Gavin Hunter on Fatherhood:

I guess I had to write to you, son. We don’t seem able to communicate any other way. You won’t talk to me. When I speak, you look at me with eyes that are blank, or puzzled, or even hostile—eyes that seem to reproach me for having been a bad father, although God knows I never meant to be.

I thought being a father would be easy, that loving you would be enough. But then, I thought loving your mother would be enough, and she left me, taking you away and making another man your father.

When they both died I was sure you’d be mine again. But we’d been apart too long. You turned away and wouldn’t speak to me. You still won’t.

So now I have to learn to be a father all over again, to a ten-year-old son who doesn’t want me. I know you secretly wish I’d go away and leave you with Norah, your stepsister, who has your heart. But I won’t go, because I am still your father and I love you. When I seem cold and hard it is because loving you and getting nothing back hurts so much. Perhaps Norah has the key. Perhaps she can teach me. Who knows. I only know that I’ll never give up hope….

Instant Father
Lucy Gordon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

LUCY GORDON

cut her writing teeth on magazine journalism, interviewing many of the world’s most interesting men, including Warren Beatty, Richard Chamberlain, Roger Moore, Sir Alec Guinness and Sir John Gielgud. She also camped out with lions in Africa, and had many other unusual experiences that have often provided the background for her books. She is married to a Venetian, whom she met while on holiday in Venice. They got engaged within two days. Two of her books have won Romance Writers of America RITA® Awards: Song of the Lorelei in 1990 and His Brother’s Child in 1998. You can visit her Web site at www.lucy-gordon.com.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter One

“You’ve simply got to face facts, Gavin. The figures don’t look good. Hunter and Son is rapidly becoming a paper company—splendid on the surface, but nothing behind it but debt.”

Gavin Hunter’s dark brows almost met as he frowned angrily. “Hunter and Son has always been good for any amount of credit,” he snapped.

The banker, who was also a friend insofar as Gavin Hunter had any friends, pulled a wry face. “That was then. This is now. The great days of property are over. Interest rates rise as prices fall. Some of your hotels are only just hanging on. Since they’re mortgaged to the hilt, it won’t even help you to sell them.”

“I don’t want to sell,” Gavin snapped. “I want a small loan to keep me going. A mere quarter of a million pounds. In the past you’ve loaned me four times that without blinking.”

“In the past you had excellent collateral to back it up. Look, I’m not sure…What’s the matter?” The banker had realized that Gavin was no longer listening to him. His attention was fixed on the television screen in the corner of the room. “Is that disturbing you? I have it on to catch the news, but I can turn it off.”

“Turn the sound up,” Gavin said hoarsely.

The screen was filled with a photograph of an amiable looking middle-aged man. The banker turned up the sound.

“…died today in a car crash that also killed his wife, Elizabeth. Tony Ackroyd was one of the world’s best-known naturalists, a man who’d been prominent in…”

Gavin was gathering his things together, thrusting them hastily back into his briefcase. “Don’t you want to talk some more?” the banker said.

“Not just now. I have urgent business to attend to.”

The banker frowned, then enlightenment dawned. “Of course. Those two in the car crash—weren’t they—?”

“Yes,” Gavin said harshly. “They were my enemies.”

As he headed north out of London he reflected that Liz hadn’t always been his enemy. Once—and it was hard to imagine it now—he’d been in love with her, had swept her off her feet with his ardor and into a doomed marriage. In retrospect he understood that they’d never had a chance, although for a time they’d been happy, or so he’d thought. To all appearances they were a glorious couple, Liz with her long fair hair and ethereal beauty; Gavin with his dark good looks and his ability to turn whatever he touched into gold. They had a luxurious apartment in London, where Liz had given exquisite dinner parties. She was the perfect hostess and Gavin had been proud of her. She’d borne him a son, Peter, whom he’d loved with all the force of his proud, intense nature. He’d built his dreams around Peter, looking forward to the day when he would be the “son” in Hunter and Son.

But Liz had blown the dreams apart when she’d left him for Tony Ackroyd and stolen his four-year-old son. From that day she’d been his enemy.

He could still hear her crying, “I can’t stand you any more. Business and money. Money and business. That’s all you think about.”

And his own reply. “I work for you and Peter.”

“You’re deluding yourself. You do it for yourself—and your father.”

It was true he’d striven to impress his father, but that was because he had a lot to live up to. William Hunter had built up a hotel chain from nothing and reared Gavin in the belief that it was a son’s duty to outstrip his father’s achievements. He’d handed the business on with the implied demand for more, for bigger and better and bolder.

William was still alive, living in a convalescent home on the south coast, because that was the only place where his frail lungs could breathe. But his brain had stayed vigorous enough for him to bombard his son with a stream of letters containing unsolicited advice, most of it useless because his knowledge was out-of-date. Gavin had fielded the advice while expanding the business his own way. The strain had been considerable, but he’d trusted Liz to understand. And she’d failed him.

Cuckolded, he thought, taking a bitter satisfaction in the robust, old-fashioned word. Cuckolded by a sissy, a man with long hair and a beard, who went about with a vague air as if he didn’t know what day it was—a man who talked to animals, of all things! “Tony’s a better man than you,” Liz had flung at him. But that had been just spite.

He stepped on the gas. He wanted to get as near as possible to Strand House before the light faded.

