on the shelf above it. On the desk there were pens, papers, a bottle of a vicious-looking liquid bearing the label ‘Baghdad Bolly’, a striped lanyard, a snowstorm paperweight of New York at Christmas and a postcard of the Krak des Chevaliers castle in Syria.
She picked up the postcard. Krak des Chevaliers was one of the most ambitious Crusader castles ever built. Sand and isolation surrounded it, the hot wind played over it, faith and territorial ambition had built and now maintained it. Blood watered it. But the intriguing point about the impregnable Krak des Chevaliers was that it had only fallen to the enemy by a ruse.
She imagined Sarah saying,
Lara hates to be dependent
.
She’ll welcome the chance to be free of you, darling.
Sarah was correct.
But Lara needs it.
(Bill might have attempted to make a stand.)
Is it morally right that she still gets your money?
She scolded herself. Sarah was
not
like that.
Their –
his
– daughter still needed a home. So did she. The house suited them, had suited them all. The dimensions, which didn’t quite square, the cracked slates on the roof (which must be replaced), the unsmart kitchen and the shabby stair runner … The house kept their history and safeguarded it.
The previous night she had cried in her sleep and woken with wet eyes.
She wanted Eve to embark on her new life in a good and positive way, with the wedding she wished for, without tensions, without the burden of her and Bill’s history. This would be her way of telling Eve: I believe in this for you.
She replaced the postcard, picked out a book on Middle Eastern history from Robin’s shelf and opened it. ‘In robes of brilliant silk, superbly crafted armour, and their weapons inlaid with gold, the Mameluke Army who waited to fight the Ottomans in 1516 were the ultimate warriors …’ she read.
Suddenly she was there on the battlefield, far from the room that smelt faintly of cleaning fluid, waiting in the sunlight to move forward on the word.
Other worlds.
On an impulse, she scribbled a note, ‘Were they the ultimate warriors?’ inserted it into the place in the book and left it on his desk.
‘Another cup?’ asked Daniella, rematerializing at the door.
Startled, Lara stared at her – plump, pale and bossy. Her mind cleared. It was obvious: she must extend her mortgage and expand her practice.
Supper, glass of wine, a large slice of peace and something mindless to watch on TV, in that order. Upstairs in her bedroom, Lara conducted a long phone call about a distressing case, then surged downstairs and into the kitchen where she caught Maudie in the act of shrugging on her jacket.
‘Hi, Mum.’ She slammed down the lid of her laptop and shoved it into her bag.
‘Maudie, we agreed not Sunday evenings. You have to catch the early train to Winchester tomorrow.’
‘
You
agreed.’ Maudie zipped up the jacket. Below it her matchstick legs in black leggings stretched for a mile. ‘It’s my life.’
‘Shall we talk about this?’
‘No,’ said Maudie, adding, ‘Spare me the counselling.’
The on-duty mother.
Discuss.
‘Maudie, I’ve just been trying to rescue a child who has none of your options.’
‘So?’
‘Worth pondering?’
Maudie flicked at a pile of books. Clearly, their unresponsiveness annoyed her and she gave them a determined shove. The stack smacked on to the floor. Not that it made much difference to the state of the kitchen, but the last few days had been harassing and Lara had had enough. ‘Pick them up.’
Maudie’s stubborn, troubled face and over-blackenedeyelashes assailed Lara as she went about the task of retrieval.
‘If you wish to break the agreement, that’s fine. But you say you want to go to university more than anything else. To do this, you need to study and you need to rest.’
‘I do. I do.’ She whipped her rangy figure upright. ‘But it’s difficult. The others think it’s stupid. There
are
other things, Mum.’ Her mouth
She picked up the postcard. Krak des Chevaliers was one of the most ambitious Crusader castles ever built. Sand and isolation surrounded it, the hot wind played over it, faith and territorial ambition had built and now maintained it. Blood watered it. But the intriguing point about the impregnable Krak des Chevaliers was that it had only fallen to the enemy by a ruse.
She imagined Sarah saying,
Lara hates to be dependent
.
She’ll welcome the chance to be free of you, darling.
Sarah was correct.
But Lara needs it.
(Bill might have attempted to make a stand.)
Is it morally right that she still gets your money?
She scolded herself. Sarah was
not
like that.
Their –
his
– daughter still needed a home. So did she. The house suited them, had suited them all. The dimensions, which didn’t quite square, the cracked slates on the roof (which must be replaced), the unsmart kitchen and the shabby stair runner … The house kept their history and safeguarded it.
The previous night she had cried in her sleep and woken with wet eyes.
She wanted Eve to embark on her new life in a good and positive way, with the wedding she wished for, without tensions, without the burden of her and Bill’s history. This would be her way of telling Eve: I believe in this for you.
She replaced the postcard, picked out a book on Middle Eastern history from Robin’s shelf and opened it. ‘In robes of brilliant silk, superbly crafted armour, and their weapons inlaid with gold, the Mameluke Army who waited to fight the Ottomans in 1516 were the ultimate warriors …’ she read.
Suddenly she was there on the battlefield, far from the room that smelt faintly of cleaning fluid, waiting in the sunlight to move forward on the word.
Other worlds.
On an impulse, she scribbled a note, ‘Were they the ultimate warriors?’ inserted it into the place in the book and left it on his desk.
‘Another cup?’ asked Daniella, rematerializing at the door.
Startled, Lara stared at her – plump, pale and bossy. Her mind cleared. It was obvious: she must extend her mortgage and expand her practice.
Supper, glass of wine, a large slice of peace and something mindless to watch on TV, in that order. Upstairs in her bedroom, Lara conducted a long phone call about a distressing case, then surged downstairs and into the kitchen where she caught Maudie in the act of shrugging on her jacket.
‘Hi, Mum.’ She slammed down the lid of her laptop and shoved it into her bag.
‘Maudie, we agreed not Sunday evenings. You have to catch the early train to Winchester tomorrow.’
‘
You
agreed.’ Maudie zipped up the jacket. Below it her matchstick legs in black leggings stretched for a mile. ‘It’s my life.’
‘Shall we talk about this?’
‘No,’ said Maudie, adding, ‘Spare me the counselling.’
The on-duty mother.
Discuss.
‘Maudie, I’ve just been trying to rescue a child who has none of your options.’
‘So?’
‘Worth pondering?’
Maudie flicked at a pile of books. Clearly, their unresponsiveness annoyed her and she gave them a determined shove. The stack smacked on to the floor. Not that it made much difference to the state of the kitchen, but the last few days had been harassing and Lara had had enough. ‘Pick them up.’
Maudie’s stubborn, troubled face and over-blackenedeyelashes assailed Lara as she went about the task of retrieval.
‘If you wish to break the agreement, that’s fine. But you say you want to go to university more than anything else. To do this, you need to study and you need to rest.’
‘I do. I do.’ She whipped her rangy figure upright. ‘But it’s difficult. The others think it’s stupid. There
are
other things, Mum.’ Her mouth
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