Free Return to Mandalay by Rosanna Ley Page B

than that.
    They walked along the promenade at Nyhaven, the seventeenth-century waterfront, one of their favourite strolls, where you could admire the brightly painted townhouses and the historic wooden boats moored in the canal. There wereplenty of bars and restaurants too, but Rosemary could tell that Alec wanted to walk – and talk.
    ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said, as they strolled along the wide walkway. ‘It’s been a long time since you saw Eva and your father.’
    She glanced at him.
Was that it?
‘I know.’ Almost a year to be precise.
    Alec stuffed his hands in his pockets. ‘Any reason?’ He sounded casual, but Rosemary wasn’t fooled.
    ‘Not really,’ she said. Other than the fact that during her last visit her father had been defensive and Eva more distant than ever. The truth was, it hurt. She wanted to see them both, of course she did. It was just that it was so hard. And surprisingly easy to lose yourself in a different life and not remember. Or at least to try. Alec wouldn’t push it, he never did. Alec’s parents had died several years ago and since then there was little reason for him to go back to the UK, apart from with Rosemary. He had one brother who was living in Australia and he’d lost touch with most of his British friends. It had happened to Rosemary too. Easier to bury yourself, easier to let them go.
    They walked in silence for a moment. There had been a slight drizzle in the air and the sky was November-grey and dimming into dusk. The colour of the canal was a dull olive. Like the winter sea back in Dorset, thought Rosemary.
    ‘Eva’s in Burma,’ she said, after a while.
    ‘Burma?’ he repeated. He pushed up his glasses which had slipped down his nose. ‘Isn’t that where—?’
    ‘Yes.’ She wasn’t prepared to make any more connections at the moment. Eva had gone on a work trip. Whatever else she was doing there, Rosemary wasn’t sure she wanted to know. ‘She needs to authenticate some antiques.’
    ‘Right.’ Alec made to reach for her hand, she noticed the gesture but didn’t respond. ‘Rosemary?’
    She felt his gaze upon her, the question in his eyes. Always the same question.
What’s going on with you? What’s going on inside?
    And she shot him a quick smile. It was her usual smile, the smile she’d perfected over the years which meant everything was OK, when it wasn’t. That there was nothing to worry about, when there was. Which meant, which begged him, to let it be.
    They passed the oldest house, number 9, built in 1661 she’d heard, painted blue and a different shape from most of the others. On the other side of the canal were the more lavish mansions, including the Charlottenborg Palace on the corner.
    Alec didn’t say anything else. And that was why they were together, Rosemary thought. Because he let her be. He accepted the distance which had become a part of her. And so she’d been able to let him get closer, in a way she had been unable to let her father or her daughter, because, unlike them, she knew he’d never get too close. Self-preservation. It was the most necessary thing in life. That was what Nick’s death had taught her.
    Rosemary had met Alec almost ten years after Nick haddied. Some might say it was a long time not to be involved with a man, but Rosemary didn’t see it that way. It was more incredible that she had ever managed to be involved with a man again.
    There was a female solicitor at the practice in Dorset called Selina, who had become something of a friend; her husband was a keen golfer and so Selina found herself with free time at the weekends which she sometimes spent with Rosemary if she was at a loose end. It suited them both.
    ‘Come to dinner on Saturday,’ Selina had urged her one Monday morning. ‘One of Jon’s friends will be there, and Jon’s sister and her pal. It’s just a casual get-together.’
    ‘You’re not matchmaking?’ Rosemary was hesitant.
    ‘Course not.’
    But as a matter of fact,