Never Say Goodbye (19 page)

She’d worked it all out on the bus coming back down the hill. The fact that she had cancer wasn’t anyone else’s business, and even if she told them they’d only end up feeling embarrassed, or start telling her about someone they knew who’d had it, or getting themselves in a pickle not knowing what to say, or how to treat her from now on. So best all round that she kept it to herself and if it turned out she had to let on at some point, well she’d deal with that when, if, the time came. And it might not, at least not for a while, because if she could persuade them to let her have chemo on Mondays, she could be sick on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, work for Fliss on Thursdays and Fridays and still go to see Ryan on Saturdays.

The only problem with that was not working for three days out of five, and given how tight everything was already . . . One answer was to try and claim benefits, but until she looked into it further she had no idea if she was entitled to any. She’d go on the computer as soon as she got home, see what she could find out – that was provided Jeff wasn’t around, because he’d do his nut if he thought she was aiming to live off the state rather than get herself a job, even if she did have a good reason. She wasn’t going to tell him about the cancer. Why give him the worry when he was having a difficult enough time of it already, what with his car, his lack of fares, not being able to pay for Lily’s wedding, not to mention the strain of his son being in prison.

No, this was her problem to deal with, which meant it was her responsibility to make as little fuss as possible while she got it sorted, and with any luck, by the time it was all over no one, except her and Jeff, would even notice that she only had one boob.

Dear Miss Monkton,

I hope this letter finds you well.

Your recent payment has been received, for which I thank you.

There is nothing to report at this time.

Yours sincerely

There was no name at the bottom of the page, but there was no need of one since Bel knew very well who it was from.

Throwing it into the fire she watched it curl and burn, only wishing she could do the same with her memories.

Returning to her desk she picked up her mobile as it rang, and seeing it was Harry Beck she felt a ray of light breaking through the gloom.

‘Hi, am I interrupting anything?’ he asked.

‘No, not at all,’ she assured him. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘Actually, I’m after a favour, and I’ve been trying to think of a way to broach it . . .’

Curious, she said, ‘Maybe just asking would help?’

‘Yes, that would definitely be one way of doing it,’ he responded drily. ‘But I’m wondering if you might be free for an hour. I should be leaving the hospital around four. I could either come there, or we could meet somewhere in town if you’d prefer.’

Since she was waiting for a delivery, she said, ‘I’m happy for you to come here. Do you remember where I live?’

‘West Bay Road. Remind me of the number.’

‘Two three six. The house is called Stillwater. Before you ring off, are you going to give me a clue what it’s about?’

He hesitated. ‘I think I’ll leave it till I get there.’

Clicking off the line she sat staring at the screen for a moment, trying to puzzle out what it could be. Though a few random suspicions were happy to flaunt their temptations, she had no idea if any of them were true, so attempting to dismiss them she set about straightening the place up.

After putting another log on the fire to add more cheer to the room, she hurried upstairs to change from her running gear into a decent pair of jeans and soft wool sweater. Inspecting her reflection in the mirror, she decided on a quick coat of mascara and blusher. Not too much, or it would look obvious, just enough to liven up her complexion and brighten her eyes.

What was it about that man, she smiled wryly to herself as she started back down the stairs, that made women want to present themselves to him in the best possible light, when not only was he unavailable, but most of them were too? Of course, the fact that he was so drop-dead had to play a part in it, but for her, she guessed the main reason was pride. She wouldn’t want him, or indeed any man, coming into her home to find it in a mess and her in scruffy old trackies and a sweatband. That dubious privilege belonged solely to Nick, who’d caught her in some pretty awful states during the time she’d known him, particularly over this past year. There again, she’d managed to catch him at plenty of low points too, and it had never made a difference to their relationship.

Fortunately, when she’d gone over to Senway the day after her and Kristina’s night out, no mention had been made of the awkward conversation of the night before. In many ways it might never have happened, though Bel hadn’t forgotten it, and she didn’t imagine that Kristina had either. She’d half expected Nick to bring it up when he’d walked her out to the car at the end of the day, but he’d either had too much to drink to remember, or he simply hadn’t wanted to go there.

