She smiled. "He wanted to make a better world?"
Tom sighed, lifting his glass and tilting it in her direction. "I prefer yours over mine."
The doorbell sounded. Tamara looked over her shoulder but her mother was already heading to answer it. Passing by the two of them, Francesca tutted at her daughter.
"Don't worry, Tammy, I'll go. The two of you are as thick as thieves as usual. This is supposed to be a night off, you know."
Tamara rolled her eyes, but only once her mother had passed by and wouldn't see.
"Thanks, Mum."
There was a gleam in Tamara's eye and Tom noticed, narrowing his eyes as he looked at her. "What are you up to?" he asked.
"You'll see."
Tamara casually took a couple of steps back so she could see down the hall to the front door, and Tom followed. They both looked on as Francesca pulled the door wide and a man stood waiting, a bouquet of flowers in one hand, a suitcase resting at his feet. He took his cap off with his free hand and smiled, somewhat nervously in Tom's opinion. He looked at Tamara whose smile lit up her face.
"Well," she said quietly, "she can complain about him all she likes but I know she's missing him just as much as he is her."
"Devious," Tom said under his breath.
"Thoughtful."
"Manipulative."
She elbowed him in the ribs. "Caring."
They both hurriedly looked away as Francesca turned to see them watching on. "Well, I suppose seeing as you're here you'd better come in." They both heard Francesca say, stepping to one side so her husband, Tamara's father, could enter.
"Best make a move," Tamara whispered.
"Agreed."
The two of them hurried away from their spot, Tamara going to help Alice while Tom joined Eric and Becca sitting on the sofas next to the hearth with the dancing flames in the wood burner.
"Everyone!" Tamara called as her parents entered the room. "I'd like you to meet my father." Everyone said their hellos and Francesca looked around.
"Who are we waiting on?"
"No one, we're here," Cassie said entering behind Francesca, a bottle of wine in one hand and her partner, Lauren, at her side. "Sorry we're late. The door was open, so we thought we'd—"
"Honestly, Charles," Francesca said to her husband. "You could have closed the door; you've let all the heat out. It's no wonder you can't cope without me."
"Sorry, love."
"Never mind." There was the faintest hint of a smile threatening to crack Francesca's hard-faced exterior, a clear sign that Tamara had made the right call. Saffy bounded over and clambered onto Tom's lap. He couldn't help but think she wouldn't be able to do that for much longer without crippling him in the process, but he didn't mind because it wouldn't be long before she would no longer want to. He didn't relish that day. If he could keep her at this age forever, then he probably would. Drinks were passed around and Francesca led the toast. Her stance had already softened and she was looking the most relaxed Tom had seen her since she'd arrived. Family and friends could have that effect on people. You never quite know what you are missing until you spend some time apart. They raised their glasses to friends at Christmas… in November.
To Die For
Hidden Norfolk - Book 9
Click here to receive a FREE digital copy of LIFE & DEATH, a Hidden Norfolk novella.
* * *
Alternatively, visit my website at www.jmdalgliesh.com and sign up to my VIP Club and be the first to receive news and previews of forthcoming works.
* * *
Never miss a new release.
No spam, ever, guaranteed. You can unsubscribe at any time.
Enjoy this book? You could make a real difference.
Because reviews are critical to the success of an author’s career, if you have enjoyed this novel, please do me a massive favour by entering one onto Amazon.
Yes, I am happy to leave a review - click here
Reviews increase visibility. Your help in leaving one would make a massive difference to this author. Thank you for taking the time to read my work.
To Die For - Preview
Hidden Norfolk - Book 9
The door closed and the latch clicked as it dropped into place. He looked across the room to the figure standing resolutely at the door, one hand resting on the frame, head bowed. The footsteps on the decking faded as the last guests walked to their cars. The ticking of the clock mounted above the fireplace was the only sound, the same staccato monotonous tone resonating as the hand moved round the face. He watched the movement, sitting bolt upright on the sofa hands on his knees, for almost a full revolution until it hit twelve and the minute hand passed effortlessly to midday.
His brother sighed, drawing his eyes to him as he came to the centre of the room, breaking his concentration. He didn’t speak in reply to the gesture which was undoubtedly his brother’s intention when making the noise, but he merely followed the younger man with his eyes as he first loosened his tie, unbuttoning his shirt at the collar, and then sank into the armchair to his right shaking his head slowly. His brother looked at the clock.
“It’s been a long day.”
He nodded briefly but still said nothing.
“And it’s only lunchtime.”
His brother stared hard at him, his eyes narrowing, their gaze fixed on one another.
“Do you… think we should have done more?”
It was a curious question. Open ended. He shrugged, unsure of what he was expected to say. This was one of the things that regularly irritated him about his sibling, this innate need to analyse every detail, to explore the possibilities of what has happened, could happen or would happen in any given scenario. What did it matter? What was done was done and couldn’t be revisited. His brother misinterpreted the movement.
“About holding a wake, I mean?” he said, running the palm of his hand slowly back and forth across his chin. “It’s one thing to have a handful of people back here but…”
He cocked his head to one side.
“But what?”
“We could have done more, couldn’t we?”
The suggestion irritated him but he didn’t know why. His brow furrowed. The expression appeared to please his brother for some reason because a half smile crept onto his face.
“So, you are still in there then.”
The irritation grew.
“I wasn’t aware that I’d ever left.”
His brother sighed again, lowering his head into his hands. He ruffled his hair before sitting up.
“I think it’s time we talked, don’t you?”
“About what?”
“Well…” he looked around. “This place for starters.”
