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  “You just caught me,” boomed the lawyer’s cheerful voice. “Did I tell you Elaine and I bought a villa in Italy? We’re off for our first vacation there tomorrow. Sun, sand and vino.”

  Sweat stood out on Gavin’s forehead. “Look Bruce, this is an emergency…” Hurriedly he explained the situation. “She’ll be up in front of the magistrates tomorrow morning.”

  “Tomorrow morning I’ll be on the plane to Italy,” Bruce said firmly.

  “I don’t care what it costs-”

  “It’ll cost my neck, if I have to explain a delay to Elaine.”

  “But there needn’t be a delay,” Gavin said, improvising madly. “She can still fly out tomorrow and you go the next day. She surely won’t mind that?”

  “She’ll mind coping with three young children alone on the plane. No dice.”

  “Bruce, I hate to remind you that you owe me a favor, but this is life-or-death.”

  “Well, of all the-”

  “Life-or-death,” Gavin repeated firmly.

  There was silence. “She must really be some lady.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “Well, I guess that changes things. If you’d explained that you were in love with her-”

  “I’m not,” Gavin interrupted firmly. He glanced at Peter and found the boy had been momentarily distracted by Mrs. Stone who was trying to get him to come to supper. Turning away and covering his mouth with his hand, he said rapidly, “I am most emphatically not in love with Norah Ackroyd. The mere idea would be laughable if it weren’t outrageous. She’s a thorn in my side, a burr in my skin, a nuisance in my hair. If she got put away for life, it would be no more than she deserved. Now will you come here and get her off?”

  Bruce chuckled. “Sure, I will. Give me the facts again, with all the details this time.”

  Gavin told the story to the accompaniment of grunts from Bruce. “Okay,” the lawyer said at last. “Now here’s what you do. See her as fast as you can tomorrow morning and tell her to go on saying absolutely nothing. I’ll do all the talking. In the meantime you’ve given me some ideas. See you tomorrow.”

  Gavin put down the phone. Peter hurried back to his side. He didn’t utter a word, but his eyes spoke volumes. “He’s coming,” Gavin said.

  The next moment he was engulfed in an ecstatic hug. Peter had hurled himself onto his father, wrapping his arms tightly around his neck and almost choking him in his joy. Gavin embraced his son fiercely, almost overwhelmed by the rush of emotion that swept him. It was the first spontaneous hug from his child that he could remember in years, and he found that his eyes were filled with tears. He tried to speak, but there was a hard lump in his throat.

  He tried to control himself, not wanting the youngster to see his weakness, and succeeded well enough to speak steadily. “Are you satisfied now?” he asked.

  Peter drew back and nodded. He still didn’t speak, but his eyes were full of joy. “Then go and have your supper.”

  Peter took a few steps to the door and looked back expectantly. “I’ll come in a moment,” Gavin promised.

  He needed to be alone to recover himself completely. Their moment of shared emotion had sent him reeling, and he had to come to terms with it. One side of him had wanted to yield to it completely, tell his son how much he loved him and how much the hug meant to him. But the other side reminded him that Peter’s affection wasn’t really for him. Peter was simply grateful that Gavin was doing something for Norah. That was a bitter pill for Gavin to swallow, but he must force himself to swallow it before he saw his son again. Otherwise he risked making a fool of himself.

  At last he went into the kitchen, to find Mrs. Stone up in arms. Supper was ready, but there was no sign of Peter. “Gone to finish feeding those dratted animals,” she snapped.

  “Good heavens, yes! I’d forgotten all about them.”

  “Here he is. You’re his father. Maybe you can make him see sense.”

  Peter appeared in the doorway carrying an empty bowl. He’d clearly heard Mrs. Stone’s words and he looked nervously at his father.

  But Gavin had learned wisdom. “First the animals eat, then we do,” he said. “That’s what Norah would say, and that’s what’s going to happen.”

