Instant Father

“Yes, but some of the things you need to know are really my private business. Without my consent he wouldn’t have opened up. But it’ll be all right now.”

She went to the door. As she opened it, she turned and looked at him. She went out without speaking, but Gavin stared at the door a long time after she’d gone. The look on her face as she’d regarded him had been deeply unsettling. It had been a look of pity.

He discovered why, when Angus Philbeam arrived later that evening. He was a small, elderly man with bright eyes and an alert manner. Norah tactfully left them alone together, merely remarking, “Tell him anything he wants to know, Angus.”

“I gather you’re interested in the details of the sale of a half share in this property that was made by Mrs. Elizabeth Ackroyd to her husband, Anthony Ackroyd,” Angus remarked, removing papers from his briefcase.

“I have my doubts about whether it was a proper sale at all,” Gavin informed him.

“Oh, dear me, yes, it was a proper sale. The valuation was made by a most reputable surveyor. I have here a copy of his report.” Gavin skimmed quickly through the papers and gave a grunt when he came to the figure. “That, of course, was the valuation four years ago,” Angus Philbeam remarked. “It’s probably worth rather less now. Property has fallen in price, as I’m sure you know, Mr. Hunter.”

Gavin had reason to know it. It was the fall in property prices that had knocked the bottom out of his business. But as always, when discussing money, he kept his face impassive, merely remarking carelessly, “You’re surely not telling me that Tony Ackroyd paid half of this figure?”

“As a matter of fact he paid rather more.”

“More?” Gavin couldn’t believe his ears.

“Mr. Ackroyd felt that had Strand House been unoccupied the value would have been higher, so he insisted on paying his wife an extra thirty thousand pounds on top of the fifty percent.”

Gavin felt as though the roof had caved in on him. This was far worse than anything he could have imagined.

“This surprises you?” Angus asked, looking at him intently.

“Well, yes. Somehow you don’t think of a naturalist as being a-a solid man. I wonder how he persuaded anyone to give him a mortgage.”

“Oh, there was no mortgage. He paid cash. He was an extremely wealthy man. As a naturalist his reputation was second to none, and his books earned him a fortune. As for his being a ‘a solid man’-in these ‘green’ days I sometimes feel that naturalists are the only solid men. They seem to rake in cash while people in the more traditional money-making occupations are losing it. It’s a topsy-turvy world.”

“Yes,” Gavin said with an effort. “It is, isn’t it?”

Chapter Eight

When Angus had departed, Gavin went into Tony’s study, seeing it with new eyes. For the first time he noticed the multitude of books that lined the walls, all with Anthony Ackroyd stamped on the spine. They’d always been there, but he’d been too annoyed to notice them before.

He returned to the living room and sat down heavily. He felt stunned. All his life he’d measured success in money, and by that standard it seemed Tony was a more successful man than he was. The lawyer’s last words lingered in his mind. “Naturalists seem to rake in cash while people in the more traditional money-making occupations are losing it.” Everything he’d worked for was slipping through his fingers, while a man he’d refused to take seriously had become “a solid man.”

And she had seen this coming, and laughed as she thought of his discomfiture. He groaned, resting his arms on his knees and burying his head in his hands. Suddenly the weight of his problems was too much.

Norah came into the room a few moments later, ready to enjoy her triumph. She was bitterly angry with Gavin, as much because of her own disillusionment as in response to what he’d done. She’d awakened that morning feeling self-conscious, and the sensation had been with her all day. At the strangest moments, when she was feeding or tending animals, she would have the unnerving sensation that the present had vanished and she was once more being held firmly in Gavin Hunter’s arms, his lips hard and demanding on hers.

It was true that he’d backed off at once, but it had been too late to take back the feelings she’d sensed in his embrace. They were there, and if they were there they could be aroused. And she didn’t hide from herself the fact that she wanted to arouse them. The discovery that he was secretly trying to raise money on Strand House had been a brutal revelation and she’d lashed out in pain.

Now she’d come to confront him, to enjoy seeing him worsted. But something was wrong. She stopped in the doorway, disconcerted by what she saw. Gavin became aware of her and looked up. She saw the confusion of emotions that chased each other across his face: first the instinctive desire to put up a brave front; followed by a weary resignation. She realized how exhausted and strained his face was, as if he never slept properly.

“All right,” he said. “You made your point. I had no idea that-I just had no idea. You should have told me earlier that I was fooling myself.”

“There’ve been so many other things to think of. Besides, it never occurred to me that you’d misunderstood. I still don’t know why you took it for granted that Dad hadn’t paid properly.” She came and sat beside him on the sofa.

“I didn’t think naturalists had that kind of money. It seems I’ve been wrong about a lot of things. I’d pictured your father-I don’t know…” he shrugged, unable to find the words.

“I do. You thought he was a sponger,” she said, but without rancor.

“It’s more than that. I thought he was a lightweight. It seems I was wrong.”

“Because he made a lot of money?” she asked, wrinkling her brow.

“It’s one yardstick. Maybe not the only one, but it does matter. It means he wasn’t sponging on Liz, the way I thought. A man who could pay that kind of price without needing a mortgage-I have to respect that, especially since I…” he checked himself.

“Especially since what?” Norah prompted curiously.

“Nothing. I’m just disoriented. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“Is business not so good?” she asked gently.

Gavin sighed. “Business is awful,” he admitted. “You may as well know the truth. I’m at my wits’ end. Nothing else would have made me try to raise money on Strand House. I’ve explored every other avenue and they’re all cut off.”

“I thought Hunter and Son was a big empire.”

“Oh yes, it’s big, all right. It’s just that the foundations are rotten. I’ve fought as hard as I know how to keep up a good appearance, and suddenly I don’t care any more. It’s finished.”

“What’s finished?” she asked.

“I’m finished. There’s nothing else left to try. I shall have to start selling soon.”

Norah was silent. She knew little about big business and had only the vaguest idea of the reality Gavin was trying to describe, but she understood that he’d learned to respect her beloved father. In her opinion he respected him for the wrong reasons, but she appreciated the way he’d been willing to shift his point of view and this softened her toward him.

She went to the cupboard and returned with a glass bearing a measure of brandy. “Here,” she said.

“Trying to get me drunk again, huh?”

“Well, it improves your disposition, I seem to remember.”

“You mean it makes me talk. I say all sorts of things I shouldn’t.”

“Does it? Or do you say the things you should?”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you need to confide in someone about the burdens you’re carrying, and you won’t do it unless a drink loosens you up first.”

Gavin managed a wry grin. “I thought your recipe for trouble was to put my arms around an animal?”

“Buster’s not up on financial matters,” she responded gravely. “Besides, that only works if your heart’s in