'His name's Richard,' Gemma had said. 'He used to go out with Sinead, Suzie's closest friend at university.'

Through the blur of whisky and grief, something nagged at him, but it wasn't until people started drifting away - Suzie's friends had been the first to leave - that he realised what it was. Seized with a fury he didn't know he possessed, he had wanted to chase after the lad and beat the s.h.i.t out of him. 'You're the reason my daughter's dead!' he wanted to scream. 'If you'd kept your hands off her, she wouldn't have got pregnant and she'd still be alive!'

But he didn't. He let the murderous sense of outrage pa.s.s. Blaming his daugther's death on anyone but himself wouldn't wash. She'd been his responsibility, no one else's.

When he let himself in there was a message on the answer phone from his mother. She phoned him every day. He wished she wouldn't. Her need to care for him, to make sure he was eating and sleeping properly, only added to his self-pitying guilt.

Now that he'd been out, the house was making Will feel claustrophobic, and after drinking a mug of coffee and managing half a slice of toast, he put on his walking boots and warmest fleece and went down to the end of the garden to walk along the ca.n.a.l. Perhaps it would have a restorative effect. Nothing else did.

He'd been walking for no more than a few minutes when he saw Harriet's father coming towards him with Toby lagging behind. If it had been possible, Will would have turned round and gone back home, but Bob had seen him and so an exchange was unavoidable. So long as it was mercifully brief, Will thought he'd survive. So long as there were no cloying words of sympathy, he'd be okay.

'How's it going, Will?' Bob asked when they were face to face.

'Oh, you know, each day as it comes.' It was a stupid thing to say and Will regretted it at once.

Bob looked at him hard. 'I used to lie as glibly as that,' he said. 'What you really mean is that you wish you were dead yourself. Don't let anyone tell you it gets better. Take it from me, it doesn't.'

His words were so vociferous and tangibly bitter, as though Bob was glad someone else was suffering as he was, they were like a knife thrust between Will's ribs. Wanting to get away from him, Will took a step back. He suddenly realised that he needed to believe what Marty, Jarvis and his mother had told him: that, given time, the pain would lessen. Whatever else, he didn't want his grief to consume him like an incurable disease and turn him into an embittered, malevolent old man like Bob. Or worse, like his father.

He made his excuses and walked away, ignoring Toby as he briefly danced around him.

Bob watched him go, disappointed. He'd thought Will would appreciate some honesty. Some straight talking. But apparently not. He sighed and called Toby to heel. There was no helping some people.

Jennifer was another person who was refusing his help. Whenever he phoned her to see if there was anything he could do for her, she would say he wasn't to keep ringing. For heaven's sake, she made him sound like a stalker! All he wanted to do was speak to the one person who had taken the trouble to listen to him. 'I can't just forget about you,' he'd said.

'But you must. You're a married man and I should never have encouraged you.'

'But it was so natural between us.'

'No, Bob, it was very unreal. When people are away from home they act differently. Looking back on it, I behaved like a silly twenty-year-old looking for a holiday romance.'

'Please don't say that. Let me believe that it meant something. Leave me that much, if nothing else.'

He'd been reduced to begging and it had got him nowhere. In the end she had agreed that he could call her occasionally, especially if there was anything to report about the Jennifer Rose, which would be staying at the marina until the warmer weather in the spring, when she planned to come up and travel home on it.

It was this thought that kept his hopes alive. In the spring, when she was fully recovered from the pneumonia, he would see her again. Then he'd have the opportunity to make her understand just how real and natural it had been between them.

Chapter Fifty-Two.

So far Miles hadn't shown so much as a flicker of annoyance, but Harriet felt it on his behalf. The last person in the world that he would have wanted to be in the audience was sitting on Harriet's left: Dominic. While Miles was managing successfully to ignore Dominic's presence, others were not. People - mostly women - were openly staring, some craning or twisting their necks to get a better look at this dark, saturnine and elegant figure in their midst. Just as Dominic would want it, of course. He was dressed in black, apart from a white shirt which was open at the neck and revealed a small ebony crucifix on a leather thong, and still wore his long, flowing overcoat as well as a wide-brimmed hat, despite the warmth of the shop. Lolling back in his seat, his head tilted as though examining the ceiling, he looked even more arresting than he normally did. If his plan had been to upstage his brother and other members of the writing group, who were taking it in turns to stand at the lectern and read, it had worked. He was without doubt the entire focus of attention.

He'd arrived in Maple Drive that afternoon, so Eileen had told Harriet when she got home from work. 'Have you been twitching the net curtains again, Mum?' Harriet had teased her.