Strand House. He could almost see it before him, exactly as he’d first set eyes on it, the great eighteenth-century mansion looking out over the sea. As a boy William had worked there, doing carpentry for the aristocratic family who owned it. Later, when he’d made his fortune, it had been his dream to own the place. He hadn’t succeeded, but Gavin did. The family had fallen on hard times and he’d badgered them until they sold up. The proudest day of Gavin’s life had been when he could show William the title deeds in his possession. But even then William had found cause for complaint.

“Why isn’t it in your sole name?” he’d snapped.

“For tax reasons, Dad,” Gavin had explained patiently. “It’ll be a lot cheaper if it’s in Liz’s name too. Don’t worry. It’s only on paper.”

But it hadn’t worked out like that. Liz had fallen in love with the house and the sea, wanted to make a home there. He’d explained that their home had to be in London.

“That’s not a home,” she’d told him. “That’s just a base for exhibiting to people you want to overwhelm. I want a home.”

Because he didn’t understand her, he’d tried to pass it off as a joke. “Don’t people say home is where the heart is?”

And she’d answered, in terrible bitterness, “That’s for people who have hearts, Gavin.”

He’d concealed his hurt and stood his ground. Strand House was going to be the jewel of the Hunter hotel chain. He had the plans all drawn up: the indoor swimming pool created from the huge conservatory, the sauna in what was now the billiard room, and the golf course that would occupy the grounds, making use of the beautiful lawns that the family had tended for centuries.

But before he could put the plans into effect Liz had run away, taking Peter. As a final twist of the screw she’d betrayed him once more, claiming “her” half of the house in the divorce settlement. He’d fought her to the last ditch, but he’d lost. The court had awarded her half of Strand House with the right to live there, provided she paid him rent for his half. It had also awarded her custody of Peter.

He’d driven through the night then, as he was doing now, and arrived at the house like a maddened bull. It was early in the day, but there was no sign of Liz or “that sponger,” as he referred to Tony in his head. He’d charged through the house and out again onto the ground, searching madly, driven by a terrible fear that they’d taken his son abroad.

At last he’d found someone who looked like the gardener’s boy, dressed in shabby jeans, sweater and an ancient hat, and digging a trench in the middle of a perfect lawn. He drew an angry breath at the thought of his ruined golf course. “Hey you!” he snapped. “What do you think you’re doing?”

The battered hat had lifted and he found himself staring into the face of a young woman who couldn’t have been more than eighteen. She had a curious face, not beautiful but full of life and personality, with a hint of humor lurking not far below the surface. Her only claim to good looks lay in her eyes, which were large, brown and warm. For the rest, her nose was too long, her mouth too wide and her chin too stubborn, yet the total effect was oddly pleasing. Or would have been, if Gavin had been in a mood to be pleased. Right now her mood seemed as belligerent as his own. “Are you talking to me?” she enquired.

“Yes I am. I asked what you thought you were doing to that lawn.”

“I’m digging it up,” she explained patiently. “What does it look as if I’m doing?”

“Don’t give me any cheek. Do you know how many years it took to get that lawn perfect?”

“Yes, and it’s about time somebody did something useful to it,” she countered. “It’s nice and sunny here. Ideal for vegetables.”

He gritted his teeth. “Where’s your employer?”

A faint smile that he hadn’t understood until later flitted across her curved lips. “Do you mean Mr. Ackroyd?”

“Stop playing stupid—”

“I’m not playing,” she declared innocently. “You’d be amazed how stupid I can be—when it suits me.”

If he hadn’t been so angry and upset he might have heeded the warning, but all he saw was that he was being thwarted again, something he always found intolerable, but now more than ever. “I warn you I’m losing my patience,” he growled.

She nodded. “I can see that. I don’t suppose you had much to begin with.”

“Now look—”

“Do you usually go around shouting at people like an army sergeant? Should I jump? Stand to attention? Sorry. Can’t oblige.”

“Why don’t you try a little plain civility?” he snapped.

“Why don’t you? You storm into my home and start barking orders—”

“Your home? What the devil do you mean by that?”

“It belongs to the woman my father’s going to marry, and we’re all living in it together. Is that plain enough?”

“Yes, it’s plain enough. And since we’re going in for plain speaking, it’s my turn. I take it your father is Tony Ackroyd, and the woman he’s going to marry is Elizabeth Hunter, my wife.”

Her marvelous eyes widened, and the words came rushing out of her. “Your wife? Good grief! Grating Gavin!”

“I beg your pardon?” he said ominously.

“Nothing,” she said hastily. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You said ‘grating Gavin.’ I should like to know why.”

“Look, it’s just a silly name…” she floundered.

“Are you telling me that my wife calls me that?”

“Of course not…not exactly…this is…”

“Does she or doesn’t she? Or are you too stupid to know the difference?”

The color flew to her cheeks. “You’re a real charmer, aren’t you? All right, if you must know, Liz said everything you do grates on her, and I—”

“You invented the name,” he finished. “And you have the nerve to lecture me about manners.”

“You weren’t meant to know about it. How could I dream you’d ever come here?”

“I came to see my wife. She still is my wife until the divorce is finalized, which won’t be for another two weeks. Let me further make it clear that she doesn’t own Strand House, only half of it. The other half belongs to me.”

She frowned. “Only until my father buys you out, surely?”

“Buy me out?” he demanded with bitter hilarity. “Do you know what this place is worth? Of course you don’t. I know your kind—and his. Floating through life on a ‘green’ cloud, with no idea of reality. There’s no way your father could afford it, even if I were prepared to sell, which I’m not.”

