Devlin was in America for Janey’s 21st birthday. He rang her. There’s a lot of interest in your work and we need to capitalize on it.’
‘No Devlin. I’m finished being Mistral, I feel stale.’
‘For God’s sake,’ he argued, his voice sharp and impatient. ‘This fad could end at any time.’
‘No!’
‘After all I’ve done for you?’ He sounded hurt for a couple of seconds then suddenly changed tactics. ‘How’s Saffy’s cold?’
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Please stop trying to manipulate me, Devlin. I refuse to be Mistral any more.’
‘Drifter came to the exhibition.’
She hadn’t expected to be hit below the belt so casually. The color ebbed from her face and she gulped in some air. ‘How ... was he?’
‘He’s been drafted.’
‘Oh no ... not Vietnam! He was so against the war. Hugging the receiver she gazed down at the child he’d fathered. ‘Did he ask after Saffy?’
‘He asked. I told him Saffy was thriving and that you were both fine.’
‘That’s all he said?’
‘What did you expect? It was over between you on the day he left, surely you understood that.’
He could have told her that Drifter had metamorphosed into a clean cut all American boy – and he’d looked as unhappy as hell when he’d found out Janey had moved in with him.
‘Of course I understood. I’m not stupid Devlin.’ She felt as cold and as sluggish as a river of ice. ‘I’m going to Winterbrook for a few days at the end of the week. Perhaps it will give me inspiration.’
Did she need inspiration? People didn’t buy Mistral paintings because they inspired. They bought them because they were fashionable and might realize a profit. She sighed. ‘Perhaps I’ll paint more Mistrals when I get back ... I won’t promise.’
She didn’t have to. She knew she would and so did Devlin. She’d paint under the Mistral signature until every drop of paint Drifter had bought her was gone. Then she’d put him out of her mind for good.
Taking Saffy up in her arms she covered her in kisses. ‘Your daddy is going to war.’
‘Dada ... dada ... dada.’ Saffy giggled and squirmed in her arms. ‘Dada.’
Saffy’s first word! Janey’s grin was tinged with sadness when she said out loud, ‘See what you missed out on Drifter.
Later, Griff dropped in. She hadn’t seen him for weeks and her heart did a tortuous roll when he gave her a ghost of a smile. He looked exhausted as he sank into the comfortable depths of Devlin’s favorite armchair. ‘Happy birthday. I’ve got the whole day off and thought I’d take you and Saffy out to lunch.’
As if time off work was something infinitely precious rather than his right. She wanted to cry – for his tiredness and his thoughtfulness. Dearest Griff.
It was bitterly cold outside, a bleak, depressing day that fused body and spirit into a uniform greyness. Griff looked so comfortable in Devlin’s chair that she invited him to stay for lunch instead.
Saffy climbed into his lap, curling like a puppy against his chest. By the time she’d prepared lunch they were both fast asleep.
There was something irresistible about Griff with a baby sleeping against him. She sketched them while they slept. With his gaunt exhausted face relaxed and his arm circling her plump little body, Griff was an arresting sight.
Saffy’s thumb was in her mouth. Her other hand rested in the hollow of Griff’s throat. Every now and then her eyelids quivered, as if she were dreaming.
When Saffy woke Janey lifted her daughter from Griff’s lap so she wouldn’t disturb him.
‘Dada,’ Saffy said, twisting to look back at him as Janey carried her through to the other room. ‘Dada ... ‘
Griff slept all through the afternoon. She guarded him like a mother with a child, watching the rise and fall of his chest with each breath. He was attractive, she thought with a sudden start of surprise. A combination of olive skin, high cheekbones, dark eyes and raffish curls had endowed him with a slightly Latin American look.
She wondered if he had a girlfriend. She’d never stopped to wonder if he had a private life. The thought nagged uneasily at her. It wasn’t the sort of thing she could ask him since he was the most private person she knew.
But she did ask him ... later, when they ate supper in the shiny blue kitchen – blurting it out like a curious schoolgirl, because the question had lodged in her mind and wouldn’t be discarded.
His eyes lit up with amusement and his laughter was self-mocking. ‘I haven’t got the time and energy for romance, only work and sleep.’ He engaged her eyes for a few, lonesome heartbeats. ‘One day things will be different.’
‘I’m going to the village at the weekend. Can you come with us?’
The answer was a regretful shake of his head. ‘I’m working. Go and stay with dad, he’ll enjoy your company.’
