His head turned towards her. ‘I wondered if you knew the whole story.’ He sounded relieved that she knew the truth. She nodded.
‘I only found out a few hours ago. Did he tell you about the letters he wrote to me?’ Howard shook his head, so she explained, observing his reaction as she revealed the contents of the cardboard box.
He gazed at her in awe. ‘That’s truly amazing.’ He paused for reflection. ‘But it’s the sort of thing I can imagine him doing. He was a complex man, your father, and he could be stubborn when he wanted.’ He caught her eye. ‘And have you read them all?’ Holly shook her head.
‘I’ve got as far as the year 2000. In fact, when I get home this evening, I plan to carry on. What I now need to know is what happened to his second wife.’ She hesitated. ‘Do you know, Howard? Is she still alive? Have I got a stepmother, or whatever she is, over there in Australia?’
Howard dropped his head and kept his eyes fixed on the logs in the fireplace as he answered. ‘She’s dead, Holly. She died in 2008 I think. It was after her death that he decided to sell up and come back here.’
Holly digested the news. ‘How did he handle it?’
Howard looked up. ‘She died while they were both living in Australia. I wasn’t over there, so I can’t tell you how he reacted initially. But, by the time he moved back over here a few months had already passed and he was coping. As far as the outside world was concerned, he grieved and then moved on. But he never did move on; not really.’ Holly met his eyes. ‘I know it’s bound to be difficult for you to hear, but she was his one true love. Her death was a crippling blow for him. I’m no doctor, but I’ve asked myself many times whether the cancer that killed him was born when she died.’
‘So he sold his business and came back to Devon after her death? And there was nobody else in his life from then on?’
‘Just you, Holly. Just you.’
It was a while before either of them spoke again. Finally, Holly carried on with her original query. ‘So the ladies here all liked him, but was there maybe one lady in particular? I see there are fresh flowers on his grave.’
‘I don’t think there was ever anyone special, you know. He just enjoyed female company and they clustered around him like flies.’ He looked up and he was smiling again now. ‘Bit like me, really, only I’m much more handsome.’ Without giving her time to comment, he raised his glass, drank some more champagne and muttered to himself. ‘Big and flamboyant. They’ve got it dead right. This really is a rather good wine.’
He reached for the bottle and topped up both glasses, then, serious once more, he took hold of her hands and looked straight into her eyes. ‘Holly, I know it’s hard for you to bear, hard for you to understand. There was never another woman in his life after Lynda died. The fact is that she was his everything. He loved her the way Romeo loved Juliet, Abelard loved Heloise. He would have died for her. Her death was a crippling blow to him and he never recovered. When he came back here, he met people, made friends; men and women, but there was nobody who could replace Lynda. With one exception, Holly, and that would have been you, but you had been torn out of his life. Or rather, he had torn himself out of your life.’ He released her hands and took a mouthful of wine.
Holly blew her nose into a tissue and they sat in silence for quite a while before he stirred himself, reached out and produced a large white envelope that he set down on the coffee table.
‘I found a few photos of your father. I wondered if you’d like to see them.’
‘Oh, Howard, that’s so very kind. I’m still going through his stuff, but so far I’ve hardly found any photos of him at all. Just the one of him on the GWB website with his second wife.’ She hesitated, then spoke the name. ‘With Lynda.’
‘Well, let’s see if you like these.’ He tipped the contents of the envelope onto the table. There were a number of shots of cricket teams, celebrations and some more formal events. Holly’s father was in all of them. Howard leant a bit closer and talked her through each of the photos, from the victorious 2009 cricket team to her father opening the new cricket pavilion. Her father looked healthy, handsome and happy in all the photos and Holly felt a thrill of pride to see him so obviously well-respected in the community.
The one marked Christmas Eve 2012 was interesting. A large group had been assembled on the elegant stairs of the Castle, the men dressed in dinner jackets, the women in ball gowns. She recognised a number of the faces she had spied in the pub the other night, among them Bertie and his blue-haired wife Melissa, aka Marge Simpson. Right beside her father, Holly couldn’t miss a busty redhead in a green silk gown. She looked a lot younger than him, but from the way she was looking at him, she clearly liked him a lot. Might this be the woman putting flowers on his grave, she wondered.
Anxious that she might be showing too much interest, Holly half-turned towards Howard, pointing to a different woman, her arm linked with Howard’s. She was tall, elegant and spectacularly beautiful. She could have been an ageing film star.
‘The stylish lady in the black gown, is that your wife?’
For a moment, Howard showed his age as a shadow crossed his face. He nodded slowly. ‘Yes, that was my Bella.’ He looked up. ‘Not her real name. She was French and she was called Odile. I always thought it was a terrible name, so I called her Bella, from the Italian. Means beautiful, you know. Most beautiful woman in the world, I always thought.’ He summoned up a little smile. ‘Present company excepted, of course.’ He took a mouthful of champagne and carried on. ‘She died of that damned cancer, just like your father. It was in the spring of last year, but she’d been dying slowly for six months. We were together for almost forty years, you know.’
‘I’m so sorry, Howard. She certainly was a very beautiful lady.’
‘She was, she was.’ Howard turned away and cleared his throat.
Holly transferred her attention back to the photos, allowing him time to compose himself. The group photo for 2014 showed Howard standing alone in the middle of the bunch. Her father was just to his right and, this time, there was an attractive brunette at his side, a look of adoration on her face. She saw other familiar faces, among them Justin and Jack, both in tuxedos and both looking very desirable. There were women near both of them, but none exhibiting the sort of visible affection of the brunette beside her father. The farmer had been right. The ladies had evidently all loved her dad. When Holly had studied all the photos, she slipped them back into the envelope and glanced up at the old man. He was looking more serene now.
Holly risked a question about his wife. ‘So, where did you meet your wife? Over here or over there?’
‘We met in Paris. I worked over there most of my life until I decided to retire, sell the company and buy this place.’
‘What was it you used to do in Paris?’
He looked up and caught her eye. ‘Now, you’re not going to laugh at me, are you?’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’ Holly held her breath, waiting for the revelation.
‘Lingerie. Women’s underwear.’
Holly gawped. ‘Women’s underwear? You sold women’s underwear?’
‘Only wholesale. Used to design the stuff.’
‘You used to design women’s underwear?’ Somehow, Holly had assumed this would have been done by women. ‘Isn’t that a bit like me trying to design a jockstrap?’
‘Takes a bit of getting used to, but you soon get the hang of it. Got to love the subject, of course.’ He looked up and gave her a grin. Following this revelation, Holly realised that she was also feeling more cheerful now. ‘Always have. Always will. And I studied engineering too, a long time ago. Comes in very useful. You see, that’s something you and I’ve got in common. We’re both engineers, just that my kind of engineering doesn’t make your fingernails black.’ He grinned more broadly at her. ‘Although