“What on earth can you gain by refusing to sell?”

“That’s for me to say.”

She stood back to regard him. “Oh, I see,” she said cynically.

He knew it was unwise to continue this conversation. He didn’t owe this impertinent urchin any explanation, and freezing dignity would be his best course. But he couldn’t manage it. There was something provoking about her that drove him on. “What do you think you see?” he demanded.

“You’re going to be a dog in the manger, aren’t you? You can’t have Strand House yourself, but you can make sure Liz can’t fully enjoy it.”

“Young woman, I don’t know what you think gives you the right to make quick, cheap judgments without knowing the full facts, but let me tell you you’re way out of line.”

“Oh, the truth hurts, does it?”

“It isn’t the truth.”

“Oh, yes, it is. Why should you want to hang onto any part of this place, unless it’s for the pleasure of making poor Liz miserable?”

“I’m hanging onto it because it’s mine. She has no right to any part of it.”

“That’s not what the title deeds say.”

“The title deeds are a formality for tax purposes, and Liz knew that perfectly well.”

“If all your wife meant to you was a tax dodge, I’m not surprised she left you. She should have left you years ago.”

“Another glib judgment made in ignorance.”

“It’s not my judgment, it’s hers. Why don’t you just let her go? Let my father buy you out.”

“He couldn’t do it in a million years. He only offers to buy me out because he knows there’s no fear of my taking him up on it. He knew a good thing when he met Liz, didn’t he? A rich woman who could walk away from her husband with a lot of property.”

She paled. “How dare you speak about my father like that? He’s an honorable man, and he loves Liz.”

“Does he? Or does he love what she can bring him?”

“You’ve got no right to say that. You don’t know him.”

“I know he stole my wife, my house and my son. What else do I need to know?”

“He didn’t steal your wife. He won her by offering her the love you couldn’t, the only currency that counts, only nobody ever told you that, did they? If you’d known about love you might still have your wife, your house and your son.”

“Don’t tell me I don’t love my son. I’ll be damned if I’ll let him be brought up by Tony Ackroyd.”

“He’ll be lucky if he is. There isn’t a better father in the world.”

“The best father is his own father.”

“He’s four years old, for pity’s sake. How can you try to snatch a child so young away from his mother?”

Through the confused mass of pain and bewilderment that possessed him, he couldn’t find the words that would express his true feelings. All he could manage to do was cry out, “Because he’s mine.”

It was the wrong thing to say. He wasn’t so insensitive that he couldn’t realize that. But no other words would come.

He saw her looking at him in contemptuous disbelief. “The house is your. Liz is yours. Peter is yours. It’s all property to you, isn’t it?”

“No, it isn’t,” he snapped. “Peter and I…” He stopped. It would have been hard enough to speak of his bittersweet love for his son with a sympathetic listener. With this judgmental young woman it was impossible. “Never mind,” he said, unaware of how plainly his thoughts had been revealed on his face. “Just tell me where I can find my wife and son,” he said.

Her eyes were fixed on his face, and they had a new look, as though she’d seen something that had startled her. Her manner softened. “They’re inside,” she said. “I’ll tell them you’re here.”

She thrust her spade into the earth with a strong movement and ran back to the house. Gavin felt shaken and drained by the interview. He began to look around him and realized that the destruction extended much further than digging up a lawn. Tony Ackroyd evidently had big plans for the grounds, if the huge rolls of wire lying about were anything to go by.

“Daddy.”

He turned to see his little son scampering across the lawn toward him. For a moment delight blotted out all other thought, and he opened his arms to scoop him up. The little boy’s warmth sent a sensation of joy flowing through him. “Have you missed me?” he asked.

Peter nodded, smiling.

Gavin looked around. There was nobody about. Soon the angry young woman would rouse the house, but for the moment the coast was clear. He could escape now, taking Peter with him. “Peter,” he asked in a low, urgent voice, “would you like to come home with me?”

His anxious eyes noted how the child brightened, and his heart began to beat with hope. “We’ve got so much to do together,” he said. “We can go to the zoo and see the lions and tigers and—”

“Uncle Tony says it’s wrong to keep lions and tigers behind bars,” Peter said, frowning. “He says it’s cruel.”

Gavin took a deep breath. “All right, never mind the zoo. You can have that computer game you wanted. And we’ll—”

“Can I have a puppy all of my own?”

“Well, that’s not going to be easy, because our flat doesn’t have a garden.”

“But Uncle Tony says—”

“All right, you can have a puppy,” Gavin said hastily. “Shall we go now?”

“Is Mommy coming, too?” Peter asked.

“No, just the two of us.”

“But I want Mommy. I want Mommy.”

In the silence that followed, he knew he’d lost. He was a hard man, but not hard enough to force a four-year-old child to leave his mother against his will. He sighed. “I guess that’s that, then,” he said.

“Are you going to stay with us?” Peter asked hopefully.

“No, I—I just came to see how you were.”

“But I want you to stay.”

“And I’d like to be with you but—Mommy and I can’t be together any more—”

“Why not?”

It would have been so easy to say, “Because she’s a faithless wife who walked out and she’s the one keeping us apart.” Put the blame on Liz, where it belonged. Teach her son to blame her. See what she made of that.