'Certainly not. I was dusting Carrie's window sill and saw Harvey's car pull onto their drive. He must have just collected Dominic from the station. I've never understood why that boy hasn't learned to drive.'

'Because it would be so culturally at odds with the way he sees himself,' Harriet had replied. 'He'd much rather be driving a horse-drawn carriage with a whip in his hand.

And let's not forget his ego. How could he be expected to take instruction from so lowly a person as a driving instructor?'

After a hurried supper, and while Harriet was upstairs reading to the children, the doorbell had rung. Her mother was on the phone and her father was goodness knows where, so Harriet went to the door.

It was Dominic. 'h.e.l.lo, Hat. Like Christ himself, I bring you salvation and good news. Can I come in?'

She shut the door after him, conscious of the patter of curiosity above their heads.

'I've just heard of the literary extravaganza my brother's putting on tonight,' he said, brushing her cheek with a careless kiss, 'and I've decided I would be letting him down if I wasn't there to offer him my inimitable support. Also, I feel I'm honour-bound to save you from such a tedious horror show without some kind of succour. Aha! And who do I spy peeping round the banister?'

Rendered uncharacteristically shy, Carrie hovered coyly at the top of the stairs, her dressing-gown cord trailing on the floor, the bedtime book Harriet had been reading to them held close to her chest. From behind her Joel poked his head out to see who was there.

'h.e.l.lo, you two,' Dominic called up. 'What's that you're reading?'

'The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe,' Carrie said, stepping forward. 'I've read it already, but Joel doesn't know the story. Do you know it?'

'It was one of my favourite books when I was your age. I loved the Queen of Narnia; such a gorgeous trollop. As for Edmund, he was a snivelling little wimp who should have been buried up to his neck in the snow. Now, scat you two while I finish talking to your wicked aunt Harriet.'

Having dismissed them with all the ease of a magician waving a wand, he said, 'I'll be back in half an hour. You will be ready then, won't you?' He cast a disapproving eye over her baggy trousers and hooded top.

'What about your father? Isn't he going?'

Dominic laughed. 'Good G.o.d, no. It's not his kind of evening at all.'

Thinking it might have been nice for Miles to have his father's support, just once, Harriet closed the door after Dominic and went upstairs to finish reading to the children. Sitting on Joel's bed and answering Carrie's excited questions about Dominic - how long was he going to be around and how often would they get to see him? - she had hoped he would behave himself at Novel Ways, and wouldn't flex those pumped-up egotistical muscles of his too much in front of Miles.

The wiry-haired woman who had been reading out a lengthy poem about growing old - lots of clumsy, cliched references to withered b.r.e.a.s.t.s and limbs that were knotted and gnarled - finally sat down and the audience clapped enthusiastically. Perhaps because the poem had at last come to an end.

Next to Harriet, Dominic took out a pen. She watched him scribble something on the ticket he'd bought at the door when they'd arrived. Where it had once said, 'For One Night Only, Hidden Talents Writing Group Presents an Evening of Wit and Thought-Provoking Prose' he changed it to read '... an evening of relentless dreich s.h.i.te'. And because he knew she was watching him, he then wrote, 'Saveme from this freak show, Hat!'

She tried to keep herself from smiling but failed miserably. She covered her mouth with her hand and tried to disguise her laughter by clearing her throat. She did it too loudly, though, and the row of people in front of them turned and stared.

After the next speaker, Dominic leaned into her and said, 'Just as well it's for one night only; another evening of this interminable drivel and I'd be mixing myself a palliative c.o.c.ktail of hemlock and prussic acid.'

When Miles took his place behind the lectern, Harriet shot Dominic a warning look. 'Behave,' she whispered, 'or I'll stamp on your hat when we get out of here.'

He blew her a kiss. 'I'll be as good as gold. I promise.'

Even to Harriet's unappreciative ears, there was no mistaking the beauty of what Miles was reading out. It was a strikingly tender and poignant poem of love and longing, and knowing that he must have written it for Felicity, it moved Harriet almost to tears. Her sister, she decided, had been lucky to have been loved so consummately.

When Miles read the last line of his poem and signalled to the audience by a barely perceptible nod that he had finished, Dominic snorted loudly and a spontaneous burst of applause rang out. Hoping that Miles hadn't heard his brother, Harriet dug her elbow into Dominic's ribs. 'You pig!' she hissed. 'Don't say I didn't warn you.' She s.n.a.t.c.hed his hat from his head, threw it onto the floor and stamped on it hard. His reaction was to slap her thigh, causing her to yelp loudly. This Miles did hear, along with the ensuing scuffle as Dominic tried to retrieve his hat and at the same time pinch Harriet's ankle. As he remained at the lectern to invite people to stay and enjoy a mince pie and a gla.s.s of wine, Miles glared at his brother. He didn't look too happy with Harriet either and she sank down into her seat feeling like a naughty child.

