by Lucy Gordon
He began to say “Right, that’s it,” when he was startled by the noise of something crashing, followed by a hideous braying sound. “Good grief! What’s that?”
“It sounds like Buster. He must have got out.”
“All right. Let’s go and catch him.”
“I’ll catch him. You use the car to give me some light.”
He got behind the wheel and found that his sodden jacket was horribly uncomfortable. He tore it off and turned the vehicle around in a search for Buster. He found the donkey at last and began to chase him, with Norah darting in and out of the beams from the headlamps. In the eerie light she looked more naked than ever, as she twisted and turned, making vain attempts to bring the maddened animal under control. He wished he could avert his eyes again, and at the same moment he was glad that duty obliged him to look ahead.
After ten minutes of this they were no nearer to getting Buster back. Gavin got out of the car. “This is useless,” he shouted. “If you do recapture him, you’ll probably find that Mack has vanished in the meantime.”
“Mack!” she cried. “That’s a wonderful idea. Gavin, you’re a genius!”
“Am I? Thanks!” he muttered.
Norah vanished back into the storm, leaving Gavin and Buster eyeing each other in mutual distrust. Once he tried to take the donkey by surprise, but Buster made off, leading him a merry dance until they were both breathless and Buster was as free as ever. It was a relief when Norah reappeared with Mack on her shoulder, clinging to her.
At once it was clear where Gavin’s “genius” lay. Mack gave a squeak and launched himself onto Buster’s back. Norah clapped her hands to lure him toward her and at once Mack, riding Buster like a jockey, guided him in the right direction, and into the pen. Norah fixed the door and leaned against it, breathing hard with relief.
Gavin realized that the wind had dropped and the rain abated to a light drizzle. “That’s it,” he said. “You can’t do any more tonight.”
“I guess not,” Norah said with a sigh. “The poor creatures, they were so scared. I’ve taken most of them indoors.”
“Yes, Iris told me. She said Peter was looking after them.”
“They’ll be all right with him. They trust him.”
“Come on, let’s go back.”
She started to walk beside him, but at once he realized she was limping. “Have you hurt your foot?”
“No, but I lost my slippers in the mud, and the ground is a bit stony just here.” She winced as she set one foot gingerly to the ground.
“You’ll take an hour at that pace,” Gavin said. “Put your arms around my neck.”
Norah had obeyed before she quite knew what she was doing. The next moment he’d lifted her in his arms and was carrying her back to the house. “Gallantry? From you?” she said, clinging on tight.
“Shut up!” he growled, and was disconcerted by the tremor that went through her body as she chuckled. The tremor communicated itself to him, going through him again and again until his flesh was singing. He knew he should put her down at the first possible moment, but instead something impelled him to keep hold of her right across the hall and up the stairs. Norah was giving him a startled look, as if wondering how far he would go.
He kicked open the door of her room, carried her inside and kicked it shut again. “Take those wet things off,” he ordered.
“Just a minute-”
“Take them off. If you can do it to me, I can do it to you.”
“But you were asleep,” she pointed out.
“Take them off before I take them off you,” he said firmly.
He went past her into the bathroom and turned on the hot shower. Returning to the bedroom he found her still dithering uncertainly and a madness came over him. He seized the hem of the short nightdress and pulled it over her head. He had a momentary glimpse of a beautiful naked body, then he grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the bathroom. “Under that water,” he ordered.
She obeyed and pulled the glass door closed behind her. Gavin resisted the temptation to admire her outline through the misty glass and left the bathroom to hurry out into the corridor. To his relief he saw Mrs. Stone just reaching the top of the stairs. “Thank heavens,” he said. “Could you get some hot milk for Norah, please?”
“I’m afraid I’ve finished for the day,” Mrs. Stone said severely.
“What? But you’re the housekeeper, aren’t you?”
“I am indeed, but that doesn’t mean I’m available at all hours,” Mrs. Stone said severely. “That, if I may say so, is too common a misconception. My hours were clearly laid down when I took the job and it was understood that under no circumstances-”
Unable to stem the flow, Gavin resorted to charging across it. “But this is a crisis,” he roared.
“Late-night crises are extremely common in this place, which is why I took the precaution of making it plain at the outset that under no circumstances-”
“Forget it,” Gavin snapped and raced downstairs. He found Iris waddling across the hall with a baby badger in her arms. “I need some hot milk-” he started to say.
“In the kitchen,” she called out as she sailed past with the badger leaning over her shoulder.
From somewhere at Gavin’s feet, Osbert honked.
“And you can keep your opinions to yourself,” Gavin informed him. He strode into the kitchen and looked around him helplessly at the glittering technology. A shadow appeared in the doorway, and he turned and saw Peter. “Trying to get a mug of hot milk in this place is like trying to get blood from a stone,” he growled. “In fact, it’s exactly like trying to get blood from a stone. Mrs. Stone. That woman is well named. D’you know, I asked her for some hot milk for Norah and she stood there lecturing me about her hours? I could have strangled her.”
