Charlotte's Way (Irish Romantic Fiction)

By Catherine Daly

Adopted as children, sisters Charlotte and Emily couldn’t be more different. They both crave security but each looks for it in her own way.
Charlotte marries young, has three children and believes that with Donal she can face anything. Emily goes it alone. To her, security means money and money means hard work. She treats men as playthings and expects men to play by her rules.
Together with friends Suzy, Tara and Anne Marie, the girls discover that love, longing and friendship are not as straightforward as they all imagined. Just when you get comfortable, life has a habit of surprising you.

"Excellent, really, really magnificent. Catherine Daly has definitely delivered a great book once again." (Woman's Way)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Catherine Daly
• Release date: Jan 20, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466109308

Catherine Daly

Although I qualified and worked as a pharmacist, I started writing during a career break after my second child was born. My first book, "All Shook Up" was published in 2004 by Poolbeg Press, and "Charlotte's Way" and "A French Affair" followed in 2005 and 2006. I have only just got around to converting them to e-books for readers who didn't get a chance to read them when they were in print.

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Charlotte's Way- Catherine Daly

Charlotte's Way

by

Catherine Daly

Published by Catherine Daly

Copyright 2005 Catherine Daly

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Praise for Charlotte's Way

Her characters are believable and her storyline is just gripping enough without being over the top.

Watch out for Daly, she could very well be the next Maeve Binchy. (Bibliofemme)

...a heartwarming family tale about discovery, love, longing and friendship...(In Dublin Magazine)

Excellent, really, really magnificent. Catherine Daly has definitely delivered a great book once again.  (Woman's Way)

Praise for 'All Shook Up'(2004)

Daly is a good storyteller (Irish Independent)

Catherine Daly has a gift for capturing ‘real-life’ dialogue…one of the most enjoyable books I have read in ages, I really could not put it down. (Woman’s Way)

…explores with great maturity the crisis facing many young couples trying to juggle kids and a career. (Evening Herald)

An intelligent read for the modern working mum. (Sunday World)

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events or localities, is entirely coincidental.

Catherine Daly qualified and worked as a pharmacist. She started writing after the birth of her second child. She has had three novels published by Poolbeg Press: in Ireland:

All Shook Up (2004)

Charlotte's Way (2005)

A French Affair (2006)

She is the founder member of www.writeon-irishgirls.com and has her own website at www.catherinedaly.com.

She served as a comittee member of Irish PEN for five years (chairman 2007 to 2009) and lives in Dublin with her husband and two children and a dog.

Prologue

1970

Sheila stepped into the middle of the convent parlour and looked around. The room was small and cold and even the smell of liberally applied furniture polish failed to banish the damp and musty unused odour. Instinctively, her eyes followed a beam of sunlight from a window high up in the wall to where it fell onto a wooden bench behind the door. Although she hadn’t been aware she was holding her breath, she let it escape when she saw the two girls. They were her daughters. Hers as truly as if she had given birth to them. She turned to her husband, daring him to stand in her way. She issued her challenge in grim silence even as she tried to stop her face from breaking into a joyous grin.

But Robert seemed resigned now. He glanced briefly at the children, then turned to the nun waiting by the door.

Mr Riordan? the nun seemed uncertain what he wanted of her.

The formalities, he muttered. Best get them over and done with. We’ve a boat to catch. He took a well-used fountain-pen from his inside pocket and led the way out the door.

Sheila relaxed. She got to her knees in front of the girls, then sat back on her heels. It was a tiled floor and the cold seeped through her woollen tights, but as the only other place to sit was on another bench on the far side of the room, she stayed where she was. She smiled gently and resisted the urge to throw her arms about these two helpless mites, promising never to let them go. Because these two children already knew how easily promises could be broken. A moment of inattention, a busy main road, and all the certainty in their short lives swept away under the wheels of a London bus.

You must be Charlotte, she said to the older of the two girls, a pretty redheaded child, no more than three or four years old who clasped her sister’s hand protectively, and scowled at the world.

And you must be Emily, Sheila said, turning to the toddler. A slight, blonde child, fighting sleep, whose free hand was clenched into a tight fist by her side. Her thumb was imprisoned within the tiny hand, as if freed it would fly of its own volition into her mouth and she had been warned once too often that this was not allowed.

Then she addressed them both:

My name is Sheila. Would you like to come to Ireland and see where I live?

