Free The Order of Things by Graham Hurley Page B

did that any more. They nodded and they smiled and sometimes they even agreed. But they seldom listened.
    ‘This was Harriet Reilly?’
    ‘It was.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘She listened.’
    She came for dinner, he said. They decided to treat her like an old friend. He cooked quail that night, with a very thin pasta that Julia could manage. Harriet stayed for most of the evening, and by the time she left they had a plan.
    ‘We ex-army people love a plan, my dear,’ he said. ‘To be honest it was a huge relief. It meant we could take a little time, do it properly. This hideous thing wasn’t going to push us around any more. With Harriet’s help, it would be our decision, on a day of our choosing.’
    By now they’d joined Harriet’s practice. It was early September. The garden had never looked so full, so alive, so wonderful. He’d employed a gardener for a week. He was an older man, working under Julia’s direction, and Ralph was absolutely certain that he knew what was going on.
    ‘Not only that, Lizzie. I think he approved .’
    ‘Did he come to the funeral?’
    ‘The celebration? Of course he did. I made sure his wife came too. And I made sure he took a bow.’ He paused. ‘I understand you’re a supporter of the Dignity in Dying people.’
    ‘That’s right.’
    ‘Then I need to tell you about the way it ended. May I do that?’
    ‘You mean Julia? Going?’
    ‘Of course.’
    Lizzie accepted an invitation to sit down. Part of her was wishing she could record this stuff, get it down on disk, but she knew there was no way she’d ever forget a single phrase. In the nightmare months after Grace had died, she’d lost all faith in redemption. Now this.
    ‘We chose the season first. That was tricky. In the view of the consultant, Julia had between six months to a year left. A year would have been an eternity. Autumn was already upon us. And so September seemed something of a blessing.’
    Harriet, he said, insisted that only Ralph be present at the moment of Julia’s death. Until that moment they’d been thinking in terms of a family gathering – certainly their two daughters – but under the circumstances they respected Harriet’s wishes. She, after all, was the one running the legal risk. Proof that she’d killed Julia Woodman could land her in prison.
    ‘Weather?’ Lizzie was beginning to get the drift.
    ‘Sunny, of course. Had to be. There’s a very good chap on the local BBC, David someone, and of course you can look at all sorts of websites.’
    For days he and Julia scanned the weather forecasts. As well as sunshine, they wanted as little wind as possible.
    ‘It was Julia who spotted it first.’ He was smiling now. ‘A huge area of high pressure drifting north from the Azores. It was due over the UK in a couple of days’ time. She said it had her name on it. Sweet, sweet thing.’
    He had baked her a special cake, a recipe he’d acquired in one of their excursions across the Channel. He bought a bottle of Krug and another of Armagnac for afterwards. They spent an entire evening mulling over music and finally settled on Ravel’s G major Piano Concerto.
    ‘Do you know it at all?’
    ‘I’m afraid not.’
    ‘Sublime. Utterly wonderful. Upbeat, mysterious, challenging, full of surprises, not a whisper of regret.’
    Not a whisper of regret. Lizzie wanted to hear this music. Share this departure, this take-off, this release.
    ‘Do you have a copy?’
    ‘Of the music? Ravel?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Of course.’
    He was on his feet in a second. He looked delighted. He went across to the oak cabinet where he kept his player and CDs. He loaded the machine and then disappeared. When he came back he was carrying three glasses and a bottle of what looked like champagne.
    ‘It’s not Krug, I’m afraid, but it’s not bad.’
    Lizzie drained her sherry while he uncorked the bottle. The champagne fizzed and danced in her glass. Then came the music.
    ‘Martha Argerich,’ Ralph whispered. ‘The Krug