Free Want to Know a Secret? by Sue Moorcroft Page B

his damndest for his child. ‘It must be horrible for her, to feel like that. And your wife must be out of her mind with worry about her, too.’
    James’s eyes shifted to the wall behind Diane’s head. ‘Most mothers would be.’
    His silence made Diane feel awkward. She wished Tamzin would come back. It seemed time for a change of conversational direction but none of the subjects they held in common were particularly cheerful – the accident, Gareth’s deceit and now Tamzin’s difficulties. She opted for the accident as the best of a bad bunch.
    ‘Have the authorities given you any indication of what the problem was with the helicopter? Why it came down, I mean?’
    His eyes flicked sharply back to her face. He checked over his shoulder and saw that Tamzin was walking towards them. Words rat-a-tatted out of him like bullets. ‘Oh, I have a good idea what the problem was. Valerie forgot that alcohol and flying don’t mix.’

Chapter Six
    ‘That took ages. There are only two and they were both busy.’ Tamzin was slipping back into her chair before Diane could react to James’s shocking statement. ‘Diane, we’re going to see Pops. Why don’t you come?’
    Diane tore her gaze away from the anger in James’s eyes. ‘Yes,’ she agreed, slowly, trying to process information and invitation simultaneously. ‘Yes, I think I’d like to. It’s not as if there’s anything spoiling at home.’
    From the car park, the dreaded rush hour looked every bit as ferocious as Diane had feared, but she tucked her car in bravely behind James’s Mercedes. She was getting less nervous about busy roads and her hands only sweated a little bit. And James was either considerate of her modest progress or he always drove like an old woman on a sunny Sunday.
    Harold lived in Castor, a village to the west of Peterborough shown on maps as Castor and Ailsworth, it being so difficult to see where Castor ended and Ailsworth began. Castor was beautifully kept, from the neat green umbrellas outside the pub to the village hall ornamented with Village of the Year awards. Harold’s home stood back from the road, an impressive thatched-roof house with fish-eye dormers over several sparkling bow windows, and a porch supported by massive oak posts twisted and split with the seasons. The garden was a small park of exemplary grass and architectural trees. James pulled up on the turning circle of gravel outside the front door and Diane crunched to a halt beside him.
    Harold, dressed casually – still a shirt and tie but an olive buttoned-up cardigan instead of a jacket, and leather carpet slippers – seemed delighted with his extra visitor. ‘Diane! Come in, come in.’ His white hair was thin and looked incredibly soft, like a baby’s. He ushered them into a sitting room with tapestry upholstery, a carved sideboard and oil paintings in gilded and decorated frames.
    As she sank into a vast high-backed sofa, Diane breathed in the scent of furniture wax with the slightest accents of age and dust, complemented by warm grass and rose petals from the windows open to the spacious front windows. The fragrance of childhood.
    Either the unbelievably comfortable sofa or the day’s confrontation made her feel almost as if she could go to sleep. The others discussed Valerie’s condition and treatment, but she just let the words drift past: plaster, pins, pelvis ... external fixation device.
    Presently, Harold disturbed her reverie. ‘James and Tamzin already have plans but would you stay and dine with me? Just a casserole – Mrs Munns usually makes twice what I eat and it will save you cooking.’
    Diane beamed, nestling still deeper into the cushions. ‘That would be lovely .’
    James offered Diane a business card, having added his private numbers to it in pen. Furness Durwent, Printed Circuits. Production Director – James North . Stiff white card with a discreet logo. ‘It makes sense if we swap contact details.’
    Digging out an old shopping