Free That Part Was True by Deborah Mckinlay Page A

negative comment. Gwen, coming upon her there, trembling and ashen, had feared the worst, too. But later, at the doctor’s surgery in Sudbury, Eve’s symptoms had been attributed to exhaustion. This diagnosis was confirmed the following week when extensive tests from the local hospital certified that she was in perfect health.
    â€œStill going on, is it?” Gwen said now.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI had wondered.”
    â€œThis week, with Izzy and Ollie. It was ghastly. I can’t go on this way, Gwen. I just can’t.”
    â€œNo,” Gwen said. “No. You can’t.”
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    The truth was that Izzy was as nervous about seeing her father as her mother was. She had seen him twice in seventeen years, and if she had spent any significant time with him before that, she couldn’t remember it. While she waited nervously for him in the lobby of the very grand hotel in central London where he’d suggested they have lunch, she was suddenly struck with the fear that she would not recognize him.
    â€œIzzy,” a voice said at her back.
    She turned and there he was. Exactly the same. Extremely handsome and beautifully dressed. Grayer, but exactly the same.
    â€œI’m so sorry if I’ve kept you,” he said, glancing at his watch.
    â€œNo. I was very early,” she said.
    He smiled.
    â€œI thought we’d have a drink before we went to our table…if you’d like to.” He suddenly seemed unsure, too, and that relaxed her somewhat.
    â€œOf course, yes. Why not?”
    â€œThis way then.” He stood back to let her pass. They walked through an arched doorway and went into a large high-ceilinged room where prettily covered chaise lounges and gilt-edged chairs clustered around piecrust tables. “A champagne cocktail, my dear?” he asked, regaining his charm and composure as they sat.
    â€œYes. Thank you.”
    â€œSo,” he said, settling, adjusting his jacket. “Tell me about this chap. Does he deserve you?”
    Izzy’s first response was nervous, girlish. She wanted to impress him with Ollie. But then she caught herself. Who was this man to question her choices? He had deserted her as a child and barely made any attempt to contact her since. Cards at Christmas and birthdays attached to exorbitant, meaningless gifts. No, she would not have it.
    â€œWe’re very happy,” she replied. Her drink arrived, and she lifted it and sipped it with tight lips.
    â€œGood,” Simon said, appraising her. She was good-looking, he thought, but lacked her mother’s prettiness. Eve had that soft look, like a watercolor. Izzy was all angles. Like her grandmother.
    â€œMy condolences on the loss of your grandmother, Izzy,” he said steadily.
    Izzy did not loosen any at this. “Thank you,” she replied and put her glass down.
    â€œAnd your mother,” Simon went on. “How is she?”
    Izzy caught his eyes; there was a sincerity in his tone. “She’s…she’s fine,” she said, feeling a novel loyalty to Eve. Not wanting to say too much about her to this man, this stranger.
    Her father’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
    â€œI’m so glad you called, Izzy,” he said, leaning toward her slightly as if he might take her hand.
    Izzy, though, was still feeling defensive. “Well, it wasn’t as if you would have called me,” she said.
    Simon Petworth looked stung. But he caught himself.
    â€œNo…no, you’re right. I would not have called you. But that does not mean I didn’t want to hear from you, wasn’t happy to hear from you. It will sound trite, I know, but I have thought about you a great deal over the years.”
    Izzy was shocked by how much she wanted this to be true. She tried to counter her weakness by bristling.
    â€œIt does sound trite, I’m afraid.”
    â€œYes…yes. Anyway, let’s see about some food, and then we can discuss