Free Fragile Lives by Jane A. Adams Page A

said as she led Mac through to the kitchen. ‘Come and say hello to everyone and then we’ll withdraw, shall we?’
    Mac smiled at the old-fashioned notion. Rina’s ‘withdrawing room’, her ‘den’ as Tim called it, was a small sitting room just off the main hall, an inner sanctum that no one entered without invitation.
    â€˜George was very grateful,’ he said. ‘Impressed too.’
    â€˜Good, better than them sitting in the top of the wardrobe. How is he anyway? Or is that a stupid question?’
    â€˜To which I will give the usual stupid reply,’ Mac told her. ‘He’s as well as anyone could expect him to be. But he does seem to have found a friend up there.’ He thought of Ursula, her pale face surrounded by the fall of straight blonde hair and the too large eyes, wide set and questioning.
    Damaged, he thought. So many damaged, fragile souls, his numbering among them. In contrast Rina always seemed so solid, so certain and yet he knew she had suffered more than her share of grief.
    â€˜Mac! Oh, how lovely.’ One of Rina’s lodgers came forward, elderly hands outstretched. It was one of the Peters twins, possibly Bethany, but he could still never be quite sure.
    She was joined a moment later by her sister. ‘Mac, do come and sit, let us make tea and I’m sure there’s cake?’ Her voice rose in question as she looked towards the tall, middle-aged man with flowing grey hair wielding a tea towel while a smaller, balding figure sloshed bubbles and water in a Belfast sink.
    â€˜Of course there’s cake,’ Matthew Montmorency boomed, projecting his voice as though he still thought himself on stage. ‘Yesterday was baking day, isn’t that right, Steven?’
    â€˜Right indeed,’ the other replied. ‘A very good evening to you, Inspector, and what variety of cake would you like? We have chocolate and ginger, though that could do with standing for another day before it’s cut, and I believe the ladies left some of the lemon drizzle?’ He emptied the water from the sink and dried his hands. ‘Eliza, dear, perhaps you could go and shout Timothy, tell him it is now safe to come down. The washing up is done.’
    â€˜Will do, Steven.’ Eliza fluttered out.
    â€˜Tim did all of the lunch pots, all on his own,’ Bethany defended. ‘Mac, darling, Rina’s found a place for you to live.’ She clasped her hands fervently. ‘It’s so exciting. Eliza and I will have to start knitting.’
    â€˜Knitting?’ Mac was mystified but, he thought, that was no novel experience in the Martin household.
    â€˜A nice throw, we thought, all bright squares. For your sofa,’ she added as though Mac might not know what to do with a throw.
    Mac thought about the two scarves Rina wore, one for each sister, and considered he should probably be grateful that a throw could at least be left at home. He thanked her and then, allowing Bethany to seat him at the scrubbed pine table, looked across at Rina for further explanation. She shook her head indulgently at her mad family.
    â€˜I have a friend in the old town who has just finished renovating a flat,’ she said. ‘He had planned to get it ready for holiday lets this year but everything got delayed and he’s still got to furnish the place and as the season starts soon he’d much rather go for a steady rental than take his chance mopping up last-minute reservations.’
    She paused and Steven handed her a mug of tea and a folded sheet of paper. ‘There you are Rina. All the details.’
    â€˜Thank you, Steven.’ She pushed the paper across to Mac. ‘I’ve arranged for a viewing on Saturday. Neil, my friend, he says there’s still a bit of painting to be done and the place is small, just the one bedroom and an open-plan living kitchen area. Oh, and there’s only a shower in the bathroom. He could