That had been almost ten days ago, and though she’d seen, or spoken to him several times since, and hadn’t failed to notice how much more he was drinking these days, there had still been no mention of how close she was to the children, or what her feelings might be for him. So maybe Kristina had been testing her, trying to find out just how serious a rival she might be. If that was the case Kristina must be feeling a lot more insecure than she was letting on, which actually Bel didn’t blame her for. In Kristina’s shoes she probably wouldn’t want the ex-sister-in-law playing such a big part in her life either.

Hearing the bell chime in the hall she checked the video-phone, saw Harry standing next to a black BMW and pressed the button to let him in. He’d only been here once before, during Talia’s final days, not as her doctor, surgeons didn’t make house calls, but as someone who’d got to know the family and wanted to show them that in spite of there being no more he could do, he still cared. Though he’d attended the funeral too, albeit briefly, Bel had little recollection of that day now; she wasn’t even sure if she’d ever thanked him for coming.

Watching him mounting the front steps she felt ludicrously pleased to see him, and couldn’t help matching his grin that was as infectious as the merriment in his eyes.

‘I’d forgotten,’ he declared, as she led the way into the living room, ‘just how amazing this place is with that view.’ He walked to the window, taking in the sluggish estuary and purpling sky where a small blade of sunlight was streaking through a distant cloud, lending an Excalibur sort of dash to the horizon.

‘Would you like a drink of some kind?’ she offered, as he turned back to her. ‘Tea, coffee, beer, wine?’

‘I’d love a beer,’ he confessed. ‘It’s been one of those days, I’m afraid, trying to deal with the Trust, getting more funding, fighting over issues that shouldn’t even be issues . . .’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘Don’t get me started. Cheers,’ he smiled as she handed him a chilled bottle of Peroni.

‘Cheers,’ she echoed, raising her own bottle before taking a mouthful. As she watched him drink she wondered if he’d operated this morning; he always used to on Thursdays, but maybe the schedule had changed since Talia was his patient. ‘So, I’m madly intrigued,’ she told him, gesturing for him to sit down at the table. ‘What sort of favour do you have in mind?’

He was about to answer when his mobile rang. Checking who it was, he said, ‘Sorry, I’d better take this. Won’t be long.’

As he listened he took a sip of beer and glanced briefly at Bel.

‘No, I’m not still at the hospital,’ he declared. ‘I left about twenty minutes ago.’ His eyebrows shot up. ‘What does it matter where I am now? No, I don’t have any reason . . . Carla, will you hold up a minute?’ His eyes closed as he continued to listen. ‘You’re kidding me,’ he said in the end. ‘What time?’ He checked his watch. ‘Why the heck didn’t you give me more notice? OK, OK, I’ll do it. I have to go now. See you later.’ Ringing off, he took a deep breath and shook his head in clear exasperation. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘It was my wife. Apparently I have to go and collect Neel from his football training, which means I should be leaving here in the next two minutes.’

Feeling disappointed that he couldn’t stay longer, she said, ‘I guess that’s what happens when you have kids.’

‘Tell me about it. Anyway, what I want to ask you . . . I’m probably taking liberties here, in fact I know I am, but your father’s Edwin Monkton, right? The artist?’

Bel stiffened and tried to hold on to her smile. How did he know that?

‘Well, I was wondering if you might be able to help me with tickets for his show next month,’ he said. ‘I’ve been reading about it, so I know tickets are only being made available to a select number of guests, but I’m totally mad about his work . . . Obviously I’ve tried getting some myself, but by the time I rang up they were all sold out.’ He regarded her doubtfully. ‘This is a real cheek, isn’t it? You must be getting these requests all the time . . .’

‘No, really I don’t,’ she assured him, thanking God that he’d have no way of knowing why, ‘and if there was anything I could do, I promise I would, but I’m afraid my father and I have nothing to do with one another.’

‘Oh God,’ he groaned, putting a hand to his head, ‘please forget I said anything. I was completely unaware of that . . .’

‘Of course you were, and it doesn’t matter. It’s just that I’d rather not be in touch with him, so if . . .’

‘It’s OK, I understand. I’m sorry for bringing it up.’

