of them appeal.’
‘No, I don’t. My laptop is still in my house in France.’
There was a pause on the line. ‘You still in Norfolk?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Well then, baby, I’ve gotta better idea. I’m in London next week. We can meet for lunch at Claridge’s, and I’ll give you the file myself.’
Julia could hear pages being turned at the other end of the line. Eventually, he asked: ‘How would next Thursday suit? I can also hand you over the bunch of cheques that have arrived here over the past seven months. As I said on the voicemail, it’s a substantial sum. I didn’t bank them with you, as I normally would. I wasn’t sure what you were doing with your old joint account.’
‘No.’ Julia swallowed. ‘Next Thursday will be fine.’
‘Great! It’ll be good to see you, honey. Now, as it’s four thirty in the morning here and I’m flying to Tokyo tomorrow, I’d better get some shut-eye. Let’s make it noon in the bar by the restaurant. See you then, baby. Can’t wait.’
The line went dead.
Julia sighed in relief that initial contact had been made. She knew she could always cancel next Thursday, but her newly hatched, still fragile shred of optimism had not allowed her to turn him down point blank. Besides, she had to be practical. She had been living on the money in her English account, on the rental cheques from her cottage that she had deposited there over the past eight years. Last time she’d looked, which had been over a month ago, there had only been a few hundred pounds left. She hadn’t been able to face calling the bank in France where she and Xavier had held their accounts and into which the majority of her earnings were poured. There would be forms to fill in to change the accounts into her sole name. And, so far, she had not been ready to accept that Xavier was gone.
She knew she must return to France to sort out her life. But making a call was one thing, physically confronting the facts was another.
Not wanting to cloud the progress she had made so far this morning – one step at a time – Julia decided to go for a walk. Just as she was pulling on her jacket, there was a knock on her door.
‘Hi, darling, it’s me, Dad,’ said a voice through the wood.
In surprise, Julia opened it.
‘Sorry to barge in,’ George said, as he stepped over the threshold. ‘Alicia said you were usually here. I can come back some other time if this isn’t convenient.’
Julia thought how incongruous her father looked in the tiny room; like Gulliver in the land of Lilliput. ‘No, it’s fine,’ she said, removing her jacket as he sat down. ‘Want some coffee?’
‘No thanks, I’ve just had some. I’ve been out on the marshes at Salthouse taking a cutting of an unusual plant that one of my PhD boys found there. So, I thought I’d drop in on the way home.’ George studied her. ‘I won’t ask how you are, I know from experience it’s irritating. But I will say that I think you look better than I’ve seen you in a while. Not quite so drawn. Alicia keeps telling me she’s worried you’re not eating. Are you?’
Julia grinned. ‘Dad, you can check my fridge if you want. I went food-shopping only yesterday.’
‘Excellent. You know, I … do understand. I’ve gone through similar myself, although at least I didn’t have to suffer the pain of losing one of my children as well as your mother. And Gabriel was such a sweet little thing. It must be unbearable for you, darling.’
‘It has been, yes.’ Julia’s voice caught in her throat.
‘All I can say, without sounding patronising, is that things do improve, but it takes time – not to “get over it” because of course you never really do, but to …’ George searched for the right word, ‘adjust.’
Julia studied him silently, knowing he had more to say.
‘And at some point, you do get over the “hump”,’ he continued, ‘when you wake up one morning and the dark isn’t as dark as it was, if you
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