But he couldn’t make himself tear the child apart. He despised himself for a sentimental weakling, but he couldn’t do it. “Because that’s the way it has to be,” he said with a sigh. “You and I will still see each other sometimes. As often as I can manage. I promise. Be a good boy for your Mommy and—”

Before he got the next words out a whirlwind seemed to descend on him, Peter was snatched from his arms and Liz was standing there before him, her face blazing. “I might have known you’d try something like this,” she said furiously. “Another moment and you’d have spirited him away. Oh, thank God I got here in time!”

“Spare me the dramatics,” he said coldly. “I was saying goodbye.”

“It’s a lie,” she cried. “I know you. You were trying to steal him.”

The angry young woman had hurried up behind Liz and was watching the little scene with a frown. “Liz—” she said.

“Did you see what he was trying to do?” Liz demanded. “If you hadn’t come and warned us, he’d have got away with it.”

“Liz, I don’t think he was trying to—”

“Nonsense, of course he was. That’s what he came here for.”

“Whatever I came here for, it was plainly a wasted journey,” Gavin said, tight-lipped. “I had hoped that we could talk reasonably, but you won’t listen, so I may as well leave. Take good care of my son. Goodbye, Peter.” He reached out to pat his son’s shoulder, but Liz stepped back, taking him out of reach and began to run toward the house. Gavin tightened his lips against the pain and walked away to his car.

As he was getting into it he stopped for one look back. Liz had gone, but the young woman was still there, watching him and frowning as if something had puzzled her. He got in, slamming the door, and drove off. His mind was in too much of a whirl to think straight. It was only when he was miles away that he realized she had actually defended him.

After that visit things became more difficult. Liz had called her lawyer to report that he’d tried to abduct Peter, and although he still had access to his son it became very limited. On the rare occasions when they met Peter’s manner toward him was awkward, and Gavin could only guess at how they’d tried to turn him against his father. As six years passed and the boy grew up, Gavin had felt with despair that he was losing something he could never regain.

But now everything would be different. Now there was nothing to stop him from reclaiming his son. Peter had suffered from divided loyalties, but that was over, and soon he would be close to his father again.

As dawn broke he could hear the sound of the sea in the distance, and his heart quickened at the thought that he would soon be there. He thought of how Peter would run to him as the only safe point in a world that had suddenly become chaotic. He wondered who would be with him. Probably Ackroyd’s daughter. He knew now that her name was Norah, but she’d lived in his mind as the angry young woman. He wondered if she would try to stop him from claiming his child. If so, she wouldn’t succeed. As he drove the last stretch he rehearsed the words he would say to her, strong words that would leave her in no doubt that he wasn’t to be trifled with.

At last the house came in sight, pale and beautiful in the dawn light. He felt a surge of love for the place. His thoughts had been all of Peter, but now it occurred to him that the house too would revert to him, in a sense. Liz’s share would pass to Peter, and as Peter’s guardian he would hold his son’s inheritance in trust. They would own Strand House together. He liked the sound of that.

There was no sign of life as he drove up the drive and stopped in front of the house. The light was already growing strong, but it was six in the morning. He got out of the car and looked up at the windows which showed no sign of life. He began to walk around the house to reach the extensive grounds that stretched away at the rear. He wanted to groan when he saw what had become of them. The perfect lawns that would have been the golf course had been dug up and now housed what appeared to be a small zoo.

He made his way between wire cages until at last he saw a figure sitting on a wooden bench. She was dressed in an old sweater and dark jeans, and she sat hugging her arms across her chest, staring into space.

A black-and-white dog who’d settled at her feet looked up at Gavin’s approach and gave a soft, “Wuff.” She glanced up at him without speaking and he recognized Norah. She was different. Her face was deadly pale and full of despair and she looked as if all the fight had been drained out of her. Suddenly the firm words he’d rehearsed vanished from his head, leaving only one thought.

He said gently, “I’m so very, very sorry. It must be dreadful for you.”

Chapter Two

“It’s you,” she said, as if dazed.

“Weren’t you expecting me after—what’s happened?”

“I don’t know—I haven’t taken it in yet. It seems only yesterday that I waved them off….” She gave a little shudder. “It was only yesterday. And now the whole world has changed.”

He sat beside her on the bench. “How is Peter? Does he know?”

“He knew before anyone else,” she said huskily. “The worst possible thing happened. He was watching the news, and he saw it first. Nobody had called to warn us. It was a dreadful shock for him. He came and told me. At first I didn’t believe him. I thought he’d misunderstood. He kept crying and saying, ‘It’s true, it’s true.’ Then we cried together for most of the night.”

“It’s a terrible burden for you,” he said sympathetically. “But I’m here now.”

She gave him a strange look which he failed to interpret, and said, “Peter fell asleep about an hour ago. I came out here because it’s where I feel closest to Dad. We built all this up together. He loved it so much. He used to say all the money in the world didn’t mean as much as an animal’s trust.”

Gavin thought that a man who’d attached himself to a rich woman was free to be indifferent to money, but it would have been cruel to say it to her, so he kept silent.

“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.”

“Liz cooked for animals?”

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—”

“It wasn’t her fault,” he shouted. “Before she lived with you and your father she was a woman of common sense, but the two of you seem to have sabotaged her mind.”

“That’s wickedly unfair—”

“Good God, what a household for my son to grow up in! All I can say is the sooner I remove him from your pernicious influence, the better.”

He stopped because he could see he’d lost her attention. Norah was staring over his shoulder at the doorway. Turning, Gavin saw Peter standing there in pajamas. His heart was suddenly full of joy and relief. What did anything else matter beside the reunion with his beloved son?

“Hallo, son,” he said gently, holding out his arms.

