Page 163 of An Unholy Affair
‘Have you ever been in a dangerous situation?’ Connor continued.
Jack shook his head. ‘Not really. I vet—vettedmy clients well. But I’ve realised over the last year, and in particular since Dad died, that my job has been taking a toll.’
‘I can imagine. It must be extremely stressful—’
‘Stressful?’ Finn interjected.
‘Shut up!’ Henry shouted.
Finn slumped in his chair. ‘Sorry, Jack. I just can’t get my head around it.’
‘It’s okay.’ Jack rubbed his hands over his face. ‘This part is actually the hardest to talk about because I’ve only just admitted it to myself.’ He took a breath. ‘And I really need your help.’
‘Anything,’ Henry said. ‘Anything at all.’
Jack took a deep breath. ‘I’m an alcoholic and need your support to stay sober. This isn’t a “dry January” time-out kind of deal. It’s a commitment for the rest of my life. Before the funeral, I can’t remember the last day I went without a drink. In France, it’s easy not to think about it because wine is part of the culture. But since coming back… I know I need to stop for good.’
‘We’re here for you, Jack,’ said Connor.
‘One hundred per cent,’ Henry added.
‘Yeah, of course, mate,’ said Finn. ‘Fuck… Does this mean I’m an alcoholic too?’
Jack smiled. ‘No idea. I think only you can answer that.’
Finn scratched his beard. ‘Fuck me. What a night. Anything else you want to hit us with?’
‘Actually, yes.’ Jack squared his shoulders. ‘There is something else I wanted to talk to you about…’
33
Eveline blinked. ‘Dad?’
‘You’re awake! How are you feeling?’
Her father’s eyes were red and puffy. Despite the exhaustion weighing her body to the bed, this didn’t feel like a dream. ‘Where am I?’
‘In hospital, love.’
‘Where? What happened?’
‘You’re in Bath. Your friend rang me last night to tell me you had a fever.’
Friend?Eveline’s mind ran back through her memories. The ball, then Jack’s client… Her heart jolted with pain as she remembered his words outside the Manor. She couldn’t remember anything else from that point on.
‘Was it Jack that rang you?’
Her father frowned. ‘Who’s Jack? No, a lady called Estelle. She was at the rectory with you. The cut on your arm got infected.’
She looked down to see a fresh bandage and a cannula in the back of her hand attached to a drip.
‘You were very poorly, love.’
‘The pigs. They—’
‘Estelle said she’d look after them.’
‘Thank goodness.’
