Flowers and George were married on a balmy day at the end of October, two days after Adela and Sam arrived in Calcutta. Delayed in Bombay disembarking, the couple almost didn’t make it in time for the wedding. Sophie, before leaving, had arranged with the hospitable Roys for her brother and his wife to stay a few nights with them at Ballyganj.
The reception was a lunch held at Firpo’s, where George had done much of his courting of Flowers and where he had proposed over an intimate dinner and finally persuaded her to marry him.
Libby was greatly cheered to see Adela and Sam again. When the wedding was over, and the happy couple had been waved away in a taxi to the airport, bound for Colombo in Ceylon, Libby and her friends went back to the Roys’ and spent the evening sitting in the garden catching up on each other’s news.
An emotional Adela told Libby all about her search for John Wesley and the shock at finding him living at Willowburn when she had given up looking.
‘In the end we decided that it would be cruel to uproot him from his new home,’ she said tearfully. ‘He’s so happy with the Gibsons. But I live in hope that one day Martha Gibson will tell him who I really am and maybe he will want to know me better . . .’
Sam held her hand. ‘Tell Libby your other news,’ he said with a tender smile.
Adela wiped away her tears and smiled at her husband. ‘You tell her – it’s as much your news as mine.’
Sam grinned. ‘Adela’s expecting. I’m going to be a father.’
Libby’s eyes stung to see the pride and happiness in his face. ‘That’s wonderful!’ she cried. ‘I’m so very pleased for you both. I can’t imagine a couple more suited to being parents. Sophie and Rafi will be overjoyed to hear your news too.’
Adela beamed. ‘Thank you, Libby.’
Sam said, ‘I wish Sophie had hung on a couple more weeks to see us but I understand how she must have been impatient to be with Rafi after their time apart.’
‘And after the awful incident at Belgooree,’ said Adela. ‘We were deeply shocked by Mother’s letter, though she made light of it. Tell us what really happened.’
Libby told them about the Gulgat troubles, the attempt to snatch Sophie from Belgooree, their escape and how their relief at being back in Calcutta had been overshadowed by the terrible news of Ghulam’s disappearance. Adela and Sam sat in silence, stunned by the news. Libby had held back from telling them so as not to spoil Flowers’s wedding day. But now she poured out her story: of how she and Ghulam had grown very close, of how much she missed him and of the letter she treasured that he had written to her on the eve of his journey.
‘It’s six weeks since he was last heard of,’ Libby said in distress. ‘Fatima won’t give up hope that he’s still alive but I don’t believe it. I know there are literally millions of people on the move but I’m certain that Ghulam would have got a message to his family by now if he was okay.’
Adela stood up and went to Libby, putting her arms around her. ‘I’m so very sorry,’ she said. ‘My heart breaks for you.’
Libby hugged her tight, her pain easing a fraction for having confided in her friends. Adela had been the person she had felt closest to while growing up in Newcastle and the one who had confided in Libby as an adult about her own deeply personal loss of her baby. But more than that – both Adela and Sam had liked and admired Ghulam. Libby wept into Adela’s shoulder while her cousin stroked her hair and tried to comfort her.
Two days later Adela and Sam left, impatient to be back at Belgooree and reunited with Clarrie. Libby gave them Wesley’s old coat to return with a message of thanks to Adela’s courageous mother. That day, after giving typing lessons, Libby went to the centre where Sanjeev doled out food and began teaching sums to a roomful of children of all ages. Libby almost gagged at the rank smell in the airless, fetid room. But the look of trust and expectation on the children’s faces spurred her on. They were mostly boys and, from what Sanjeev told her, were refugees from the countryside, quite unused to the city.
Libby, with the help of the Roys, was picking up a smattering of Bengali, but she taught numbers to her ragged pupils in English and with a lot of gesticulation. There were no jotters and pencils, or even slates for the children. But when the Roys discovered Libby was improvising with drawing numbers in sand with a stick, they provided a board and chalk.
She thought of Ghulam’s pipe dream of them setting up a school together for the impoverished of Calcutta. She knew by heart the words in his letter: the streets are full of lost or abandoned children – I could teach them to read and write and you their sums and times tables. She felt hollow inside to think she was doing it alone, but Ghulam’s vision gave her the courage to carry on helping the children as best she could.
