Page 75 of The Impossible Fortune
‘No,’ admits Paul. ‘She’s umm … She’s a challenging human being. Was challenging. Nick would tell you the same. Often saw things in a different light to others. Her angles could take me by surprise at times.’
He wants to say ‘nightmare’ but refuses to. Another reason she loves him.
‘And yet you still dated?’ says Joanna, spearing some broccoli. A low blow but a fun one. She has dated a fewnightmares in her time. Sometimes that’s just where you are in life. That’s the itch that needs scratching.
‘I just …’ Paul is not enjoying his turbot any more. Joanna takes his hand.
‘Paul, listen to me,’ says Joanna. ‘We found each other, I promise you never have to worry about anything like this. You dated Holly, I’m sure she had many good qualities, but perhaps it wasn’t either of your finest hours. You moved on, perhaps she didn’t, but you’re here, with me, in a gorgeous restaurant and we both have rings on our fingers, and many, many notches on our bedposts –’
Paul cocks his head. ‘I wouldn’t say “many, many”. Would you say “many, many”?’
Joanna hushes him. ‘I couldn’t care less who you dated, when or why.’
Paul nods. He still doesn’t look delighted about his turbot, but some of the tension is leaving his shoulders.
A small lie, then, not a big lie. That’s a relief.
‘I will say this though.’ Joanna feels she should let him know, given the circumstances. ‘The police will be interested. They might want to talk to you at some point anyway.’
‘Oh, God,’ says Paul.
‘Just be honest with them,’ says Joanna. ‘People date people. Those people don’t usually get murdered not long afterwards, but that’s where we are. Just don’t lie. There’s no need.’
The TV chef has just complained that his sparkling water is too fizzy. Joanna will definitely be telling her mum that.
‘I don’t know what to tell anyone about anything,’ saysPaul. ‘I know nothing about the business, nothing about who might have killed Holly, nothing about where Nick might run to. I feel like people won’t believe me. That they’ll think I must know something about something.’
‘And do you?’ Joanna asks. ‘While we’re being honest? Is there anything else you’re keeping to yourself? Because you feel guilty or embarrassed?’
‘I feel guilty about one thing,’ says Paul. ‘To answer your original question, my grief is not as deep as it should be. I’m very sad about Holly, and it’s awful, but am I grieving? I don’t think I am. Perhaps it will kick in, but it doesn’t feel like it will.’
Joanna nods. ‘We’re not in charge of who we miss. I had a dog I miss more than my grandmother, and, believe me, I loved my grandmother.’
‘A dog you had as a child?’
‘Not even that: a neighbour’s dog when I was in my thirties. We used to talk over the garden fence. He had wise eyes.’
‘Wow,’ says Paul. ‘Your poor grandmother.’
Joanna nods. There really was something about that dog.
‘You’d miss me though?’ Paul says.
‘It’s a moot question,’ says Joanna. ‘Because you’re never going to die. I won’t allow it.’
Paul smiles, and finally tucks into his turbot.
‘Here’s a question though,’ says Joanna. ‘Old friends, lovers, many years of emotional closeness. Any guesses on what her six-digit code might be? Anything she used for her bank cards or her phone?’
Paul shakes his head. The chef at the next table is nowcalling over the maître d’ because of an issue with the butter. Something to do with either too much or not enough salt? The woman he’s with, who could be his daughter or his wife – but Joanna knows where she would place her bet – looks long-suffering.
‘What year was she born?’ Joanna asks.
‘’76,’ says Paul.
‘Younger than me, then?’ says Joanna.
‘Looked older though,’ says Paul, which, even though Holly is dead, is the right thing to say.
