Where You Belong by Barbara Taylor Bradford

with tension and anxiety.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” Jake asked.
    I swallowed. “I’m . . . dreading it. There’ll be so many people there,” I said.
    Jake made no response for a split second, and then he said, “I know what you mean, but let’s be glad and proud that so many people want to celebrate Tony’s life. Because that’s what a memorial is, Val, a celebration that the person was ever alive. We are showing our gratitude that Tony was born and was among us for as long as he was.”
    â€œYes.”
    He got up and came and sat next to me on the sofa, took hold of my hand in the most loving way. “I know it’s tough . . . but he’s dead, Val, and you’ve got to accept that because—”
    â€œI do,” I cut in, my voice rising slightly.
    â€œYou’ve got to get yourself busy, start working. You can’t just . . . drift like this.”
    I stared at him. There he was, being bossy again in that particular very macho way of his, and before I could stop myself, I exclaimed, “You’ve not done very much yourself since we came back from Belgrade.” And I could have bitten my tongue off as soon as these dreadful words left my mouth; I felt the flush of embarrassment rising from my neck to flood my face.
    â€œI wish I had been able to work, but my leg’s been pretty bad, and it’s taken longer to heal than I expected.”
    I was furious with myself. “I’m sorry, Jake, I shouldn’t have said that. I know your injuries were more severe than mine. I’m so thoughtless.”
    â€œNo, you’re not, and, listen, let’s make a pact right now. To help each other go forward from where we are tonight, to get ourselves moving. Let’s get started again, Val, let’s pick up our cameras and get on with the job.”
    â€œI don’t think I could go back to Kosovo.”
    â€œGod, I wasn’t meaning that! I don’t want to go there either, but there are other things we can cover as well as wars.”
    â€œBut we’re best known for doing that,” I reminded him.
    â€œWe can pick and choose our assignments, Val darling.”
    â€œI suppose so,” I said.
    Jake’s eyes changed, turned darker blue, became reflective, and after a moment he adroitly changed the subject, remarked, “I’ve booked us on a plane to London on Monday night, okay?”
    I simply nodded. Reaching for my glass, I took a sip of wine, then put the glass down and exclaimed with forced cheerfulness, “Tell me about your trip to the South of France.”
    â€œIt was really great, Val, I wish you’d been with me—” Jake stopped and glanced at the phone as it started to ring.
    I extracted my hand from his, got up, and went to the small desk on which it stood. “Hullo?”
    VI
    To my utter amazement, it was my brother, Donald, calling from New York, and I sat down heavily. I was flummoxed at hearing his voice, although after we’d exchanged greetings, I quickly pulled myself together and listened to what he had to say. Donald had always been tricky; deviousness was second nature to him.
    Once he had finished his long speech, I said, “I just can’t get away right now. I have to go to London next week, to a memorial service for a colleague, and I’ve also got loads of assignments stacking up.”
    I listened again as patiently as possible, and once more I said, “I’m sorry, I can’t make the trip at this time. And listen, I really can’t stay on the phone, I have guests and I’ve got to go. Thanks for calling.” In his typical selfish fashion, determined to get all his points across, Donald went on blabbering at me, and short of banging the receiver down rudely, I had no option but to hear him out. When he finally paused for breath, I saw my opportunity and jumped in, repeated that I could not leave Europe under any circumstances for the time