Epilogue

Guernsey – late September 2011

‘Well, what do you think?’

‘I think it’s stunning and you’re lucky to have bought it. What a view!’ Michael said as they stood on the balcony of the brand new apartment at Cobo, admiring the bay spread out before them.

‘It ticks both boxes, great sea view and only yards to the beach, and you’re right, I am lucky. If my house hadn’t sold so quickly, I might have missed it. I owe Charlotte for telling me it had come back on the market.’ Fiona swung round to take in the open plan living area inside, waiting for her to fill with furniture and the items she’d kept from the family home. She bit her lips, thinking how painful it’d been to clear out, particularly Nigel’s possessions. Many tears were shed that day. But the good news was Duncan pleading guilty and sentenced to life imprisonment. Now, she had a clean slate, ready for a new life.

‘You okay?’ Michael’s warm voice in her ear brought her back to the present as he threw his arms around her.

‘A bit maudlin. Letting go…’

‘I understand. You’ve done brilliantly, darling. You’ve achieved so much these past few months, that you take my breath away.’ He smiled, the lovely lazy smile she’d come to love.

‘Flatterer! It’s not been easy, but I’m pleased. I’m in a good space now.’ She meant it. Her job at the museum was rewarding, and she was happy with the progress on the book. But the best thing in her life was the man by her side. No question. They’d become closer over the weeks, and she spent most weekends at his flat if they weren’t in Suffolk. Michael had first taken her there in early July, and it was a complete contrast to her initial visit with John. The Renoir had been sold, and everyone was in celebratory mood.

‘Welcome, Fiona. It’s good to see you again,’ said Teresa, vivacious in spite of the wheelchair. Judith smiled, and they all shook hands.

‘I’m glad to be back to help you celebrate. It’s brilliant news.’ She looked around, a mischievous smile on her lips. ‘Have you booked the builders yet?’

Teresa laughed.

‘Yes! The list’s been drawn up, and we can’t wait to get started. Although it will mean much noise and mess and Judith and I will need to move out for a while, more’s the pity. Now, sit down and tell us how things are with you, my dear.’

Michael disappeared while she chatted with them, reappearing a few minutes later to hand her an envelope. On opening it, she found a cheque for £350,000.

‘Oh! Thank you, Mrs Bichard. It’s very generous of you. I’d have been happy just to see you reunited with your painting.’ It was true, it had been a pleasure to help the family, and through the painting, she had met Michael.

‘We owe you so much more than money, my dear. As you probably noticed,’ she pointed to the wall, where a painting glowed with vivid colour, ‘we have had a fine art print made, and Michael promises to pass it down to his children one day. Not quite the same as having the original, but we don’t have to worry about insuring it,’ she smiled.

‘Hey! You’ve wandered off somewhere again.’ Michael tapped her arm playfully.

‘Sorry, I was thinking about Suffolk and your family. The building work must be finishing soon, and I can’t wait to see the transformation.’

‘Nor I. In the meantime, it looks as if you’ll be busy furnishing this place so you can move in. Excited?’ He held her tight.

‘You bet. It’ll be great to have my own space again after staying in other people’s homes for weeks. I was beginning to feel like a displaced person,’ she said, half seriously.

Michael frowned.

‘I hadn’t thought of it like that, but you’re right. You’ll be able to come here every month now. Lucky you,’ he said, his eyes on the view.

‘You can come, too. If you can take time out from your work, it would do you good to chill. Time off to plan your sculptures.’

He looked thoughtful, and she wondered if she’d presumed too much. Their relationship was still young, and they didn’t live together, so perhaps…

‘I’ve been thinking; it seems silly you staying at Charlotte’s when I’ve got my flat. And Grandmama has given me a share of the sale proceeds, and I want to buy something bigger, perhaps a house with a studio in the garden.’ He cleared his throat. ‘What I’m trying to say is, would you like to move in with me, my darling? If it works out, we could, you know, one day consider a permanent arrangement.’ His smile was tentative, and her stomach flip-flopped. Not quite a proposal, far too soon, but a first step.

‘Yes, of course, I’d like to. Will next week be too soon?’

THE END