“Abi, you’re not, of course you’re not.”

“No, it’s true. If you knew what I did on Saturday alone… well, you wouldn’t be here.”

“What was that, then? What did you do that was so bad?”

“Oh… just killed off a little family. A happy little family.”

“Killed it?”

“Oh, not literally. I just… just totally destroyed it.”

She wasn’t sure how much she’d been going to tell him. Suddenly she knew. Everything. And she told him, in all its ugly detail, why he could not possibly continue to love her…

CHAPTER 36

“So… where would you like to get married, then? Where shall we have our wedding? I imagine you’ll want it somewhere in England. The bride’s prerogative, choosing the venue.”

“Well… yes. I suppose so. I mean, yes, of course.”

“In a church?”

“Oh, of course.”

“And then perhaps the reception could be at the house.”

“Oh, Russell, that’s a lovely idea.”

The house-the beautiful house that Russell was buying for them-was actually called Tadwick House; Mary said that sounded much too grand for her, and he had promptly rechristened it Sparrow’s Nest.

“But only for our private use; local people don’t like the names of houses being changed.”

“Nor does the post office,” said Mary, smiling. Thinking of how Donald had insisted on renaming their last house, and what a lot of trouble it had caused with the post office. It was in a cul-de-sac called Horseshoe Bend, and right in the middle of the curve. “I want to call it the End House,” he had said, “for it is, in one way, the end, the farthest point of the street. And this is our last house, where we shall live to the end of our days. So… what could be better?”

Mary had thought that rather gloomy and said so; and Donald had said why, had she never heard of happy endings, “which is what the story of Mary and Donald certainly has.”

She recounted this to Russell now; he smiled.

“I like that. You know, I can see Donald was a remarkable person. I know I would have liked him very much.”

“You would,” said Mary, and it was true. It was one of the things that made her happiest about marrying Russell; he would have liked Donald, and Donald would have liked him. Donald would have recognised him as a good man, into whose care he could entrust his beloved Mary. Which made it all the more sad that Christine had set herself so firmly against him.

The rest of the family were much easier; Timothy her grandson, said it was really cool and he’d be dancing at her wedding all night; when could he meet Russell and would Russell like to be an investor in the IT company he was planning to set up?

“Only joking, Gran. But I would like to meet him… I really would. He sounds great.”

Gerry too had expressed-rather awkwardly-a desire to meet Russell, and had said again how sorry he was Christine was being difficult. And Douglas, Donald’s pride and joy, the son he had longed for, born eight long years-and several miscarriages-after Christine, had written from Toronto to say how very happy he was to hear about Russell and that he would be over at Christmas, if not before, and couldn’t wait to meet him then.

“The kids think it’s really cool too,” he had written. “Don’t worry about Chris”-for Mary had felt bound to warn him about Christine’s reaction-“she’ll come round.”

They agreed on a December wedding: “so we can spend Christmas together legally,” Russell said.

She had received two very sweet letters from his daughters, Coral and Pearl, saying how delighted they were that their father had found her again, what a romantic story it was, and how they longed to meet her. Of course, Mary thought, it must be easier for them; they had learnt to accept and live with Russell’s second wife from comparatively early ages. His son had written a slightly stiffer note, but there was no doubt of its friendliness.

“But I want to show you Connecticut,” Russell said, “where I think we should have our American house.”

When Mary asked him if he was going to sell the apartment, he had looked at her in astonishment.

“No, no, of course not; we’ll need a New York base, and I think you’ll be happy with it. If you’re not then we’ll find another. So… I’ll book a flight around the beginning of November. That way you can experience Thanksgiving, and both girls have expressed a wish to have you there.”

Mary said she wouldn’t have much time to organise a wedding if they were going to be in America until the beginning of December; Russell said nonsense, they could do most of it before they went.

Three homes. A new family. A wedding. It was all rather hard to take in.

William had been desperately hurt and shocked by Abi’s confession: almost unendurably At first, he had been slightly numbed; then, as the days passed and the truth clarified, the pain worsened until it hurt so much he could hardly stand it. It wasn’t just that she’d lied to him so relentlessly about Jonathan, and that she’d been sleeping with Jonathan, and God only knew how many other men before him.

It was that he’d allowed himself to think she’d enjoyed being with him as much as he enjoyed being with her; and she hadn’t. Of course she hadn’t.

She’d just been spending time with him until someone more suitable came along. Abi clearly wanted excitement; she wanted some flashy bloke with plenty of money who could show her a good time, take her to expensive hotels and restaurants and on expensive holidays, not some dull farmer who smelled of cow shit.

And he didn’t want someone like her, either, did he? He wanted someone he could trust, who would treat him and his life carefully, someone straightforward whom he understood, not a baffling enigma straight out of a bad TV series, who slept around, and took her sexual pleasures like a cat.

He felt sick, listless, and, perhaps worst of all, foolish. How Abi must have seen him coming; probably imagined he was rich, that he would make a good meal ticket for a while. He couldn’t see that he would ever feel any better…

Jack Bryant was exactly the sort of person Sergeant Freeman most disliked. Loud, over-the-top posh accent, old-school tie-not that he recognized that one, and he knew most of them, it was a little hobby of his-signet ring, slicked-back hair, highly polished brogues: he was a caricature.

It had not actually been very hard to find him. The motoring division confirmed the wheel nut came from an E-Type; there were several reports of a red E-Type on the road that afternoon-immediately in front of the lorry, according to Georgia; and she had been quite sure it had been a personalized number plate. They had checked with various E-Type associations and clubs, and after that it was a simple matter of trawling through the personalized registrations-the DVLA were always very helpful-and making phone calls. The whole thing had been one day’s work.

However, Freeman was disappointed to discover he couldn’t fault him. Bryant was very articulate, had excellent recall, and was eager to help: yes, he had indeed lost a wheel nut, hadn’t actually discovered it until a week later, when he was checking his car prior to leaving his friends in Scotland. He’d had no idea when it had come off. “But I did check the whole car over very, very carefully, Sergeant, two days before; my mechanic will confirm that. And I gave it a personal check that morning-tyres, oil, all that sort of thing-and I did actually check the wheel nuts myself. Gave them a final go with the old spanner, just to be on the safe side.”

“The irony of it is,” said Paul Johns from Forensics, “you can overtighten those things. The thread goes. What a bloody tragedy. But if it’s true what he says, absolutely not his fault.”