chapter thirty-eight

 

Guernsey 2011

 

By the time Fiona and Michael arrived back at the house, Colette had let herself in with the spare key and finished setting out the food. A young woman, Jess, joined her, who worked in her restaurant and between them would serve as waitresses, leaving Fiona free to concentrate on her guests. Colette hugged her.

‘Lovely service and I think most of us were in tears after your beautiful eulogy. You must be shattered; do you want tea or something stronger? Or I could pour a drop of whisky in a cup of tea?’

‘Think I’ll go for the last one, thanks.’ Fiona smiled, not sure how it would taste but past caring, just wanting to get through this last ordeal. She was soon handed a cup by Colette while Jess served Michael with whisky. Fiona took a sip and gasped. Catching Colette’s grinning face, she guessed there was more than a mere drop of whisky in the tea. But did it matter? Desperate for something to stop her stomach rumbling, she went to check the wonderful array of food in the dining room, Michael at her heels. Spoilt for choice, she settled on a couple of blinis topped with smoked salmon, soured cream and a sprig of dill, followed by a mini pizza.

‘I needed that. Help yourself, Michael, it’s delicious. I might not get much time to eat once everyone arrives.’

The sound of cars pulling in the drive made her swallow the last bite.

‘Here, you’ve some cream on your lip.’ He grabbed a napkin and gently wiped her mouth.

Fiona, feeling self-conscious, nodded her thanks, before walking to the front door. Colette was already in place with a tray of drinks to offer mourners. She gave Fiona a thumbs-up as Jess opened the door and stood back. At least, Fiona told herself, she knew everyone coming, and most were close friends. Fiona greeted everyone as they arrived, encouraging them to take a drink and help themselves to food. It wasn’t long before the house began to fill and some moved outside. The day remained dry, and a watery sun poked through the clouds. She stood for a moment to take a breath of fresh air and noticed John and Inspector Woods huddled together.

‘Thanks again for coming, Inspector. I’m sure you must be a busy man.’

‘It was the least I could do and a very moving service, if I may say so.’ He balanced a cup of tea in one hand while sharing a plate with John.

Looking around to make sure they were not overheard, she said, ‘May I ask if there’s any news? Has Duncan said anything yet?’

He grimaced.

‘Fraid not. That bas…Domaille still refuses to say anything. Even his advocate’s losing patience with him. He’s not doing himself any favours by keeping shtum. But we’re expecting the DNA results back in a day or two, which will push the case forward.’ He gulped his tea.

‘Good.’ She turned to John, with a smile. ‘Looks like your job’s finished. I’m so grateful for everything, John. You went above and beyond your remit.’ She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

He cleared his throat.

‘It was a team effort, and you more than played your part, Fiona. I shall miss working for and with you. I – oh, someone wants to talk to you.’ He nodded to someone behind her, and she turned to see Ken hovering nearby.

‘Fiona, may I have a word?’ Ken, dressed in sombre black, looked uncomfortable.

‘Of course, let’s move over there, where it’s quiet.’ She pointed towards the bottom of the garden, for the moment empty of people.

‘I have to leave soon, but I wanted to express my condolences properly and ask if our arrangement is to continue.’

‘Thank you, and I’m happy for you to run the shop. I…I don’t know what my plans are yet, but I do know I couldn’t come back yet.’

His face cleared.

‘Oh, that is good news. Or rather, I’m sorry you aren’t feeling ready yet, but I am so enjoying the work, and I have quite got my feet under the table, as it were. It’s a pleasure to go in every day, and my wife seems much happier with me no longer under her feet.’ He gave an awkward laugh.

Fiona could understand the wife’s feelings.

‘I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch much lately, but life has been…complicated. How are the sales? And have you notified local collectors about the Naftel and Toplis paintings?’

Ken rubbed his hands.

‘Sales have been extremely good, far better than when I helped out Mr Domaille. And we’re selling to visitors, not just locals. And I’ve already heard from one collector keen to purchase several of the paintings.’

‘That’s good. Look, I want us to have a proper chat when I’m feeling less stressed. Can I give you a ring to arrange a time? Probably sometime next week?’

‘Certainly, I do appreciate this is not the right time for business.’ He shook her hand with some vigour before making his way back to the house. Fiona let out a sigh. Ken was hard work, but his enthusiasm for the business had given her an idea. She was in thoughtful mood as she returned to mingle with her friends. Louisa and Paul were talking to Louisa’s father Malcolm and his wife Gillian, and she joined them. She had spoken only briefly to Malcolm earlier and wanted to catch up properly. A tall bear of a man, he exuded an ease that belied his wealth and business success. Catching sight of her, he threw an arm around her shoulders, squeezing them.