1986

I, Charlotte Riordan, take you …

Even as she repeated the words Charlotte realised, in a moment of sheer panic, that she had no idea what to say next. That she had no idea what she was doing here. The heavy door at the end of the aisle yielded briefly to the wind; it creaked, then slammed shut again, sending a blast of icy air around the congregation gathered in the Trinity College chapel. The baby inside her wriggled, reminding her impatiently to get on with things, and Charlotte remembered. She was getting married. Soon she and her child would take on a new name and abandon the name Riordan. A name Charlotte had never felt comfortable with because she never felt she really owned it. Like a handed-down school uniform which had served its purpose but had never quite fit.

She smiled happily at the man standing beside her, and continued:

…take you Donal Moran to be my lawfully wedded husband… She clutched his hand tighter and he gave her a gentle, reassuring squeeze in return.

Emily sat on a small stool to the left of her sister, but none of the words registered. The ceremony was a distant background hum. She had only discovered that morning that Charlotte was pregnant, while she was helping her sister get ready.

As Charlotte had raised her hands over her head to remove her loose sweatshirt, the slight swelling of her otherwise slender waist was unmistakable. Emily stared in amazement and wondered why she hadn’t guessed sooner. Although Charlotte and Donal’s whirlwind romance had surprised no one, Emily hadn’t understood why steady, clear-headed Donal had been so adamant that they didn’t want to wait before getting married, not even a few months for a spring wedding.

You’re not getting married just because…? Emily blurted out before she had time to think. Nothing in her life had prepared her for this conversation.

Of course not. Charlotte looked away.

You don’t have to get married just because you’re pregnant, Emily babbled. Not in this day and age. Immediately she wished she could unsay what she had just said – it was hard to imagine a worse thing to say on the morning of your sister’s wedding.

Charlotte’s sunny mood retreated.

What’s this day and age got to do with it? Her green eyes glinted coldly. Do you think it would be any easier for a child to grow up without its parents now, than it was in our day?

Emily knew that Charlotte, being the older of the two of them, had always tried to shield her little sister from the reality of being ‘parentless’, adopted by a mismatched couple in a small Irish country town. But she had been unable to prevent Emily hearing whispers about bad blood, and how Sheila and Robert Riordan had been brave to take in two fatherless girls. They both heard, in whispers that grew louder as they got older, that although one could understand how a girl (their mother) could fall once, you would have to be wary of a woman who made the same mistake twice. And of course, while you couldn’t blame the child for the sin of the parent… well, everyone had heard the saying bad blood will out.

You know that’s not what I meant. Emily put her arms around Charlotte briefly to take the sting out of what she had said. I wasn’t suggesting you should go it alone, leave Donal out of the equation but…

Emily wasn’t sure what she meant exactly. She had no doubt Donal would make a good father. Far better than Robert, their adopted father, ever had. Emily’s misgivings were nothing to do with Donal; it was more the whole marriage thing. Marriage was so final, so terminal. A life sentence. Even before she knew what she had learnt today, Emily had been unsure about the marriage but she had not voiced her feelings because she wasn’t sure she understood them. And she was afraid she might just be jealous. Up till now she had always been the most important person in Charlotte’s life.

Now that she knew about the baby, however, Emily couldn’t help feeling the marriage was a trap. A trap that Charlotte was walking into with her eyes wide open in some sort of self-sacrificial trance. But this was a hazy, wordless idea and Emily had no idea how to put her concern to Charlotte.

It’s just… that, well… you haven’t been with Donal very long, and suddenly you’re getting married, and…

You want to know, how can I be certain I love him? Charlotte laughed that anyone could doubt she loved the man she was to marry. And to Emily’s relief it was a warm, bubbly, genuine laugh; she couldn’t help smiling herself in response to it. I’ve loved Donal, Charlotte continued, hugging herself, for a lot longer than any one realises. Longer than I realised myself!

But what about Marcus? Emily felt she had to name Charlotte’s first boyfriend out loud, although no one close to Charlotte had summoned up the courage to use the word ‘rebound’, even out of her hearing. You loved Marcus, didn’t you? And you told me only last Easter that you thought you had a chance of getting back with him.

Well, I was wrong. Charlotte placed her hands on her sister’s shoulders as she spoke, looked her straight in the face. And Marcus was wrong for me, she continued slowly. You all thought that. Learning that he had someone else was the best thing that could have happened to me. It left me free to realise that I loved Donal, and that I always had loved him without realising it. It was like coming home. So don’t worry, Emily – everything’s going to be alright.