Peter nodded and smiled. There was real sympathy and amusement in that smile, and it gave Gavin a pleasurable shock. He didn’t realize that in his agitation he’d forgotten to be self-conscious with Peter, and had simply spoken to him as naturally as he would have done anyone else. “You too, huh?” he asked, and Peter nodded again.
The next moment Peter had gone to the fridge, taken out the milk and poured some into a pan. Gavin watched him. After his recent experience, he was inclined to view his son’s ability to heat milk with a kind of awe.
While the milk was warming Peter thrust a towel at his father. Gavin seized it and rubbed his head dry, but Peter hadn’t finished. He pointed at the sodden shirt and indicated for it to be taken off. Gavin meekly obeyed and dried his torso thankfully. He had the same feeling of being mother-henned that he’d had with Norah.
He watched as Peter ladled three large spoonfuls of sugar into a mugful of milk, added some cocoa and presented him with the result. “Thank you,” he said. “That’s just what Norah needs. You’d better make some for yourself as well.”
Peter half turned to the stove, then something seemed to strike him and he looked back at his father inquiringly. Gavin looked back, puzzled, but when Peter pointed at him he at last understood. “Me? No, I haven’t drunk cocoa in years-yes, please, I will have some. Thank you, son.”
He wondered where his wits had been wandering, to have slipped up in such a way. Peter had actually made an approach to him and he’d nearly missed it, but a kindly fate had warned him in time. He accepted a mug from Peter’s hand and sipped it gently. It was dark, sweet and, to his palate, disgusting, but he smiled and said enthusiastically, “That’s great. You make a terrific cocoa. I’ll tell Norah you made this. Better go to bed now.” But Peter shook his head. “No? All right. You do what you feel you have to. I guess you know best.” He backed hastily out of the kitchen, terrified of doing or saying the wrong things and so ruining the little progress they’d made.
He reached Norah’s room to find her sitting on the bed wrapped in warm nightgown and robe. “Drink this,” he said, pressing a cup into her hand.
She sipped it and made a face. “Peter’s a dear, but he w
ill swamp everything with sugar.”
“I know,” he said with feeling. “I’ve got some, too. What’s more, I’m going to drink it.”
“You could always throw it down the basin,” she suggested, testing him. “I wouldn’t tell.”
“But I’d know,” Gavin pointed out. “Besides, Peter went to a lot of trouble to make it for me.” He took a deep breath and said bravely, “I’m going to drink it.”
“Good for you.” She took another sip. “Bless him. He’s going to turn into one of those men who actually know how to look after people.”
“I suppose he learned that from Tony,” Gavin couldn’t resist saying.
“No, I think he probably inherited it from you,” she said with meaning.
As always, when she was nice to him he felt as awkward as a schoolboy. He took refuge in a large mouthful of cocoa. When he came up for air he found her still looking at him, with eyes that were kind. “I haven’t thanked you for helping me yet,” she said. “Normally Grim’s a tower of strength in an emergency, but after his accident-well, I needed another tower, and there you were.”
“Drink your cocoa,” he said gruffly. “Why should I suffer alone?”
She laughed and did as he bid. He stole a look at her. Her hair, which she’d dried vigorously, stood out in spikes, and he was reminded of the urchin he’d first met six years ago. The impression was reinforced by her nightclothes, which were plain and functional.
He wondered about her. Was there anybody for whom she bought decorative wear? In the time he’d been here he’d seen no sign of a man in her life, which appeared to be dedicated entirely to the animals. Astonished, he heard his own voice saying, “You need someone to look after you.”
“Who, me?” she asked comically. “I’m as tough as old boots.”
“Nonsense. You just think you are.”
“You know nothing about me.”
“I know you’ve got your limit of endurance like everyone else, and you’re closer to it than you think.”
“You mean you hope I am,” she said cheekily.
“What?”
“You hope I’m crumbling, leaving you to take over.”
He’d so far forgotten their enmity that this accusation stunned and shocked him. “Thank you,” he snapped. “I was trying to be nice to you, but obviously that’s a trick and I’ve really poisoned the cocoa.”
“Nah, Peter wouldn’t let you,” she ribbed him. Then her smile faded as she realized he was really upset. “Hey, c’mon, Hunter. I was only joking.”
“But I wasn’t. I really felt you needed my help, but you don’t trust me an inch, do you? I might as well have saved myself the trouble.”
“Look, I couldn’t have done without you tonight.” When he didn’t answer she ventured to take his hand. “I’m sorry, Gavin.”
He looked down at her hand in his, and something-he didn’t know what-made him raise it gently and brush his cheek against it. “You’re a fool, Norah Ackroyd,” he said. “But then, so am I.”
“What do you mean by that?” she asked softly.
“I don’t know. I just…don’t know.”
But he did know. He had a sudden memory of the kiss they’d shared, and the desire to kiss her again was almost overwhelming. But he knew if he yielded to it he wouldn’t want to stop.
“Good night,” he said abruptly, and walked out of the room.
Chapter Nine
Gavin awoke to find himself sitting up in bed, staring into the darkness. The dream had returned, but once again he’d forgotten it. He strained to remember, wondering what could possibly have plunged him into such depths of misery and horror, but whatever the beast was, it had scuttled back into the recesses of his mind.