‘How are you doing, my dear? I was just asking Louisa what your plans are, but she didn’t know.’ Three pairs of eyes swivelled towards her.

‘That’s because I don’t have any, yet. And isn’t it true that you shouldn’t make big decisions when you’re grieving?’

‘Absolutely! I can certainly vouch for that,’ Malcolm said, glancing at Louisa who nodded her agreement. ‘What you need is to do nothing for a while, and we all thought it would be a good idea if you spent a week with us at La Folie. On the house, naturally,’ he grinned.

She was taken aback. La Folie was the epitome of luxury, with prices to match.

‘I…I don’t know what to say, Malcolm. You’re very kind…’

‘Nonsense, you know darn well I can afford it, and I won’t take no for an answer. Our friend John’s been telling me what you’ve been going through and we don’t want you cracking up, do we, Gillian?’ He turned to his wife, a semi-retired doctor who oversaw treatment at the centre, and had been involved in Nigel’s therapy.

Gillian winked at her.

‘You may as well say yes, Fiona, my husband tends to get his own way.’

Paul and Louisa both chipped in with a ‘yes, he does!’

‘It seems I’m outnumbered. Thank you, I’d be delighted to come and stay.’

‘Good, that’s fixed. Paul will sort out the details with you later.’ Malcolm patted her arm before excusing himself to talk to another guest. Just then Michael appeared at her side, thrusting a glass of wine in her hand.

‘I noticed you hadn’t had a drink for ages and thought you’d probably need one by now.’

‘Thanks, I do.’ She took a grateful swallow as Louisa told him about Malcolm’s offer.

‘What a great idea. To be honest, I was worried how you’d be on your own, and now I know you’ll be in good hands, I can relax,’ he said, smiling.

She was touched. More and more he showed what a caring man he was. Before she could reply, another guest came up to take their farewell and Fiona spent the next twenty minutes saying goodbye to various people. Only a handful of her closest friends remained, and she found it hard to maintain any meaningful conversations. A wash of tiredness swept over her, and it must have shown on her face as Paul suggested they all leave and let her rest.

‘It’s been hard, I know, but you’ve done marvellously, and now it’s time to look after yourself. There’s a room available from Thursday for a week, and I’ll personally ensure you receive full-on pampering,’ Paul grinned as he gave her a goodbye hug.

Within minutes she was alone with Michael, while Colette and Jess cleared up in the kitchen.

‘Go on up to bed; I’ll supervise here.’ He gave her a gentle push towards the stairs, and she was glad to go. By the time she reached her room, not only was her body telling her how tired it was, but her heart was silently screaming in pain. She wanted oblivion.

 

It was still light when she finally woke and for a moment wondered why she was in bed during the day. As memories rushed in, Fiona curled into a ball, eyes tight shut, wanting to reclaim her deep sleep. But her brain wouldn’t allow it, and she gave in, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching her arms over her head. Glancing at the clock, she was shocked to see it was after seven. Thinking Michael would be wanting dinner, she slipped into jeans and a loose top, pushed her feet into sandals and dragged a brush through her hair. By the time she was on the stairs, the aroma of something cooking had drifted up to meet her. Pushing open the kitchen door, she saw Michael standing at the hob, stirring what she now recognised as a bolognese sauce, next to a pot of simmering pasta.

‘Good sleep? I wasn’t sure whether or not to wake you, so was going to leave you some to heat up later.’ His eyes locked onto hers, but he continued stirring the sauce.

‘I slept well, thanks. Absolutely shattered. That smells amazing, so I’ll happily join you.’ She looked around the kitchen, immaculate apart from the area around him. ‘Colette get off okay?’

‘Yep, those two worked hard before they left. Anything worth keeping’s in the fridge, and she left us a special dessert, apparently one of your favourites from her restaurant. A kind of syllabub, Colette said.’

‘Ah! Du Lait Cailli Êputhé! Yes, it’s gorgeous and full of booze, a local concoction which I’m sure you’ll love. It was very kind of her.’ Fiona chewed her lip as she filled a glass of water. It was humbling to receive so much kindness, even from people she hardly knew. But tragedy seemed to bring out the best in people, as she had found when her parents died. She stood drinking the water, watching but not entirely seeing Michael as he added herbs and wine to the sauce.

‘You okay? You look miles away.’

