‘And it’s all agreed with your wife? With Lina?’
‘It is.’
Callie blew out a tiny breath. ‘Then I accept. Thank you, Sunil. If Frida agrees, then I’m happy too. As long as it really is okay with your wife?’
Sunil laughed. ‘I can assure you it is.’ He stood up. ‘And now, I really must go.’ Yawning, he stretched. ‘A shower is calling, if I can get near the bathroom, that is. Who’d have two daughters, eh?’ He caught her look.‘Threedaughters. And a fine son. I am blessed.’ Reaching for her hands again he pulled her up. ‘I hope you will be blessed in the same way.’
‘I don’t want another three children,’ she replied, horrified.
He smiled. ‘Then I hope you’ll be as lucky as I am in your life partner.’
‘Well, maybe. I’m actually quite happy being on my own.’ As she said the words, she wondered if they were still the truth.
‘No one should be on their own. Find a good man, Callie.’
She laughed, seeing him to the door. ‘Goodbye, Sunil. And thank you. For everything.’
Kissing her cheek softly, he said, ‘And thank you, Callie. For everything, but most of all for Frida.’
Thirty-Four
THURSDAY AFTERNOON 22ND AUGUST
Fidelia Bridges 1834–1923
American artist known for her delicate and detailed watercolours of flowers and birds.
(Taken from Calliope Thorne’s teaching notes.)
Callie dozed on the sofa for the rest of the morning, emotionally and physically battered. Rallying, she heated up some soup for lunch and ate it with a hunk of bread and cheese. She considered waking Frida but thought it better the girl slept.
Her bruises had made her stiff and sore so she sought the warmth of the garden. A pale watery sun had mopped up any signs of the storm so, with the grass now dry, she set up her painting kit and settled to half-heartedly painting some quick watercolour sketches of the Japanese anemones. She missed Vinny pottering about; he’d been good company. She missed Johnny too, wondering if he’d been given the all-clear from hospital. With a wry smile she hoped he was surviving at hisparents’ home. She’d ring Jessica later but there was someone else she needed to ring first.
Staring at her phone, her heart thumping and her thumb hovering over the number, she made an impulsive decision and clicked. She’d give them one last chance.
The phone picked up on the third ring. ‘Mum?’
‘Who is this?’
‘It’s Callie.’ The words strangled in her throat.
‘Who?’
‘Callie. Calliope. Your daughter.’
‘Oh.’
‘I was ringing…’ Callie tailed off. Just whywasshe ringing? ‘I was ringing to see how you and Dad are.’
‘I see.’
Come on, Mum, throw me a bone.‘So, are you both well?’
‘Perfectly. Thank you.’
‘We’re both okay. Frida and me. Frida’s going to university. She wants to study journalism.’ The need to please, to impress, was ever present and Callie hated herself for it.
‘Oh. Does she?’
