Page 26 of Far from Home
‘Hi, Amy. Sorry you missed me yesterday. We’ve been on that CPD weekend I told you about in a hotel in deepest Norfolk and they took our phones away. What’s new?’
Amy told her all about the wall safe and the letter and she could hear how pleased her friend was to learn that that her paternity hunch had been right.
‘That’s amazing – he really was your father! And did he say he was a writer? At least he wasn’t a gangster like the man in the restaurant said.’
‘Quite, and not just any old writer. I checked out the books he’s written. He wrote under a female pen name. Have you ever heard of Danielle Stonehouse? I know the name, but I’ve never read any of her stuff.’
‘Wow, she’s a household name; I’ve read a couple of her books and they’re real tear-jerkers. Are you telling me she’s a man? How amazing! She writes wonderfully slushy emotional stuff: some contemporary, some historical romances. The last one I read was a family saga set at the time of the Renaissance. And so that was your dad…’
‘I’m still trying to come to terms myself with the fact that he was my father.’ Even just referring to him in these terms felt weird.
Lucy wasn’t Amy’s best friend for nothing. She must have picked up on something in her tone. ‘What’s the matter, Amy? Aren’t you pleased?’
Amy wasn’t sure how to answer. ‘Yes, of course I’m pleased, but there’s no getting away from the fact that I never knew him. The more I learn about him, the more he sounds like a fascinating, lovely man and yet I’ll never get to meet him, to talk to him…’ Her voice broke and the tears that had been sparking in her eyes all day finally started to run down her cheeks. ‘I never got to see him, to sit on his lap, to hug him. If only…’
As always, Lucy was only too keen to help out. ‘But you’ve got the next best thing. You’ve got the memory of a man who was widely admired and loved. Imagine if you’d discovered he was Jack the Ripper.’
In spite of herself, Amy found herself smiling. ‘You’re right, Luce, all I have is his memory but at least the memories are good.’
‘That’s the spirit, Amy.’ Lucy was clearly determined to shake her friend out of her melancholy. ‘So what are we going to do to celebrate? I wish I was able to come over sooner, but at the very least, we need to open a bottle of champagne when I get there on Tuesday night. I’ll buy one at the duty free.’
‘Don’t bother bringing wine with you, I’m swimming in the stuff here. I was too shell-shocked to celebrate last night and today I was invited for a huge lunch with some friendly neighbours. Tonight I’m going back to the house to get everything ready for when the builders come in tomorrow morning, so I’ll probably just have a glass of the local red and a quiet night in.’
But that wasn’t how it worked out.
A bit later on Amy went back to the house and up to the study where she picked out a mint edition ofFar From Homeby Danielle Stonehouse and brought it back downstairs. She was sitting on the old sofa, trying to summon up the courage to make a start on the book and thinking about pouring herself a glass of wine when there was a knock at the door.
Standing there outlined against the setting sun was a tall man holding what looked like a bottle of champagne. It was Adam.
‘Hi, Amy, is this a bad time?’
She could feel a broad smile appear on her face. ‘It’s a great time. Do come in. Can I offer you a glass of wine?’
He held up the bottle of champagne. ‘If you have the glasses, I have the wine – and it’s straight from the fridge.’
‘That’s very kind but there was no need to bring a bottle. I’ve just learnt that I’ve got hundreds of litres of wine due to me in back rent. Anyway, come in and take a seat and we’ll open your lovely champagne.’
She went off to the kitchen and with a struggle managed to locate a couple of clean wine glasses in a cardboard box on the floor. She had rescued these, along with a selection of plates, mugs and cutlery, from the old kitchen cupboards which were to be among the first things to be demolished when the builders arrived the next day. The rest of the cupboards’ contents had ended up in the huge pile of rubbish outside. She took the glasses back into the living room.
‘Sorry I couldn’t find any champagne glasses. Hope these will do.’
Adam opened the bottle with a minimum of fuss and with just a slight hiss. He filled the two glasses and passed one across to her. She perched on the end of the sofa and held up her glass.
‘It’s a happy coincidence that you’ve brought champagne. My friend Lucy was just telling me I should open a bottle.’
‘Really? Is it your birthday?’
‘Far more than that. I’m celebrating the fact that what you told me was right. I now know for certain that Martin Slater was my real father.’ She went on to tell Adam all about the letter in the safe and he beamed at her.
‘So youareMartin’s daughter.’ He clinked his glass against hers and drank deeply. ‘Cheers. I’m really happy for you. He would have been very proud of you, I know.’
Amy just managed to stop herself from crying all over again, but it was a close-run thing.
‘Thanks, Adam. I’m glad he had you as a friend.’
‘I was glad to know him. And without him I wouldn’t have met you.’ As if realising that might have sounded a bit too personal, he set his glass down and produced a white envelope from his pocket. ‘Here, I came to pay my debts. Thanks so much for translating those documents. We didn’t discuss how much you wanted so, for now, I’ve paid you on the same scale as the last time I had a translation agency in Rome do some stuff for me. If it isn’t enough, just say so.’
Amy shook her head and waved the envelope away. ‘Keep your money. I was happy to help. And I’d be happy to do any more if it’s needed.’
