Danny drove on in silence, mulling over all that Frankie had said. Then: ‘Have you ever …’ his voice trailed away with embarrassment.
‘Have I ever what? Wanted to go to bed with another man? Specifically Alastair?’
Danny swallowed. ‘Yes.’
‘No. Hand on heart, I can assure you one hundred per cent I have never entertained that thought, or desire. Shame on you for asking me.’
‘You’re right; I am ashamed. But everything seems so up in the air suddenly, as though anything’s possible.’
‘I’ll tell you what’s not possible, and that’s for me to love any man but you.’
‘You don’t know that, not for sure.’
‘I do!’
‘But what if I died? I’d hate to think of you spending the rest of your life alone. I wouldn’t object to you marrying again, you know. I’d want you to be happy.’
Frankie let out a long exasperated sigh. ‘Just stop, will you! I won’t have you talking this way. How would you like it if I kept going on about my demise?’
Danny knew he’d gone too far. ‘Ignore me. I’m not myself.’
‘No, you’re not. The man I married would never have allowed himself to become so maudlin. Now cheer up, that’s an order!’
Danny forced himself to smile and reached out for her hand. ‘Message received loud and clear.’
Some minutes later, and as he turned right at the junction to take the Linston Road, he said, ‘Do you suppose Orla would have wanted Alastair to marry again?’
‘Good Lord no!’ Frankie replied with a short laugh. ‘Orla didn’t mind sharing him with us, but Alastair belonged to her. He was her property.’
*
After he’d dropped off Nikolai and Irina at the station in Hoveton, Alastair had wanted time to be alone. So when he’d arrived back at Linston End, he had skirted round the side of the house on foot,and despite knowing he wasn’t being fair to Valentina by leaving her on her own for so long, he’d untiedWater Lilyand set off up river.
In the past, whenever Orla was going through one of her low periods, and when he couldn’t console her, or do anything right, he had spent hours on the water. It was all that had enabled him to keep a hold of his sanity.
It was during one of these low periods that he had made a colossal error of judgement, a mistake which he had never been able to erase, or atone for. How could he? How could he confess to Simon and expect to be forgiven? It was unforgivable what he’d done, and he feared the worst now. Now that Sorrel seemed intent on ruining everything.
If marriage to Orla had taught him anything, it was that you cannot, under any circumstances, negotiate with a madwoman, particularly a madwoman hungry for revenge.
A woman scorned was perhaps the most dangerous species alive, and it was a miracle Sorrel had kept quiet for as long as she had. He had always hoped that she would have believed she had too much to lose by opening her mouth. But he’d been a fool to think that one day she wouldn’t find some reason to seek retribution. Valentina was clearly sufficient reason.
Rarely, if ever, was revenge rooted in logic; it was the basest of needs, the desire to inflict the maximum amount of pain to exact the powerful urge for vengeance. In this instance, it would all be for a mistake that should never have happened. A sordid and regrettable mistake, which Alastair had not shared with Valentina, unlike so much else of his life.
‘I want you to know everything about me,’ he’d told her. Except that wasn’t entirely true. Had anyone ever uttered those words and genuinely meant what they said? We only ever give the version of ourselves we want to project, and the one he’d selected for Valentina was of a grieving husband who’d been to hell, not only in the aftermath of his wife’s death, but also during his marriage; a man pushed to the edge of endurance.
All of which had been true.
Up ahead, he could see a pair of traditional wherries coming towards him, their sails catching what little breeze there was. They were the finest-looking craft on the river and allowing them plenty of room to pass, Alastair steeredWater Lilycloser to the bank. Just a few yards later, and once again he was confronted with the entrance to Linston Broad. But unlike this morning when he had had no choice but to enter the broad to retrieveSwallowtail,he turned his back on it – and Orla – and pressed on up river.
Untimely.
Unexpected.
Tragic.
Unforeseen.
A ghastly waste.
