‘I’ll stick to fresh croissant and kippers, thank you,’ he laughed.
Esme drained her cup and set it on the table. She hadn’t expected to feel quite like this, so comfortable with him, so sympathetic. She found herself seeing him in a new light, which itself cast long shadows over the way she had thought of him and treated him in the past. ‘There’s something I need to say…’ she said.
‘You’re not pregnant, are you?’
‘No!’ she giggled nervously, and then the words came out in a rush. ‘No, seriously, I just want to say that I’m sorry I was never there for you. For not understanding how difficult it must have been living with Mum and trying to cope with her illness. To be honest, there were times when I hated you for not seeming to care. It was like you brushed everything under the carpet, but now I know it was your way of coping. I was so wrapped up in my own misery that I never thought to look beneath the surface to see how you were really feeling.’
‘Darling, it was hard for all of us and no one more than your mother. Her depression was a bitter pill to swallow, especially as the woman I married was such a beautiful soul. But living with me wasn’t easy for her either.’
‘I know you did the best you could, given the… circumstances… for me and Sophia too.’
‘Is everything OK, darling? Has something happened?’
‘No, everything is fine. It’s good. It’s just that I’m beginning to see things more clearly now.’ Esme kept her eyes on her father and continued, ‘I managed to get that painting restored.’
‘The one Henry Culcairn left you?’ There was a slight edge to his voice, but somehow she could tell it wasn’t directed at her, or even Henry really. It spoke of sadness and regret, rather than self-pity or resentment.
‘Yes. That one. It’s very beautiful… and actually, looks a lot like Mum… but I’m not sure what to do with it.’
She paused, then said, ‘The thing is, I’m not sure I want anything to remember the Earl by.’
Their eyes met and there was a moment of heavy silence. Then he leant back and folded his hands behind his head again. It was as if he was looking past her, into the distance, then he straightened again and said calmly, ‘Darling, I think you should keep it. Of course you should. It’s important to remember people.’
‘Of course, but we should remember who they really were, not who we thought they were or even wanted them to be, when we were too young and too stupid to know any better…’
Her father reached over and took her hand. ‘Squirrel, darling. I know I’m not the most demonstrative when it comes to showing my feelings, but not a day has passed when I haven’t felt blessed to have you in my life and I love you dearly.’
‘I know,’ she said, squeezing his fingers softly, and then continued, meaning every word from the bottom of her heart, ‘and I love you too, Daddy.’
As they sat and drank another cup of tea, Esme felt she’d said enough. Sometimes less was more, and there was a sense that they understood each other, just by sharing the quiet moment together. Their cups drained once again, mutual intuition made them stand at the same time to say goodbye. Esme hugged her father hard.
‘Keep me posted on your progress and whereabouts, darling. I’m awfully proud of you, you know,’ he said.
‘And I’m proud of you, Daddy,’ she laughed.
They promised to meet up again soon and then Esme stepped out into the early evening. The streetlamps were flickering into life, illuminating Pimlico Road in a soft electric glow. The sky was tinged with yellow and pink and held the promise of snow. Soon, families across the country would break out the decorations, place wreaths upon their doors, and sit around their fires sharing minced pies and mulled wine. Esme felt a childlike rush of excitement at the thought of Christmas. It was a time to celebrate, to come together and give thanks. To say goodbye to the year and welcome the dawn of the new. For the first time, Esme felt completely, utterly, joyously at peace. She knew the best present she was getting this year was from herself; it was crafted from all the moments of joy and love that she had known, and all the pain and doubt and stupid mistakes that she had made. It was a gift of herself, to herself, and she intended to make the most of it.
Enchanted by Summer in Mayfair?
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Set in 1969, After the Snow is an addictive read full of secrets and scandals….
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Acknowledgements
Thank you to my wonderful publisher HQ and the heavenly, kick-ass Lisa Milton. To Charlotte Mursell, who I am going to miss terribly – what the hell will I do without your pushing and prodding and exaggerations? To Caroline Michel for her Manolo’s and diplomacy. To my beloved family for their understanding and patience in being an absent mum/wife during the writing process. To Genevieve Pegg, my incredible editor. Thank you for your sensitivity, your wisdom and kindness; you helped turn this novel into something I’m proud of. To Charlie and Annabel Redmayne for giving me permission to have a holiday. To Caroline and John Giddings, because I love you both and want to support Access All Areas for the Isle of Wight Festival. And finally, to Jack Lankaster. You are quite simply a literary genius and my writing rock/tutor/mentor.
About the Publisher
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd.
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Canada
HarperCollins Canada
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India
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New Zealand
HarperCollins Publishers (New Zealand) Limited
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Auckland, New Zealand
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United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
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http://www.harpercollins.co.uk
United States
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Summer in Mayfair Page 29