  “May I remind you, sir, that I’m off duty in exactly ten minutes and-”

  “Then leave it and we’ll serve ourselves,” Gavin told her impatiently. “In fact, you can go off duty now.” Mrs. Stone snatched off her pinny and departed almost before he’d finished speaking. “Which leaves us on our own,” he told Peter. “With all those creatures out there waiting to be fed. And do you know what Norah got me to agree to do? Yes, you do, don’t you? That’s why you’re grinning. You’re going to enjoy watching me fumble around. And don’t give me that innocent look. Come on, let’s get on with it.”

  For answer, Peter took hold of his father’s jacket and rubbed the fine material between his fingers, while shaking his head. “I’m not dressed right?” Gavin hazarded. “I should put on something shabby? Okay, I’ll join you.”

  The most casual clothes he had were still too smart for what he was going to do, but there was no help for it. When he reached the kitchen dressed in slacks and shirt Peter was just coming back with an empty bowl, evidently having made his first trip. He filled the bowl again, offered one to Gavin and led the way out.

  He found that one part of him stood back and watched the incredible sight of Gavin Hunter, head of Hunter & Son, filling troughs and water bowls. The other part was totally involved, concentrating, following his son’s silent instructions. He stood back while Peter made the decisions, confining himself to the drudgery.

  “Is that ready to be mashed up?” he asked when Peter had filled a bowl with cereal and potatoes and sprinkled the result with some brown liquid. “Because if so, I’ll do it while you get on with the next thing.”

  The bowl was in his hands before he’d finished talking and he set to, grinding the wooden spoon around and around. It was years since he’d taken orders from anyone, but tonight he felt only relief that his son knew what to do. Following Peter’s skilled guidance was the only way he would keep his promise to Norah.

  He followed the boy out into the grounds and toward the pens, where he distributed mash in precise quantities, as directed. Four times they made this trip, and as they returned the last time he caught Peter looking at him slyly, almost with mischief. “All right, I’m tired, but I’m not giving up,” Gavin growled. “Not before you do. Let’s get started on the next lot. Why are you shaking your head? You don’t mean we’re finished? I don’t believe it. Yes? Good. Now, how about something to eat?”

  But before they could touch the food the phone rang. Gavin snatched it up and said, “Hunter,” without thinking.

  There was a gasp, then an elderly woman said, “I’m so sorry. I thought that was Norah’s Ark.”

  “It is Norah’s Ark,” Gavin said quickly.

  “Is Norah there?”

  “I’m afraid she’s-detained. How can I help you?”

  “This is Mrs. Hopkins. I found a sea gull hopping about in my garden. I think it has a broken wing.”

  For once in his life he was completely nonplussed. What was he supposed to do in this situation? “A sea gull,” he prevaricated. “With a broken wing, you say?” He was looking at Peter, hoping for a response that would guide him, but to his dismay the child simply walked out of the room. “Are you quite sure the wing is broken?” he asked wildly.

  “Well, no, I haven’t been able to examine it, but it can’t fly, and one wing is trailing.”

  “Have you thought of calling the vet?”

  “I’m afraid I couldn’t possibly afford a vet. I live on a very small income. Besides, Norah always collects…”

  To Gavin’s vast relief Peter returned at that moment and he was carrying the car keys that Gavin had tossed down on the hall table. He held them up to attract his father’s attention.

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Gavin sa
id quickly. “I’ll come and collect. Give me your address.”

  He scribbled it down and had replaced the receiver before he realized the address meant nothing to him. “Do you know this place?” he demanded, showing it to Peter. “Good. Let’s get going, then.”

  Peter stopped long enough to collect a cardboard box from a hall cupboard and a local map from a drawer, then followed his father out to the car. He indicated the place on the map, and to Gavin’s relief it turned out to be barely a ten-minute drive. They arrived at last at a small cottage near the shore, to find Mrs. Hopkins standing at the gate anxiously awaiting them.

  “It’s at the end of the garden,” she said. “Every time I try to approach it flutters away.”

