Page 58 of Wife After Wife
“Hi, look, Merry, I’ve asked you not to—”
“Will’s dead, Harry.”
His stomach dropped, and for a moment he couldn’t speak.
“That’s terrible news. I’m so sorry. My condolences.”
“Thank you. The funeral will be in Scotland next week. Will you come?”
“I expect not, Merry. It... it wouldn’t be appropriate.”
“But Ineedyou, Harry. How can I get through this by myself?” Her tone was pleading. It made him go cold.
“The guy at the castle—Darius? He can handle things, surely.”
“Darius is in bits; he’s incapable of organizing anything.”
“Well. I’m sure you’ll manage.”
“But, Harry—”
“Look, I’m sorry but I’m late for a meeting. And again, Merry, I’m so sorry. Will was a lovely chap. One of the best.”
He put the phone down.
Harry thought back to their school days, when Will had been the driving force behind Poetry Club, writing spectacularly bad Romantic odes for the school magazine. He hadn’t even made thirty. Harry was due to reach that milestone himself in a couple of weeks. He was too young to be confronting his own mortality.
Restless, he left his office and took the lift down toHooray!’s floor. Striding down the corridor, causing a flurry of raised heads, he made his way to Ana’s office. He was glad to see she was alone, her dark head bent over contact sheets.
“Ana,” he said, closing the door behind him.
She looked up and blushed charmingly. “Harry. What can I do for you?”
Kiss me? Take me to bed? Love me?
“I just heard about Will. Merry rang.”
Ana looked taken aback, and he wondered if it was because this was the first time in all these months he’d mentioned her sister.
“I heard this morning too,” she said. “We’re all so sad.”
“He was one of life’s good guys, heart of gold.” Harry pulled up a chair and sat down opposite her. “Merry thinks I should go to the funeral, but I’m not intending to. I wasn’t a close friend, and I bloody hate funerals. Too hard...” He took a deep breath.
Ana regarded him steadily. He tried to read the expression in her dark eyes but found it impossible. She was difficult to fathom.
“Why does she think you should go?” she said finally.
“Support, I suppose. But it wouldn’t be appropriate.”
“No.”
“Ana—”
“Harry, it’s best you don’t discuss Merry with me. I’d prefer to keep things—well, work only.”
Harry ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “Fair enough. You’ll be going to the funeral, I suppose?”
“Yes. I can support Merry, you don’t need to worry.”
