‘You go on ahead, dear,’ said Diana. ‘I need to talk privately with this young man.’
Sylvia glowered at me, openly suspicious. ‘Are you sure, Diana? I could hang around, at a respectful distance, just so you’re not left alone with him …’
‘No; you go on, Sylvia,’ said Diana, and there was enough authority in her voice that Sylvia just shrugged quickly, turned, and walked on.
Diana came forward, to stand before me. She had to tilt her head back, to look up at me. And in her old face, I could see a young face I used to know. She stared at me with something like wonder. ‘You look just like the young man I used to know, back in Paris.’
‘But that was 1969,’ I said gently. ‘All those years ago. So it couldn’t have been me, could it? That would have to be my grandfather, Adam.’
‘Yes,’ said Diana. ‘That was his name. You look like him, sound like him, move like him. Every time I look at you, something you say or do brings back an old memory. Like the Ghost of Christmas Past; when the world and I were both so very much younger.’ She reached up to touch my face, with a trembling old hand. I stood still, and let her, doing my best to keep my smile nothing more than polite and respectful. Her fingertips trailed across my face, like the hand of a blind woman searching for truth.
‘My dear Adam,’ she said. ‘In Paris, in the spring. Such a time to be alive. But mostly what I remember now was how badly I treated him. I was young and foolish, and I thought I had the world at my feet. I told him to his face that my career had to come first. That I was one of the leading dancers of my generation, and I had a duty to pursue my art. And then I was surprised when he walked out on me. I never saw him again. So I could never tell him how wrong I’d been, and how sorry I was. Could I tell you, instead?’
‘I’m sure he knew, then,’ I said gently. ‘And I’m sure he knows now. But yes, you can tell me. If you like.’
‘I’m so sorry, Adam,’ she said, her voice cracking as old unshed tears glistened in her eyes.
‘It’s all right, Diana,’ I said. I took her in my arms and held her. And she clung to me like a drowning woman.
After a while, I gently pushed her away from me. ‘Take my arm,’ I said. ‘And I’ll lead you into dinner.’
‘Thank you, Ishmael,’ she said. ‘Sometimes, as you get older, you have to take your comforts where you can find them. My son is gone, my first love is gone, and all that’s left is some old woman whose face I don’t even recognize in the mirror. Getting old … is all about leaving things behind.’
‘That’s not getting old, girl,’ I said. ‘That’s just life.’
She laughed, briefly. ‘You sound just like him.’
She slipped an arm through mine, and I led her down the hallway. She was smiling.
Of course I remembered her, from Paris, in the spring, when we were both so very young. I’d only been human six years then, and I was still learning what that was. Diana taught me everything I needed to know about love; about joy and happiness and shared good times. About the importance of caring more for someone else than for yourself. I didn’t leave Diana because of her career. I left because I couldn’t be who and what she needed me to be. Because I couldn’t grow old alongside her.
I remembered Diana, dancing. Like the Goddess of Dance come down to blaze among mere mortals. I thought … She doesn’t need me. She needs a good man. I hoped she’d find one, after I was gone. Instead, she found Walter Belcourt, which didn’t last, and then apparently a succession of cheerful young women like Sylvia. Who were never meant to last. I wondered how long it had been since Diana last danced, throwing her body across a lit stage like the music itself come to life. And then curtsying deeply to an audience driven to its feet by wild appreciation.
Throwing flowers and cheering themselves hoarse, and pounding their hands together till they ached.
Of course I remembered Diana, in that wonderful year, with the best films and the best songs ever. Of course I remembered being young, and in love. But what would be the point of saying anything? What could I say that wouldn’t be cruel?
We came at last to the dining hall door, and there was Walter, waiting for us, with Sylvia at his side. He fixed me with a stern look.
‘Just need a quick word with you, Ishmael,’ he said briskly. ‘You go on in, Diana my dear. I kept Sylvia here with me to walk you in, so you wouldn’t have to be on your own, even for a moment.’
‘How very kind of you, Walter,’ said Diana, disengaging her arm from mine. ‘If you’d been this thoughtful when we were married, we might still be together. I was just talking to Ishmael about my old dancing days. You never did see me dance, did you, Walter?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘But I am told, you were a wonder to behold.’
She was. Oh, she was.
Walter pushed open the dining hall door, and Diana and Sylvia went in together. Walter shut the door, very firmly, shutting off a brief clamour of raised voices from within. And then he hesitated, not sure where to start.
‘What is it, Walter?’ I said, as kindly as I could.
‘We need to talk,’ said Walter, but still he hesitated.
‘Tell me,’ I said. ‘Why did you bring in Jeeves as a bodyguard for this particular weekend gathering? Were you expecting trouble?’
Walter nodded, slowly. ‘Not much gets past you, does it, boy? I’ve had bodyguards before, that neither Diana or Melanie needed to know about. But this is the first time I felt the need for an armed guard so close at hand. I hired Jeeves after Alex told me there had been a series of threats made against the company. More serious threats than usual. The company has been having cash flow problems, of late, and we had no choice but to lay off a whole bunch of people. The Board made the decision, of course, but I went along. These things happen … You do what you have to do, to keep the company going. We would have hired them all back, as soon as things improved … Or at least, I like to think we would.
‘Anyway, Alex brought these latest threats to my attention because they were death threats. You destroyed my life so I’ll destroy yours … Aimed not just at me, but my family as well. Nasty stuff … Alex turned them over to the police, of course, but they couldn’t offer much in the way of reassurance, or protection. So I felt it best to err on the side of caution.
‘Jeeves isn’t just here to look after me; he’s here to protect Melanie and Diana and Penny. I didn’t know James would be here too … I didn’t tell Melanie, because I knew she’d only be upset. I didn’t tell Diana, because I knew she wouldn’t take it seriously. And I didn’t tell Penny … because she would only have insisted she could take care of herself. I wanted them protected. It isn’t the first time I’ve lied to them, to keep them safe. And in the end, it turns out the threat wasn’t to any of them, after all. The bastard went after my son, James.’
‘You still think this is aimed primarily at you, rather than the Colonel?’ I said.
Walter reached into an inside pocket with an unsteady hand and brought out an envelope with familiar handwriting on the outside. He hefted the envelope in his hand, as though it was something precious that he didn’t want to give up.
‘James left a letter with me, to give to you as soon as you arrived. It was the very first thing he did, yesterday evening. Before he even said hello. I told him he could give it to you himself, but there was something in his eyes … He didn’t look scared; more, resigned. I should have pressed him for details … but there were so many things I wanted to say to him, so many things I needed to talk to him about. So we sat in my study, together, and we talked for hours and hours. Just the two of us. He couldn’t tell me anything about his work, of course, and I wasn’t really interested. This was all … father and son stuff. I wanted to be sure he was happy, content in his life. That he was living the kind of life he wanted. He said he was. I like to think we made our peace … I’m glad we had that chance, at least.’