After an exhausting week of teaching typing and giving arithmetic lessons, Libby returned home to hear the Roys entertaining on their veranda. Halfway up the garden path, Libby stopped in astonishment at the sound of a familiar voice. It boomed out of the shadows. But it wasn’t possible!
Libby hurried forward. ‘Dad?’ she called out, running on to the veranda.
To her incredulity, her father rose from a rattan chair clutching a tumbler of whisky.
‘How . . . ? When . . . ?’ Libby gaped at him. Then she was seized by sudden dread. ‘Has something happened to Mother or one of the boys?’
‘No, nothing to worry about,’ James quickly reassured her. He put down his drink and held out his arms. ‘I have business in Calcutta, that’s all. And your mother wanted me to check up on you too.’
Libby rushed to hug him, her eyes smarting with tears. Her father felt solid and comforting and dearly familiar. She clung on to him until he patted her and said ‘well, well’, which she knew meant that that was enough show of affection.
She sat down next to him, still hardly able to believe he was there, while he talked about his flights and the weather en route.
‘Your father flew in this morning,’ said Ranajit.
‘He was going to book into a hotel,’ said Bijal, ‘but we insisted he must stay with us so he can see you properly.’
‘I can see why you don’t want to go home, Libby,’ James said with a smile, ‘when you are treated like a princess by these kind people.’
‘It’s no more than she deserves,’ Bijal said, ‘after she works so hard all day.’
‘The Roys have been telling me all about your charity work,’ said James.
‘Not just charity,’ Libby answered. ‘I’m beginning to make a living from the typing lessons.’
She waited for him to chide her for delaying in Calcutta when she should have been back in Newcastle weeks ago. But he didn’t. He took up the conversation with the captain that she had interrupted, asking him about his war work. Sanajit talked about timber supply and how innovative Rafi had been in trying out goran wood from the Sundarbans when their supply of teak from Burma had been stopped. This led on to James reminiscing about his part in the war effort on the Burmese Front.
Libby watched her father, still perplexed. What on earth had made him come all this way? Was it tea interests? Perhaps he had been asked by the board of the Oxford Estates to carry out some business on their behalf. Her father might have seized on the chance to visit India again so soon. She longed to get him alone and ask him; he was obviously reluctant to talk about it in front of the Roys.
They went inside for dinner and then James, looking tired out, retired to bed.
‘We’ll talk more in the morning,’ he told Libby, dropping a kiss on her forehead.
Libby was up at dawn. James was already shaved, dressed and drinking tea on the veranda. His face was grey and drawn as if he hadn’t slept.
‘Walk with me in the garden, Libby,’ he said.
For a few minutes he talked about the family at home, the new house in Jesmond and the holiday she had missed in St Abbs. Libby listened to this chit-chat and curbed her impatience to know the real purpose of his visit.
Eventually she asked, ‘Are you really here on business or is this just to make sure I come home?’
He stopped and looked at her. ‘Are you coming home?’
Libby struggled with her thoughts. Part of her felt she was just biding her time till the right moment came to leave India. She had been filling every waking moment with activity, putting off that moment. But standing in the dawn light with the sounds of the city stirring beyond the garden wall, the answer seemed simple.
‘No, Dad, I’m not,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m sorry. I know I said I would. I’ve disappointed you both again. But I don’t think of Newcastle as home. To me, this is home now – Calcutta.’
He asked gently, ‘Is this because of your Indian friend – Rafi’s brother? The Roys have told me what’s been going on. I know I was dismissive of your friendship with him but I’m very sorry to hear he’s missing.’
Libby felt her heart ache with sadness. There was hardly a moment of each waking day when she didn’t think about Ghulam.
‘No, it’s not because of Ghulam.’ She tried to explain her feelings. ‘I miss him terribly – I was very much in love with him – and he with me. But I don’t hold out hope that he’s still alive.’ She gulped back tears. ‘I want to stay in India anyway. I feel I can be more useful here. What would I do in Newcastle? The thought of going back to the bank or being at the beck and call of some boss would be too depressing. I don’t fit in there like my brothers do.’
At that James gave her a wry smile. ‘Oh, Libby, you are so like me. No wonder your mother despairs of us.’
Libby wanted to ask him what it was really like for him at home. From the little he had said about the house in Jesmond, he seemed to be making an effort to be reconciled with her mother. But his next question surprised her.
‘Libby, can you take me to meet Danny Dunlop?’
