wondered who would answer it. Mrs. Stone would probably refuse as it was out of her hours, and Iris was away for a few days. Yawning, he got out of bed and pulled on a robe. Halfway down the stairs the noise stopped, but his feet kept going automatically. As he reached the bottom step Norah slipped past him, running. “It’s too late. They’ve gone away,” he said, yawning again.
She ignored him and pulled the door open, slipped outside and slipped back again with a bird cage in her hand. Inside, a gray bird with a hooked beak sat shivering miserably. “Poor little thing,” Norah said. “It’s been neglected. Look at the state of its feathers.”
“Who brought it here?”
“I don’t know. Whoever it was had vanished by the time I opened the door,” she said, still studying the bird. “But there’s a note.”
She pulled an envelope from between the bars of the cage, and handed it to Gavin to open. He read,
“Why would they do this?” he asked, frowning. “Why not wait and talk to you?”
She glanced at him. “You’d better not know.”
“Why not?”
“You’d better not know that either.”
“In other words you don’t trust me.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m protecting you.” She looked up as a shadow appeared on the landing. “Go back to bed, Peter. I can manage.”
But the child began to hurry downstairs, and she said quickly to Gavin, “Keep him away. I don’t want him involved.”
She hurried off before he could answer, and Gavin turned to face Peter at the bottom of the stairs. “We’d better do as she says,” he said pleasantly. “She’s the boss.” Inwardly he was annoyed at the way she’d classed him with Peter as needing protection. It was clear that whoever left the bird had come by it illegally, but that wouldn’t bother her. Oh, no!
“Come on,” he said again.
But Peter shook his head. He was watching his father intently.
“She doesn’t want you involved in this, and neither do I,” Gavin said firmly. “Not until I know what’s going on.”
To his surprise his son took his hand and came down the last step. He led his father toward the study and pushed open the door. Gavin watched as Peter climbed on a ladder to get a book from a high shelf, brought it down and began to flick through the pages. There were several pictures of birds, none exactly like the one that had been left by the door, but all similar. Peter looked at him inquiringly, and Gavin realized that from the stairs he hadn’t seen the bird properly. “Keep going,” he said, watching the pages as they turned. “That’s the one.”
They both looked at the picture whose caption proclaimed that it was a peregrine falcon.
“So where does it come from?” he asked.
Peter looked at his father, gave a small shrug and placed a finger over his lips.
“Does that mean what I think it means?” Gavin persisted.
Peter considered this, then nodded.
“Has it ever happened before?”
Another nod.
“So what do we do now?”
Peter replaced the book and took Gavin’s hand again, leading him back into the hall and toward the stairs. “You mean we just go back to bed, like good boys, because she told us to?” Gavin demanded.
Something that might have been a smile touched Peter’s face briefly. Gavin sighed. “Then I guess that’s what we’d better do,” he said.
To his delight Peter smiled at him again, and there was something conspiratorial about his manner that warmed his father’s heart. “Women, eh?” he ventured.
Peter gave a sigh that exactly matched Gavin’s, and for a moment the time and circumstances vanished and they were simply two males, wary of the female, joined in the ancient male camaraderie that had existed since time began. Some instinct warned Gavin not to press any further. Already tonight he’d been granted more than he’d hoped. He put his hand lightly on his son’s shoulder and they went up the stairs together.
He didn’t see Norah at breakfast next morning, but he found her in the sanctuary tending the falcon. “Is he all right?” he asked.
“Far from it. He’s been disgracefully neglected, probably by someone who thinks it’s clever to keep an exotic bird but can’t be bothered to care for it.” Her voice was full of anger, but it was a different kind of anger than the one she used on him. In their rows she’d often addressed him with exasperation, indignation and disbelief that anyone like himself could exist. But he’d never before heard the bitter hatred that she reserved for someone who ill-treated a bird or animal. “He’s got a broken wing,” she said, “and it’s been broken for some days. All right, boy. Gently, now,” she broke off to murmur at the bird. “Poor Perry. Soon have it better.”
“Perry because he’s a peregrine falcon, no doubt?” Gavin hazarded.
She looked up at him. “Fancy you knowing that. All right, Perry. Keep still. Not much longer.”
“How do you know he escaped, at all?” Gavin asked. He couldn’t bring himself to call it Perry. “It might have been living wild.”
“Not in this area. He’s been through human hands, and if I knew whose I’d go visiting with a gun.”
“Aren’t you going to call a vet?”
“No need. I can heal a broken wing, and there’s nothing else wrong.”
“And besides, a vet might know of a missing bird?” he asked shrewdly.
She scowled at him, but said nothing.
“You know you could be in serious trouble, don’t you?” he said, exasperated.
“Why is that?”
“Because this bird was obviously stolen.”
“There’s no obviously about it,” Norah said with a touch of defiance. “He escaped and was left on the doorstep by someone who was in too much of a hurry to wait around. I haven’t heard of a stolen bird.”
“And if you had, you wouldn’t let on?”
She faced him angrily. “Nobody has the right to keep a creature like this in captivity, much less neglect it. And something that shouldn’t be ‘property’ can’t be stolen.”
He briefly considered arguing with this flawed logic, but abandoned the idea at once. Norah had her own way of looking at the world, and a man could go crazy arguing with her. Gavin walked away without answering. After a few steps he looked back, but she was concentrating on Perry and seemed to have forgotten him.
The events of the night before had left him feeling cheered. For once Peter had offered him a glimpse into his mind, without being prompted. Normally he was forced to observe his son closely for any sign that offered a window into his thoughts. It was no use doing this when Peter was aware of him, because the child was on guard, but sometimes he could catch him unaware with lucky results. That was how they came to see
“Shall we go to that?” he asked Peter when he found him looking at the advertisement in the local paper, a couple of days later. “It’s very good.” Peter regarded him strangely, evidently surprised by this knowledge. “I saw it when I was a child,” Gavin added, inwardly thanking the aunt who’d insisted on dragging him to the cinema. He hadn’t wanted to go, condemning cartoons as “for kids”-he’d been nine at the time. But once there he’d secretly enjoyed the film, never suspecting that it would benefit him in the future.
So they went into town hoping to catch the early evening show, but the cinema was full. Unwilling to disappoint Peter, Gavin took him for a snack, then they went to the late show. From time to time he glanced at him during the film. Peter never laughed, but sometimes he smiled, and Gavin was satisfied. He was learning to go slowly.
They got back to find a strange vehicle parked outside the house. It was a blind-sided van that looked as if it had seen better days. Gavin frowned and took Peter inside.
The house was quiet, but as soon as he entered he knew there was something wrong. The silence was the wrong
