At first he had dismissed it as the fevered imaginings of a sick woman, then he had begun to remember so many little things, clues, that when put together and added up, told him that what Zoe suspected must be true. But why had Elaine never told him? he asked himself repeatedly. When they were in Switzerland and so close — about to be together for always — even then she’d said nothing.
By the time he received the letter, Elaine was ill; too ill to see anyone. He knew then that all the things that had gone wrong with her life were his fault. Her unhappy marriage, her wasted, desolate life — they were all down to him.
He had broken off his engagement, knowing then that he had been deluding himself just as he had before, with Cathy. No one had ever been or ever could be what Elaine was to him.
Later, when he heard about her recovery, he asked himself if he had the right to walk back into her life. He’d done nothing but bring her misery so far. He’d made other people unhappy too. Perhaps it would be better all round to stay away, to put everything he had into his work and let Elaine rebuild her life safely and happily — without him.
Now, sitting at the back of the hall, he ached to take his rightful place at her side. He could see them all sitting there in the front row, friends and relatives in all their party finery, sharing this special occasion. No doubt there would be some kind of celebration later; one from which he must be excluded. He tried to imagine how it would be to stand proudly at the side of his daughter, sharing her triumph, basking in her happy smile — being the person her eyes searched the crowd for, her hands reached out to. There was a child now, he understood, a baby boy. He was a grandfather. He tried, momentarily, to feel like one, but it was totally beyond his comprehension. Anyway, it was too late for all that, he told himself. Much, much too late.
The music reached its climax and suddenly the concerto was over. The audience broke into a frenzy of applause, calling the soloist back again and again. The orchestra was applauding too, the violinists tapping their bows on music stands in the time honoured way. Max stepped down from the rostrum and took Tricia’s hand to lead her forward yet again. He looked at her with unconcealed pride and love in his eyes, and bent to kiss her hand, bringing forth a fresh burst of clapping.
At the back of the hall the doors swung open and Patrick walked out into the vestibule. Eager to get away before the rush, he was already halfway through the outer doors when he heard a familiar voice call his name.
‘Patrick?’
Turning, he saw Tom staring disbelievingly at him.
‘Patrick, what are you doing here? I thought you were too tied up.’
‘I made up my mind at the last minute — found I could make it. Managed to get a cancellation...’ Patrick trailed off. ‘Look, I can’t stop — have to be in London first thing tomorrow.’
‘Rubbish.’ Tom grasped his arm. ‘There’s a party at the hotel. We’re all staying the night. I’m just going to get the car — bring it round for the others. Everyone you know is here — even Red. You can’t go without saying hello.’
‘Well...’ Patrick searched his mind for a valid excuse. ‘Look, I can’t gatecrash.’
‘Stuff that. It’s a special occasion. You can’t disappear without seeing Tricia and wishing her all the best — not after a stunning performance like that.’ Tom punched his shoulder. ‘Tell you what, Elaine’s here. She looks fantastic. Come on, don’t tell me you wouldn’t like to see her. It must be ages...’ Tom frowned, puzzled at the agony of indecision he saw in his brother’s eyes.
‘Look,’ he said at last as the crowds began to mill around them, ‘I’m going to be in the dog-house if the car isn’t here when they come out. The party is at the Millroy Heights Hotel. It’s overlooking Poole Harbour. Do come, even if it’s only for half an hour. Surprise everyone. See you there, eh?’
Tom backed away and a moment later was gone, swallowed up in the throng of concert-goers that jostled Patrick as they streamed down the steps.
It was dark as he nosed the car into the queue snaking its way out of the car park, but the sky was pale with the reflection of a thousand multi-coloured neon lights. Traffic was heavy as he reached the main road. As he hesitated the driver behind him hooted impatiently. It was time to make a decision. Perhaps the most important he had ever made. Should he go to the party — see Elaine — try to win her love again? Was there really still a chance for them? And if not, could he bear to risk the pain of her rejection? Or should he take the coward’s way — go back to London now and try to forget?
The driver behind him hooted again, persistently this time. Patrick pressed his foot down and took advantage of a gap in the traffic to turn left. Joining the stream of cars he followed the curve in the road, then turned left again to climb Poole Hill. He felt his heart lift as the traffic thinned and he gathered speed. Now that he was on his way, he couldn’t wait to get there; couldn’t wait to see Elaine and the lovely young woman who was their daughter.
He had a powerful feeling that the foundations of his whole future life were about to be laid tonight.
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