In a Kingdom by the Sea. Sara MacDonald

Was it male pride or depression that stopped Ayer, my translator, approaching me in time? Have I left too much to Emily? She is extremely competent but not always entirely empathetic to people’s domestic problems.

      I had been looking forward to talking to Mike about everything when he came home in February. I thought he would sympathize and offer good advice. He is good at damage limitation, at narrowing down a problem and making it seem smaller. It is what he does for a living. Not this time. He arrived from Karachi irritable, dismissive and bored by my saga.

      Despite being aware that I was in the middle of a crisis, he had gone ahead and made plans to go walking in the Malverns without consulting me. I had to tell him going anywhere was out of the question; I had apologetic meetings with publishers and alternative deadlines to set up.

      Mike went off in a huff, sailing in Lymington with Jacob for two days, and came back monosyllabic and sullen.

      ‘I hoped you might have cheered him up a bit,’ I said when Jacob dropped him back home. Mike had gone upstairs to change out of wet trousers. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so bad-tempered.’

      Jacob snorted. ‘Come on, Gabby, you’ve been married to him long enough. Mike can be impossible if things don’t go his way. In Dubai, we all used to keep out of his way when he was thwarted at work … He really can be a moody bastard sometimes.’

      ‘That’s why we let him work a long way from home,’ I joke, startled by Jacob’s honesty. ‘Has he told you his problem?’

      ‘Nope. Just cast a shadow over my sailing trip.’

      ‘I’m sorry, Jacob.’

      Jacob drained his glass. ‘You’ve got nothing to be sorry about …’

      He came over and pecked my cheek. ‘I’m off. Don’t take Mike’s behaviour with such good grace, Gabby. He’s bloody lucky to have you. Flora wouldn’t put up with it, or with me working away from home most of the time. Mike can’t expect your world to stop dead when he decides to take leave … I’ll call goodbye to him on my way out …’

      He turned at the door. ‘If it’s any comfort, Mike has pissed me off this time too.’

      I could hear Mike on his mobile phone, walking up and down on the landing. I wondered who he was talking to, because he was being very charming to whoever it was.

      I poured myself a glass of wine and went and looked out of the French windows into the garden. I had been restless ever since returning from Pakistan. I looked at the tiny wild cyclamen under the magnolia tree and realized that I could not wait for Mike to go back to Karachi.

      ‘You do realize that this has been a total waste of my leave,’ Mike said, coming down the stairs, leaving his charm on the landing.

      I did not answer. I try to avoid rows. It achieves nothing; it just brings out the worst. I had watched Maman, a master class in wasted emotion.

      Mike got a beer out of the fridge. ‘Do you really think your little empire would have toppled if you had spent a couple of days away with me? I don’t ask much of you.’

      I turned to look at him. ‘You ask quite a lot, actually. You just don’t recognize it. For the first time in my life, Mike, I don’t like you very much. In fact, I can’t wait for you to get on a plane back to Pakistan …’

      Mike looked shocked as I turned and walked out of the room. I had never challenged him on his moods before, but I had had enough. It was the only time, apart from when my parents died, that I had ever needed his support.

      Mike slept in the spare room and when I woke he had already left to catch his flight. I had a sick hole in my stomach that he had left on a bad note, that we had not even said goodbye. But I was relieved he had gone.

      I stop now by the green oak to stretch my legs. We have not spoken since he got back to Karachi. He sent me a short message to tell me that he was off to Abu Dhabi for an exhibition for airline software and I politely acknowledged his email.

      Luckily, I am so busy that I don’t have much time to think about Mike. Work life is improving. I have persuaded my panicky French author that her book is wonderful and a joy to translate. Kate and Hugh have convinced me that I have an excellent record and one hiccup isn’t going to send the whole publishing world scurrying for translators elsewhere. Best of all, Dominique is in London delivering her wedding dress, and she is going to spend the night with me. We will have the house all to ourselves. It does not often happen and I can’t wait.

       CHAPTER FOURTEEN

       London, 2010

      I stare down at a photo of Dominique’s completed wedding dress. It is stunning. Simple. No froth or flounce. Just a plain cream dress with petal-shaped sleeves and side panels containing hundreds of tiny shells sewn into the material.

      ‘I can’t quite believe I have done the final fitting and delivered it,’ Dominique says. ‘It’s been such a mammoth task.’

      ‘It must have been,’ I say, feeling emotional at my sister’s talent. ‘It’s breathtaking.’ I look down at the pretty smiling girl wearing Dominique’s creation. ‘She looks sublime in it. She must have been thrilled to bits.’

      Dominique smiles. ‘Ellie was speechless. Her mother, Theresa, was not. She wanted her daughter floating down the aisle in yards of froth and tulle à la Princess Di. Then, one day, when I was doing a fitting, the poor girl burst into tears and told me all she wanted was a small wedding, in a simple dress, with close friends.

      ‘I promised her I’d make her a dress she loved, but one that was exotic enough to please her mother. It was all clandestine. Ellie came to Paris for secret fittings. I needed to cut the dress precisely so that it hung and moved with her. The panel of shells was a sudden inspiration …’

      ‘They must have taken weeks.’

      ‘They were a nightmare. There were six of us doing shifts in the end, wearing special white gloves and losing the will to live.’

      ‘What if the mother had ranted and raved and refused to pay for a dress she didn’t ask for?’

      Dominique laughs. ‘I had Plan B, a frothy, emergency creation that I knew I could sell elsewhere, but when Ellie put the dress on Theresa just melted …’

      I hug my sister. ‘I am so proud of you, Dom. You should be a wealthy woman with your talent.’

      ‘I do okay, Gabby. Compared to how life used to be I feel wealthy. I’m content as I am. I have loyal women working for me, I don’t want to expand and Theresa was so delighted she gave me a generous bonus on top of my fee in the end.’

      ‘Fantastic! So she should …! I’ve got a bottle of champagne somewhere …’

      Dominique smiles at me, her old lovely smile. ‘No need to go overboard, darling.’

      ‘This is a celebration. How often do I get to see my sister like this? You hardly ever stay with me and it’s wonderful …’

      Dominique stretches and sighs. ‘It’s perfect, darling, just what I need. Now, come on, your news. You said you had an awful February?’

      I give her the story of author meltdown, Icelandic divorce and Emily’s bereavement.

      ‘Oh dear!’ she says. ‘Did you say Mike was back in February too?’

      ‘Yes, but it was impossible to take any time off. I had no Emily and I was bang in the middle of damage limitation. I’ve never had to let any publisher or agent down before and it’s especially mortifying when some of them are your friends …’

      ‘Poor you.’ Then she adds carefully, ‘Did Mike understand?’

      ‘No,’ I say before I can stop myself. I am still raw but I