the funeral procession to arrive. He wished he could say something to Peter, who looked frighteningly pale and composed, but the words he might have chosen could only have been said between a father and son who were close. Now, more than ever, the gap between them yawned wide. And so no words were spoken.
The procession arrived. There were so many wreaths that each coffin had to travel in its own car. Gavin looked at the car that contained all that was left of Liz, hidden beneath a mountain of carefully composed flowers. “She’d have hated that,” he said suddenly.
“Hated what?” Norah asked by his side.
“She hated flowers in formal arrangements. She liked to see them growing in the wild.” Gavin couldn’t have said why he suddenly remembered this, but it stood out in his mind, and with it came the memory of Liz as he’d first known her-young and free, her hair windswept. She had loved him in those days, but she’d turned into a sophisticated, elegant woman who’d run away from him. To what? To a man who’d given her the freedom to return to her true self? He would never know now.
He saw Norah looking about her, frowning. “What is it?”
“Peter. He was here just a moment ago, but he’s vanished.”
“Perhaps he doesn’t want to go after all.”
“Then he’d have let us know. He wouldn’t just run away.”
She ran back into the house, calling Peter, but there was no response. Gavin went out into the grounds and after a moment he saw Peter hurrying toward him. “What is it?” he asked. “Don’t you want to go with us?”
The boy nodded. His eyes were wary and he seemed to be concealing something beneath the neat jacket he’d put on for the occasion.
Norah appeared. “Are you all right, Peter? Did you forget something?” He nodded, apparently to both questions. “Then let’s be going.”
They made the journey in silence. Peter and Norah, both pale and dry-eyed, sat close together and Gavin tried not to be too aware that they were holding hands, but he couldn’t help knowing. His heart was bleak.
When they entered the chapel the two coffins were already in place, side by side. Norah laid her hand gently on Peter’s shoulder to guide him into the pew, but he stopped suddenly. The two adults looked at him, concerned lest his composure should suddenly break, but Peter did something neither of them was prepared for. Lifting his head, he walked steadily toward his mother’s coffin and reached into his jacket to draw out the thing he had been concealing there. It was a small posy of violets. Gavin had seen them growing wild on a bank by the sanctuary. He watched in wonder as his son carefully laid the wildflowers on top of a formal wreath, laid his hand on them for a moment, then stepped back. When he raised his eyes it was his father’s face he sought, and Gavin’s heart nearly stopped beating from joy. Slowly he smiled and nodded his head.
He felt a new happiness spread out and possess him. Peter had heard what he’d said about the wildflowers, and it had touched his heart. After all that had happened, there was still a faint spark of understanding between them. The knowledge softened him toward Liz. It was as if the hostile woman of the later years had vanished, leaving only the young, laughing girl he’d first loved, the girl who’d liked wildflowers. It was to that girl he spoke now in his heart.
He looked at the violets until, after a moment, they began to swim, as though he were seeing them through water. He rubbed his eyes and found to his surprise that they were wet. Something was hurting his throat.
He pulled himself together sharply, raising his head and swallowing hard. He didn’t see his son looking up at him, nor the movement Peter made as if to slip his hand into his father’s, then the cautious withdrawal, as if he’d thought better of it. But he was filled with happiness at the hint of understanding his son had given him.
And then it was all ruined. Just as Peter had held out hope, so it was Peter who smashed it by an innocently cruel gesture. The way out of the chapel led past the two coffins. Peter stopped for a moment, rested his hand on Tony’s coffin and whispered, “Goodbye, Daddy.”
Gavin felt his world disintegrate around him. The son who was too withdrawn to talk to him had managed to speak for Tony Ackroyd, had called him Daddy, the title Gavin regarded as his by right. He knew if he stayed here he would do or say something he would regret. Hardly conscious of his own actions or his surroundings, he pushed past his son and strode from the chapel. He walked hard and fast and didn’t stop walking until he left the chapel far behind him.
His soul was in turmoil. He knew he’d done something shocking, but he couldn’t risk pouring out his pain and bitterness before strangers. His own father’s training in his childhood was still there. “Never let other people know what you’re feeling-especially if you’re feeling bad,” William had said. “That kind of knowledge makes them strong and you weak.”
And weakness was a sin. William had drummed that into him long ago. It was a sin he’d nearly committed just now, and he had to escape. He didn’t look where he was going. He didn’t care. He only wanted to get away as far as possible from Peter, from Strand House, from Norah who had witnessed his sickening defeat. How she must be rejoicing now in her triumph!
He walked and walked until every bone in his body ached. The light was fading fast and he was growing cold. Stopping, he looked around him and discovered that he’d come down to the shore. The tide was out, and he was walking along the flat, wet sands that stretched far out toward the horizon. All around him boats sat on the sand, lurching drunkenly to one side, waiting for the tide to come in and lift them afloat. Some people would have seen beauty and peace in the great empty shore. In his present mood Gavin saw only loneliness and desolation. In that moment it seemed to him that every single thing that mattered in his life had been taken away from him, leaving him naked and friendless. The business he’d built up was dying, the wife he’d once loved had gone finally, and his son-the one thing of value he might have salvaged from the wreck-his son was no longer his son. He was very close to despair.
He discovered that he was actually striding in the direction of the sea. Turning, he saw the land far behind him, a dark shadow in the fading light, and realized how far out he’d come. Heavy rain was beginning to fall, a wind was rising, and as he began to retrace his steps he found that his feet were wet. He wore a thin suit which gave little protection against the sudden damp chill. He began to run, but still it took him ten minutes to get to safety, and he could tell by the sound that the tide was coming in fast. He shivered and hurried back to the road.
Now he regretted coming so far without his car. He faced a good half hour’s walk to Stand House, and he was shivering. He thought of the funeral reception that he’d missed, the way people would talk about him, and groaned. Worse, far worse, was what Peter would think. And Norah…
But he stopped there. Why should Norah’s opinion matter? But it did. It shouldn’t, but it did. He was too honest to deny the uncomfortable fact.
By the time he reached Strand House he was aching all over and it was nearly ten o’clock. There were few lights on and no cars in the drive, which meant that everyone had gone home. He let himself in quietly, thankful that the house seemed to be silent, and went to the drinks cabinet, where to his relief he found a full bottle of brandy.
Luck was with him and he didn’t meet anybody as he climbed the stairs and went to his room. He took a hot shower, dried himself by putting on a toweling robe, poured himself a stiff measure of brandy, then another. He knew he should let someone know he was back, but first he must get warm. He poured himself another measure. Normally he drank very little, but tonight he needed help, and there was no other help to be found.
The brandy hit him like a punch in the stomach. Not only was he unused to spirits, but he’d eaten nothing at all that day. The thought of the funeral had destroyed his appetite in the morning, and a long walk on an empty stomach had left him vulnerable. To his relief the warmth began to steal through his veins, but it was only a warmth of the body. His spirit was still cold and despairing.
“You came back, then?”
He lifted his head and saw Norah standing in the doorway, dressed in pajamas. She was regarding him with cool hostility. “You had to go and do something spectacular,” she said bitterly. “Never mind what it did to Peter. Never mind what it looked like.”
“I couldn’t stand it any longer,” Gavin growled.
“Yes, that’s what I told people. I spun a touching little tale of how your feelings overcame you, but I didn’t tell them