She stared at him. ‘Yes, but why? Do you have information for him?’
James nodded.
‘So Mr Fairfax remembered the family?’ Libby asked.
James gave out a long sigh. ‘In a way, yes. But it is I who must do the explaining.’
Libby was baffled. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Something that’s been preying on my mind,’ he replied, ‘that I should have faced up to a long time ago . . .’ His expression was tense. ‘That’s why I’ve come back.’
Libby guessed that it must have something to do with her father’s previous fragile state of mind but she thought it better not to press him further. If he wanted to tell her, he would in his own time.
‘Of course I’ll take you,’ said Libby. ‘Mr Dunlop has been keen to meet you – he’ll be delighted.’
James gave her a strange wistful look but said nothing. She put her arm through his and together they returned to the house.
An invitation to Sudder Street came back by return. The following day Libby took her father to meet the Dunlops.
‘Flowers won’t be back from honeymoon yet,’ she said, ‘so it will just be the parents. Do you want me to stay or meet you afterwards?’
‘Stay,’ said James firmly. ‘You’ve had to deal with my erratic behaviour – you have a right to know what I have to say.’
Libby felt nervous at his words but he was treating her as an adult and she would give him whatever support he needed.
The Dunlops welcomed them enthusiastically with broad smiles and a lavish afternoon tea. Danny attempted to stand to greet his important guest.
‘It’s an honour to have you here, sir,’ Danny said.
Libby thought how much happier and more invigorated he looked since his daughter’s engagement and marriage.
‘Please, there’s no need,’ James said, embarrassed by the younger man’s deference.
‘And so jolly kind of you to entertain our daughter at your home in Assam,’ added Winnie.
As they took tea, Danny asked a string of questions about life in Newcastle.
‘We hope one day to visit with our new son-in-law George,’ said Danny. ‘Don’t we, dear?’
Winnie nodded. ‘He is such a nice boy. We are very pleased for Flowers. I’m sorry you’ve missed her. Are you staying long in Calcutta?’
‘No,’ said James, ‘not long.’
‘Pity,’ said Danny.
Libby could tell her father was trying to summon the courage to say what he had come to say. She could hardly bear to hear what it was but feared that he might leave without unburdening what weighed so heavily on his mind.
‘Dad,’ she coaxed, ‘don’t you have something to tell Mr Dunlop about Mr Fairfax?’
James shot her a look of alarm. Danny’s face lit up in expectation.
‘You’ve discovered something about my tea planting father?’ he asked.
James pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his brow; he was the only one perspiring.
‘I— I have something to tell you,’ he began hesitantly. ‘I’m not sure you will thank me – it’s not what you might want . . . but when I saw the details, I realised . . .’
Libby, who was sitting next to her father, put a hand on his in encouragement. ‘You mean the details in Flowers’s letter about Mr Dunlop?’
He looked at her and for a moment she saw the fear in his eyes.
‘So you remembered something?’ she prompted.
James nodded. He took a deep breath and turned his gaze on Danny.
‘Do you remember anything about your early childhood?’ James asked.
Danny stroked his moustache. ‘Very little. I’m sure I remember tea bushes though – and playing on a wide veranda – sitting next to the punkah-wallah.’ He gave a half-laugh. ‘I don’t remember the names of my parents but I remember his; isn’t that strange? Sunil Ram.’
Libby gasped and looked at her father. That was the name he had cried out in his nightmares at Cheviot View.
‘I knew you as a boy,’ said James, his voice trembling, ‘until you were about three years old.’
Danny looked at him in astonishment. ‘Really? Where was that?’
‘At the Oxford Estates. That’s where you were born.’
‘Good heavens!’ cried Danny. ‘Did you work with my father?’
‘Yes,’ said James. Libby could see fresh beads of sweat pricking his brow.
‘Fancy that!’ Danny gave a puzzled smile. ‘I thought you didn’t know any Dunlops?’
‘Your father wasn’t called Dunlop,’ said James, ploughing on. ‘He was called Logan, Bill Logan. He was my boss in the 1890s when I first went to Assam.’
Libby stifled her astonishment. Bill Logan was Sophie and Sam’s father.
‘Logan had a . . .’ James hesitated. ‘Before he was married he had a relationship with your mother. She was a beautiful hill girl – a tea picker called Aruna.’
Libby saw Danny flush pink. ‘No, I don’t think that’s right – my parents were both British – that’s what I was told.’