Charlotte’s face had an almost childlike joy to it. She hugged her sister, then catching sight of their reflection in the mirror, stopped and smoothed down the front of her dress with concern.

Now Emily wished she’d found the courage to have that conversation in the weeks leading up to the wedding, and not when it was too late for Charlotte to back out. Not that Emily suspected for one moment that she would have. She didn’t doubt Charlotte’s sincerity when she spoke about Donal and their future together, but that didn’t mean she understood it. Personally, Emily didn’t have much time for all this happy families crap. In four months’ time Charlotte would be a mother. A few months before her twentieth birthday. Emily shuddered with distaste; she wouldn’t fall into a trap like that. She would graduate at the top of her law class and then forge a brilliant career for herself.

She could see it now: Emily Riordan, Barrister at Law. Champion of the underdog, expert on human rights. Feared by the major corporations and moral guardian of the state. It was a delicious fantasy.

She pulled her shawl tighter about her shoulders as yet another draught swirled around the altar and she noticed Charlotte’s friend Anne-Marie doing the same. These filmy gold bridesmaids’ dresses had not been designed with November in mind.

Anne-Marie, Charlotte’s other bridesmaid, sat on her right side. The same place as she had taken throughout school, from the very first day that the new girl with the funny accent had joined her nursery class. She too shivered as the cold air swirled around her and she stole a glance at the bride in the hopes she wasn’t feeling uncomfortable. But her friend looked radiant. The simple ivory dress and the fresh flowers she wore in her hair were perfect on her. Charlotte carried a bouquet made up of creamy white lilies wrapped in dark green leaves and tied with sprigs of miniature ivy. It was the perfect foil for her translucent skin, scattered lightly with freckles, and for the dark red hair tumbling freely over her shoulders. She looked, Anne-Marie thought, like a wood nymph from a child’s book of fairytales. Charlotte wore flat shoes because she was only a couple of inches shorter than Donal who was nearly six foot tall. And Donal, with floppy light brown hair, a slightly crooked smile and piercing blue eyes, looked like every mother’s favourite boy next door. They made a handsome couple. Although Donal wasn’t, by any stretch of the imagination, stunning-looking, he was solid, reliable and he looked it. Just the kind of person Charlotte needed. And he adored her; anyone could see that.

Anne-Marie smiled and felt her eyes fill with tears when she saw Donal’s expression as he began to recite his lines with a wobbly voice.

Suzy sat in the congregation and reached into her bag for a tissue. The pews in the old college chapel faced each other, so she lowered her head to prevent guests on the other side of the aisle witnessing her tears. She was a catering student who had lived in the bedsit below Charlotte’s ever since her move to Dublin. The two girls became close friends.

So it was true, Suzy realised, as she watched her friend. Unlike the loose sweaters of the previous few weeks, Charlotte’s dress did nothing to hide her pregnancy. Suzy had suspected of course – there was very little Charlotte was able to keep from her. But she hadn’t known for certain.

And now she wondered if it would have made a difference to have known about the baby sooner. If she could have acted on the knowledge.

But as Suzy listened while Donal was given permission to kiss his bride, she swallowed hard, blinking away unshed tears. No point thinking about it, Suze, she told herself sternly. It’s too late to do anything. It’s probably all for the best anyway.

Donal stood with his bride on the steps of the chapel as they posed for photographs, and he felt his heart would burst with happiness. Until a few minutes ago, he hadn’t really believed it was going to happen, but then Charlotte said I do and Donal pitied every other man on Earth. He grinned at his father who was pointing an oversized camera lens at them.

Donal, Charlotte, the official photographer called out to them, if I could just have you over there, under the campanile…

Donal looked in the direction he was pointing, at the old stone monument, and nodded in agreement. But as he turned back to attract Charlotte’s attention, a movement, spotted out of the corner of his eye, made him look across Front Square. His heart stopped as he saw someone disappear around the corner of the Long Library and he clenched a fist in anger by his side.

It couldn’t be…

No, he told himself, and forced the calm smile back onto his face. There must be thousands of students with leather jackets like that. And that’s all Donal had seen. A black leather jacket, dark hair and a way of walking that reminded him of… No, it could have been anyone.

Besides, even if Marcus had the nerve to turn up today, it was too late now; there was nothing he could do.

