Penny Vincenzi - The Best Of Times

He looked at her, put out his hand, and took hers.

“No, of course not. I love you far too much. But… this isn’t working terribly well, is it?”

There was a long silence; then she said, “No. Not terribly. Um… Alex…”

“Yes?”

“I… well, actually, I have been thinking maybe I could… after all… move out a bit. Say to Windsor.”

“I hated Windsor. Maidenhead was OK.”

“I loathed Maidenhead.”

“Well, clearly we’ll be settled in no time. But… why, suddenly?”

“Well… I think I could possibly run my business at least two days a week from farther out. I mean, I can always go in for meetings. And keep the office on. What would you think about that?”

“Well… I’d think it would be amazing. Wonderful. But I don’t believe it. It’s a bit like Cherie Blair or Lady Thatcher suddenly announcing a woman’s place was in the home.”

“Don’t compare me to those awful women.”

“Sorry.”

“Anyway I think you might have to. Believe it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was… well, I was sick this morning.”

“Poor darling. You’re obviously run-down.”

“And the morning before. And the one before that.”

“Oh, dear.” He was rummaging in the picnic basket. “I’m sure there was some wine left.”

“Alex! God, you medics are all the same. So unsympathetic. Didn’t you hear what I said?”

“Yes, of course I did. You said you’d been sick this morning.”

“Yes, and the two mornings before that.” So…?

“For Christ’s sake. So… I think I might be pregnant. Well, I’m pretty sure I’m pregnant. Actually.”

“You what?”

“Alex, you’re not deaf yet. I said I was pregnant.”

“Oh, my God,” he said, staring at her, his face frozen with shock. “God. Linda. Oh, my Linda.” He sat staring at her, then put out his hand and stroked her cheek. Very gently. “How did that happen?”

“Usual way, I suppose.”

“Yes, but…”

“I had that stomach upset last month, remember? Not good with the pill.”

“Oh, my God.”

“So, are you pleased?”

“Oh, no,” he said, “I’m not pleased.”

“Oh. Well…”

“I’m ecstatic. Totally, gloriously ecstatic. It’s wonderful. Amazing. You?”

“I’m… moderately ecstatic. Bit thoughtful… I don’t know how I’ll do at it.”

“How you do at everything else, that’s how… Brilliantly. Oh, Linda, I’m so… so-” He stopped. He seemed near to tears. She smiled at him, leaned forward, kissed him.

“I’m glad you’re pleased.”

“I’m… well, I’m much, much more than pleased. How do you feel, though?”

“Fine. Except in the morning. As you’ll probably find out tomorrow. Oh, and tired. Bit tired.”

“We must get you back to the hotel straightaway.”

“Alex, I don’t want to go back to the hotel. I want to stay here, in this tent… with you.”

“Oh, don’t be so ridiculous.”

“Please,” she said, and even in the darkness he could see her eyes shining. “Please. For a little while, anyway. Go on, Alex. I dare you.”

“Well, Abi, what a success, eh?” It was Peter Grainger, smiling at her. “I take my hat off to you. It was quite something, but you’ve pulled it off. And so far… no problems.”

“No, not yet,” said Abi. “Don’t speak too soon.”

“Oh, I have total faith in you. You and your arrangements. I must admit I had my doubts, but I was wrong. Where’s young William?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I haven’t seen him for ages. Um… where’s… um, Pauline?”

She still had the utmost difficulty in referring to Mrs. Grainger by her Christian name.

“She’s in bed, I’m afraid. Eaten something very nasty. Keeps being sick. And… well, never mind. I’m sure she’ll be better tomorrow.”

“Oh, that’s terrible,” said Abi. “I’m so sorry.” Thinking of her silent prayer of the morning and wondering if the God she so firmly didn’t believe in had actually sent Mrs. Grainger’s illness as a sign to her of His existence.

“Yes, but you know, I don’t think she’d have enjoyed this too much. And she’d have felt bound to come down and have a look. And then she’d have started worrying about everything.”

“Yes. Yes, I suppose so. But she must be bothered by the noise.”

“Oh… no. Funnily enough, you can hardly hear it in the house. Something to do with the sound going over the tops of the trees perhaps. I don’t know. Anyway, she’ll be fine tomorrow; don’t you worry. Now… this isn’t really my sort of music, but I wonder if we could have a dance.”

And William, arriving back at the arena, was met by the astonishing sight of his father and Abi dancing together in the near-darkness, his father doing an approximation of the Twist that his generation still clung to on the dance floor, his arms gyrating like crazed chicken wings, and Abi scarcely moving, swaying and curving with the music, the sparklers she was holding making patterns in the darkness. He really did love her, so very much.

Later, they climbed the hill behind the arena and sat down, listening to the music, the laughter, the shouting, the occasional child crying; and looking at the little barbecue fires all over the campsite, shining in the darkness, the fairy lights strung across the hill, and above them a full moon, rising most obligingly in the sky, trailing stars in its wake.

“That calf was all right, by the way,” he said. “I forgot to tell you. In all the excitement. And a heifer.”

“Oh, good. I think you should call her Festival.”

“Abi! You sound like a Bambi lover. You know we don’t give calves names.”

“I am a Bambi lover. And why not? Just this once. It is a very special day. One of the best.”

“Oh, all right.” There was a silence; then: “You’re right,” he said, and, “It is one of the best. And, you know, I was just thinking…”

“I was thinking the same thing,” she said, “that terrible, terrible day then, the awful, awful things that happened. And now… well, look at it. Good times, in spite of it. Maybe because of it even. Very good. The best, you could almost say.”

“Yes,” he said, putting his arm round her, “yes, you could almost say that. Or you could actually say it. Come on, Mrs. Grainger. Let’s go down there and dance. And then we might go home and take those shorts off.”

Some very big and heartfelt thank-you’s are due over this book.

First, and very very importantly to Inspector David Toms-Sheridan of the Traffic Operational Command Unit, who fielded my endless cretinous questions, endured countless plot swerves, and offered his own ingenious take on things to more than one of my dilemmas. And who gave me an enormous amount of valuable police time. I hope no crime went unpunished as a result.

The other person without whom I literally could not have written the book is Aimee Di Marco, who not only instructed me most painstakingly on life in an A &E department, but re-created for me with extraordinary vividness the hour-by-hour progress of a major emergency, the structure of the medical teams, the necessary medical and surgical procedures, and the ongoing care of the victims. Her patients are assuredly very fortunate.

At Headline, my truly wonderful publishers, so many thanks to Harrie Evans for patient, painstaking, and inspiring editing, and for making it all a lot more fun; gratitude in spades to Clare Alexander, my wonderfully imaginative, caring, and calming superagent. In the United States, Alison Callahan, for yet more wise and wonderful editing; Alison Rich, publicist extraordinaire; Steve Rubin; and Bill Thomas.