‘Just thinking.’ She gave him a half smile. Although physically different, in some ways he reminded her of Nigel: caring and intelligent; happy to help in the kitchen; keen on art in all its myriad forms; rising above past loss. She knew they would have got on like a house on fire and wished they’d had the chance to meet. If only…she had to stop herself from going there. That way lay madness. Painful as it was, she had to accept what had happened and get on with her life. And at this moment in time an attractive, intelligent man was making her a delicious dinner, for which she was suitably grateful.

‘May as well eat in here, I think, and I’d love a glass of that wine, please.’

Michael obliged by pouring her a large glass as she set the table, ready for what would be their last supper together in her house. A dispiriting thought, which she brushed away. Enjoy the moment, girl, she told herself.

 

Michael’s flight was late morning, giving them time for a leisurely breakfast, which they shared outside. The sun had returned in a cloudless sky, and Fiona could already sense it would be a hot, beach-ready day. Not that she was in the mood for the beach, or much else if it came to it. Acknowledging it wasn’t an entirely healthy comparison, she saw herself as a wounded animal, hiding away to lick their wounds. And with Michael about to leave, she was free to do just that.

Glancing across at him as they drank their coffee, he looked almost as miserable as she felt. His usual lazy smile had disappeared, and his brows were drawn together in a frown. They had hardly exchanged a word that morning, and Fiona knew it was just as much her fault as his. Over dinner last night, Michael had played the perfect host, even though that should have been her role. His attempts to take her mind off the events of the day by telling her stories of his student days raised only the odd half-hearted smile. Now she wondered if he regretted staying so long and she felt a pang of guilt for not telling him how much of a difference it had made having him there. She cleared her throat.

‘Michael, I know I haven’t said much, and I’m a poor host at the moment, but I’d like to say how much I appreciate all you’ve done over the past ten days. You’ve been a super guest and…and great company. I…I’m not sure I would have coped as well without you.’ She looked down and took a gulp of coffee, hoping the heat rising in her neck didn’t show. As he didn’t immediately respond, she risked a glance at him. The frown had cleared, and he was staring at her.

‘I, oh well, it was nothing. I only did what anyone else would have done under the difficult circumstances. And you’ve been a lovely host. To be honest, I’m sorry to be leaving, and I shall miss both you and this beautiful island of yours. I hope to return one day, in happier times.’ His smile lit up his face, and her stomach flipped.

‘You should; there’s a lot of Guernsey you haven’t explored, as well as the other islands.’ She waved her arm roughly in the direction of Herm and Sark. ‘Once the Renoir’s sold you’d more than be able to afford to stay at one of the premier hotels or even La Folie if you’re looking for serious pampering,’ Fiona said, a smile tugging at her lips.

Michael laughed.

‘Sounds like you’ve had enough of me staying here!’

She tried to say that wasn’t what she meant, but he put his hand up, saying, ‘Only kidding! And you’re right; it might be fun to enjoy some luxury for a while. I’ll be interested in hearing how you fare at Malcolm’s place. I know a lot of wealthy people I would recommend it to if it’s good.’

‘Take my word for it; it’s excellent. Charlotte swears it saved her sanity the couple of times she was a guest.’ Fiona finished her coffee, glad she had opened up and grateful for the change in their mood. She so wanted them to part friends.

Michael stood, saying, ‘I’d better get my stuff, we need to leave soon, I think.’

Fiona nodded and began clearing the table, piling the pots onto a large tray. She’d loaded the dishwasher and tidied the kitchen before Michael arrived in the doorway. Grabbing her bag, she headed outside to the car. The drive to the airport took less than fifteen minutes, and it passed in silence as if neither knew what to say as they approached the inevitable goodbye. Michael stared out of the window, barely glancing in her direction while she concentrated on the road, not particularly busy at this time of day. A leaden weight began to take root in her belly as she turned in at the airport entrance and drove to the terminal. She parked the car and Michael grabbed his bag. They stood awkwardly on the pavement.

‘I can only stop here to drop you off, so…’ she faltered.

‘This is it then. Goodbye, Fiona, we’re staying in touch right?’ She nodded as he dropped his bag before putting his arms around her. ‘Good, I’ll ring you later.’ Moving back, he lifted her chin and planted a lingering kiss on her lips. Before she could say anything, he turned and was gone, swallowed by the revolving door. She stood rooted to the spot, the taste of his lips on hers leaving her shaken. It was only the approach of a security man which goaded her to move. Once in the car, she touched her lips briefly, before starting the engine. The kiss had again stirred something buried deep inside her, and she was afraid of what it meant. And what, if anything, it meant to Michael.