Let’s go, Donal said, linking his arms through his wife’s. Let’s go and have those photos taken before you freeze.

Several hours later, Emily, Suzy and Anne Marie sat in the residents’ bar in the hotel where the reception had been held. Tara, a friend of Emily’s who had joined the party for the ‘afters’ reception, was also with them. Most of the other guests had left by now and the girls instinctively huddled together to post-mortem the day. Although none of them said it, they were all thinking how strange it was that Charlotte was missing from their little group. And as far as Anne Marie and Suzy were concerned, Tara, who brought their number back up to four now that the bride had left, was no replacement for Charlotte.

I can’t believe Charlotte didn’t tell me she was pregnant, Emily said in a sulky tone.

I can’t believe it either, Suzy shook her head slowly. I suspected of course, but… she fiddled with a beer mat, balancing it on the top of her glass of coke. Then she placed it firmly to one side as she took a sip. How did your mum take it? she asked Emily. Charlotte being pregnant, I mean.

I don’t really know, I haven’t spoken to her about it. When I talked to Charlotte about it earlier, she said Mum had been great. Emily stared into her glass. But then she’s been so bloody great about everything to do with Charlotte lately, that I don’t suppose that comes as much of a surprise.

Tut, tut, Emily! Do I hear the little green-eyed monster talking? That’s not like you. Anne Marie was surprised. She had only brothers and often envied the easy relationship between the two sisters. She couldn’t imagine jealousy featuring as part of it.

Oh God, no! I don’t mean that. No, she’s been great with both of us but… maybe what I mean was that she was too understanding. If she’d put her foot down three years ago, Emily explained, if she’d refused to let Charlotte leave school at sixteen and come to Dublin just because Marcus was here… Emily ran out of steam.

You knew Charlotte was never going to stay at home as long as Robert was alive, Anne Marie reminded her gently. And if Sheila had put up a fight, Charlotte would have left anyway and wouldn’t have accepted any help. As it was, Sheila helped her get a job, persuaded her to enrol to do those three Leaving Cert subjects at night … and found her a flat as far as geographically possible from Marcus’s!

I suppose so, Emily agreed begrudgingly. She knew Anne Marie suspected her of being jealous of Charlotte’s escape to the city, but she wasn’t. Even if Robert hadn’t died the winter after Charlotte left, Emily would still have stayed at home. Apart from her ambition to go to college keeping her at school, Emily had always managed to get along with her adopted father. Not in any positive way – it was just that she slipped beneath his radar, allowing them both to ignore each other. Whereas Robert seemed to expect Charlotte thwart him at every turn; an expectation she spectacularly lived up to.

I always thought Charlotte would have come home after Robert died, Emily continued. Maybe that’s when Mum should have put her foot down.

Yeah, it might have saved Charlotte from getting into the mess she’s in today, Tara snorted. The others turned on her with shocked faces and she realised what she’d just said. She went red and looked into the depths of her empty glass. She thought of how she’d give anything right now for a double vodka to help her dig herself out of this hole. Oh God! she blurted out. I didn’t mean … I mean …

Stop right there! Suzy held up a restraining hand. No matter how we might feel about today, I think we can draw the line at wishing that Charlotte and Donal had never got together! It’s their wedding day, remember?

The girls fell silent as they tried to banish the sour atmosphere brought on by Tara’s comment. Suzy and Anne Marie exchanged glances, confirming their shared opinion of the younger girl, while Emily tried to avoid looking at her friend altogether.

"So how do you feel about today? Emily asked Suzy in a feeble attempt to change the subject. Charlotte and Donal getting married, disappearing into the sunset … living happily ever after?"

No one had admitted out loud to believing that Charlotte and Donal were anything other than the most romantic tale since Love Story and Emily couldn’t help wondering if Suzy had any misgivings about it.

They’re great together, Suzy answered, a fraction too quickly.

Donal’s perfect for Charlotte. Isn’t he? Anne Marie asked Suzy firmly. She could see that Emily still wasn’t convinced that the marriage was a good idea. Charlotte needs someone solid. Suzy, you never met Sheila’s late husband, but Robert was the most unfatherly figure you could ever come across. I don’t know why he ever agreed to adoption.

So do you think Charlotte was looking for a father figure? Suzy asked after a pause.

In Donal? Possibly, Anne Marie said, shrugging. Suddenly she was uncomfortable discussing Charlotte’s choice of husband. She knew it was only a matter of time before the subject of Marcus was raised … again.