‘I’m sorry, but that’s not true. Your father decided that you must be sent away before he brought his newly married wife to the plantation. You looked too like him and he thought it would be awkward.’
‘You’re mistaken,’ said Danny, red with indignation. ‘Mixing me up with another boy.’
‘No,’ James insisted. ‘There’s no mistake. I was the man tasked with taking you to the orphanage in Shillong. I handed you over to Sister Placid at the Convent of the Sisters of the Holy Cross. I even gave you your name, Aidan. I chose it at random – named you after a local saint from my home county of Northumberland – because you never had a Christian name up till then. Sister Placid must have given you your surname. There were never any Dunlops working on the plantations in Assam in those days.’
Danny stared at James as if trying to recall a distant memory. ‘There was a big man who led me into the convent . . . ?’
‘That was me. I think you remember me, don’t you?’ James said. ‘I certainly never forgot you.’
Danny looked stunned. He was speechless.
Winnie said in agitation, ‘Why are you telling my husband this? Why come all this way to upset him? I was right; nothing good comes of digging up the past. Let sleeping dogs lie; that’s what I say.’
Danny held up his hand to ward off her criticism. ‘What was my father like?’
James hesitated. ‘Tea planting was a hard life and Logan was a hard man. Work hard, play harder, was his motto. But he was fond of you. If Logan loved anyone in his life then it would have been you, Aidan. He certainly liked you more than the children from his marriage.’
Libby winced at his bluntness. She was as shocked as Danny was at the revelation; the man sitting opposite her – Flowers’s father – was Sophie and Sam’s illegitimate half-brother.
Abruptly Danny put his face in his hands and let out a sob. Winnie rushed to comfort him.
‘I f-feel s-such a f-fool!’ Danny cried. ‘Thinking I was B-British to the core. I feel s-so ashamed.’
Winnie gave James a despairing look. ‘I think it best if you go. I don’t want you to see my husband like this.’
Libby stood up but James leant across the table and gripped Danny’s arm. ‘You shouldn’t feel ashamed! It was Logan who was in the wrong, not your mother and not you. You were a lively, happy boy – a loving boy – always singing and playing around the burra bungalow, helping Sunil Ram with the punkah and following your father like his shadow.’
Libby could see the effect of her father’s words on the distraught man; tears were coursing down his cheeks.
‘Dad,’ she cautioned.
James’s voice grew urgent. ‘I’m not telling you all this just to unburden myself of the guilt I have felt all these years for doing Logan’s dirty work – though God knows I’ve been plagued by it. It’s because you have a right to know and the not-knowing has been haunting you all your life too, I’m sure of that. The worst thing is to bottle up secrets and let them fester. That’s what I’ve done and it’s poisoned my life. I can no longer live with such destructive secrets.’
He hung on to Danny’s arm. ‘So I want to tell you this: you may have had a flawed man as your father but your mother was a good woman. She loved you dearly – would have done anything to protect you. I have never seen a mother adore a child as much as she did you, Aidan.’
Danny looked at him in disbelief. ‘But she didn’t protect me, did she? She let me go.’
‘She tried to keep you,’ James insisted, ‘hid you in the lines, hoping Logan would forget to banish you, but you kept returning to the burra bungalow. I was ordered to take you away. Your brave mother ran after us, shouting for you, distraught at losing you.’
‘She did?’ Danny questioned.
James nodded, suddenly overcome, sinking back into his chair. Libby was alarmed to see he looked on the verge of tears too.
‘I remember riding high above the tea bushes,’ Danny whispered. ‘There was a kind man holding me so I didn’t fall.’
‘Aslam,’ James croaked, ‘my bearer.’
Libby felt tears flood her own eyes at the mention of Manzur’s father. James cleared his throat.
‘Your mother couldn’t live without you, Aidan. She never got over you being taken away – never understood why the sahibs were being so cruel. While Logan was away fetching his new bride, Aruna took her own life. That is how much she loved you.’
Danny bowed his head and broke down weeping. Winnie put her head next to his and murmured soothingly. ‘It’s over, Danny. Now you know. There’s nothing left to worry about. You knew a mother’s love. You always said you had a vague memory of a kind ayah. It must have been your mother, Danny – your mother.’
James stood up, patted Danny’s shoulder and turned to go. Libby followed. As they reached the door Winnie said, ‘Mr Robson?’
