Page 3 of The Impossible Fortune
‘Never heard it called that before,’ says Ron, and downs his pint.
‘And, Ibrahim,’ says Joanna, ‘I wonder if you would like to dance with me?’
‘Well, that would be my pleasure,’ says Ibrahim, standing. ‘What will it be? A foxtrot? A quickstep?’
‘Whatever you can manage to “Like a Prayer” by Madonna,’ says Joanna.
Ibrahim nods. ‘We shall improvise.’
Everyone is standing now, and they begin to head to the door. But Elizabeth stays where she is. Joyce puts her hand on her friend’s shoulder.
‘Are you coming?’
‘Ten minutes,’ says Elizabeth. ‘You go and have fun.’
Joyce gives her shoulder a squeeze. How gentle Joyce has been with her since Stephen died. No lectures, no homilies, no empty words. Presence when she sensed it was needed; absence when she knew Elizabeth needed some time. Ron has been there with hugs; Ibrahim, the great psychiatrist, would try to nudge her this way and that, thinking she wouldn’t notice. But Joyce? Elizabeth had always known that Joyce possessed an emotional intelligence she lacked, but the sheer grace with which she had conducted herself this last year was extraordinary. The gang disappear through the doors, and Elizabeth is alone again.
Again? Elizabeth is always alone now. Always alone, and never alone: that was grief.
The sun has disappeared behind the South Downs. Always alone, but never alone. Elizabeth feels her senses awakening again. But what is it?
From an avenue of trees beneath the terrace to her left, Elizabeth hears a noise. A man steps out from behind a tall oak and begins to walk towards her.
So that was it: someone was out there in the half-light. That was the sense that was reawakening. As he starts walking up the stone steps onto the terrace, the now familiar figure of Nick Silver, the best man, comes into the light. He nods at the chair next to Elizabeth.
‘D’you mind?’
‘Of course,’ says Elizabeth. She hears whooping from inside the house. That will be Ibrahim dancing, no doubt. Nick sits.
‘You’re Elizabeth,’ says Nick. ‘I know you know that.’
‘Afraid so,’ says Elizabeth. She notices, with relief, that Nick has changed his shirt. ‘Do you have something on your mind, Mr Silver?’
Nick nods. He looks up at the sky, and then back at Elizabeth. ‘Thing is, somebody tried to kill me this morning.’
‘I see,’ says Elizabeth. Something jump-starts inside her. For the last year her heartbeat has felt like a machine, a mechanical pump keeping her alive against her will, but now it feels flesh. ‘You’re sure?’
‘Certain,’ says Nick. ‘When you know, you know, right?’
‘And you have proof?’ Elizabeth asks. ‘A lot of your generation can be overdramatic.’
Nick holds up his phone. ‘I’ve got proof.’
Elizabeth feels a familiar gravity begin to pull her in. Should she leap clear while she still can?
‘Does someone have a good reason to kill you?’ asks Elizabeth. She is not leaping clear. Of course she is not leaping clear. Where on earth would she leap to? She is all out of solid ground.
Nick nods. ‘Yep. A very good reason. To be fair.’
A path clears in Elizabeth’s mind: it’s an old track overgrown with weeds, but there it is. ‘And do you know who?’
‘This is just between you and me?’ says Nick. ‘I can trust you?’
‘That’s a question for you, Mr Silver,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Not for me.’
The man is shaking, on a warm evening. ‘I can give you some names, yep.’
‘More than one person wants to kill you?’ says Elizabeth, eyebrow raised. ‘And yet you seem fairly harmless?’
