“No, not as lovers,” he said. “But as your friend I am back forever.”
Sasha melted and took him in her arms. “Forgive me that I don’t tell you about Nick,” she said, sniffling into his clothes. “I make many mistakes.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, tearing up and brushing his hands over her long, dark hair. He let her go, slipped his hands down to hers, and gazed at her for the longest time. His voice fell to a whisper. “No, I’m wrong. Not as your friend. Lord help me I’m still in love with you.”
She dropped his hands. “Don’t say such things. You cannot.”
“I should not, no” he said. “But seeing you here, now, I can’t deny what I feel. I’ve thought of you every day for the last sixteen years. Oh, Sasha.” He went to hold her again but she dodged him.
“No,” she said. “You are emotional right now. You come in, sit with us. We visit. You will see.”
Wink watched her helplessly and allowed himself to be led into the stunning home. Amanda could see him take in his own artwork hanging on the walls. He was obviously deeply moved and also obviously feeling guilty. She would not have wanted to be in his shoes at that moment.
“Your daughter is lovely,” Wink said awkwardly, looking at the pictures of Basilica all over the room rather than the girl herself.
“Thank you,” said Basilica. Amanda had never seen her so uneasy.
“She is a famous model,” said Sasha proudly. “World famous.”
“So I’m told,” said Wink. He glanced at his artwork again.
“I have one of your paintings,” said Nick.
“Oh, which one?” said Wink, seizing on the opportunity to change the subject.
“The orange, green, and pink abstract.”
“From my early days,” said Wink a little too loudly. Amanda wanted to pet him and tell him it would all be okay.
“Well this is awkward,” said Basilica. She got up and went into the kitchen.
“Don’t mind her,” said Sasha. “She’ll be fine.”
“I shouldn’t have come,” said Wink, eyes darting back and forth.
“No, you should,” said Sasha. “I’ve missed you. I’m glad you did.”
“But your life was stable,” he said. “I’ve just roiled the waters.”
“You’d always wonder,” said Nick. “It’s good you came.”
“I don’t think so,” said Wink, glancing at his son. “Look, you and Amanda stay. I’m going to go.”
“Coward,” said Nick.
“What did you call me?” said Wink, taken aback.
“I said you’re a coward. It’s a lot easier hiding out than facing the consequences of your choices.”
Wink stared into his son’s eyes, blue into blue. Now that they were together Amanda could see that they were the same shade—the color of the sky on a sunny California day. He glanced over at Sasha and seemed to come to a decision. He got up, walked over to her, and pulled her into his arms, looking over at Nick to make sure he’d seen.
“I’ll show you who’s a coward,” he said, and kissed Sasha as if he was never going to see her again. “Marry me.”
“What?” Sasha said. “You’re pazzo.”
Wink smoothed her hair and studied her face. “I love you. I adore you. I can’t live without you. Marry me.”
She gasped. “But you’re already married.”
“I’ll get a divorce.”
“I can’t do that to your family,” she said. “And you shouldn’t either.”
Wink gazed into her eyes for the longest time, then shook his head. “My God, what have I done?”
He looked at Nick with sadness in his eyes, let go of Sasha, and walked out the door.
Basilica was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, watching. “Go after him, Mum.”
“What for?” said Sasha.
“You love him,” said her daughter. “It’s written all over your face.”
“Sometimes love, it is not enough,” said Sasha.
“What a mess,” said Amanda as she and Nick rode back to Legatum. The train was full and they’d been lucky to get seats.
“He’ll figure it out,” he said.
She sighed. “You’re such an optimist.”
“I am. Because I’ve been there and I know. Don’t get me wrong. It isn’t easy. He’ll go through hell before he’s got it sorted. But he’ll come out the other side okay. I’m sure of it.”
“You’re really quite remarkable,” she said.
“Nah. I’m just a bloke. A bloke who adores you.”
He pulled her close to him and kissed her softly. Then he ran his fingers through her wild hair and pulled her head onto his shoulder as the sights rolled by.
It was the first time Amanda had been back to her dad’s flat since the break-in. Lestrade had settled into the spare room nicely, and Herb had devised a course of study so he could learn about the twenty-first century. The two men were getting along splendidly, finding similarities of style, belief, and even mannerisms to amuse them.
To educate the inspector about modern cuisine they had ordered an Indian takeaway, complete with pappadums, mango chutney, and tandoori chicken. Lestrade was marveling about how easy it was to obtain such delicious food, and Herb was explaining that he planned to take him for Chinese next. Amanda and Nick were sitting there listening, breaking into the giggles every so often as Lestrade would come out with phrases Dr. Watson had immortalized.
Finally they finished their food and were sitting around talking, relaxed and happy after the lovely meal. Lestrade was wondering what employment might be available for him, and Herb was ticking off the options.
“Do you really think I could get a job at the Yard?” said Lestrade.
“I don’t see why not,” Herb said. “Your resume is perfect.”
“Resume?” said Lestrade.
“Your job history,” said Herb. “A resume is a piece of paper that summarizes all you’ve done.”
“I suppose,” said Lestrade. “But ain’t I out of date? I don’t know all that fancy computing stuff you people use.”
“Easy peasey,” said Herb. “You’re a Lestrade. I’ll have you up to speed in no time.”
Lestrade grinned. He looked like a drunken skunk. He was an ugly little man, but not so bad as a person when you got to know him.
Amanda looked from him to her father and back again. The time was finally right. Never would a moment like this come again.
She glanced at Nick. He nodded and she coughed. “Inspector?”
Lestrade looked at her and smiled in his rodent way. “Don’t you think it’s time you called me by my Christian name?”
She held her breath. He was offering. She wouldn’t even have to ask.
“I’d like that,” she said.
He stared at her. “Well?”
She looked nervously from Nick to Herb. “Sir?”
“Go ahead,” said Lestrade. “We’re family. It’s all right.”
“I uh . . .”
“You don’t know what my name is, do you?” he said. “That blasted Watson. I don’t know why he refused to spell it out. There’s nothing to hide.”
“No one knows,” she said. “It’s a mystery.”
“Damn that doctor,” said Lestrade. “He’s been a thorn in my side for more than a hundred years.” He laughed at his own joke.
“Afraid so,” said Amanda, looking at Nick again. He was barely containing his laughter.
“Well?” said Herb. “Are you going to keep us in suspense?”
Lestrade looked around the table. “I could.” He grinned. “But I won’t.”
“Go on then,” said Herb. “What does the G stand for?”
“Geoffrey,” said Lestrade. “My name is Inspector Geoffrey Lestrade.”
Author’s Note
In the story, Dr. Watson’s surgery is located on the ground floor of 221B Baker Street. In Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories this is not the case, the surgery being in Kensington du
ring the period the action covers. However, I have stretched the facts for the sake of convenience. I hope you will forgive me.
About the Author
Paula Berinstein is the former producer and host of the popular podcast, The Writing Show. She lives in Los Angeles.
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