The Men in her Life

care what you were thinking. They only wanted to tell you about themselves. If you could think of a few questions to ask then you need not say anything at all. You could sit back as they talked and imagine the caffeine from the coffee you were drinking coursing through your veins, or consider how red the hibiscus lilies were.
    ‘I think you were very sensible to get away from all of that,’ Serena said, suddenly intimate when John excused himself to find the toilet.
    Philippa’s thoughts snapped back, alarmed by the change of tone.
    ‘We had been planning to come away before...’ she said neutrally.
    ‘Must have been such a shock,’ Serena said.
    ‘It was,’ Philippa replied.
    ‘We hated all the gossip...’
    ‘Gossip?’ Philippa asked, knowing that she should not ask, but unable not to know something other people knew about her.
    ‘Oh, not that anyone who knew him cared, or anything,’ sensing Philippa’s ignorance, Serena tried to back off, ‘not that it’s anything special these days, is it?’
    John returned to the table.
    ‘John, what’s been going on while I’ve been away?’ Philippa asked, turning away from his wife.
    ‘When did you leave?’
    ‘Two days after the funeral.’
    ‘Bit of gossip about Jack’s other daughter,’ he told her straight, ‘it just got everyone talking, you know how it is...’
    ‘And what did they say?’
    ‘Nothing really...’
    ‘I see.’
    After the brief loss of composure, behaviour learned over many years negotiating took over. You did not let people like Serena Bean know how you felt about anything that mattered. She did not mind that John had sensed her distress and was clearly annoyed with his wife for raising the subject. Part of her would have liked to have talked to him, to find out the parameters of the gossip, and whether he had known about Jack’s infidelity, and when, but she knew that she would not find it in herself to ask, not in front of Serena, and he would be relieved not to have to reply.
    ‘We’d better be getting off,’ John said, looking at his watch.
    ‘Oh must you?’ Philippa replied with formulaic politeness.
    ‘We could have lunch...’ Serena interjected, misunderstanding.
    ‘No, we’ll have lunch at the coast,’ John said, standing up, ‘it’s about an hour’s drive and then we’ll follow it all the way round to the east... can I...?’ He picked up the bill and began to feel for his wallet.
    ‘No, of course not. On me,’ said Philippa, thinking how wonderfully useful good manners could be when things threatened to get uncomfortably personal.
    ‘Well, if you’re sure...’
    ‘Quite sure. Lovely surprise seeing you,’ she added, waving as they hurried away through the marble and tile lobby of the hotel, the smile dropping from her face as they disappeared from view and she returned to her steady contemplation of the hibiscus.
    Who was Jack’s daughter and how old was she? How many people knew about her? Her mind veered wildly from promising herself that she would never return to England to humiliate herself by asking these questions, to demanding to return straight away.

Chapter 25

    Ella and Matt went to a concert at Wembley on their last night and the flat felt curiously empty without them. Holly decided to do herself a favour and go to bed really early, but it was warm and noisy outside and she could not sleep. She felt vaguely unsettled, as if something was about to happen but she couldn’t remember what. The flat directly underneath hers had been empty for months, but someone had obviously moved in because she could hear a sound like distant sawing. Perhaps they were putting up shelves. It was an odd time to be doing DIY but Holly had been brought up in a tower block and she wasn’t the sort of person who complained to the neighbours. Eventually she got up and pulled on shorts and a T-shirt and went to knock at Simon’s door. When he finally answered he too was wearing shorts and a T-shirt and looking a little dishevelled.
    ‘I was in bed,’ he told her, ‘what’s wrong?’
    ‘I’m bored. Do you want to go for a drink?’
    There was something peculiar about the way he had his head around the door. Almost as if he didn’t want her to come in.
    ‘Actually, I was in bed,’ he repeated.
    ‘You’re bonking!’ Holly exclaimed, then whispered, ‘sorry...’ and tiptoed away with exaggerated discretion.
    Back in her own flat, her embarrassment very rapidly turned to annoyance. It was very