The conversation Harriet had planned to have with Miles had been put on hold the second Dominic had muscled his way into the evening, and she was now resigned to the three of them going for a drink instead. Miles had greeted Dominic's announcement that he would join them with lukewarm agreement, and having said goodnight to the members of staff who'd stayed on, he locked up and led the way along the main street of Maywood. The wine bar they were going to, which had opened only last month, was opposite Turner's, the town's old-fashioned department store.

'So what did you think?' Miles asked when they were settled with their drinks and Chris Rea was singing that he'd be home in time for Christmas - their table was slap bang beneath a speaker. The question was directed at Harriet, but before she could answer, Dominic - prodding and poking at his hat to get it back into shape - said, 'It was a glorious example of why the written word should be kept out of the reach of those who would cause it such harm. In short, it was nothing short of rape. A violation of the English language.'

'Dominic, can't you ever stop living up to your reputation as an insufferable b.a.s.t.a.r.d?'

'It's okay, Harriet,' Miles said matter-of-factly, 'a great scholar like my brother is welcome to his erudite opinion. How else would he view a homespun writers' group? Even if one of our members has probably outsold anything he's ever had published. Sales of your last literary offering were what, Dominic? Two thousand? Or am I being generous? Whereas our novice little scribbler has made it onto the bestseller lists in no less than seven different countries. Not bad for a violator of the English language, wouldn't you say?'

'Don't make it so easy for me, Miles. You of all people should know that it's rarely the well-written novels that make it onto those disreputable lists.'

'Yes, but it's those books that subsidise most of the unreadable stuff you'd have everyone reading.'

Harriet had heard enough. She wasn't prepared to sit here a minute longer listening to them batting insults across the table. 'Shut up and be nice, you two!' she said. 'Or I shall walk away right now.'

Miles looked shamefaced but Dominic raised his eyebrows sardonically. 'You're beginning to annoy me, Harriet. First you ma.s.sacre my hat, now you tell me how to talk to my own brother. Motherhood clearly doesn't suit you; you're far too bossy these days.'

Miles rolled his eyes. 'Not funny, Dominic.' Then addressing Harriet: 'How's your friend Will? I read about his daughter in the paper. It must have been awful for him.'

Momentarily wrongfooted, Harriet took a sip of her wine before saying, 'It was the suddenness of it that made it so devastating. I was there at the hospital when it happened.'

'That must have been a comfort for him, at least.'

'Not really.'

Dominic, who was sitting opposite Harriet, clicked his fingers in front of her nose. 'h.e.l.lo. Remember me? Who's Will?' he demanded. 'And what happened to his daughter?'

'Will is Harriet's boyfriend,' Miles explained patiently, 'and his daughter died recently. Okay? Does that bring you back into the loop to your satisfaction?'

Harriet felt her face redden and she squirmed in her seat at Miles's a.s.sumption, but Dominic sat up straight. 'Boyfriend?' he said, with what she knew was prurient interest. 'You never said, Hat. How long has that been going on for?'

'It hasn't.'

'But Miles just said - '

'He's wrong! So just leave it.' More gently, she said, 'Sorry, Miles, it wasn't really anything as heavy as a girlfriend-boyfriend situation.'

Miles looked confused. 'But I thought that was why you - '

'Hey,' interrupted Dominic, his face petulant, 'stop doing that, you two - leaving me out of the conversation. Who the h.e.l.l is this Will character? Where's he popped up from?'

'He lives in Maple Drive, in the house opposite Harriet and her parents.'

Getting tired of Miles speaking for her, Harriet said, 'He's just a friend, Dominic. No one with whom you need to bother yourself.'

A calculating look in his eyes, Dominic said, 'Come to think of it, Mum and Dad have mentioned something about a new neighbour. The daughter who died was nineteen, wasn't she?'

'Yes,' Harriet said.

There was a brief pause and then Dominic said, 'Which must mean this Will, the father, is ...' He pursed his lips and sucked in his breath as though thinking hard. 'Gosh, Hat, exactly how old is he?'

'Forty-six,' she said, staring fixedly at Dominic's hateful, smug face and wondering if anyone in the wine bar would notice her strangling him with her bare hands. 'Do you have a problem with that?'

He shrugged. 'No problem at all.'

'I'd advise you leave it right there, Dominic,' Miles said in a low voice. 'Harriet's had enough to deal with without you stirring things up.'

