Page 63 of Wife After Wife
“Together?” said Percy hopefully.
“Of course.”
Ana had no appetite for the rest of her curry. It had been the most unsettling of days. The terrible news about Will. Harry’s visit to her office, the memory of which was crowding out the far more pressing problem Percy had just landed on her.
When they headed upstairs, Ana found she had little appetite for Percy’s kisses either.
•••
“Early night, was it?” Charles winked at Ana from over by the toaster as she shuffled across to the kettle. It was six thirty, and she wondered how Charlie-boy could be so cheerful.
“What time did you two get in?”
“God knows. Megan fancied trying some new underground club in Camden. I’m too old, Ana. I’ll be underground myself if I try and keep up with her.” He peered at the toaster knob as smoke began to appear. “Without my bloody glasses, I can’t read the numbers on the knob.” He pushed a button, and two black pieces of toast popped up. “Bugger.”
Ana smiled. “Percy came over—he’s been offered a promotion. In Dublin.” Why was she telling Charles? Somehow he invited confidences.
“Has he? Jaysus, Joseph, and Mary!” His Irish accent was terrible. “Are you going?”
“No. But Percy might. We didn’t get far trying to decide.”
Charles dropped his voice. “Look, Ana, you’re marrying Percy, so I take it you’re madly in love. He’s the one, yes?”
“Of course,” said Ana, but for some reason she shivered a little.
“Don’t put love on hold while you chase your career goals. If it’s a good opportunity for Percy, go with him. Get a job in Dublin—it’s a cool place. It doesn’t matter if it’s not as highfalutin as art director atRose. You’re really talented; you’ll always do well. Go with Percy, make a life in Dublin, have a nice job and babies and new Irish friends. Don’t have a half-arsed weekends-only marriage.”
Megan appeared, wiping the sleep from her eyes. “Morning, Ana. I’m glad I caught you before work. Are you around Monday the twenty-eighth?”
“That’s more than two weeks away. How would I know what I’m doing on a Monday more than two weeks away?” Ana was still reeling from Charles’s pep talk.
“It’s Harry’s thirtieth. Katie’s not up to organizing anything, but we can’t let it go without a celebration. I thought a dinner? Close friends, family—me, basically—and a few work people. If I sort it, can you tell me who to invite from his work?”
“No—have you never heard of office politics? And I don’t even know Harry that well. Talk to his secretary, Janette.”
As Ana left the kitchen, she heard Megan mutter, “What’s eating her this morning?”
CHAPTER 23
Ana
It was past ten o’clock when the sun finally relinquished its hold on the long day and dipped behind the shadowy moors of Sgurr Shelagh to the west. The walls of Kindrummon Castle glowed orange in farewell, and a golden mirror image was reflected in the still waters of the loch on which the ancient fortification stood.
“It’s so beautiful,” said Ana as she and Merry stopped to watch the sun go down.
The twilight chill intensified, and the mountains were thrown into relief. From below the horizon, the sun streaked the clouds with washes of gold and pink, as if to make up for leaving.
They set off again, watching their step as darkness crept across the boggy ground. The plaintive cry of a water bird pierced the silence. Will’s setter, McTavish, loped along, happy to be out and about after being cooped up during the funeral.
“What will happen to Kindrummon?” said Ana.
“Will left it to me, and he wanted Darius to stay on to run the estate. It was doing well—the Americans paying for the ‘Scawtish experrrience’—before Will became ill.”
After the funeral, poor Darius had drifted around, white-faced, like a tragic ghost haunting the ancient rooms, ignored by many of Will’s older relatives who, like Ana’s parents, hadn’t been willing to acknowledge the true nature of his illness.
“I hope he’ll stay,” continued Merry. “Kindrummon will have to be run as a business, otherwise it’s too much of a drain on the whisky side of things. Also, Harry has plans for it.”
“Harry?How do you mean?”