* * * *
Phil’s little cottage on the edge of the wood was a perfect retreat for her few precious days. She had an open invitation to stay at the big house, but thought it might embarrass Pamela if she did.
Saffy took to Phil without reservation, climbing straight on to his lap and giving him a hug.
‘Friendly little tyke,’ he commented. ‘Griff tells me he’s her godfather.’
‘He’s one of them. Devlin, who is my agent and Tim Brown are the other two. They always try to outdo each other. Saffy called him Dad the other day. Luckily he was asleep.’
‘Well, she would, wouldn’t she ... not having one of her own around.’ His eyes came up to hers, steady and unblinking. ‘Jack Bellamy’s back in the village.’
‘I take it you know he’s my father,’ she said straight away.
‘Folks talk. Most of the villagers knew your parentage was in doubt when you moved here.’
‘Except me.’
‘There’s nothing so innocent as child.’ Phil placed a comforting hand over hers. ‘I guessed it was Jack the first time I saw you together. I doubt if anyone else saw the resemblance under the scar. People tend not to look below the surface.
She changed the subject. ‘I must drop in on Brenda tomorrow,’ she said with determined brightness, then chattered inconsequently about nothing in particular until it was time for bed.
Over the next two days she busily visited old haunts and renewed old acquaintances. Her childhood friend, Annie Sutton had married a New Zealand sheep farmer. The Sutton farm had been sold.
She wished Griff were with her. On the surface nothing seemed to have changed, yet everything had changed – like flat water between tides. Griff would have helped her understand it.’
Her visit to Brenda and Charles Wyman wasn’t as embarrassing for Pamela as Janey had feared. Pamela brought in the tea trolly and tears came to Brenda’s eyes when they hugged each other tight.
‘Is this the cake Susie made for Janey’s visit? It looks delicious. Why don’t you fetch another cup and join us, Pamela.’
Pamela made some excuse about counting the linen. ‘Besides, we’re spending the day together at the weekend.’
‘We’re going to take photographs for my next series of Mistral paintings.’
‘You’re making a success of your painting.’
‘I do my best.’
‘Do you remember when you were a child and stayed with us for a while,’
Charles said with a smile.
‘And Lord William invited me for tea then afterwards he took me to the barn to visit his old hunter, Wellington. He was such a nice old man. We used to have battles with his soldiers and he’d allow me to win.’ She laughed and bringing the lead soldier out of her pocket stood it on the table. ‘This belongs to his army if you’ve still got it. It became a talisman. Some on the paint’s rubbed off, I’m afraid.’
Charles picked it up and turned it in his fingers. ‘The soldiers are yours. Lord William bequeathed them to you along with some money. I thought it better to keep it all until you were of age, because they are quite valuable ... and I didn’t want them to ... well, we were not sure if they would survive.’
‘I assure you, they wouldn’t have. Will you keep them safe a little bit longer? One day I’ll buy a house of my own.’ She glanced at her daughter, seated comfortably on Brenda’s lap and being fed on cake. ‘I’d really like Saffy to grow up in the country.’
Charles leaned forward. ‘The Browns old place will be going up for sale soon.’ Of course, most of the land was sold off for the bungalows. Even so there’s a decent bit of garden left, and the house itself had quite a lot of character before it was redecorated.’
Brenda made a face. ‘It’s pink and blue cozy, with tea roses on the walls and frilly crossover curtains. The present owner has no taste ... but then, their ideal of country living fell short after they’d countrified the place to a trendy interior decorator standard that is well past its prime.’
‘Now ... now, my dear.’
‘If I recall Charles, that last observation came from you.’
He grinned ‘I deny that completely. Have you ever been inside it, Janey? If you want to have a quick look round I have the key.’
After tea they trooped up to the solid stone house and inspected it.
‘If the fireplace is opened up in the lounge, the paint stripped from the oak beams and the walls painted a soft cream ...? ‘It’s a nice size and the converted attic would make a perfect studio.’ Janey pulled her mind back into reality and grinned. ‘I couldn’t begin to afford a place like this.’
‘Couldn’t you?’ Charles’s blue eyes were twinkling. ‘You, young lady, are in for a bit of a surprise.’
And she was. There was a substantial amount of money invested in her name – so much in fact that she decided to leave it in Charles Wyman’s hands for the time being. The house wasn’t on the market yet, and when it was, he was much better equipped to handle the purchase for her.
There was a hunger growing in her, a hankering to build a nest for herself and her child. Mistral would furnish the means to supply it.
