of coming back to normality. The bits of the bust, he said, were in a box down in his workshop by the cathedral. If they wanted to see them, he'd show them. But only after they had selected and taken a piece of his carving.
'From both of us,' his wife added. 'With our thanks.'
As Argyll had already made up his mind, and Flavia was more than happy with the choice, that bit was easy. So, clutching the madonna wrapped in a piece of old newspaper, and with the old couple holding hands like a pair of adolescents, they walked slowly through the narrow streets to the workyard.
The box was covered in drawings and tools and a thick layer of dust, the lid was formidably heavy, and the contents were covered by old sheets. But underneath them all was the source of their recent problems. One by one, Borunna pulled them out and laid them on a bench, organising them to show how the bust had looked.
Most of the face was there, but he was certainly correct in saying that the piece was irreparable. About half had vanished, and much of the rest was badly chipped.
All four of them looked at it in silence for some time.
'What a pity,' Flavia said, a statement so self-evident that it needed little comment from the others.
'The trouble is I've never known what to do with it. It would be criminal just to throw the pieces away, but I don't know what else to do.'
They stared a while longer, and Argyll got the glimmerings of an idea. Properly set in an upright piece of marble, the face would look almost unblemished. If restored by an expert. A nice bit of lettering . . .
'Do you still want to make some apology to Hector?' he asked.
Borunna shrugged. A bit late now, he said, but yes. How?
Argyll held the face up until it glinted in the autumn light.
'Don't you think this could be turned into a wonderful gravestone?'