James paused, holding the door for Libby.
‘Thank you for coming and telling Danny the truth,’ she said.
James nodded as Libby led the way out.
That evening, after the Roys had retired to bed, James told Libby the full story of the Logan affair over a late nightcap. She was still reeling from his revelation about Danny’s parentage and his cruel banishment. How could Sophie and Sam’s father have been such a callous man?
‘It was Sunil Ram who raised the alarm about Aruna,’ James recalled. ‘I thought everything was under control and the affair could be forgotten. Until he took me to the bungalow.’
‘The Lodge?’ Libby queried.
‘Yes, or Dunsapie Cottage as it was called in those days.’ James struggled to describe what he had found. ‘She must have slipped past Sunil Ram. She – she was – Aruna was lying there – there was blood soaking the bed – she’d cut her wrists. Oh, God! The smell of blood!’
Libby thought her father was about to vomit, so vivid was the memory. She fought back her own nausea.
‘It was in that room on the left, wasn’t it?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ said James. ‘How did you know that?’
‘Flowers had a bad feeling in there – she was really shaken up – don’t you remember?’
James sighed. ‘I was in such a state I don’t remember what was real and what I dreamt. I’d got to the stage where I was reliving it all every night – whenever I closed my eyes I couldn’t get it out of my head.’
Libby reached out and took his hand. ‘Oh, Dad, what a terrible burden to carry all these years. Did you never tell anyone?’
James shook his head. ‘I tried to forget. Do you know the worst of it? Logan never even asked about Aruna or the boy again – never! He was monstrous.’
Libby shook her head in disgust. ‘How could a man like that produce such loving children as Sophie and Sam – and Flowers’s father?’
‘Perhaps because they had loving mothers,’ James answered. ‘Not that any of them had their mothers for long, poor things. I feel so very guilty that I couldn’t save either of those poor women from Logan. At least with Jessie Anderson I tried to save her – went to see her and begged her to leave Bill Logan – but I let Aruna down so badly.’ He gave a tortured sigh. ‘Flowers reminded me of her grandmother Aruna – she has the same eyes . . .’
‘So that’s why you were so ill at ease having Flowers to stay?’ Libby guessed. ‘It probably triggered off your bad memories again. I’m sorry if I made things difficult for you by bringing her along.’
‘No, it wasn’t your fault,’ James said quickly, ‘or Flowers’s. She’s a delightful young woman. It was me being such a coward and not facing up to what I’d done. I’d spent most of my life trying to pretend Aruna’s death never happened.’
Libby sat, absorbing everything her father had confessed. Finally she asked, ‘Does Mother know what you’ve come all this way for?’
James gave her a wistful smile. ‘It was Tilly who suggested I do so.’
‘Really?’ Libby exclaimed.
‘After I went to visit Fairfax,’ said James, ‘the nightmares began again. Your mother kept on asking questions until I told her what was haunting me. Tilly made me realise that I couldn’t escape what troubled me by putting thousands of miles between me and the source of my mental anguish. I would solve nothing by running away from my past. She has your tenacity, Libby. And your ability to make people confide their secrets.’
‘Good for Mother,’ Libby said in admiration. ‘She succeeded where I failed. Flowers knew there was something very wrong and that you needed help.’ After a moment she added, ‘Will you be all right?’
James squeezed her hand. ‘You don’t need to worry about me.’
‘It’s good that you and Mother have cleared the air,’ said Libby. ‘It’ll make it easier when you go back.’
James slipped his hand out of hers. He took a swig of his whisky. Quietly he said, ‘I’m not going back.’
Libby thought she had misheard. ‘What?’
James said, ‘Your mother and I are separating. It’s amicable. Well, by that I mean there won’t be any wrangling over who keeps what.’
‘Dad!’ Libby cried in dismay. Her stomach knotted.
James held her look. ‘You can’t pretend it comes as any great shock. Your mother and I haven’t seen eye to eye in years. She’s happy in Newcastle – very happy – with the new house and her committees, and the boys nearby and Josey as her companion – and a ridiculous new dog called Fluff. She doesn’t need me. It’s taken me a long time to realise it, but I don’t need her either. We had some very happily married years together and we love our children; we still care about each other – but not enough to stay together now.’