Despite her earlier misgivings she did find inspiration in Winterbrook. There were goblin faces in bogs, bats with human eyes in the purple dusk, their faces puckered like lost or abandoned children. If Griff had been with her now she wouldn’t allow herself to be swayed. She’d close her eyes and feel the earth turn, and her hand would know the power of the creativity that lay beneath her consciousness and drove her on.
‘Did Griff say anything about what happened to me in London?’ She asked Phil one evening.
‘Griff wouldn’t discuss anything that was confidential between you.’ He placed the kettle on the hob and gave her a comfortable smile. ‘Issues don’t go away if you avoid them, Janey. Jack Bellamy has come out of one prison and gone into another.’
‘What do you mean?’ she whispered, feeling the knot of pain gather in her temple.
‘He’s been in that cottage for six weeks and the shutters are still on the window. He’s living in the dark.’
‘He didn’t do it you know ... he didn’t lay one finger on me. I feel so guilty.’
‘If you know it wasn’t him, then you must know who hurt you.’
Her eyes slid from his. ‘I’ve told you all I can ... I don’t know what to do about it, since nothing can give him back the time he lost from his life.’
‘You do know.’ There was no bending in Phil as he handed her the cup of tea. ‘You know exactly what you must do.’
She reached for the wooden Griffin handing around her neck, but instead her hand closed about the heart Mary and Douglas had given her. So many had been hurt by her father’s actions against her.
* * * *
The next day Janey put Saffy in her pushchair and walked over to Canford Cottage.
She stared at the place. It was depressing with its shuttered eyes. A rusted gutter flaked paint and there was mould on the windowsills. The gate sagged open and a thin wisp of smoke curled from the chimney.
It was the house of a recluse set among a decaying garden. It needed sunshine to warm it and laughter to bring it to life again.
He was inside – her father, frightened to face the daylight. His life was is ruins and it was all her fault. How could she face him?
Her hand trembled as she softly knocked at the door. She waited for the sound of footsteps, her heart pounding. Nothing! She pressed her face against the door, but heard only the pulsing of her heart against her eardrum.
She knocked again, without result. He wasn’t in. Relief defeated her disappointment. Taking a note pad and pen from her bag she wrote him a polite little note saying she’d called, then stuffing it through the letter box she turned and hurried away.
* * * *
Inside, Jack jerked awake. He’d thought he heard a noise. He listened for a moment but heard only the wind sighing a dirge about the house.
Rising from his chair he placed another log on the fire, stirring it into flames with his foot. He managed a twisted smile as he gazed at it. He couldn’t get used to being his own master – couldn’t remember what life had been like before prison. As for the future, he didn’t have the will left to plan one. He’d been robbed of willpower in that awful place. He wasn’t able to function without being told where to go and what to do.
He’d thought freedom would be easy, but it wasn’t. He felt exposed in the daylight so resorted to doing things at night. Mary brought him shopping once a week. Poor Mary, she didn’t know how to handle him. He didn’t know how to
handle himself. He was in a prison of his own making and couldn’t find the key.
* * * *
On his return from America Devlin found Janey hard at work. She was painting with renewed vigor, so he asked the young nanny to return to her, and set about making sure they were fed and comfortable.
There was a change in her ... a remoteness he couldn’t put his finger on. He figured she felt awkward about what had happened between them. He still burned with embarrassment when he thought about it, but that didn’t alter the fact that he wanted her with every breath he took. Damn it! Why had he let it bother him? He should have just taken her.
Like the dirty sod who’d ruined her in the first place? He loved her, so how could he.
Janey seemed tireless, the work she produced brilliant in its concept. She started the next one before the paint had dried on the previous canvas, sometimes working on two at a time.
In the corner of her studio was a separate easel, and on it a painting taking place.
It interested him. Each day it grew, by one careful brush stroke after another. He’d never seen her work like this, so patiently, so mathematical. After she caught him examining it she threw a cloth over it. His frown was rewarded with a steady look.
‘Leave it ... it isn’t for sale.’
* * * *
April came. The rain showers sparkled and the parks glistened with daffodils. The grimy diesel of London began to change. People exchanged smiles, joggers had an extra spring in their step, ducks wagged their tails and trees blossomed.
Janey didn’t notice. She painted non-stop, her concentration absolute. At Book One the beginning of June she had enough canvasses for the exhibition Devlin had planned. There was nothing cheap about this one. He’d invite everyone who was anyone.
She argued with him when he asked her to be at the opening.
‘What for when I have work to do. Besides ... I have nothing to wear.’
