“Certainly, ma’am,” he replied, trying to hold back the chuckle I could hear in his voice.
“So other than being totally, and rightly, pissed off at us Copelands, how have you been?”
“Good. Christian finally rang Dad today; I was annoyed at him as well. He’s skiing in France and didn’t think to let us know. Mrs. Hampton joined us Christmas Day, I’m not sure if I told you. Anyway, Dad is visiting with her this evening. I think there’s a budding relationship starting there.”
“I think there’s been a budding relationship there for a while,” he said, laughing.
“Probably. I’m pleased for him, though. Everyone deserves a second chance at a nice relationship.”
Daniel glanced over to me. I caught sight of him from the corner of my eye, but I kept my gaze firmly on the road ahead.
“Are there any bands playing tonight?” I asked.
“No, thankfully. We’ll be able to chat in peace without the wailing. I imagine it might be quiet, which will be nice.”
We pulled into the unmade car park and Daniel reversed into the only spot that didn’t have a puddle beside it. The clouds had darkened overhead and the air felt damp.
“I think we might have a storm tonight,” Daniel said, as he left the car.
“Glad I didn’t wear heels,” I said, eyeing the muddy car park.
“I would have laid my coat down for you to walk over, if you had,” he said, laughing some more.
“You are always the gentleman, Daniel. Which will bring me to my first question when we get inside.”
“Why do I get the feeling I’m about to get a roasting, or at least an inquisition?”
“Because you are a very astute man.” I smiled and led the way to the door of the pub.
I walked straight to the bar and had my purse at the ready. I ordered a bottle of wine and two glasses; not remembering what Daniel had drunk the last time we were there. When I’d turned, Daniel had found a table in a nook with only the one bench seat. For my ‘inquisition’ I would have rather been facing him. I guessed he was thinking tactics as well.
I placed the wine bucket with the bottle and glasses on the table then slid in beside him.
“Shall I pour?” he said.
“Please, I wasn’t sure what you wanted and since you bought last time, I thought it only right I did this time.”
“That’s okay, wine is fine with me. I suspect this will be much better than what we have at the church.”
“I thought only communion served wine?”
“We have Holy Communion in the Church of England, Dani. I suspect the Catholics got the better wine, though,” he said, taking a sip from his glass.
I couldn’t help but laugh. No matter how mad I was with him, he did cheer me up. He placed his glass on the table, made the sign of the cross on his chest, and then bowed his head in silent prayer.
“Right, I’ve asked the boss to look after me should you kill me. Fire away,” he said.
I rested back in my seat and twirled my glass around in my fingers.
“I think I have a right to be pissed off about all this. Yet there’s a part of me that feels bad for being pissed off.”
“Because you are the most empathic person I’ve ever met, Dani.”
“Don’t interrupt me.”
He held up in hands in surrender.
“I needed those letters. Those words were such a comfort to me; I really believe they got me through some very tough times. Now I feel cheated of them. And I can’t explain exactly what I mean. I guess the anonymity was part of the thing that helped. I didn’t know Lincoln, that Lincoln. I visualised him, and there were times I wanted to meet him, but I poured my soul out in those letters and now I feel violated because everyone knows. It’s as if the trust I had in my Lincoln has been broken.”
“Not everyone, Dani. I don’t know what’s in them, just that they were written.”
“I’m confused. In hindsight, Miller had told me some of what he’d written; I just didn’t pick up on it. And I can’t even sit here now and say ‘I had a light bulb moment.’ There was just something in the back of my mind, and when I read through the letters again, I connected some of the things he’d said. It seemed too coincidental so I confronted him. He wasn’t happy.”
I picked up my glass to take a sip.
“I want to ask you, did you have an affair with his ex-wife?”
I turned to face him, searching his eyes for the truth.
“No. Although that’s what he believes, regardless of how many times I’ve told him it’s not true. I’ll tell you exactly what happened. Miller and I fell out when we were younger. I don’t know what you know about him, but he went completely off the rails when our mum died, and I don’t blame him for that. He drank too much, smoked weed, got in with the wrong crowd. You name it; he did it. He disappeared for weeks on end, sending Dad into a frenzy. The man had lost his wife; I didn’t think it was fair to then have to put that grief aside to deal with Miller. I was wrong in my thinking at the time.”
I didn’t think my eyes could have gotten any wider.
“We tried to help him, he wasn’t having any of it. It was Dad who called the police one night when Miller had arrived in a stolen car and without a licence, drunk and stinking of weed. It was the hardest thing my dad had ever done. He cried when they arrested him, Dani. But he thought it was the only thing he could do. Of course, Miller didn’t see it that way for a very long time. Prison was the best thing that could have happened to him, though. When he was released, he disappeared for a little while, but then he came home and announced he was married. She wasn’t what we thought a suitable partner. I know that sounds terrible, but she was just as bad as him. She encouraged him to drink too much; she loved the notoriety of being with an ex-con. She was also about fifteen years older than him. He vowed to clean up his act; I guess his wife didn’t like that. She came to see me and confessed to an affair, and in hindsight, it was to cause trouble. She wasn’t religious, never attended a service, so to want to confess was strange. However, I thought she wanted some form of counselling.” Daniel chuckled sadly at the thought.
“What happened after that?” I asked.
“One day she came to the church and threw herself at me. I pushed her away but somehow her blouse got torn. And guess what happened next?”
“Miller walked in?”
“Miller walked in. Unbeknown to me, she had left him, a day or so before I think, but he took one look at the situation, came to the wrong conclusion, and freaked out. He kicked over a couple of pews and I didn’t see him again for weeks.”
“Did he ever let you explain?”
“No. Well, sort of. When I caught up with him, I tried hard to tell him what had happened. I mean, come on, I’m a vicar! I don’t doubt there are some very dodgy vicars out there, but I’m not one of them. Anyway, we did manage to chat and a lot of things came out. Miller felt he hadn’t been supported enough when Mum died. And he wasn’t, if the truth were known. He’s the youngest and I guess I concentrated on Dad, who had broken down. Miller got left on the outside.”
“I imagine that was hard for him,” I said.
“It was. Don’t get me wrong, he doesn’t use Mum’s death as an excuse for his behaviour, he’s totally able to accept it was all him.”
“Tell me about his last wife,” I asked.
“That was a very sad state of affairs. Annabelle was just what Miller needed a long time ago. She was a free spirit but sensible at the same time, I don’t know if that makes any sense. She loved the sea. She was going to move to Australia to take up a position as a marine biologist, but she fell in love instead.”