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Theman backed out from the rear of the van.Therewas something very familiar about the khaki shorts he wore and even more so about his thick dark hair.
‘Rick!’
Hebacked away, hands in the air, eyes wide in shock. ‘Daisy.Forthe love ofGod, you frightened the life out of me!’Hiseyes slid to the length of tiled edging she brandished in her hand. ‘AndIknow you’re annoyed with me but are you really going to hit me with that thing?’
Daisylet it slip soundlessly from her fingers.Luckilyit fell on the lawn and bounced without breaking.Shefelt her mouth drop open. ‘Whatare you doing here?Youcan’t be the burglar.’
‘No,I’mnot a burglar.’Rickthrust a perplexed hand through his hair making it flop over his face. ‘Whyeverwould you think so?’
‘Becausethis isWalter’shouse,’Daisyblurted out and then realised how stupid she sounded.
‘Walter?Walterwho?’
‘Walter’sthe manIbring flowers for every month.I’vebeen doing it sinceMay.Idrop them off on the porch and at some point he must collect them.I’venever seen anyone here; the house is always empty.’
‘Thishouse doesn’t belong to aWalter.’
‘Howdo you know that?’
‘Becauseit’sKeithHamilton’shouse.’
‘Keith?’Daisysqueaked. ‘Butwho’sWalter?’
Ricksighed the sigh of the long suffering. ‘Let’sgo into the house,Daisy.Icould really do with a cold drink andIthink we need to talk.I’vebeen trying to talk to you for the last four weeks.I’veabsolutely no idea who yourWalteris.AndIknow this isKeithHamilton’shouse because he’s my dad!’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Rickcollected the bouquet and put it in the bucket of water which was waiting, then led her into the kitchen. ‘Don’twant them to keel over.’
‘It’llbe me who’ll keel over in a minute unless you explain what’s going on.’Daisycouldn’t help but be irritated.Itwas like doing a jigsaw and finding out halfway through that most of the pieces were from a completely different one.Discombobulatedwas the word which sprang to mind.She’dnever had recourse to use it before ever in her life but it described her current state of mind perfectly.
Thekitchen was larger inside than could be spied through the porch.ItwasL-shaped and housed a battered pine table and dresser in the long part of theL.Rickpoured them both pints of weak lemon squash in glasses full of jangly ice cubes.Hesat down at the table soDaisyfollowed.Hernerves felt just as jangly but it was clearRickwasn’t quite ready to talk.Hedrank half his pint down in one go, his throat working.Nowshe had time to study him properly, he looked flushed with a sheen of sweat gleaming on the dark hairs revealed by the vee of his polo shirt.
Itwas cool in the kitchen, away from the window.Ashabbychintz-covered armchair nestled by a radiator, an old-fashioned radio on the shelf above.Inthe winter it would be cosy.
EventuallyRicksat back, eyed her narrowly and said, ‘Whatdo you want to know?’
‘IsWalterreallyKeith?’
Rickscrubbed an exhausted hand over his eyes. ‘Ireally don’t know who thisWalteris,’ he said heavily, ‘butIcan assure youKeithThomasHamiltonis my father and has never, to my knowledge, been known by any other name.’
‘Thenwho’sWalter?’
‘Daisy,I’veno idea.Whodoyouthink he is?Myparents bought this house about fifteen years ago.Dadhad to be in theMidlandsfor work but they used it as a holiday home and came to live here permanently whenDadretired.’
‘Someholiday home.’
Rickmustered a smile. ‘Isuppose.Welived in a flat inBirminghamprovided by the company.Itwas nice but a flat nonetheless.I’dleft home by the time they could live here properly.Inever really got to know the place.But,I’mpretty sure someone calledWalternever lived here.MumandDadbought it off theForbrights.AdamandAudreyIthink they were called.Nicecouple.Theycame to the funeral.’
‘Funeral?’
‘Yes.Mymum passed away earlier this year.InMarch.’
‘InMarch,’Daisyrepeated, light beginning to glimmer.Sherecollected her manners. ‘I’mso sorry about your mum.Isthat why you were in the cemetery that day?’
‘Yes.’
Shereached out a hand. ‘Youwere so understanding.Iwondered if you’d lost someone.’