Dominic leaned back in his chair and ran a finger round the rim of his gla.s.s. 'But just to satisfy my curiosity,' he said, 'why did it not turn into a boyfriend-girlfriend situation as my brother clearly thought it was?'

'I warned you, Dominic - '

'It's okay, Miles, I'm quite capable of answering for myself.' She leaned across the table. 'What exactly do you want to know, Dominic? Did I sleep with him? Is that it? Did I have a fling with the man? Is that what you want to know? Well, yes, I did. Put a tick in all of the above boxes. There! Satisfied?'

He smiled. 'How disagreeably suburban you make it sound. Miles? You've gone awfully quiet. Don't you have anything to say on the matter?'

Ripping a bar mat in two, Miles said, 'I'd say it's none of our business.'

'Really? I'd have thought it would have been very much your business. After all, the last time I was home you were practically falling over yourself for a bit of action in the sack with our frigid little Harriet.'

Seeing the look of horror on Miles's face, Harriet did the only thing she could have done. She picked up her wine gla.s.s and threw its contents in Dominic's face. 'You vicious b.a.s.t.a.r.d! Why couldn't it have been you who died and not Felicity?'

She was outside, slinging her bag over her shoulder and doing up her coat, when Miles came after her.

'I'm sorry, Harriet. I don't know what's got into him. He seems to be getting worse. Let me walk you to your car.'

'Please,' she said, 'I think I'd rather be alone.'

Chapter Fifty-Three.

The Office Christmas Party had never been one of Harriet's favourite pastimes. In years gone by she had devised all manner of excuses why she couldn't attend - a doctor's appointment, a crucial telephone call she had to make, a new washing machine being delivered - but Howard had warned her yesterday that he'd make her life a living h.e.l.l if she so much as thought of not joining in. 'You'll wear a paper hat and laugh at my jokes whether you want to or not,' he'd told her.

'And if I don't?'

'I'll start a rumour that we're having an affair.'

'I could have you for hara.s.sment.'

'With your fierce reputation no one would believe you, Hat. I'd tell them that the boot was on the other foot; that you forced yourself upon me and made unnatural demands of a happily married man. I'll say I asked you to be gentle with me, but that you had me on the desk, up against the wall, then tied to my chair. It would make a sensational court case, don't you think? I can see the headlines: "Insatiable nymphomaniac employee hara.s.ses boss for New Year pay rise."'

'And just how long have you been living in La-La Land, Howard?'

'Cheeky bint! Now get your sa.s.sy a.r.s.e into gear and dig out your best party frock for tomorrow. I ought to warn you, anyone who doesn't laugh at my jokes will be dismissed on the spot. Message received?'

'Loud and clear, oh great leader.'

When it came to organising a Christmas lunch, Harriet had to hand it to Howard; he spared no expense. He'd not only organised a bus to ferry everyone into Manchester, but was treating them to a meal at his favourite Chinese restaurant, the Yang Sing. Despite her natural inclination to opt for pushing needles through her eyeb.a.l.l.s rather than sit through such an ordeal, Harriet had to admit that she was very nearly enjoying herself. With Dangerous Dave on her left and Tina, a lively fifty-year-old from accounts getting more raucous by the minute on her right, Harriet had somehow found herself entering into the spirit of the occasion. She was one of the few sober people, having had no more than a gla.s.s of wine because she would be driving home once the bus dropped them off back at the office, unlike the others who at Howard's expense were all sharing taxis. And because she was sober, she was probably the only person who would remember Howard's appalling jokes in the morning. But G.o.d love 'em, she thought with surprising affection, he knows how to instil a sense of loyalty in his employees. Devotion was perhaps putting it too strongly, but looking round the tables of red-faced men and women, their party hats askew, their eyes glazed and bloodshot and their voices raised, she knew they were as tight-knit a bunch of workers as she'd come across, who would more than go the extra mile for Howard. As he doubtless knew. Harriet had come to realise that nothing happened by chance at ACT. Howard was a formidable player; he made things happen through the sheer force of his personality, and she counted herself lucky to work for him. She watched him working his way round the room, bestowing his outrageous brand of bonhomie on the tables of work colleagues. There was a lot of matey back-slapping going on, as well as a good deal of amorous charm being dispensed by the bucketload.

'He's one in a million, isn't he?' Tina said, following Harriet's gaze and leaning drunkenly against her shoulder. 'Did you know he paid for me to go private when I was told there was a ten-month waiting list to have my varicose veins done? He said to me, "Tina, the sooner you get them done, the sooner you can chase me round the office."' She raised her gla.s.s to him. 'He's the best boss I've ever worked for.'