My Husband's Wife(87)

Tom frowned again. ‘How?’

‘We can use paper.’

‘That’s not strong enough for us to fly in.’

We’re not going to get in it, Carla almost said. It’s just a model. But already she could see that Tom didn’t reason like any of the children she’d known in Italy.

‘Then I will teach you Italian instead,’ she said suddenly.

‘Italian?’ Tom’s face brightened. ‘I would like that. Then I could tell the man at the pizza place that I don’t like tomatoes. He will listen to me if I speak his language. I’m teaching myself Chinese as well, you know. I bought a book on it.’

‘How fantastic!’

‘Thank you,’ said Ed as they made their way into the dining room with its big oak table, gleaming silver cutlery, red cloth napkins, cut-glass wine goblets and a circle of holly in the middle for decoration. ‘It’s kind of you to put yourself out.’

A warm glow spread through her, and she gave him her best smile.

‘I enjoy being with Tom,’ she replied, allowing Ed to pull out a chair for her. ‘I understand how he feels.’

‘How?’ Ed was watching her. Instinctively, she could feel his mind sketching her.

‘Because I felt different as a child too and I know what it’s like.’

His eyes were still on her. ‘I love it when the passion crosses your face like that.’ His fingers were fiddling with his cutlery now, as though he wished they were charcoal sticks. ‘I wonder, would you mind if …’

‘If you painted me again?’

His face jerked as if he’d woken up suddenly after dozing off. ‘Exactly.’

She flushed with excitement. Of course she didn’t mind. ‘I’d be honoured.’

He grasped her hands. His felt hot and big. ‘Thank you.’

From the corner of her eye she saw Lily watching.

‘Who’s for a walk along the beach tomorrow before Christmas lunch?’ asked Lily’s father from the other end of the table.

‘Me. ME!’ Tom was leaping out of his seat. ‘Me and Carla.’ Then his face creased with anxiety. ‘But I can’t make sandcastles. I don’t like the feel of wet sand.’

Poor child! ‘I’m not keen on wet sand either,’ she said. ‘It makes you mucky, doesn’t it?’

Tom nodded – so hard she feared he might hurt his head. ‘Exactly.’

Carla glanced at Lily’s face. Carla knew that look. It meant she felt hurt. Shut out. Carla should be pleased. Yet part of her actually felt rather sorry for the woman.

That night, she couldn’t sleep. If only she could ring Mamma to wish her a happy Christmas, but the aunt didn’t have a phone apparently, and Nonno considered mobiles to be unnecessary.

Restlessly, Carla got out of bed and wandered towards the window. The moon was sitting on the line between sky and sea as if balancing on a bar. Perhaps she would go for a walk. Pulling on her coat, she tiptoed along the landing. Lights were out apart from a low line under the door of Ed and Lily’s room. What was that? Unable to stop herself, Carla paused to listen.

They were rowing.

‘You should have given Carla money for Christmas,’ Ed was saying angrily.

‘How exactly? It would have made us even more overdrawn.’

‘A thousand wasn’t enough and you know it.’

‘Get real! It’s more than she deserves. Her letters were so pushy …’

Carla almost let out a gasp but managed to stop herself in time.

‘So she did write?’ Ed’s voice rose with indignation. ‘You said you hadn’t received anything. Why didn’t you tell me?’

Lily was pleading. ‘Because you were in no fit state. And because, as I keep trying to say, we can’t afford it. Tom is our priority. Perhaps you should sell some more paintings.’

‘How can I when you’ve dried up all my inspiration?’

‘Ed! That’s not fair!’

She heard a tinkling of broken glass followed by Ed’s angry voice: ‘Now look what you made me do.’

Carla shrank back into the darkness as Lily came flying out of the door, thankfully in the opposite direction. Swiftly, she slunk back to her room, shaking. So her first instincts had been right. Lily had received the letters. She had lied. As for being overdrawn, she didn’t believe it. Not with a house like that.

If she’d had any qualms before, there were none now.





37


Lily


What a relief to be back! London. Work. It may be that strange, half-asleep time between Christmas and New Year, but for us, there is always work to do. Finally I can relax.

I was edgy all the while I was in Devon. Abrupt with everyone, including our guest. I was aware of it before Ed pointed out that I was like a cat on a hot tin roof every time the phone rang or someone knocked at the door. I’m still kicking myself for letting slip to Ed about Carla’s letters, which resulted in one of the worst rows we’ve ever had.

Hardly surprising that I let the cat out of the bag. My mind was still whirling after that encounter with Joe Thomas at Tony’s funeral.

There I’d been, all those years since his case, basking in the glory of being a criminal lawyer with a ninety-five per cent success rate. But it was all down to the help I’d received from an unknown criminal.