She regarded him with a raised eyebrow. ‘Is that so? And do you make a habit of helping yourself to Alastair’s unwanted girlfriends?’
He looked pained at the question. ‘Absolutely not! And for the record, had Alastair not been around that evening in Meribel, I would most certainly have bought you a birthday drink myself. Would you like to dance?’ He eyed her plate of food. ‘When you’ve finished eating, that is.’
He wasn’t really her sort, not athletic enough in his appearance, not quite smooth enough. He was probably one of those bull-in-a-china-shop types, blundering around without thinking before speaking. But she could do worse than agree to dance with him, especially if it had the added benefit of getting Alastair’s back up.
‘I’d be happy to,’ she replied. ‘Come and find me in about half an hour.’
‘Or I could stay and eat with you?’ he suggested.
Pushy, she thought, but with no sign of her brother now, she agreed anyway.
She wasn’t at all surprised when, at the end of the night, Simon asked if he could see her again. She wanted to say no, but there was something about his boyish eagerness that appealed. And what better way to show Alastair that she had moved on by going out with one of his closest friends?
That night of the ball, she had feigned an air of being very much over Alastair. She put on such a good act of cordiality she almost convinced herself she meant it.
But as time went on, and she slipped into a relationship with Simon, she realised that she really did enjoy his company. He made her laugh in a way Alastair never did, and he never let her down or took her for granted. She also enjoyed Danny’s company, and that of his girlfriend, Frankie, an attractive brunette. Before too long, she found herself drawn in closer to the group of friends, until one day she realised that she wasn’t on the outside looking in anymore, but was a fully participating member of the club.
During this time Alastair’s initial awkwardness around her gave way and eventually he apologised for the way he’d treated her; he claimed that he had done a lot of growing up in the past few months. Sorrel strongly suspected his apology was of Danny and Frankie’s doing – they both had a natural desire to smooth any feathers in danger of being ruffled – but she accepted it all the same.
The only fly in the ointment was Orla. Sorrel found it difficult to foster any real affection for her, and she had no cause to doubt that the feeling was mutual. But they made a reasonable pretence of liking each other.
Danny and Frankie were the first to marry, followed swiftly by Alastair and Orla, and then, as if not to be left out, Sorrel agreed to marry Simon. But that was also because she discovered she was pregnant and the thought of having a child out of wedlock would have appalled her parents, not to say herself. So there they all were, married, not just to their partners, but to one another.
There’s a theory that the intensity of one’s first true love can never be replicated, and although Sorrel loved Simon, it was not in the same way she had loved Alastair. Occasionally she would fall prey to the nagging doubt that she had made do with second best in marrying Simon, but perhaps he had too in marrying her, because it became increasingly obvious to Sorrel that he was in awe of Orla. He was dazzled by her unconventional demeanour, her effortless ability to radiate an unfathomable allure that made everyone gather around her. The more Sorrel saw that attraction develop, the more she disliked and resented Orla.
It didn’t stop with her husband. Callum and Rachel also came under Orla’s spell and would often say things like, ‘Auntie Orla lets us do that, why don’t you?’ And ‘Auntie Orla is always so much fun, she never minds us making a mess.’ And the one that hurt the most: ‘You’re so boring, Mum, why can’t you be more like Auntie Orla?’
Bloody Auntie Orla!was all Sorrel could think. The woman was Mary bloody Poppins incarnate!
Except with the passing of more years, and as the children became more independent and less malleable, Orla’s appeal had its limits. There were times when she lost her temper for no real reason. She could also be downright cruel. She once told Rachel that she was getting podgy and that she should watch what she ate. Sorrel was furious, but Orla merely shrugged her scrawny shoulders. She said she stood by her remark, and that if Sorrel was doing her job properly as a concerned mother, she would be honest with her daughter and nip the problem in the bud before it was too late. Rachel was only seven at the time.
Life was so very black and white for Orla; there was no room for diplomacy or tact in her thinking. Expecting Simon to support her, he had shocked Sorrel by taking Orla’s side, that maybe Rachel had put on more than just puppy fat. Simon never criticised his daughter, and to hear him do so felt like the worst of betrayals. It hardened Sorrel’s heart, and it was shortly after this incident that she betrayed her husband in the worst possible way.
A knock at the door had her opening her eyes and at the sight of Simon peering in, she hauled herself back from the past to the here and now. She knew she had to face the consequences of what she’d said in the kitchen, but she wasn’t ready.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Mindful of his sleeping daughter, Simon kept his voice low. ‘Sorrel,’ he said, ‘I want to talk to you.’
‘Not now,’ she whispered back at him.
‘But we need to,’ he said more urgently.
‘Please, not now,’ she repeated. ‘You’ll wake Rachel.’
‘When, then?’
She sighed and closed her eyes, as though shutting him out. ‘Later. We’ll talk later.’
With great reluctance, he closed the door and went downstairs. He was at a loss what to do. Mostly because he couldn’t be sure just what was going on. Or was that a lie? Had a part of him always wondered, but had steadfastly chosen to ignore it?
All he’d ever wanted was an uncomplicated life. He wasn’t a greedy man, or a particularly ambitious one. For him what counted was his family, his friends, and a fulfilling job. It wasn’t much to ask for. But suddenly it felt like it was all being taken from him.
The couple who had come to view the house had gone, and as he stood at the foot of the stairs, he tried to discern where Alastair and the others were. He was tempted to have it out with Alastair, but the coward in him wasn’t ready to confront him. Not yet. Suspecting and knowing were two entirely different things.
He crossed the hall where weak sunlight was filtering through the open doorways, and peered into the conservatory. Finding it empty, he entered the room, pushed open the double doors and went outside. After the rain, the air was markedly fresher now. He headed down the length of sodden lawn towards the pavilion, breathing in the coolness, wanting it to clear the confusion in his head.
But the sight of Valentina sitting in the pavilion brought him to a stop. Here was the cause of everything that was crumbling to dust around him.