‘You need to be seen, and it won’t hurt you to do a bit of networking.’ He bought her a dress of black silk with a drifting, tie-dyed purple scarf that wound about her neck and trailed down her back. There were fingerless lace gloves for her arms. Black fingernails. He called in a hairdresser to style her hair, a breathtaking medieval style ... a make-up artist. More than a touch of purple eye shadow and Khol emphasized her haunting blue eyes.
She laughed when she saw herself in the mirror, a spontaneous girlish giggle that made him grin. ‘Is this how you see Mistral?’
He kissed her cheek. ‘No, but it’s how I’m going to sell her.’
She looked stunning and behaved perfectly. She answered questions about her work and accepted accolades with self-assurance.
Janey rather enjoyed assuming the role of sophisticate for the evening. There was a lot of pretentious talk going on, each guest trying their utmost to out-clever the next. Red dots appeared on her work, as Devlin, ever the salesman, conducted his business. He oozed charm and grace. A naturally effusive and charming man he was now working the crowd – a smile here, a flirting word there, a practiced laugh.
She grinned when she caught his eye and winked at him over her glass.
Then she spotted a black-bearded man in a cloak, and wearing a pair of round old-fashioned spectacles. Holding a long black cigarette holder, he smiled and nodded to himself. Her insides churned with laughter. The ghost of Toulouse Lautrec was nodding in approval, what better endorsement could she have?
Her mouth nearly dropped open when Linda came in. She was with an older woman of exquisite beauty. A momentary hush came over the crowd and then the voices began to babble again.
Who’s that?’ she asked Devlin.
‘Sarah Wyman. She’s a bitch, but she’s loaded. Rumour has it she’s about to marry an earl.’
Sarah Wyman! The woman her fa ... Eddie Renfrew used to work for. Janey stared at her. So this was madam. Linda had certainly worked her way up in the world.
‘I don’t know who the other woman is,’ Devlin said.
‘I do ... she’s my sister. Is there any way I can hide: She doesn’t know I’m Mistral.’
A pained expression flitted over Devlin’s face. ‘You can hide in plain view. It’s about time she learned how talented her sister is.’
Recognition flared in Linda’s eyes when she glanced across the room, and then her face was averted. A snub from her own sister! Her face began to burn. She was not going to let Linda get away with it.
Toulouse Lautrec came to stand next to her. ‘Excellent ... just excellent ... you’re very talented.’
‘Not as talented as you, sir.’ Janey said absently. ‘None of the Mistral paintings will ever rival At the Moulin Rouge.’
‘Quite so,’ he said drily. ‘Am I to take that to mean you’ve read my humble reviews?’
Devlin dug her gently in the ribs and said, sounding highly amused, ‘Wake up Janey. Perhaps I should introduce you two. Mistral, meet Caleb Price. Art critic.’
‘The art critic!’ She was laughing as she turned his way. ‘It’s lovely to meet you ... and yes I have read your reviews. Devlin’s determined to educate me about the art world and made me read them. I wouldn’t quite describe them as humble though. You were vitriolic about Van Flemming’s work.’
Caleb’s grin revealed a row of small, shark-like teeth. ‘I’ll regard that as a compliment. Anyone who paints as badly as him is masquerading as an artist. You, on the other hand, show great promise. Who did you study under?’
I took some night school classes for a couple of years, and when I was child ...’ and she gave Devlin a quick glance. ‘I was taught by my father, John Gregory.’
Devlin gave a quick intake of breath and she slid her hand into his, gently squeezing it in apology. She wondered why her father hadn’t contacted her. Perhaps he couldn’t bring himself to forgive her. This public acknowledgement was one small step to compensate him for all those years in prison.
‘A competent artist in his field with a limited collector appeal, Caleb was saying. ‘I haven’t seen anything fresh of his on the market lately.’
‘He hasn’t been well. He lives quietly in the country now.’ She’d go to him soon – her father. She’d ask his forgiveness, and somehow she’d find a way to make his life whole again.’
She excused herself and drifted to Linda’s side. ‘They pecked the air at either side of the other’s cheek. ‘How’s Justin? You much bring him to see me one day,’ Janey said.
Linda hissed, ‘What are you doing here?’
Beginning to enjoy herself Janey raised her eyebrow. ‘Why on earth shouldn’t I be here?’
Devlin appeared from nowhere to kiss her cheek. ‘Would you come over here, darling? The press wants a photograph of you with Caleb Price.’
When the photo session was over there was a shriek from the door. ‘Daaahling! Dion and Stephen bustled forward, all satin shirts and afro hairstyles. Each hugged her in return.
