An Exception to His Rule(55)

                ‘I’m so sorry,’ Harriet murmured and slid her hand across the table to cover his. ‘I’m sure they’ll be doing all they can.’

                ‘There must be something I can do!’ There was frustration written into the lines and angles of his face. He got up and looked around as if he had no idea where he was. He said, ‘Excuse me, Harriet, but I can do more from my study and my computer.’

                She rose hastily. ‘Of course. I’ll bring you a nightcap in a while if you like.’ But she didn’t think he’d even heard her as he loped down the stairs two at a time with Tottie hard on his heels.

                Harriet marvelled at the dog’s sensitivity; she obviously had no doubt where she was needed most tonight.

                * * *

                And to keep herself occupied and keep at bay images of a fiery crash and Charlie’s broken body, she went downstairs to the studio to do some work of her own.

                She was cleaning a delicate china figurine with a cotton bud dipped in a weak solution when Isabel, looking as if she’d aged ten years in the space of a few hours, came over from the big house.

                ‘Any news?’ Harriet asked.

                Isabel shook her head and pulled out a stool. And she hugged her mohair stole around her.

                ‘How’s Damien?’

                Isabel shook her head. ‘He’s...it’ll kill him to lose Charlie. Me too, but more so Damien. They’re really close, despite the way they josh each other. They got even closer after what happened with Veronica and Patrick.’ Isabel stopped self-consciously.

                ‘He’s told me about her. So Patrick was the baby?’

                ‘Uh-huh.’ Isabel touched a finger to the figurine Harriet had finished cleaning and had dried. ‘Hello, I remember you,’ she said to it and again looked self-conscious. ‘You must think I’m crazy,’ she said to Harriet this time, ‘but I do remember this figurine. It always sat on its own little circular table in the upstairs hall. That’s where Damien’s mother always kept it, but Veronica...’ She trailed off.

                Harriet said nothing.

                Isabel shrugged. ‘I don’t know why I shouldn’t tell you, seeing as you know some of it. It also helps to think of something else. If you’ve wondered why a lot of this stuff was more or less hidden, that was Veronica’s doing. She didn’t like antiques or objets d’art. A very modern girl was our Veronica, in more ways than one.’ Isabel’s tone was loaded with disapproval. ‘Mind you,’ she added, ‘Damien said no to a lot of her plans for the modernisation of Heathcote.’

                But then she sighed. ‘One should never pass judgement on relationships because it’s almost impossible to know the full story. And it’s hard not to be biased, anyway.’

                ‘How old is Patrick now?’ Harriet asked.

                ‘Let’s see—nearly three.’

                ‘I don’t suppose Damien has any reason to have any contact with him?’ She rinsed out a couple of cloths and suspended them from pegs from a dryer over the sink.

                ‘No. Well, not directly.’

                Harriet washed her hands and stood drying them on a red and white checked towel as a frown grew in her eyes.

                ‘He and Charlie worked out a plan. Because things are and always will be pretty tense between Veronica and Damien, I imagine—and because I can’t quite hide my feelings—’ Isabel grimaced ‘—Charlie sees Patrick fairly frequently. To make sure he’s OK and to give him a constant man in his life, I guess you could say. Charlie somehow or other had a better understanding of Veronica than me or Damien. That sounds odd.’ Isabel gestured a little helplessly.