But Peter didn’t run into them as he should have done. Instead he stared at Gavin with wide, dismayed eyes, before rushing past him to Norah. Gavin watched, incredulous, as Peter flung himself into Norah’s arms and buried his face against her. He noticed how her arms closed protectively around the child. The two of them stayed locked together for several seconds.

“Your father came to see you, darling,” Norah whispered. “You should at least say hallo to him.”

But Peter refused to turn around, and Gavin thought he heard a muffled cry of, “No! No!”

“Everything’s happened a bit suddenly for him,” she explained apologetically to Gavin.

“Thank you, I don’t need my son explained to me,” he said coolly. “It’s quite clear what has happened. You mentioned a room. I’d be glad of the chance to settle in.”

“Of course.” Norah gave her attention back to Peter. “Darling, I want you to go outside and see if everything’s all right. Some of the animals are a bit unsettled. Calm them down, the way you do.”

“Do they know?” the boy choked.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I think they know. I believe some of them may have known before we did. Go on, now.”

The boy scuttled out without looking at Gavin, who turned furious eyes on Norah. “It’s as well I came when I did—filling my son’s head up with that kind of tomfoolery. Knew before we did! I never heard anything like that.”

“Some of them got very agitated early yesterday evening,” Norah replied. “They started calling out in ways I’ve never heard before and tearing around their pens. We couldn’t understand it. But I know it was about the time of the crash.”

“Coincidence,” Gavin snapped.

“Perhaps. When someone discovers exactly how their senses work, maybe we’ll know. I’ll show you upstairs.”

He’d slept in the house for a week after he’d bought it, lying in the great master bedroom and reveling in making plans which had come to nothing. As they reached the top of the stairs he turned instinctively toward the door of that room, but Norah steered him away. “That’s where they slept,” she said. “It’s full of their things.”

“Of course,” he said curtly, and followed her down the corridor to a room at the end.

“This is always kept made up for guests,” she explained. “This door here is your bathroom. It’s been put in since you were last here.”

“Thank you.” It was hard not to resent her proprietory air. With an effort he stopped himself from pointing out that this was his house and she was the guest, and moreover a guest who would soon be departing. He was glad when she left him alone.

The room looked out over the grounds. Standing at the window he could see Peter moving among the animals, stroking them, resting his head against them. He feasted his eyes on his son. He loved him so much, and it was wonderful to have him back at last.

But did he have him back? He was suddenly dreadfully conscious of the distance between them. And his son hadn’t run to him, but to Norah. He’d stared at his father with the eyes of a stranger and almost seemed to shrink from him.

No! Gavin stopped himself on that thought. His son hadn’t shrunk from him. He’d merely been taken by surprise. But they would put it right, just as soon as he could remove Peter from this place and have him to himself. And that was going to be at the first possible moment.

He found that he was more tired than he’d expected. He showered, then lay down, meaning only to close his eyes for a few moments. But when he awoke five hours had passed and the sun was high in the sky.

He hurried downstairs and began to look for Norah. At last he heard the sound of her voice and followed it until he located the source behind a door that was slightly open. As he approached he could hear her saying, “I was pretty certain, but I wanted to be sure…. Thank you, you’ve eased my mind…. No, I don’t think it would be good for the poor child to be snatched away like a piece of recovered property…. It’s nice to know I can prevent it…. Don’t worry, I can take care of Gavin Hunter. Bye.” There was the sound of a receiver being replaced.

Gavin’s mouth tightened. So that was her game. He’d actually tried to be nice to her, respecting her grief. And her reply was to kick him in the teeth. Right!

He pushed open the door and stood looking at her without speaking. She was sitting in a large office whose clutter filled his orderly soul with dismay. How did these people ever get anything done? She looked up and started slightly at the sight of him.

“I’ll save time by admitting I heard the last part of your conversation,” Gavin said grimly. “Let me make it clear that nothing you can do can keep me from my son. And if you really think you can ‘take care of’ me you’ve made a big mistake. Older and wiser heads than yours have made the same mistake, and regretted it.”

“I’m sure you’re very fearsome and terrible,” she agreed, but without seeming overawed. “Peter certainly seemed to think so. Don’t you realize that he heard what you said about removing him from me? He heard you shouting it in anger and it upset him almost as much as what happened last night.”

“Nonsense. He’s my son.”

“Technically, but Tony was a father to him these past few years and he’s forgotten any other home but this. If he wanted to go with you it would be different, but he doesn’t, and so I won’t allow it.”

He almost smiled. “You won’t allow it? You think you can tell me what you will and won’t allow, when the issue is my son?”

“Yes, of course, he’s yours, isn’t he?” Norah said, a scathing note creeping into her voice. “Your property. I was forgetting. All right, let’s fight this battle your way.” She rose to confront him, and he had an odd sensation that she’d removed the gloves. “There can be more than one claimant to a piece of property.”

“Not this one,” Gavin said firmly.

“I’ve just been talking to Angus Philbeam, our lawyer. I wanted to check a point in Liz’s will. Angus is a very thorough man. When he drew it up, he made Liz consider every possibility—even this one. Liz left the guardianship of Peter to Tony, and after him—me.”

Gavin was silent for a split second before exploding, “You must be out of your mind!”

“You can visit Angus and see the will—”

“To hell with the will! No power on earth could give Liz the right to will my son’s guardianship away from me. He’s mine.”