‘Love your hair, don’t you Stephen?’ Dion said.
‘She looks absolutely fabulous.’ Stephen didn’t bother pausing for breath, ‘Guess who we ran into ... such a surprise.’
‘I wanted to tell her that.’
‘Oh, don’t be such a baby, Dion. It’s Sandy Carter ... she’s got a small part in The Mousetrap.’
‘You must bring Sandy with you tonight. See if she’d got a couple of girlfriends to even things up.’ Devlin took her by the elbow and steered her away.
She grabbed a glass of champagne from a waiter on the way past. ‘What’s going on tonight?’
‘It was going to be a small surprise party for you. Tim’s in town and Griff has managed a night off.’
‘You’re a darling, Devlin.’
‘Yes ... I know.’
They almost collided with Sarah Wyman. Linda was one step behind.
Devlin pulled on his sincere face. ‘Have you met Mistral, Sarah?’
‘I doubt it.’ A pair of eyes checked her out, like wasps at an apple core. Without turning she said to Linda, ‘Go and fetch me a glass of champagne, Linda, there’s a dear.’
Giving the simpering smile she’d perfected as a child, Linda hurried off to do as she’d been bid.’
‘I understand that you’re Linda’s sister.’
Linda had obviously decided that association by fame was perfectly acceptable. ‘We share a mother.’
Sarah’s eyes narrowed. ‘I wondered at the lack of similarity.’
In case she chose to think differently she made it absolutely clear. ‘Linda and I are nothing alike.’
Sarah nodded. ‘I might buy one of your paintings. Which would you recommend?’
‘Thorns.’
‘Go and buy me Thorns’ she said when Linda came back with her champagne.
Sarah Wyman was flaunting her power over Linda, deliberately humiliating her. Although there was no love lost between them as sisters, Janey didn’t like it,
She took Linda by the hand and turned to Devlin. ‘Would you attend to Mrs. Wymark personally please, I’d like to talk to my sister.’
‘Use my office if you like, but don’t be too long because there is still some people I’d like you to meet.’
‘Why do you allow that woman to treat you like a servant?’
Linda shrugged. ‘Martin has set up an office in London. She’s helping us meet the right people.’ She stared at the painting on the wall. ‘I had no idea you were Mistral.’
‘You never bothered to ask how I support myself, before.’ Her head slanted to one side as she gazed at her sister. ‘You look well. Is Justin in London with you, and your husband ... I’d really like to meet them both.’
‘Justin’s in Bournemouth; he has a nanny.’
‘Do you have a photograph with you?’
Linda took a photo of a pale looking infant from her purse. ‘Keep it.’
There was a helpless, forlorn look to Justin that stirred the pot of pity in Janey. ‘He looks so sweet.’
‘He’s a brat,’ Linda said.
And Linda was a cold-hearted bitch. ‘Has your father improved at all?’
‘He can move his hand a bit and mumble a few words.’ Her face adopted a martyred expression. ‘I still can’t believe Pamela walked out and left him as soon as he became ill.’
‘It was because she could. Why don’t you look after Justin yourself; it would save paying a nanny.’
Linda shuddered. ‘With my weak stomach. The last time I picked him up he vomited on me. Besides, he cries all the time and I can’t stand it. ‘She stood, saying casually, ‘I really must get back to Sarah. She wants me to help her dress for a dinner party.’
‘Has she lost the use of her arms or is she practicing to be a countess?’
‘You just don’t understand.’
‘Yes, I do.’ She bit back the urge to tell Linda to just be herself when she realized her sister was being herself. They had very little in common. ‘If you ever need me ...’
‘I can’t imagine why I should.’ Linda’s eyes speculated on her for a moment, and then she managed a smile that was notable for its insincerity. ‘Thanks anyway.’
* * * *
An hour later and the gallery closed to the public. Devlin was jubilant. ‘A sell out, and a photograph to go in the paper with Caleb Price’s review! You’ve made it, babe.’
Janey kicked off her shoes, subsided into a chair and rubbed her toes against the back of her ankles. ‘How much am I worth Devlin?’
A frown replaced his smile. ‘I haven’t calculated what today’s little lot will bring in.’
‘Totally, I mean.’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Why have I needed to ask?’
‘You’re right.’ He took her hands in hers and drew her upright, kissing her lightly on the nose. ‘I’ll have a detailed statement drawn up for you as soon as I’ve got some spare time. Let’s go.’