He followed his brother’s eye around the room. Everywhere he looked reminded him of their mother. The pictures on the walls were all her choices. She was obsessed with the southern Mediterranean, the mountains of Spain, the vineyards of Bordeaux and the rolling hills of Tuscany, all reflected in her choice of painting or framed photography. They were all prints of course. She’d never been to any of them. In fact, he couldn’t remember her ever having left Norfolk let alone ventured abroad. So, what was it? The exotic implication of faraway lands? He didn’t know. There was every chance his mother didn’t know where any of these places were. It didn’t matter. Not to him anyway.
“So, what do you think?”
The tone in his brother’s voice suggested this was a repeated question. He met his eye.
“About?”
“Keep or sell? The land is probably worth more if we parcel it up and the house,” he looked around again, almost like he could imagine an estate agent appraising the value, “would fetch a tidy sum if we fixed her up a bit.”
“It’s not for sale.”
“Excuse me?”
He licked his lower lip. It felt as dry as his mouth.
“I said it’s not for sale. I’m not selling.”
“But that’s what we need to talk about—“
; “No.” He shook his head, rising from the sofa and crossing to the sideboard and opening the top drawer. Picking up an envelope, he returned to stand in front of his younger brother and handed it over. His brother took it from him and lifted the flap. He returned to his place on the sofa and sat back down, once again resting his palms on his knees. Looking back at the clock, he watched the second hand begin another pass of the clock face as his brother flipped through the pages nearby.
“B-But… this has to be wrong—”
“It’s not wrong,” he said, eyes fixed on the clock. “Read it for yourself—”
“I have read it.” There was tension in his voice, more than merely displeasure. Shock, maybe? “I can bloody read! I just can’t believe she… why would she do this to me?”
He turned away from the clock to observe his brother who was staring at the pages in his hand, lips parted, eyes wide.
“Like I said. It’s not for sale. None of it.”
“But she can’t do this!”
“And yet she has.”
His brother lurched to his feet, scrunching the paper in his grasp and brandishing it before him as he came to stand over him, glaring down at him.
“This wasn’t what she said she’d do.”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what she said. It is what it is.”
“And you’re happy with this are you?”
It was disbelief. That was what he’d heard in his tone before, disbelief at the decisions their mother had made towards the end of her life. He thought his younger brother a little odd at that moment, but that wasn’t for the first time either. They’d always been different as far back as he could remember. Their approach to life, friendships – parents – were vastly at odds with one another and noticeably so to the point that if they didn’t look so alike one might conclude they were of different parentage.
He shrugged. “Like I said. It is what it is.”
“You did this!” His brother shook the paper in front of him and then, having not elicited the expected response, threw the papers in his face. The disbelief was gone now, replaced first by indignation and now by fury. “I’ll not take it lying down.”
He angled his head to one side, pursed his lips and looked up at his brother. The skin of his face was blotchy, turning that pinky-red colour it does when frustration gets the better of you resulting in a flash of anger that must be kept in check no matter what. The alternative was to lose control. That was something else his brother was good at, losing control. He was one of the most undisciplined people he’d ever known. Most people would feel vulnerable at this point faced with such a combustible individual as this, but he remained calm, unfazed by the explosion of anger and bitter resentment threatening to spill over in front of him. His brother was many things, many of them bad, but violence had never been a thing up to this point in his life at any rate.
“There are things I can do… people I can go to… solicitors and stuff.”
He shrugged. “Do what you feel you have to—”
“I’m entitled to what’s mine, damn you.”
“That’s not what mum thought.”
“You did this to me, didn’t you? Staying here, working on her day after day? You did this.”
He shook his head. “We didn’t talk about it, not until near the end. It is what she wanted, not me.”
His brother was furious, his hands by his side, fists balled and hands shaking.
“So, what are you going to do? How will you manage?”
“I will… somehow.”
His anger seemed to dissipate then and he threw back his head and laughed. A dismissive sound, hollow and artificial.
“You’ll manage! Have you seen all these?” he said, marching over to the kitchen table and returning with a stack of envelopes, many unopened and stamped on the exterior with red ink, and hurling them at him. The envelopes bounced off him harmlessly and he ignored the confrontational gesture, turning his gaze back to the clock. “If mum and dad, with your help, couldn’t make this place work how the hell are you going to go it alone?”
“I’ll manage,” he said slowly, a smile crossing his face.
He didn’t watch his brother leave nor did he hear the cursing of his parents’ names or the door slamming shut. The sound of footsteps on the decking receded and he looked around the family home, picturing the memories in his mind’s eye, children, fun and family occasions. His eye drifted to an old grainy photograph taken on the beach barely a quarter of a mile from where he was sitting, the two boys in dungarees, smiling, each holding a mother’s hand as they paddled in the gentle surf. They couldn’t have been more than five or six years old that day. Days like those would return.
He would find a way. What else did he have to do?
To Die For
Hidden Norfolk - Book 9
In the Hidden Norfolk Series
One Lost Soul
Bury Your Past
Kill Our Sins
Tell No Tales
Hear No Evil
The Dead Call
Kill Them Cold
A Dark Sin
To Die For
Life and Death*
*FREE eBook - visit jmdalgliesh.com
In the Dark Yorkshire Series
Divided House
Blacklight
The Dogs in the Street
Blood Money
Fear the Past
The Sixth Precept
* * *
Box Sets
Dark Yorkshire Books 1-3
Dark Yorkshire Books 4-6
Audiobooks
In the Hidden Norfolk Series
One Lost Soul
Bury Your Past
Kill Our Sins
Tell No Tales
Hear No Evil
In the Dark Yorkshire Series
Divided House
Blacklight
The Dogs in the Street
Blood Money
Fear the Past
The Sixth Precept
* * *
Audiobook Box Sets
Dark Yorkshire Books 1-3
Dark Yorkshire Books 4-6
A Dark Sin: Hidden Norfolk - Book 8 Page 25