Читать книгу Instant Father - Lucy Gordon - Страница 8

“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.”