Echoes of the Dance by Marcia Willett Page B

and unconditional friendship. It was this aspect of him that had begun to remind her of Cass’s father, the General. He, too, had been unobtrusively available to listen to her woes, to show her a perspective. For her, for Cass, and for their children, he’d been an irreplaceable support and comfort. It was not odd that she should think about him – he’d played such an important role in her young life – but it was unsettling that, just lately, her memories of him had brought along other remembrances that were less happy. It was as if in grieving for David she had opened the floodgates to a more widespread mourning: for the failures and mistakes in her relationships with Mark and Alex, for the death of her mother, and even for the General himself. Oh, how she’d missed him after he’d died: that aching loss for someone who had always been on her side. Roly was just such another. He ignored his private feelings for her so as to be able to give her what she really required at this time.
    Kate remembered Monica’s expression when she’d mentioned Roly at lunch in the pub: an inward, straining look as if she were attempting to see something just beyond her vision.
    â€˜Monica’s like the black widow spider,’ David had once said. ‘She sucks people dry. Luckily Roly got away in time.’
    Kate had chuckled at this observation but, once she’d met Jonathan, she’d wondered if David hadn’t had the right of it. There was a dried-out, bloodless look to Monica’s husband, thin and light as an autumn leaf. It seemed as if one breath of wind would whirl him away.
    â€˜I don’t like him much,’ she’d admitted. ‘He’s such a stick. It seems so odd, David. I mean how could she, after Roly . . . ?’
    He’d made one of his distinctive grimaces, mouth pulled down at the corners. ‘He was convenient, d’you see? Solved all the problems.’
    â€˜What problems?’
    But if David knew why the marriage had broken up he wasn’t telling, and Kate still did not know the reason why Monica had left Roly.
    Monica’s car could be heard coming slowly up the drive. Kate pushed the kettle on to the Rayburn’s hotplate and went out to meet her.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    â€˜I hate Jonathan sometimes,’ Monica said. She stared at Kate; her eyes, wide and dark, pleaded for understanding. ‘I just hate him.’
    The time had marched slowly beyond the hour for tea and was now dragging its feet towards dinner. Since Monica showed no indication to leave, Kate suggested a drink. The idea was a good one. The slight awkwardness that exists between two people who have very little in common was dispelled by the cheerful ceremony of getting two tumblers ready, a panicky hunt for the lemon – ‘I know I’ve got one somewhere’ – and the comforting sizzle of tonic water. Quite suddenly, halfway through her gin and tonic, Monica kicked off her shoes and became confidential. Kate watched her rather anxiously, fearful lest her measuring of the gin had been too generous. She was not startled by Monica’s revelation but rather by the unexpected change from the brittle and sharp-tongued to the emotional and soul-baring. She did not know this side of Monica’s character, though Roly and Nat would have recognized it at once, and it caught Kate off balance.
    â€˜I’ve shocked you.’ Monica spoke flatly but with just a suggestion that Kate had disappointed her. ‘I can’t help that. It’s the truth. There are moments when I can’t bear the sight of Jonathan.’
    â€˜I’m not shocked. I should think it’s pretty common, isn’t it? To tell the truth, I find it amazing that relationships work as well as they do. I’ve always considered that men and women are two quite different species. Totally incompatible really. How odd.’ She frowned, remembering. ‘I said that to . .