Norah regarded him bitterly. “I’m beginning to understand why Liz always referred to you as Hunter,” she said. “Not Gavin, but just ‘Hunter.’ She said you were so predatory that the name suited you perfectly.”

“It makes a change from ‘grating Gavin,’” he snapped.

“But she was right. You are predatory. Everything is prey to you—something to be fought for and snatched. And you win because you scare people. But I’m not scared. For one thing, even you wouldn’t be inhuman enough to try to drag that child away today.”

“I never said I was going to—”

“And for another you’ll have to go through the courts to get Peter back, and I think they’ll pay attention to that will. They’ll pay even more attention to the fact that this is Peter’s home, where he’s been happy. He’s just lost two parents—”

“One parent.”

“And I don’t think they’ll let him be taken away from me by a father he hardly knows any more.” The phone rang and she answered it quickly. She barely said a word, but whatever she heard seemed to please her because her face brightened. Finally she said, “I’ll tell him at once. Thank you very much.” She hung up and faced Gavin. “That was the Social Services. Angus has been on to them. They’ll be sending someone to see you.”

“Need I ask what this ‘someone’ is going to say? You seem confident that you have it all stitched up.”

“They’ll oppose any attempt to remove Peter from me so soon after the accident. He needs security, not another big change straight on top of the last one.”

“And what kind of security can you offer him?”

“Love, and the stability of the home he’s used to.”

Gavin gritted his teeth. He hadn’t meant to play rough, but she’d left him no choice. “But you’re going to be leaving here. See what Social Services says when I tell them that.”

“Leaving here? Why should I?”

“Look, I realize that your father was still a young man and you couldn’t have dreamed that he’d die so soon.”

“What does that have to do with what we’re talking about?”

“It means that you have no right to stay in this house.”

“Why?”

“Because it belonged to Liz—half of it. The other half is still mine. Liz’s half will become Peter’s and I—”

“Wait,” she stopped him. “Liz didn’t own any part of Strand House.”

“I happen to know better. I bought this place originally and put it in our joint names, and the court awarded her half in the divorce settlement.”

“Yes, I know all about that. What I’m saying is that Liz’s share became Dad’s some years ago, and he left it to me.”

“What? That’s impossible.”

“It was to protect the sanctuary. He wanted to be sure that if anything happened to him I could carry on here.”

“I don’t believe what I’m hearing,” he exploded.

But he did believe it. It had an awful inevitability. He’d always known that Tony Ackroyd had been a sponger who’d battened on Liz for her property. Now he discovered that he’d been a mercilessly efficient sponger. “You really do have this neatly arranged, don’t you?” he said, breathing hard.

“I know you can’t evict me, and for the moment you can’t take Peter away from me. If you love your son, you won’t even try to.”

“Don’t lecture me about loving my son,” Gavin said dangerously.

“You frighten him—”

“That’s impossible.”

“I imagine anything’s impossible to you, if it doesn’t suit you. But Peter doesn’t know you any more. Can’t you understand that?”

“Yes, I’m beginning to. In fact I’m beginning to understand a good many things. You’ve turned his mind away from me, haven’t you, and you think I can’t take it back.”

“You’re right—I don’t think you can take it back. You might win it back, but that’s not your way, is it, Hunter? Your way is smash and grab, and it won’t work this time.”

“Oh, I have more weapons in my armory than you think. I can be patient and subtle when I have to be. You may be able to stop me removing Peter, but you can’t keep me away from him. I have as much right to live in this house as you do, and that’s what I mean to do.”

“Live here? You mean to move in?” she echoed, dismayed.

“I’ve already moved in. So I’ll be on hand to make sure my son isn’t turned against me any more.”

“But that’s—” she sought for the word.

“Impossible?”

“Impractical. How can we live under the same roof?”

“It won’t be for long,” Gavin said. “Just as long as it takes you to realize that you can’t defeat me. In the meantime, we’ll just have to learn to endure each other.”

Chapter Three

Mrs. Selena Bolden, a social worker, came the same day. She was middle-aged and hearty, with an uncomfortable likeness to a headmistress. As soon as she began to speak, Gavin’s heart sank. Mrs. Bolden had known Liz and Tony well, liked them and had moreover been fed the story of how Gavin had tried to “kidnap” Peter six years ago.

“It would be most unfortunate if there were any similar, er, incident,” she observed, looking at him closely.

Gavin controlled his temper and said calmly, “All I want to do is get to know my son again, so I’m going to live right here in my own house. At least you can’t prevent me from doing that.”

“Actually, I can,” she said smugly. “I can apply for a court order preventing you from setting foot on these premises, and I could have one by this afternoon.”

“What? My own house? Are you mad?”

“Whoever’s house it is, the court would place the interests of the child first. Your previous attempt at kidnapping would be taken into account—”

“I keep telling you I did not try to kidnap my son—”

“Naturally you would say that, but the attempt is on the official record.”

For the first time Gavin knew real fear. Everything he’d been so certain of was slipping away from him with terrible inevitability. Whatever the rights of the situation, it seemed that Norah Ackroyd had the power on her side, and he had no doubt she would use that power to thwart him.

But then, unbelievably, he heard her say, “Actually, Selena, I think Mr. Hunter is telling the truth.” Gavin stared at her as she went on, “I saw what happened, and I don’t think he would have really snatched Peter. Liz was hysterical and upset, and I believe she read too much into it.”

Mrs. Bolden looked skeptical. “According to the official record,” she said, like someone quoting the bible, “the little boy confirmed it.”

