‘I’m not ready to do that. And I’m aware that I’m sticking my head in the sand.’
‘Maybe in his own way he’s doing something similar and not tackling what needs to be tackled.’
‘That’s his business.’
After another silence between then, Nina said, ‘Do you feel up to talking about what you did today?’
This brought forth a shuddery sigh from Hilary and after fortifying herself with several sips of tea, she embarked on her confession. Perversely she wanted to see if she could shock Nina out of her cool self-possession.
But it seemed that Nina was unshockable, she barely blinked as she listened.
‘So where have you been storing all the baby clothes?’ she asked when Hilary fell silent and the only sound in the room was the pop and crackle of the fire.
‘They’re in Hugh’s old bedroom,’ she answered. ‘In the ottoman at the foot of the bed.’
‘And having them brings you comfort?’ Nina enquired.
‘Yes. Which probably confirms in your mind that I’m deranged.’
‘No, it confirms that you’re desperately unhappy and something needs to be done to help you. Why don’t you come and stay with me for a few days? A change of scene might be good for you.’
‘No,’ said Hilary, disconcerted at the suggestion. Was Nina worried that she might go out on another shoplifting spree? Or did she think Hilary was a risk to herself if left to her own devices for too long?
Chapter Forty-Two
Everyone else was in bed, but Cassie was up and waiting anxiously –no, make that frantically!– for Ben to come home. She’d passed the day in what her sister would call indulging in a spot of recreational freaking-out. Frankly, she’d gone well beyond that level of worry; she was now at the catastrophising stage.
But when Ben arrived home just after eleven o’clock, and despite being desperate to unburden herself the second he walked through the door, Cassie forced herself to wait. She could see how tired he was after his trip and knew that he needed a period of decompression before discussing anything of a serious nature. Adopting as calm a demeanour as she could, she plied him with questions about the bio-tech conference he’d attended while she poured him a tumbler of Coke Zero and made a jam sandwich. It always amused her that a jam sandwich was his go-to snack whenever he’d been away, or when he wanted something quick and easy to eat. It was a childhood favourite of his.
They sat at the island unit, and he’d taken no more than a few gulps of his drink when he said, ‘What’s up, then, what aren’t you saying?’
She affected a laugh. ‘Nothing’s up,’ she lied.
‘Cassie,’ he said, staring intently at her in the glow of the pendant lights, ‘tell me.’
‘Eat your sandwich.’
He shook his head. ‘Not until you’ve told me whatever it is you’re not saying. I know you; I can see in your face that something’s very wrong. It’s not about us getting married, is it? Have you changed your mind?’
‘No, of course not!’
‘Are you annoyed that I thought we should wait before planning anything until Rosalyn has moved out?’
‘It’s not that. It really isn’t.’
‘Then what is it?’
There was no point in lying to him, so she told him everything, from her organising the search party last night to find Finlay who’d mysteriously gone off with Bon-Bon, and then to this morning when she and Nina had helped bury the little dog.
‘Why on earth didn’t you message me about all this?’
‘I didn’t want to bother you when I knew you were busy.’
‘Not so busy I wouldn’t have wanted to know. Poor Venetia, she must be in a dreadful state.’
‘She is. But there’s worse to tell you, and I need your advice.’
He leant forwards now. ‘Go on.’