If she was looking for a father figure she couldn’t have hit much further from the bull’s-eye with her first choice! Emily snorted, confirming Anne Marie’s prediction. Marcus is hardly father material!

Suzy opened her mouth to say something, but coughed to hide her change of mind. She didn’t want to add anything to the discussion of Marcus either.

Marcus was nothing but a childish prat! Tara pronounced – delighted with the opportunity to redeem herself.

Are you happy? Charlotte asked.

She and Donal were lying in a four-poster bed in a country hotel in Wicklow. The remains of a fire glowed in the grate and the occasional flame threw shadows onto the canopy over their heads. They had left their guests a couple of hours ago, to drive through the dark to start their short honeymoon. Charlotte admired the shiny gold band glinting on her finger. She had refused to let Donal buy an engagement ring because they needed all their money for the planned move to England in spring, after the baby was born. Donal had been offered a place in an insurance company’s graduate training program, and he planned to specialise in personnel management.

Happy? Donal answered. The word doesn’t exist to describe how I feel now.

He smiled, pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head.

I felt a kick! He sat up suddenly. His arm had been lying lazily across her stomach. I really did, Charlotte! I felt a kick. Donal stretched his large hands over her. There, again! His eyes filled with tears.

Charlotte had been feeling movement for a few weeks – a light fluttering, bubbly feeling – but this was the first time it had been strong enough for Donal to feel.

I think he wants to join in the celebrations! Could this day get any more perfect? Donal was choked up.

He? Charlotte pretended to be indignant. Who said it was a he?

He, she? I can’t call it ‘it’. Not now that …hey, I felt it again! He leaned his head towards her small bump. Hey, baby, he said in a deep voice into Charlotte’s navel, this is your daddy here. I know today’s a special day, so I don’t mind you staying up late. But from now on, no kicking and keeping your mummy awake after eleven o’clock. Do you hear me?

You’re mad, do you know that? Charlotte laughed.

No, I’m not, Donal protested, laughing too, but with his eyes glistening. You read the book. I’ve got to talk to him. It’s so he’ll recognise my voice after he’s born.

"Well, if you’re going to spend the night chatting to her, keep it down. I need to get some sleep." Charlotte yawned and closed her eyes; exhaustion taking hold of her as it seemed to do so often since she got pregnant. Within minutes, she was asleep.

Donal kissed her stomach and uttered a silent prayer for the child who had just made itself known. As he pulled its mother closer and she mumbled in her sleep before curling up under his arm, he thanked the baby for bringing them together for good.

Chapter 1

1993

Another town, another audit. Emily looked around her room with distaste. She could be in any town in Ireland, any hotel in the western world. The narrow twin beds with their pine lockers and pine-effect headboards looked as though they had come from a giant warehouse that kitted out hotels like this by the dozen. Even with her eyes closed, she could guess the layout of the room. The bathroom (five foot by eight, white tiles, chrome rails displaying over-washed but not threadbare towels) had been to her right as she walked in, so the wardrobe, in this case pine-effect to match the beds, was on the left. The low table on which she was supposed to balance her empty suitcase, but which she used to lay out six pairs of immaculately polished high-heeled shoes, was at the end of the bed nearest the window. There was a small desk or maybe dressing-table under the window, with a small cardboard sign on it saying that this was a non-smoking room and that Internet access was available at reception.

Emily took some files from her briefcase to read later. The audit, that she and the rest of the team from Barrett and Lyle Accountancy Ltd were carrying out tomorrow, was of a large meat processing plant and Emily knew from her initial study of the paperwork that it was going to be a tough, long-drawn-out job.

Only another few months of this, she promised herself. Then her contract would run out, and she would be free to start applying for other jobs. She had already been approached by a number of other accounting firms as a result of achieving one of the highest grades in the country in her final exams, but Emily had had enough of accountancy and audit for the moment. She wanted a job with some big company where she could work towards her final goal of financial director of some big corporation. Some mornings she woke up and wondered how she had ended up as an accountant instead of the barrister she had planned to be, but then she remembered that on top of her years in college, training to be a barrister would have entailed several more lean years. Whereas Barrett and Lyle paid well for the privilege of recruiting the top few graduates in each year.

