‘First time anyone has called me wild before.’ He smiled and took a seat beside her, leaving his torch pointing at the wall so she could see him.
‘Want to talk about it?’ he said after a moment. ‘Or I can just leave . . .’
‘No, no, stay,’ said Amy. She’d had enough of being alone. ‘I’ve just been sitting here trying to sort things out in my head, but none of it seems to go together.’
‘Ah, the old jigsaw puzzle,’ said Peter. ‘You’ll laugh at this, but I’ve had a few dark nights of the soul myself.’ He held up a hand before she could reply. ‘I know, silly old Peter, born with a silver spoon and an allowance, what can he have to worry about?’ He shook his head sadly. ‘I won’t bother you with it, of course, but believe me, I’ve been where you are from time to time and I recognise the look.’
‘The look?’
‘Oh, despair, misery, my-world-is-at-an-end, all that rot. And it is all rot, Amy. May not feel like it now, but whatever’s bothering you, it will sort itself out in the end. You never see a skeleton in a tree, do you?’
Amy shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, what?’
‘Oh, it’s the old thing about how the fire brigade used to roll out to calls about cats being stuck in trees, sirens and bells, winding out the ladder and so on. But they stopped coming once they’d worked out you never see a dead cat up there in the branches. Cats – and people, for that matter – always find a way of getting back to safety.’
Amy laughed feebly. ‘You’re right. I do feel like I’m stuck right now. But I can’t see a way down.’
He chuckled and then looked more serious. ‘If you’re honest with yourself – really honest – you generally know what’s going on and who’s telling the truth.’
‘But Peter, I don’t,’ said Amy.
He gave a sad smile. ‘Then think about what you want.’
‘What I want?’
He stood up. ‘The big things are never easy, old stick. That’s why you’re sitting in an outhouse in the dark trying to work it out.’
He picked up the torch and held out a hand.
‘Come on, let’s go where it’s warm at least, hmm?’
Amy uncurled herself, her legs shaking in protest, and Peter gently took her arm.
‘Thanks, Peter. For coming.’
‘All part of the service,’ he said. ‘And don’t worry about Josie. Juliet and I are going home tomorrow anyway, so we’ll pack her up and take her along. I’ll sort out the tickets and so on: one less thing to worry about.’
‘Peter, I . . .’ said Amy, her voice thick.
‘No, no, we’ll have no more of that,’ he said, producing a handkerchief. ‘The dark night is over; it’s time to look at things properly in the cold light of day. Are we agreed?’
She dabbed her eyes and nodded.
‘And Amy? Do me one favour, because I haven’t always been able to do it myself. Be brave,’ he said simply.
Amy gave a thin smile. ‘I’ll do my best.’
&nbs
p; ‘Good enough,’ said Peter, and they set off back towards the house, his thin torch beam lighting the way.
Chapter 19
Oxford, 1995
David looked in the mirror and decided he hated white tie. He hated black tie too, hated any kind of suit. Too stuffy, too restrictive, especially with those stupid stick-up collars that left a red ring of chafing around your neck. Thank Christ he hadn’t gone to Eton, where they had to wear this ridiculous get-up every day.
‘Stand up straight,’ said Juliet, adjusting the white bow tie. ‘If you slouch, you’ll lose the effect.’ She stood back with a satisfied look. ‘There. Shoulders back and you look almost dashing.’