“He confirmed that his father asked him to go with him, yes,” Norah agreed. “But later he told me that Mr. Hunter had abandoned the idea when Peter made it clear he wanted to be with his mother. I tried to tell Liz, but she insisted I’d misunderstood. I know that I didn’t.”

“Are you saying you don’t want me to get a court order?” Mrs. Bolden demanded, sounding disappointed.

“That’s right. I don’t. As you say, Peter’s interests must come first, and right now none of us knows what’s best for him. As far as I’m concerned, Mr. Hunter can stay here. I’ll guarantee his behavior.”

“Very well. I’ll take your word for the moment.” She eyed Gavin disapprovingly. “But no attempt must be made to remove Peter. Do I have your word on that?”

“Certainly,” he said grimly.

Norah showed her out while Gavin tried to force himself to calm down. On the one hand he was possessed by sheer speechless outrage at Norah’s impertinence at guaranteeing his behavior. But he knew that he owed everything to her generous intervention. In fact he owed her his total gratitude, and that was almost the worst thing of all.

When she returned he said with difficulty, “Thank you for speaking up for me. It wasn’t what I expected.”

“I never believed that kidnap story. You had ample chance to make off with Peter, but you didn’t.”

“But you could have had me thrown out of the house,” he said bewildered. “Why pass up your advantage?”

He came from a world where only a fool let an opportunity slip, and this woman wasn’t a fool. That was clear from the shrewd intelligence in her eyes as they surveyed him, their gleam showing that she fully understood his mystification.

“Maybe I was wrong to pass it up,” she said. “We’ll just have to see how things work out.”

“I gave my word and I’ll keep it. All I want is to rebuild my relationship with Peter.”

“Well, I’ve given you the chance to do that,” she pointed out.

“But I wish you’d tell me—why did you do it?”

“Because getting to know you again might be the best thing for him.”

“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.”

“Real world? You call this—this Norah’s Ark—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. “Peter.”

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 trying to reassure him. I wanted to tell him what we’ve agreed, that I’m staying here with him for a while.”

“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, Presented to Peter Hunter, for outstanding work in school Nature Studies.

He drew a sharp breath, too preoccupied with his own disappointment to notice that his son was watching him closely, with something in his eyes that might have been hope. “Is this the only one you’ve got?” he demanded. When he was answered by silence, he snapped, “For heaven’s sake, answer me properly. I’m not going to eat you.”

Instead of speaking, Peter opened a cupboard by his bed and took out a plaque which he handed to his father. It was a commendation from a bird-protection society. Gavin glanced at it briefly before looking away.

The bitterness was like bile in his throat. They had robbed him. His son was an alien to him. “That’s all very well,” he said in a constrained voice, “but haven’t you got any manly interests? Don’t you play football or cricket or—or something? Doesn’t your school have teams?” The boy nodded. “Well, do you follow them? How do they do? Do they win matches?” He could hear his own voice rising as his desperation grew.

Peter considered this last question before answering it with a shrug. It might have meant no more than that sometimes the teams lost and sometimes they won. But to Gavin’s lacerated sensibilities the shrug looked like contemptuous dismissal. “The sooner I get you away to a place where you can grow up properly, the better,” he said furiously.

He was on the verge of shouting, and he knew he mustn’t do that. So he vented his feelings by slamming down the little cup before saying, “We’ll talk later—this isn’t the right time,” and striding out.

Gavin wasn’t a man who gave up easily, but right now he was on the edge of despair. He knew he’d done every single thing the wrong way. And more frightening still, he didn’t know what the right way was.

Left alone, Peter was motionless for a long moment. When he was sure Gavin wasn’t coming back he went and lifted the cup whose stem had been bent by the force of his father’s hand. He tried to straighten it, but after a while he gave up and put the crooked cup away in a drawer.

Gavin was an early riser. He was awake with the dawn next morning, and went down to the kitchen. A middle-aged woman with a severe face introduced herself as Mrs. Stone, the live-in “help.” “I’m just starting breakfast,” she said. “Can I pour you some coffee?”

“Later, thank you. I’m looking for Norah.”

“She’s out there, feeding those creatures.”

The way Mrs. Stone sniffed and said, “those creatures,” told Gavin he had a kindred spirit. “You don’t care for them?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t be here if jobs were easy to come by,” she declared, sniffing again. “In my opinion animals should know their place, and it’s not in the house. I made it clear when I took the job that I would have nothing to do with animals.” Osbert honked from the floor. “Or birds,” she added.

“Very wise,” Gavin agreed with feeling. Through the window he could see Norah in the distance, talking to the pony-tailed young man who’d hailed from the birdcage. He hurried out.

She’d vanished by the time he arrived, but the young man was there. “Hi. I’m Grimsdyke,” he said. “But everyone calls me Grim.”

“Do you work here?” Gavin asked.

“I live here. I have a couple of rooms, and I pay my rent by helping out. If you’re looking for Norah, she’s gone to see Buster and Mack.”

“Buster and Mack?”

“Buster’s a donkey. Mack is his companion. Just go down that path and bear right.”

Gavin followed the instructions and discovered Norah standing by a low wire fence, accompanied by Rex, the black-and-white dog that went everywhere with her. She was feeding mashed apple to an elderly donkey. “Good morning,” she said pleasantly, but without taking her attention from the donkey. “Go on, eat it all up. Special treat.”

“I take it this is Buster,” he said, trying to match the distant cordiality of her tone.