Libby’s heart drummed at the unsettling news. The thing she had feared ever since war had separated her parents was now coming to fruition: the break-up of their marriage. She had yearned for them to be reconciled – had badgered them both to return to each other – but it hadn’t worked. Had she tried hard enough? She should have gone home with her father when he’d wanted her to and maybe she could have helped him settle down better in Newcastle. She could have stuck up for her dad in the face of her mother’s criticism.
But maybe that was being unfair to Tilly. By the sounds of it, she had tried to understand James’s deep unhappiness – had got him finally to talk about what distressed him – and had encouraged him to face Danny Dunlop with the truth. Her mother had shown greater understanding than she, Libby, had towards her father’s mental state – and a good deal of tolerance towards his desire to leave her. Tilly would no doubt set the tongues wagging at home for separating from her husband. She risked censure from her friends at church and colleagues on her charitable committees. Yet rather than try to paper over the cracks in their marriage, Tilly was allowing James to be free to return to India.
Libby attempted to absorb the enormity of what it meant. She swallowed hard, trying to stem the feeling of panic she felt at this sea change in her parents’ relationship.
‘What will you do?’ she asked.
‘I’m staying on,’ he said with a tired smile, ‘like you.’
‘In Calcutta?’ Libby asked in sudden excitement.
James took another sip of his drink and said, ‘I’m thinking of settling in Shillong. The Percy-Barratts have moved up there and I have other old friends in the area.’
Libby slid him a look. ‘Such as Clarrie?’
Even on the dimly lit veranda, she could see her father’s face redden. ‘I suppose Clarrie is nearby too – yes, that’s true.’
Libby laughed at his coyness. ‘She misses you too, Dad,’ she said. ‘A lot, as a matter of fact.’
‘How the devil would you know?’ James blustered.
‘Because she told me,’ Libby said, smiling. ‘She said how fond she had grown of you – and Harry too. He talks to Breckon about you – I’ve heard him. If you go to Shillong you’ll see him a lot, seeing as he’s at school there. A lot more than you did your own children.’
James said, ‘Do you still resent us for sending you away? I know it was particularly hard for you, Libby. It wasn’t your mother’s fault – she would have kept you here if she could. I was the one thought it would do you all good. I regret that now.’
Libby felt a pang of sadness. It confirmed her increasing awareness that her mother had not been to blame for her long, isolated years at boarding school. Tilly had suffered just as much being separated from her children – including her. Her mother’s regular, affectionate letters were proof of that.
‘It’s pointless staying resentful,’ Libby replied. ‘I’ve come to realise that. And I’m doing what I want now.’
‘You’ll be welcome in Shillong if you decide you want to do your teaching there,’ said James. ‘You know you will always have a home with me.’
She felt a wave of affection for him. ‘Thanks, Dad. But I’m going to try and make a go of it here. I’ll soon have enough put by to rent my own place. There’re a couple of Flowers’s friends who are looking for a third person to share a flat with, so I won’t be a burden to the Roys for much longer.’
James reached out and took her hand, squeezing it in his large one. For a moment he just held on to her but then he cleared his throat.
‘I wasn’t very kind about your young man,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry about that now.’
Libby felt a renewed stab of loss. ‘Ghulam?’
‘Yes, Ghulam.’ His eyes shone with pity. ‘That’s another thing your mother taught me – not to be so judgemental about people – or perhaps that was Clarrie’s doing.’
Libby’s eyes smarted. ‘I think you would have had more in common with Ghulam than either of you realised,’ she said reflectively. ‘Both single-minded about your work and both loving India with a passion. I wish you had met each other.’
James said gently, ‘Is there really no chance that he’s still alive?’
Tears flooded the back of Libby’s throat. ‘It’s my greatest wish that he is,’ she said hoarsely. ‘I will never love anyone else as much as him.’
She expected her father to come out with some comforting platitude that she was still so young and was bound to love again. But he surprised her.
‘If you loved him so much, Libby, then he must have been a good man. I too am sorry that I never met him.’
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
He squeezed her hand. They sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Libby had never felt closer to her father than in that moment. It wasn’t the same as her childish adoration of him; it was a mature feeling of love and mutual understanding.
After a while, James raised his glass in his other hand. ‘To you, Libby,’ he said with a tender smile. ‘To my amazing, intrepid daughter!’ He finished off his drink.
Drained by the day’s events, they both went swiftly to bed. Despite the shock revelations of the past few hours, Libby slept soundly for the first time in days.