be aware of it.