  Peter had glided past her almost before she’d finished speaking and made his way around to the back. Gavin arrived a moment later to find his son sitting on the ground, his hand outstretched to the bedraggled bird, making soft whistling noises. To Gavin’s astonishment the wild terror went out of the sea gull’s eyes and it visibly grew calmer. When Peter reached forward to take the bird’s body between both hands, it offered no resistance. The next moment it was safely enclosed in the box.

  Peter got to his feet, nodded to his father to indicate that the job was done, smiled at Mrs. Hopkins and headed back to the car. Gavin followed, feeling like the chauffeur. His whole world seemed to have been turned upside down that day, and the strangest thing of all was having to rely on his ten-year-old son to guide him, and realizing that in Peter’s hands he was perfectly safe.

  On the way home he said, “You’ll have to tell me the way to the vet.”

  “There’s no need,” came Peter’s quiet voice. “I can do this.”

  Gavin jumped and clutched the wheel. His son had spoken to him for the second time that day. “You mean you can actually set a bird’s wing?” he asked, less in disbelief than a desire to hear Peter’s voice again.

  But it didn’t work. Peter had said what was necessary and was obviously prepared to say no more. When Gavin ventured to glance down at him, he found him staring straight ahead. He sighed. It was painful to be offered scraps of hope, only to see them snatched away.

  Back at the sanctuary Peter got to work without fuss, putting a splint on the tiny wing, his childish hands moving with the ease and confidence of a surgeon. At last the splint was on and the bird settled on some straw in the box.

  “I wasn’t necessary at all,” Gavin thought sadly. “He could have done it all without me, except for driving the car.”

  But something had changed for the better. It was there in the atmosphere as Peter went purposefully to the stove where the ruin of supper was rapidly drying out. Gavin produced the plates and Peter ladled food onto them.

  “We’re a team,” Gavin thought. “If only it could always be like this.”

  He ate the dried-out food without even knowing what he was eating. His mind was preoccupied with trying to find something to say to his son, words that would express his new sense of closeness without causing the boy to hastily back away from an unwanted intimacy.

  But the words wouldn’t come. A lifetime of leaving feelings unexpressed had left him helpless now. The harder he fought for inspiration, the emptier his mind became.

  “Peter,” he said at last, speaking desperately. The boy looked up. “Don’t you think-I mean, couldn’t we…?” It was no use. His heart was full, but inside his head there was only a vast trace of emptiness. “Why don’t you make me a cup of cocoa?”

  Before going to bed that night Gavin took a flashlight and wandered around the sanctuary. Many of the animals had vanished into their hideaways, but there were still some, on trees or in water, who raised curious heads to regard him. It might be fanciful, but he had the strange sensation that they, too, were watching him expectantly, wanting him to do something for her. He remembered how sure Norah had been that they’d known about the fatal accident before anyone else. Perhaps they knew this, too; not in detail, only that she wasn’t here and that she was in trouble.

  Buster ambled slowly over to the fence and nuzzled Gavin with his soft nose, something he’d never done before. Almost against his will he put out a hand to stroke the rough hide of the old donkey. Two bright eyes peering at him from the branches of a tree told him that Mack was also alert and watchful. He moved on, and heard the sound of faint pattering behind him. Looking back he saw Osbert, quiet for once, standing there, looking up at him.

  I could bite you, the beady eyes seemed to say. I won’t, for her sake. But if you fail her-watch out.

  Gavin gave himself a shake. It was just a goose, for heaven’s sake! But as he moved on he could hear the soft pattering immediately behind him.

  At last he’d been around the whole sanctuary, and he felt strangely better for it. He was ready to go in now, but something stopped him.

  He’d made a promise to his son. It was ridiculous to think he need make it to anyone else. Yet some inexplicable instinct made Gavin do a very uncharacteristic thing. He stood and looked around him. Here and there he could hear the soft sound of animals moving and see the faint gleam of eyes peering at him out of the darkness. But beyond what he could hear and see he was conscious of something that wasn’t many animals, but one overwhelming animal presence, and it was this he addressed. “I’m doing my best,” he said aloud. “And I’ll bring her back to you. Do you hear? I’m going to bring her home.”