The phone on the bedside locker emitted a high-pitched bleeping, a signal Emily recognised as being a call from another room within the hotel. She came out of the steamed-up bathroom where she was hanging suits to shake out the creases formed despite her careful packing in tissue.

Ready for dinner? Richard Weston, Emily’s manager, asked her as she picked up the receiver. The hotel dining-room is woeful, so I’ve booked a table at an Italian place about a mile away. Are you OK to walk? I need to stretch my legs after the trip down in the car.

Give me half an hour, then I’ll see you downstairs. Emily smiled as she hung up. He was eager. They’d only checked in twenty minutes ago.

She and Richard had arrived a day ahead of the rest of the audit team, as they occasionally did on a big job. It gave them two nights when they didn’t have to worry too much about the prying eyes of the other accountants. She had been transferred to Richard’s team a few months ago, which was convenient, because they had been having an affair for nearly a year.

In the years since Charlotte’s wedding, Emily had avoided any long-term attachment until Richard. And even Richard she regarded as a short-term boyfriend who she just hadn’t tired of yet. As Charlotte and Donal’s first child was soon joined by two others, Emily watched them juggle their lives around their offspring and she couldn’t imagine ever wanting that they had. Or at least she couldn’t imagine wanting it badly enough to give up her own ideal life. As soon as Emily had stepped inside the gates of Trinity to start her law degree, she had attracted hordes of admirers – and although she was too single-minded about her study to get seriously involved with any one individual, she soon discovered that if she chose her partners carefully, she could have a pleasant sex-life with no strings attached. Her one rule was that she would never sleep with any man who thought he was in love with her.

She had only nearly come to grief once when, just before her final exams, she slept with her best friend. Paul was older that the rest of the class, having returned to study four or five years after leaving school. He was on bad terms with his family, and although Emily got the impression that some bridges were mended in the few months before he came to college, family was a subject Paul was not willing to discuss. And this was what drew Paul and Emily together. While she never made a conscious decision not to discuss her family, only a handful of people, including Paul, knew anything about Emily’s adoption, her adopted parents, or even her nephew and nieces in England. So, when after the two of them had been accepted to work for the same company after college, and a night of celebration had ended in Paul’s bed, Paul assumed that they had moved to a new level of intimacy.

Emily still wasn’t sure how she managed it, but she extracted herself from this attachment like every other and kept Paul as a friend. And now, although he seemed to have accepted that she had a different attitude to relationships than he had, she knew he believed her attitude to be flawed. He was always there for her, Emily suspected, so that he could rescue her whenever she inevitably needed rescuing. And while Emily loved Paul in her own way, she didn’t know how to return his devotion. So in some ways she welcomed the distance between them, which her relationship with Richard seemed to have brought about. It would make it harder for her to inadvertently hurt him.

Emily pulled a black cashmere polo-neck over her head, ran a comb through her hair and checked her reflection in the mirror. Not bad, she decided. She looked younger than twenty-five. She was letting her hair grow out of the severe crop she had favoured when she started work. Then she needed to look older, more authoritative. Now the slight curl in her naturally blonde hair gave her a girlish appearance. Her Calvin Klein jeans completed the teenage look. She had bought them for next to nothing in a sale in Paris. There were advantages to struggling to maintain her size six to eight waist. Her only disappointing feature, which caused her to frown for the briefest moment, was her flat, almost boyish chest.

The phone began to bleep again and Emily grinned, but didn’t pick it up. She imagined Richard counting down the seconds to thirty minutes so that he could ring from reception to see if she was on her way. She picked up her coat, took a last look around the room and locked the door behind her.

Richard was slouching in an uncomfortable armchair in the gloomy hotel lobby as she stepped out of the lift. He shook his limbs free of the low chair and stood upright like a puppet being raised by strings. He ambled towards her, but didn’t kiss or touch her; they both knew the rules. He held the door open for her as they went out onto the street and, as he guided her through it, his hand rested gently on her back. It lingered for longer than strictly necessary and she allowed herself a small smile.

In the restaurant, she studied him as he examined the menu. By the light of a candle perched in a straw-bound Chianti bottle, his hair looked as if it was strewn with sandy highlights instead of the grey he was so worried about when Emily met him. She had persuaded him to stop dying it and now his dark brown hair was alive and shiny rather than the dull and uniform bottled shade she remembered. His weathered face bore testimony to his level of fitness. He went running three or four times a week, sailed regularly, although he no longer competed at the highest levels, and went skiing at least once a year.

They discussed