‘Please don’t be. I’m glad you felt able to.’ She’d reacted too quickly; she shouldn’t just dismiss him as though there really was nothing she could do, when all it needed was a call to the organiser. She wouldn’t even have to speak to her father. ‘Which gallery is it?’ she asked. ‘If I can get hold of the owner I’m sure he or she will be able to work something out, once I tell them who I am.’

‘No, please, I’m feeling bad enough . . .’

‘Harry,’ she laughed, ‘let me do it. I’d have offered right away, but I’m afraid it threw me a little . . . When is the show on, and when would you like to go?’

After giving her the dates and the venue, he said, ‘If you change your mind and decide you don’t want . . .’

‘It won’t be a problem,’ she assured him. ‘How many tickets should I ask for?’

‘Two?’ He regarded her sheepishly. ‘I guess there’s no point asking if you might be free to come with me?’

Startled, she wasn’t sure what to say.

‘No, of course not,’ he answered for her. He glanced at his watch. ‘I really should be going. Sorry to have landed this on you. If I’d had any idea . . .’

‘Please put it out of your mind. It’s the least I can do after Kristina and I had such a lovely evening at the White Hart.’

He laughed. ‘Hardly in the same league, but I’m glad you enjoyed it.’

‘If you’re playing again, let us know,’ she insisted as she walked him to the door. ‘We’re happy to pay for our tickets next time.’

‘Speaking of which,’ he responded hastily, ‘please don’t think I’m asking for freebies to your father’s show. I’m more than happy to pay . . .’

‘Let’s deal with that when we know if I can get them. I have your number, so I’ll give you a call when I have some news.’

As they reached the front door he turned to her, and she felt disturbed by how close they suddenly were.

‘Out of interest,’ she said, taking a careful step back, ‘was it Natalia who told you Edwin Monkton was our father?’

He frowned as he thought. ‘Actually, I think it was Nick who mentioned it. I can’t remember how it came up, but I should have realised there was a problem or presumably your father would have been around more.’

‘I’m sure he would have been if we’d allowed it,’ Bel admitted.

His eyes were intently on hers, seeming to probe the thoughts behind them, though she knew he’d never ask. ‘It was good to see you,’ he said softly.

‘You too,’ she replied.

‘I’ll wait to hear from you,’ and opening the door he ran down the steps to his car.

After the gates had closed behind him Bel returned to her computer to look up the gallery, still thrown by his invitation to go with him. Since he had no way of knowing that she’d rather pluck out her own eyes than look at her father’s art, she could allow herself to feel flattered, even pleased, unless, of course, he’d meant it as some sort of date . . . That was never going to happen, no matter how attracted she might be to him, and not only because he had a wife.

Having found the gallery’s details, she phoned and asked to be put through to Veronika Boykov, the owner. The name sounded Russian. Was that who her father was mixing with these days, the Russians with their endless millions in need of laundering? Another good reason not to be in touch with him, as if she needed one.

‘I’m afraid Ms Boykov isn’t available at this time,’ she was told by a snooty-sounding female. ‘Can I take a message?’

Not wanting to risk her father calling back, Bel asked, ‘When would be the best time to get hold of her?’

‘She’s usually here on Mondays, but if you can tell me what it’s about . . .’

‘I’ll call next Monday, thank you,’ and she abruptly rang off.

Moments later her phone rang, and seeing it was Nick she clicked on right away. ‘Hi, just the person,’ she told him, ‘but aren’t you supposed to be lecturing today?’

‘I am, and I was. Now I’m on my way home and I thought I’d call to find out how things are with you.’

Was he sober? Surely he wouldn’t be driving if he weren’t. ‘I guess they’re OK,’ she replied. ‘Harry Beck was just here. He wants me to try and get him some tickets to one of my father’s shows.’

A beat of surprised silence passed before Nick said, ‘Well I guess you didn’t see that coming.’

‘Not for a minute. He said it was you who told him that Edwin’s my father.’

‘I did? Yeah, I guess I probably did when he was asking about Talia’s family. Should I apologise? Is it a problem?’

‘I don’t think so. I’d just rather forget there’s any association at all.’

‘Of course. So what are you going to do?’

‘I just tried to get hold of the gallery owner, but she’s not there until next week. I’m sure she’ll come through once I tell her who I am. I just hope, if my father hears about it, he doesn’t presume the tickets are for me and try to get in touch.’