“Well, now, you see, Russell’s wife has died, and… he’s come over to see me, and we… well, we still feel very fond of each other.”

“Has he been to the hospital?”

“Yes, he has.”

“But you didn’t tell me?”

“No, dear.”

“You were obviously feeling guilty about it. That proves it, as far as I’m concerned. He was there, in your marriage to Dad, even if Dad didn’t know. I think it’s really, really bad.”

“Chris. Easy! Your mum’s done nothing wrong.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but that’s a matter of opinion. Anyway, what happens next? I hope he’s not coming here.”

“Not if you don’t want him to.”

“I don’t.”

“But I would like you to meet him.”

“I don’t want to meet him.”

“But, Christine, we are planning to spend a lot of time together. A lot. I know you’d like him if you only met him.”

“I don’t want to like him. And what does ‘a lot’ mean? I hope you’re not planning to set up house with him or something?”

“Chris!” said Gerry.

Mary met her daughter’s eyes steadily. She had hoped to take it gently, to let Chris meet Russell, get to know him, but-

“Actually” she said, “we are hoping to… well, to get married. We feel very strongly that we’ve spent enough time apart.”

“Oh, please spare me. You’ve been reading too many Mills and Boon books, Mum. You’ve not been apart from this man; you’ve been married to Dad. Whom you were supposed to love. Poor old Dad! He must be turning in his grave.”

“Chris,” said Gerry, “I think we’ve had enough of this conversation. You’re really upsetting your mother.”

“Good. She’s upset me. And I don’t know what Timothy’s going to say. Oh, I’m going to go and do the clearing up. I’ll see you both in the morning.”

Mary felt dreadful. Russell had been wrong: he’d said Christine would understand, would be happy for her. Now what could she do? Everything was spoilt suddenly; she felt guilty and ashamed, instead of happy and excited.

She went to bed and lay thinking about Donald, and that he would actually have minded very much if he had known, and feeling, for the very first time, that she had betrayed him.

“I know it’s awful of me,” said Tamara, slipping her arm through Barney’s as they walked towards the lift, “but I’m beginning to feel just the tiniest bit selfish about all this. I mean, I haven’t said one word to Tobes, obviously, and he can’t help what’s happened, but…”

Her voice trailed away; Barney felt a wave of rage so violent he actually wanted to hit her, instead of taking her for a drink, as she had persuaded him to do. She had come back to work at the beginning of the week-“Well, I was so bored, and fed up, working suddenly looked like quite fun by comparison”-and had appeared by his desk after lunch, suggesting that they should go for a drink after work.

And so here he was, up on the forty-second floor of Vertigo with her, and faced by at least an hour of her phony distress-well, he supposed the distress was genuine; it was just over the wrong cause…

“Yes,” she said, sipping thoughtfully at her champagne, “like I was saying, Barney, I just can’t help it; I feel really, really bad.”

“About Toby, you mean?”

“Well, yes, obviously, poor angel.”

“How do you think he’s doing?” said Barney, desperate to postpone the moment when she would clearly expect sympathy. “With his leg, I mean?”

“Oh, darling, I don’t know. The doctors don’t seem to know what to think about it-between you and me I wonder if they know what they’re doing half the time-but Toby seems to think they’re marvellous, and his parents do too. I mean, I’d have insisted he went private, but it’s not up to me, of course. Apparently they’ve made inquiries and been told he couldn’t be anywhere better…”

“Yes, that’s what he told me on Sunday, how good it was-Amanda and I went down-”

“Barney, you’re so sweet and good to go and see him so often. I can’t tell you how much he appreciates it.”

“Well, he is my best friend, after all.”

“I know, but it’s such a long way-”

“It is, yes. I’m surprised you came back up here, actually, Tamara, when you could visit him so easily from your parents’ house-”

“Well, as I say, I was getting very depressed. Being there kept me thinking about the wedding, you know? It wouldn’t be so bad if we’d been able to settle on another date, but we can’t even do that.”

He was silent.

“Anyway, he so understands, bless him, that I need to get back to work. And of course I’ll be there every weekend.”

“Right.”

“But like I was saying, it’s all beginning to hit me now. And I wouldn’t point the tiniest finger of blame in your direction. Not the tiniest.” There was a silence; then she said suddenly, “Except… why were you so late, Barney? I’d quite like to know. Seeing it cost me my wedding.”

Barney felt his stomach lurch.

“Tamara, it was the crash that cost you your wedding.”

“No, it wasn’t. It was because you left so late. If you’d left in time, you’d have been there hours before the crash. I mean, you were going to have lunch with the ushers, weren’t you?”

“Yes. Well… the thing is, Tamara… I… He… that is… Toby wasn’t very well. He kept throwing up. All morning. We really couldn’t set out before. It was impossible.”

“Oh. Oh, I see… Poor old Tobes. Something he ate, I s’pose. Or a bug. I mean, you wouldn’t have let him get drunk, obviously, it wouldn’t have been a hangover.”

“No, of course not,” said Barney.

“He didn’t actually mention any of that… Well, thank you for telling me. I feel better now.”

“Good,” said Barney. He found he was sweating. The champagne was wonderfully cold; he drank down half the glass gratefully.

“Anyway, obviously I’m not going to raise it with Toby, or anything like that. He’s feeling guilty enough, poor darling.”

“Guilty?” said Barney. He was genuinely shocked.

“Yes, course. Barney, of course he’s feeling guilty. I mean, of course he shouldn’t, and I did tell him that, but… well, he does; he can’t help it. I mean, wouldn’t you? If it had been yours and Amanda’s wedding?”

“I don’t think so,” said Barney, “no.” He couldn’t take any more of this. “Anyway, Tamara, I must go. I-” His phone rang. “Excuse me. It’s Amanda. Hi, darling. You all right?”

“I’m fine, Barney. But… Carol Weston’s been on the phone, wants to talk to you. Some bad-ish news about Toby’s leg, I’m afraid. I think she’d like you to ring her. And are you going to be late? Because if you are-”

“No,” said Barney. “No, I’m leaving right now.”

CHAPTER 25

Georgia was sitting in the kitchen in Cardiff, grazing through the newspaper, and wondering if she should get a job in a bar for the next two or three weeks until Moving Away went into production. (It was one of the good days.)

“Oh, my God!” She thought she might be about to throw up.

She stood up, staring at the paper, open at a page of minor news items, the largest of which read, “Mystery on the Motorway” and continued with a story of a “so far unconfirmed report” that the lorry driver who had crashed through a barrier on the M4 the previous week, causing a seven-mile tailback in both directions and killing several people, had spoken of a second and unidentified person in his cab who had subsequently vanished.

“This is the first indication that there might have been a passenger in the cab. The police refuse to confirm or deny it, and there have been no further reports. If such a person does exist, then he or she could clearly have valuable information that would go a long way towards establishing the original cause of the crash, something police are very eager to settle.

“Although many of the injured are recovering in the hospital and some have returned home, there is still anxiety over the fate of Toby Weston, the young bridegroom who sustained serious injuries in the pileup, and never reached his wedding. The bride, Tamara Lloyd, told our reporter she was ‘absolutely distraught with worry’