“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.”
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
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.
To my other two daughters, Polly and Sophie, for their astonishingly ongoing interest, encouragement, and support: never taken for granted.
And as always to my husband, Paul, who-on being told in hysterical tones one Sunday morning, when I was about two-thirds of the way through, that I absolutely couldn’t finish the book, that it was completely impossible-said kindly, but very firmly “I’m afraid you’ve got to.” It was not the first crisis he has defused; I doubt it will be the last.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PENNY VINCENZI is the author of several major bestsellers, including Sheer Abandon. Before becoming a novelist, she worked as a journalist for Vogue, Tattler, and Cosmopolitan. She lives in London.
Penny Vincenzi is married with four children. She has been writing since she was nine-when she put together her own magazine called Stories-and has written for Vogue and Cosmopolitan.
***
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