  As the words died away he could hear only silence, and he felt slightly foolish, wondering what he’d expected. Turning, he went slowly back to the house, with Osbert waddling a few steps behind him. And a hundred pairs of eyes watched them go.

  Gavin had always prided himself on being able to sleep through a crisis. Let others fret through the night wondering if the dawn would bring the collapse of their shares or a hostile takeover. He slept the sleep of the just.

  But tonight the sleep of the just was destroyed by his worries about the unjust. It was all very well to argue that the unjust had brought her problems on herself, but somehow this thought didn’t ease the torment of thinking of Norah in a police cell. Her bed was probably narrow and hard, which would be painful to her ribs. But worst of all would be the cold walls and the barred window. Sweat stood out on his brow as he thought of her suffering.

  At last he got up, put on his robe and went downstairs, meaning to make himself a hot drink. But when he reached the bottom step he saw a faint light coming from under the door to the back room. Quietly he stepped across and opened it a crack.

  The room was dark except for one small table lamp, by whose light he could just make out the shadowy form of Peter, sitting on the sofa. He had his arms around something that Gavin couldn’t at first discern. But then the other creature moved and he saw that it was Rex, Norah’s dog. He waited, listening, hoping to hear the sound of his son’s voice. But Peter wasn’t talking to Rex, merely burying his face in the rough coat and holding him tight, as though by this means he could get closer to the person he really wanted. And that person wasn’t himself, Gavin reflected sadly.

  He was barely conscious of having changed through having lived close to the sanctuary, but he knew that he wasn’t going to order Peter back to bed as he would once have done. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do, until Peter looked up suddenly and saw him. Even in the semidarkness Gavin was aware of the flicker of tension in his son. He moved quickly to dispel it, seating himself on the sofa on the other side of Rex.

  “I couldn’t sleep, either,” he admitted. “How can we sleep while she’s in there?”

  After a moment Peter nodded. His arms were still about Rex, but his eyes were fixed on his father.

  “Actually, it’s not really such a bad place,” Gavin went on, saying what he didn’t feel, in an attempt to make Peter feel better. “It’s not a real prison, just a police cell, and they’re treating her decently.” How were they treating her? he wondered. “And besides, it’ll only be for one night. Bruce will be here tomorrow, and he’ll get her out.
He’s the best there is.”

  Peter nodded. He might have been smiling. In that light it was hard to be sure. Gavin hesitated a long time before saying the next words, but some instinct that was new to him told him they had to be said. “I went out to see the animals before I went to bed,” he told Peter. “I promised them that I’d bring her back tomorrow. They trust me. You must, too.”

  This time Peter didn’t nod or smile, and Gavin had a sinking sense of disappointment. But then he felt it, his son’s hand searching for him in the darkness. He took hold of the childish hand in his own large one and gave it a squeeze. To his joy, he felt a definite squeeze back.

  “I think you should go back to bed, now,” he said. But at once Peter freed his hand and used it to hold onto Rex more tightly. “Take him with you,” Gavin said gently. “He probably needs your company as much as you need his.”

  He went with them as far as the front of the stairs, and stood watching as boy and dog went up together. At the turn Peter looked back and down at his father and Gavin smiled at him, hoping he looked confident. But inside he was praying that he could deliver his promise. Because if he failed he knew his son would never trust him again.

  Chapter Eleven

  Gavin was up with the dawn. Still in his pajamas, he made himself some coffee and settled in the kitchen to watch the clock. It seemed to take an incredible time for half an hour to pass, but at the end of it Peter appeared, also in his pajamas. He got some milk from the fridge, heated it slightly and offered it to the hedgehog. Only when Bert was lapping contentedly did he pour some for himself. He didn’t speak, but he looked at his father, and Gavin met his gaze. For a moment the silence changed in quality and became a shared thing, full of mutual understanding. Gavin’s heart beat with hope. At any moment Peter would speak and their estrangement would be over.

  “Well, fancy the two of you being down so early,” came Mrs. Stone’s iron voice from behind them.