“I know that’s what you told that woman but-”
She sighed. “Look, Hunter, the reason I gave was the true reason. I suppose in your sphere that’s unheard of.”
“Pretty well,” he admitted.
“Well, welcome back to the real world.”
“
“It’s a sight more real than a businessman’s fantasyland, where only figures on paper matter and the people they represent are treated as irrelevancies-or even nuisances.”
Gavin took a deep breath. “I don’t want to quarrel with you. You did me a favor, and I’m grateful. As you say, I have to get to know my son again, so if you don’t mind I’m going to start now. Where is he?”
“Outside with the animals.”
Gavin strode out of the house and through the grounds, confused by the profusion of large wire pens. He came across a woman mashing up feed. She was about sixty, very fat and puffing. Her grey hair was cut short and on her feet she wore a pair of ancient men’s shoes. She eyed Gavin with a caution that revealed she’d been warned about him, but her manner was reasonably friendly. “I’m Iris,” she told him. “I help Norah out with the animals.”
He introduced himself politely and said, “I’m looking for Peter.”
“He was here a moment ago, but he went off to do something else. Try down that path.”
He followed her directions. As he pushed through a clump of hedges he could hear the sea in the distance, but there was no sign of Peter, just a young man in torn jeans and shirt, with his long hair held in a ponytail. He peered at Gavin from within a huge bird cage. A tall tree dominated the center of the cage and the young man was nearly at the top, making some repair, hanging by his knees like a trapeze artist. “Help you?” he called.
“Have you seen a boy of about ten?” Gavin called back.
“He came through here a while back, but he didn’t stop. He was running to somewhere.”
Gavin thanked him and went on. Another few yards brought him to the perimeter fence. He turned left and began to make his way back until he came to a large wire pen with a wooden hut at the rear. There was no sign of whichever animal lived here, but a scuffling inside the hut told him that there was an occupant. He was about to pass on when he heard more scuffling, followed by a soft, urgent, “Ssshh!”
He froze as the truth hit him. His son was hiding in that hut. But not from him, surely? Not from his own father?
“Peter,” he called.
He listened. There wasn’t another sound, but despite the silence he knew Peter was in there. And now he had to face it. Peter was avoiding him. Tight-lipped, he stormed back to the house. “What in God’s name have you told my son to make him run away from me?” he demanded when he found Norah.
“Nothing. You did it all yourself. I told you, he heard what you said about taking him away. You’ve got to reassure him about that before you can get anywhere.”
“I was
“Well, he doesn’t know that. He saw you barking at me, and that’s the picture in his mind.”
“I was angry because of Liz, because her death seems so senseless.”
“I know.” Norah looked at him with sudden sympathy. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realize.”
“Realize what?”
“That you still loved her,” Norah said simply.
He stared at her, astounded. “Nonsense!”
“Is it? You were talking like someone who still felt awfully protective.”
“Liz had that effect on people,” he said awkwardly.
“I know.” Norah gave a reflective half smile. “Dad was protective about her. So was I, in a way. She was so lovely and charming. It was wonderful having her as a mother. I hardly remember my real mother. I can’t imagine anyone who’d ever loved Liz actually being able to stop.”
“I stopped,” he said firmly. “She betrayed me.”
“And you turned your love off, just like that?” she asked skeptically.
He looked at her with hard eyes. “Is it any business of yours?”
“Not mine, but-it could be Peter’s business. It might help him to know you still feel something for his mother.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t. Liz lost all power to hurt me on the day she walked out. And I don’t see that it could make any difference to Peter one way or the other.”
“I was thinking of the funeral.”
“He won’t be going to the funeral. It’s no place for a child.”
“That’s for him to say. Of course I won’t force him if he doesn’t want to, but if he does want to it would be terribly cruel to keep him away.”
“He’s a child,” Gavin said, aghast. “How can you even think of taking him into that grim atmosphere, letting him look at graves and coffins and-and people in black?”
“Gavin, it isn’t funerals that are grim. It’s death. And Peter is already facing death twice over. How he copes with it will depend on what happens now. People need the chance to say goodbye. If you deprive him of that chance, he’ll feel it all his life.”
He set his jaw. “I don’t see it that way at all.”
“Well, we’ll let him decide.”
There was a shadow in the doorway, and they both turned to see Peter standing there. He flinched when he saw his father and for a dreadful moment Gavin feared he would run away again, but Peter held his ground and looked at him silently. He looked strained and wretched, and Gavin’s heart ached at the thought of what the child had to bear. “Why don’t we go somewhere and talk?” he asked, as gently as he could.
Peter didn’t react at once. First he glanced at Norah for her agreement, and when she smiled he nodded at his father. Gavin’s lips tightened. Could he have no communication with his own son except with her consent? But he held his tongue and left the room with Peter.
Once outside, father and son looked at each other awkwardly. “Why don’t you show me your room?” Gavin said at last.
Obediently Peter turned and went upstairs, Gavin following. He had a large room with a view over the sanctuary. The walls were lined with pictures of birds and animals and charts showing creatures of the world. Gavin looked around him with displeasure. This wasn’t what he thought of as a boy’s room. Where were the football colors, the sports trophies?
“Now we can have some time alone together,” he said more heartily than he felt. He made a gesture of half opening his arms that would have turned into a full embrace if Peter had responded. But the boy kept his distance and sat on the bed, watching his father warily. Gavin let his hands drop. “You haven’t said a word to me since I arrived,” he said. “That’s no way to treat your father. What about, ‘Hallo, Daddy?’”
He had the definite impression that Peter shrank back into himself. A small flame of anger flickered alight inside him. Was it a crime to want his son to call him Daddy? Or had that name been reserved for the other man, the enemy?
“I’ve looked forward to seeing you again,” he persisted. I thought we could have a real father-and-son talk after all this time.”
Peter’s silence seemed to mock the notion. The flame flared a little higher. “We don’t know each other as well as I’d hoped,” Gavin said, trying not to let himself feel the anger that he knew was kindling inside him. “But we’ll have a chance now to-to-” inspiration failed him.
He began to stride about the room, trying to combat the hurt and disappointment that were like embers ready to be tossed onto the threatening fire, sending it out of control. “Did you put these things up?” he asked, looking around him at the pictures and charts. Peter nodded.
At that moment Gavin noticed something that seemed like an answer to a prayer. In the corner stood a small silver cup with something inscribed on it, the kind of sports trophy he himself had carried off as a schoolboy. Eagerly he seized it and read,
He drew a sharp breath, too preoccupied with his own disappointment to notice that his son was watching him
