He didn’t sit, but came towards her slowly and for a moment Fleur thought he was going to take her in his arms…then…
‘Fleur…’ The word was almost choked out, and involuntarily she put out a hand.
‘What…what is it, Sebastian?’
There was a long pause while he struggled to utter the words. ‘It’s Benson…he died two days ago.’ He waited before going on. ‘ We…we buried him in the grounds yesterday.’
‘Oh, no—Benson!’ Fleur covered her face in her hands, hot tears springing to her eyes. ‘What…?’
‘Of course, none of us should have been surprised,’ Sebastian said quietly. ‘He was a very old dog, but I can barely remember a time when he wasn’t there. He…he seemed to be his usual self in the morning,’ he went on, ‘then suddenly he couldn’t get up from the floor and just looked at us as if he was trying to tell us what was the matter. But, before we could even call the vet, he lay his head down on my knees and…and was gone. In a couple of minutes. At least we were all there to say goodbye.’ Sebastian swallowed hard before going on. ‘But it’s hit us all badly—Pat’s been in tears ever since, and Frank’s going around with a perpetual scowl on his face.’
It was obvious that Sebastian was terribly upset—and trying hard not to sound too sentimental—and, without thinking what she was doing, Fleur went across and put her arms around his neck, burying her head in his shoulder.
‘Poor, dear Benson,’ she whispered. ‘I wish I’d been there as well, I wish I’d been there to hold him.’
‘Yes, I wish you had,’ Sebastian said. ‘Benson loved you, Fleur, we could all tell. That was why he wouldn’t come back home with you on that walk. He wanted you to stay out there with him in the woods.’
A stifled sob left Fleur’s lips at his words, and she looked up into Sebastian’s face. ‘That dog would never have known anything but love and comfort,’ she said, ‘and, from what you say, he didn’t suffer, did he? Not even at the end?’
‘No. We don’t think so,’ Sebastian replied.
‘So…he was lucky, wasn’t he—lucky to have all of you for his whole life. There are many animals who don’t have that kind of luck.’
They stood there still locked together, and Sebastian said, ‘I’m sorry to have intruded on you like this, but I just couldn’t bring myself to ring you with the news…I wanted to tell you, face to face…because I knew you’d be upset, too.’
Fleur tried hard to stem her tears, and Sebastian put his hand in his pocket and gave her his handkerchief.
‘Here,’ he said, ‘have another one. I told you I had plenty.’
In spite of everything, they both managed to smile at his words. Fleur took the handkerchief and blew her nose and wiped her eyes, sighing heavily. ‘Oh, dear,’ she said. ‘I don’t feel like doing any more painting tonight. In fact, I don’t feel like doing anything at all.’ She blew her nose again. ‘I hate bad news,’ she said.
‘I know, and I’m sorry,’ Sebastian said quickly, pulling her into him even more closely. ‘I just wanted someone to be miserable with, and you were the first one I thought of. Sorry.’
‘Is that a compliment?’ Fleur asked, beginning to recover, and thinking that she’d shed more tears since knowing Sebastian than she’d allowed herself in half a lifetime. It had to be those tablets, she thought. She’d take the last few, and that would be it. It was not like her to give way so easily…She’d always been taught that undue emotion portrayed a weakness of character.
‘I hope you will take it as such,’ he replied. ‘I haven’t even told Mia yet.’
Fleur looked at him quickly. Well, it was a compliment, she thought, to have been put first in these circumstances, and it made her feel ridiculously important…and…special. She went over to the small cabinet in which she kept her modest supply of alcohol.
‘I think we both need a drink,’ she said, looking across at him. ‘I do have some whisky, Sebastian, or would you prefer wine?’
‘What I’d really appreciate is a good strong cup of tea,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘If you can actually produce one—in the present state of your kitchen, I mean?’
Fleur smiled quickly. ‘Yes, I can definitely manage a cup of tea,’ she said lightly, ‘and there’s an unopened packet of chocolate digestives to go with it, as well. But I’d better clean myself up a bit first.’
He followed her into the kitchen and looked around him speculatively. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘you’re halfway through the ceiling—and you’re making a good job of it too—it seems a shame to leave it.’ He shrugged off his coat, and looked down at her. ‘Let me finish it for you while you make the tea.’
‘Oh, honestly, Sebastian…I don’t want to put you to any trouble. I can do it tomorrow…’
‘No, we’ll finish it now,’ he said firmly. ‘It’s not good to leave your post in the middle of a job. If you’ll let me have the use of that somewhat roomy apron, I can do it in half an hour. And I think the tea can wait.’ He grinned down at her. ‘Come on, no arguments. It’ll do me good to do something positive.’
Fleur understood exactly where he was coming from with that remark and, without another word, she untied the massive apron and handed it to him. ‘This is certainly more your size than mine,’ she said. ‘And I must admit that my neck was beginning to ache, looking upwards all the time. It was taking longer than I thought it would.’
‘So it’s just as well that I turned up,’ he said reasonably. ‘It’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good. Isn’t that what they say?’
Fleur watched as he set to with the brush, and was impressed with how quickly he was covering the area. ‘If I’d known you were going to arrive, I would have waited so that you could have done it all,’ she joked.
‘I should have let you know,’ he said apologetically, glancing down at her briefly, ‘but it was only as I was nearing town that I made up my mind to try my luck and see if you were in.’ He dipped the brush into the pot again and resumed painting.
‘How…how did you know where I lived, anyway?’ Fleur asked curiously.
‘All your details were written down on the pad in the kitchen—you obviously gave them to Pat, because they were in her handwriting,’ he said casually.
‘Oh, yes—of course,’ Fleur said. ‘I remember now. She wants us to keep in touch—which is what I want too, of course.’
In less than forty minutes the job was complete, and Sebastian surveyed his handiwork critically. ‘I think that’ll do,’ he said, ‘and if you see any bits I’ve missed—white on white is always difficult, especially in artificial light—I’ll drop back and touch it up.’ He put the lid firmly back on the pot and went across to the sink to wash the brush and, as Fleur watched him for a second, she thought how surreal it was that he should be here, painting her ceiling, when she hadn’t expected to see him ever again—or, at least, not for a very long time.
He finished what he was doing and turned, looking down at her as he took off the apron. ‘I’ve gone off the idea of tea,’ he said. ‘A glass of your whisky would be much appreciated—if it’s still on offer.’
Fleur smiled up at him. ‘Of course it is,’ she said, ‘and then I’ll prepare us some supper—unless you’re going on somewhere?’
He shook his