“That’s right. I got him two years ago from people who ought to have been shot. They’d neglected him so badly that his hooves had grown right under in curves and he could hardly walk. Would you believe they actually tried to prevent me removing him? I told them it was me or the law, take it or leave it. They took it.”

“You always get your way, it seems?”

“Not always, but I’m a fighter.”

“Is that a warning?”

“Take it how you like.”

“Thanks.”

They eyed each other appraisingly before Norah said, “I tried to find another home for Buster, but it didn’t work out. He’s very set in his ways.”

“What does that mean?”

“Obstreperous.”

“Then naturally he felt at home with you.”

“Meaning we’re two of a kind?”

“Take it how you like,” he retorted coolly. “What about the other donkey? Did you have to shoot anyone to get him?”

“I don’t have another donkey.”

“Then who’s Mack?”

She gave a soft whistle and a small monkey came bounding out of the trees, jumped onto Buster’s back and from there into Norah’s arms. “This is Mack,” she said. “He’s a macao monkey. Unfortunately they’re very pretty.”

“Why unfortunately?”

“It makes them popular as pets. They get bought by people who aren’t fit to own a china monkey, let alone a live one.” There was real anger in her voice.

The conversation wasn’t going as he’d meant. He’d intended to greet her calmly, to be dignified and persuasive and make her see that she couldn’t hope to claim half of Strand House. Instead he found himself discussing the sanctuary as if it were to be a permanent phenomenon. And it definitely wasn’t. The thought reminded him of something else. “What’s the idea of giving house room to that layabout?”

“If you mean Grim, I couldn’t manage without him. And he isn’t a layabout. Whatever he looks like, he’s a brilliant zoologist. Unfortunately he’s only here until he’s finished writing his thesis. Then the university will give him a doctorate and research grant, and he’ll vanish around the world.”

“You relieve my mind. I was afraid it might be impossible to get him off the premises.”

She swung around to face him. “You mean, your first thought was about the property?”

“That has to concern me. You’ve hardly improved the value of the property by—this.” He made a gesture.

“That’s all you see, isn’t it, Hunter? Money, and how your financial position is affected. You judge everything by that yardstick, as though there were no other.”

“It’s as good a yardstick as any in a hard world,” he declared grimly.

“Which is only another way of saying that you don’t believe in any other yardstick.” Her voice changed, grew softer, and curious. “Perhaps that’s why you’re so unhappy.”

He was pale with anger. “Kindly leave my personal feelings out of this.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get personal. It’s just that when I sense sadness in anyone—human or animal—I just can’t help…”

“Once and for all, I am not susceptible to whimsy.”

She wore a puzzled frown. “I’m not being whimsical.”

“This nonsense about sadness in animals! Animals are not sad, Miss Ackroyd.”

“The ones who come here are.”

“You know what I mean. They don’t experience sadness in the way humans do.”

“How do you know?”

“Because they are animals. They’re not humans, they’re animals. There’s a difference.”

“Actually, there’s no difference. Surely you don’t need me to tell you that human beings are animals?”

“Different kinds of animals,” he said, knowing that he was unwise to be provoked into argument.

“Not different at all,” she responded. “You’d be amazed how alike—”

“No, I wouldn’t, because this conversation is going no further,” he interrupted desperately.

“Yes,” she said, regarding him and nodding as if she’d just been enlightened. “There are some things you find very hard to talk about, aren’t there?”

“That’s enough,” he snapped. “If you think you can—”

He got no further. His speech was drowned out by a mad squawking, and the next moment a large white goose came half flying, half hopping toward them. He snapped at Gavin’s legs, forcing him to back away hurriedly. The feeling of looking ridiculous increased his temper. “You’ll get into trouble if you go around setting that vicious bird on people,” he told her grimly.

“Osbert isn’t a vicious bird,” she protested.

He could hardly believe his ears. “Osbert?” he echoed outraged. “You call a goose Osbert? What are you running here? Disneyland?”

“You have a name, don’t you?” she asked defensively.

“I’m not a goose,” he snapped. “I’m a man. And my son is going to be a man. He’s going to grow up in a man’s world, seeing himself as a man—not Tarzan or Saint Francis, but a man. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly. And now I’m going to make myself clear. I don’t care about you or your half-baked prejudices, but I do care about Peter’s feelings. He mustn’t see us fighting. It upsets him too much, and I won’t allow it.”

“You won’t allow—?”

“Do you have a problem with that?” Norah asked dangerously.

“I have a problem with you and everything about you, and I intend to resolve it my way. In the meantime, the best way for us to avoid quarreling is to avoid talking.”

“That isn’t practical. There are arrangements to be made. I’ll consult you when I have to, but you can be sure it’ll be as little as possible.”

His gratitude for her intervention with the social worker had vanished without a trace. Now all he felt was the gall of being allowed to stay here by her consent, and the power she exercised over everything that should by rights be his—including his son. But she would just have to be endured while he bided his time. The important thing was to become a part of Peter’s life again.

As he turned away from her he saw his son coming out of the house. He hurried toward him, but at a certain point Peter swerved suddenly sideways, so that his path and Gavin’s didn’t cross. Gavin stared, trying to believe it was an accident. There was still some distance between them, and Peter might simply not have seen him.

But in his heart he didn’t believe it. Peter had turned aside to avoid him, and the pain was indescribable. After a moment he walked back to the house, taking care not to go in Peter’s direction, and once inside he shut himself in his room.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.