‘Yes let’s, I want to climb out of this shroud before the party.’
* * * *
Devlin had prepared trays of finger food for the party, and plenty of them.
Griff and Tim arrived at the same time and they both dashed up to see Saffy before she was put to bed.
‘I thought you came to see me,’ she grumbled when they came down.
Tim swept her up in his arms and kissed her.
Sandy poked her in the ribs. ‘Introduce me to the sailor.’
‘Introduce yourself.’ Janey abandoned Tim and surrendered to Griff’s hug. His smell carried the faint tang of hospital disinfectant with it. ‘You look better than you did the last time I saw you?’ she said.
‘I’ll try and stay awake this time.’ He gently nipped her earlobe, surprising her.
It was a lovely party. Devlin was a perfect host, their guests were well behaved though everyone got tipsy enough to lose a few inhibitions. One by one they fell asleep where they dropped.
Devlin’s gaze roamed over them. Tim was on the couch, his arms circling Sandy and Blaise, who snuggled against his chest. ‘Typical bloody sailor,’ he muttered.
Dion and Stephen were stretched out on the floor. He took a smouldering joint from between Stephen’s fingers and stubbed it out before he burst into flames.’
His gaze moved on. ‘Griff was in the armchair. Janey leaned precariously against his knees, her hair a fall of silvery gold. His glance lit on Griff. There seemed to be a bond between the pair, almost like brother and sister.
‘Bed for you, princess.’ He picked her up and carried her upstairs. She didn’t stir when he pulled the covers over her and pressed a kiss against her forehead. ‘Don’t think I’m going to let you go without a fight. I’m going to make myself so indispensable that you won’t be able to live without me.
She turned on her side, drew her knees up and whispered sleepily. ‘Goodnight Griff.’
* * * *
When Mary finished reading the article she cut it from the paper. ‘I’m going to show this to Jack the next time I visit.’
‘He told you not to interfere.’
‘It’s not interfering if it’s in the paper; it’s public knowledge. She told the whole world that he’s her father.’
Douglas sighed as he took her hands in his. ‘This is a private matter between them. You can’t push your way into people’s lives like this. I forbid you to mention this to Jack. In fact – I would rather you not go down there for a while.’
‘If I didn’t he wouldn’t eat.’
‘Then let him starve. Jack’s a grown man. If you stopped babysitting him he’d have to fend for himself.’
‘I never thought you’d turn against him.’
‘Oh ... for God’s sake!’ Throwing the paper aside Douglas rose to his feet. ‘Not one day has gone past over the last few years when I haven’t been force fed your brother’s troubles. I’m old. I want to enjoy the time I’ve got left.’ He slammed the door as he left.
Tears filled Mary’s eyes as she watched him walk across the garden. He was right. She should leave Jack to fend for himself. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have transport. His car was in working order, Douglas had seen to that.
Later, she took a cup of tea and biscuits to the shed. ‘You’re right ... I’m sorry.’
Douglas took her hand and held it against his cheek. ‘It will work out for the best. Love. Just you wait and see.’
* * * *
When Mary didn’t come with his shopping Jack thought she might be sick. He left it for a couple of days, living off baked beans, stale bread and fruit from the garden.
When she didn’t come the following week he began to worry, and wished he’d had the telephone connected. He supposed it was time to do something about it, though the village shop was now closed, a victim of the supermarkets that were beginning to sprout up everywhere.
A couple of days later his larder was empty, and he was hungry. Heart leaping in panic he made his way to the front door, where Douglas had left the car keys on the hook. He didn’t even know if he could still drive.
His fingers trembled so much that he dropped the keys. They slid across the tiles and under the hallstand. Kneeling, he scrabbled about in the dust. A folded piece of paper came out with the keys.
He unfolded the note, smoothing it out on his knee.
Dear Mr. Bellamy.... Father.
It was from Janey. Jack squeezed his eyes shut for a moment or two.
I’m sorry I missed you. If you’d care to write or telephone me I’d be happy to hear from you. PS. You have a granddaughter called Saffron (Saffy for short).
The note was date-marked six months previously.
All that time wasted. He burst into tears. He’d been stupid hiding indoors and wallowing in self-pity. From now on he must learn to cope with life outside and become a father Janey could be proud of.
After a while his tears stopped and he began to smile. He rose to his feet and threw open the door to the cottage. The air smelled clean and fresh as it poured into his lungs. He’d forgotten how cleansing light was. Eyes narrowed against its glare he took his first stumbling steps outside in months – out of the darkness and into the light.