“They all trusted him,” Norah said, looking around at the animals who were beginning to awake and appear. “How am I going to tell them?”
“Tell them what?” Gavin asked blankly.
“That he and Liz are dead,” she said simply.
He stared at her. Nothing in his experience had prepared him to cope with someone who talked like this. Trying to hide his exasperation he said, “Surely there’ll be no need to tell them.”
Her frown cleared. “You’re right. They’ll know by instinct. I should have remembered that.”
She looked at him with her head on one side, and he realized that she was wondering how he came to understand such a thing. He felt at an impasse. It irritated him to be misinterpreted, but he was touched by the grief so clearly evident on her face.
It was six years since he’d seen her and in that time she’d changed from an urchin into a woman. Her body had rounded out and her face had grown softer. It was pale now, and haggard and suffering, but some men would have found her attractive, he realized.
As he watched her he saw her expression change yet again, and she gave him a rueful look that was almost a smile. “I read you wrong, didn’t I?” she asked. “You didn’t mean that the animals would know. You meant, why bother to tell animals anything?”
Paradoxically he was even more disconcerted now than he’d been a moment ago. “Well,” he said awkwardly, “after all, they are only animals.”
She sighed. “Dad spent his life trying to open the eyes of people who thought like that.”
“I doubt he’d have converted me.”
“No, I don’t suppose he would. But that wouldn’t have stopped him trying. He said you should never give up on anyone, no matter how-” she stopped.
To divert her attention he asked, “If he felt like that, why did he keep a zoo?”
“It’s not a zoo, it’s a sanctuary. Most of the creatures here were brought in because they were sick or ill treated. We try to get-that is, the idea is to get them well enough to return to the wild.”
He felt relieved. He’d been wondering how to break it to her that she must close down the place and leave. Now he saw that it could be done gradually as the animals were released. He had no desire to be brutal.
“Let’s go inside,” she said. “I’ll make us some coffee.”
The dog rose at the exact moment she did and kept close to her as they walked. She led him up to the house and through the french doors that led into the big sun lounge at the back of the house. He stared at the change he found. The beautiful eighteenth-century furniture had all gone, replaced by functional pieces that looked as if they’d come from junk shops. Some of them were completely covered in sheets on which a variety of creatures lay snoozing. There were dogs and cats, a parrot and a monkey.
“The good furniture is stored at the top of the house,” Norah said, reading his look. “It would have been a pity to let it get dirty.”
“Quite,” he said wryly.
The animals were awakening and beginning to crowd around her. She scratched their heads and caressed their coats, seeming to take comfort in the very feel of them. “The sanctuary doesn’t officially take cats and dogs, because there are so many other places for them,” she said, “but they seem to arrive anyway. People bring them, and there are a couple who made their own way here. It’s almost as if they knew where to come.”
Gavin said nothing. Her approach seemed to him so outrageously whimsical that it was better to hold his tongue. He thought of his son being reared in this atmosphere, and thanked a merciful heaven that he’d been allowed to rescue him in time.
The kitchen had also altered beyond recognition. He’d last seen it when it was charming and old-fashioned. Now it closely resembled the deck of a spaceship, and in this he recognized Liz’s handiwork. She’d been an avid cook, complaining bitterly when he arrived home late and her creations were ruined.
“This was Liz’s dream,” Norah explained, apparently reading his thoughts again in a way that was becoming unsettling. “She loved having every modern gadget she could find.”
“But this looks like a hotel catering oven,” Gavin protested, regarding a shiny monster, all knobs and lights.
“It is. She got it because the animals need so much food. She used to do huge batches of cooking and store it in the freezer.”
“
He thought of the elegant, sophisticated woman who’d once been his wife, thought of the Cordon Bleu dishes that had been her expression of artistry. But “they” had got to her. She’d fallen into the clutches of Tony Ackroyd and his daughter, and this was the result.
Norah put on the coffee, then turned her attention to a small hedgehog in a box in a corner. “She let you keep animals in her kitchen?” Gavin asked.
“It was Liz who brought Bert in here,” Norah said, setting down a saucer of milk for the hedgehog. “He’s very frail and he needs warmth. She loves-loved-the animals as much as Dad and me.”
“Hmm. I doubt that. She wasn’t exactly an ‘animal’ sort of person.”
“What sort of person was she, then?” Norah looked at him curiously, and he scented a trap.
“It hardly matters now, does it?” he said.
“No,” she whispered.
She turned away from him with her head bent and her shoulders shaking. But almost at once she straightened up. He thought he saw her wipe a hand over her eyes and when she next spoke her voice sounded a little muffled, but she’d recovered her composure. “How did you hear about their deaths?” she asked.
“On the television news. I came straight here.”
“And you’ve driven through the night? You must be tired. I’ll fix you a room.”
“I’d rather see my son as soon as possible.”
“Of course. But don’t wake him now. Let the poor, little soul have a good sleep.”
She poured him and herself some coffee. As they drank they each felt a constraint fall over them. In the surprise of seeing each other they’d behaved naturally, but now it seemed strange that they should be sitting here talking together. “What actually happened?” Gavin asked at last. “I didn’t gather much from the news.”
“It happened in a country lane. Apparently a farmer saw everything, and he said a rabbit ran out onto the road-”
“Are you telling me that your father killed Liz to avoid a rabbit?” Gavin demanded sharply.
“Liz was driving.”
“You can’t possibly know that.”
“It was her car. Dad had just given it to her. She loved driving it whenever she could. And the farmer saw her at the wheel. He said she was going too fast to stop, and when the rabbit appeared she swerved and-and they overturned.”
“He gave it to her?” Gavin echoed. “What kind of car was it?” Norah told him. It was the latest version of a fast, powerful make. “What did he think he was doing giving her a car like that?” Gavin demanded angrily.
“It was the one she wanted. He tried to talk her out of it, but Liz was adamant that it was that or nothing. She promised she’d be careful but-she loved going fast.”
His rage was growing. “He must have known that. He should never have given in.”
“Stop it,” she said desperately. “Stop trying to find excuses to make everything Dad’s fault.”
“I know that before she met him she’d never have risked her life to avoid a rabbit. That was his doing, and but for that she might be alive.”
Norah raised her voice so as to be heard above his rage. “Gavin, my father was not to blame for every single thing that’s gone wrong in your life and hers.”
The pain he’d been repressing broke out. “I suppose such an insane act makes perfect sense to you, doesn’t it?” he snapped.
“If you mean would I have swerved to avoid hitting an animal, yes, I would. But I never drove as fast as Liz, nor did Dad. If either of us-”
“
“That’s wickedly unfair-”