Last time he had sat up for the rest of the night, for fear of a repetition. This time he refused to give in. Firmly he forced himself to lie down again and try to go to sleep. After a long time he managed it, but only just, and it was a relief when he was roused again, not by the nightmare, but by the sound of a distant bell. He sat up and reached instinctively for his alarm clock, only to discover that it was still dark, and he didn’t have an alarm clock.
The bell was still sounding in the distance, and now he could pinpoint it as coming from the front door. He wondered who would answer it. Mrs. Stone would probably refuse as it was out of her hours, and Iris was away for a few days. Yawning, he got out of bed and pulled on a robe. Halfway down the stairs the noise stopped, but his feet kept going automatically. As he reached the bottom step Norah slipped past him, running. “It’s too late. They’ve gone away,” he said, yawning again.
She ignored him and pulled the door open, slipped outside and slipped back again with a bird cage in her hand. Inside, a gray bird with a hooked beak sat shivering miserably. “Poor little thing,” Norah said. “It’s been neglected. Look at the state of its feathers.”
“Who brought it here?”
“I don’t know. Whoever it was had vanished by the time I opened the door,” she said, still studying the bird. “But there’s a note.”
She pulled an envelope from between the bars of the cage, and handed it to Gavin to open. He read, This bird is injured. Please look after it.
“Why would they do this?” he asked, frowning. “Why not wait and talk to you?”
She glanced at him. “You’d better not know.”
“Why not?”
“You’d better not know that either.”
“In other words you don’t trust me.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m protecting you.” She looked up as a shadow appeared on the landing. “Go back to bed, Peter. I can manage.”
But the child began to hurry downstairs, and she said quickly to Gavin, “Keep him away. I don’t want him involved.”
She hurried off before he could answer, and Gavin turned to face Peter at the bottom of the stairs. “We’d better do as she says,” he said pleasantly. “She’s the boss.” Inwardly he was annoyed at the way she’d classed him with Peter as needing protection. It was clear that whoever left the bird had come by it illegally, but that wouldn’t bother her. Oh, no!
“Come on,” he said again.
But Peter shook his head. He was watching his father intently.
“She doesn’t want you involved in this, and neither do I,” Gavin said firmly. “Not until I know what’s going on.”
To his surprise his son took his hand and came down the last step. He led his father toward the study and pushed open the door. Gavin watched as Peter climbed on a ladder to get a book from a high shelf, brought it down and began to flick through the pages. There were several pictures of birds, none exactly like the one that had been left by the door, but all similar. Peter looked at him inquiringly, and Gavin realized that from the stairs he hadn’t seen the bird properly. “Keep going,” he said, watching the pages as they turned. “That’s the one.”
They both looked at the picture whose caption proclaimed that it was a peregrine falcon.
“One of the best-known predatory birds,” Gavin read. “Kills its prey in a spectacular dive… Under threat from pesticides…numbers still low…”
“So where does it come from?” he asked.
Peter looked at his father, gave a small shrug and placed a finger over his lips.
“Does that mean what I think it means?” Gavin persisted.
Peter considered this, then nodded.
“Has it ever happened before?”
Another nod.
“So what do we do now?”
Peter replaced the book and took Gavin’s hand again, leading him back into the hall and toward the stairs. “You mean we just go back to bed, like good boys, because she told us to?” Gavin demanded.
Something that might have been a smile touched Peter’s face briefly. Gavin sighed. “Then I guess that’s what we’d better do,” he said.
To his delight Peter smiled at him again, and there was something conspiratorial about his manner that warmed his father’s heart. “Wo
men, eh?” he ventured.
Peter gave a sigh that exactly matched Gavin’s, and for a moment the time and circumstances vanished and they were simply two males, wary of the female, joined in the ancient male camaraderie that had existed since time began. Some instinct warned Gavin not to press any further. Already tonight he’d been granted more than he’d hoped. He put his hand lightly on his son’s shoulder and they went up the stairs together.
He didn’t see Norah at breakfast next morning, but he found her in the sanctuary tending the falcon. “Is he all right?” he asked.
“Far from it. He’s been disgracefully neglected, probably by someone who thinks it’s clever to keep an exotic bird but can’t be bothered to care for it.” Her voice was full of anger, but it was a different kind of anger than the one she used on him. In their rows she’d often addressed him with exasperation, indignation and disbelief that anyone like himself could exist. But he’d never before heard the bitter hatred that she reserved for someone who ill-treated a bird or animal. “He’s got a broken wing,” she said, “and it’s been broken for some days. All right, boy. Gently, now,” she broke off to murmur at the bird. “Poor Perry. Soon have it better.”
“Perry because he’s a peregrine falcon, no doubt?” Gavin hazarded.
She looked up at him. “Fancy you knowing that. All right, Perry. Keep still. Not much longer.”
“How do you know he escaped, at all?” Gavin asked. He couldn’t bring himself to call it Perry. “It might have been living wild.”
“Not in this area. He’s been through human hands, and if I knew whose I’d go visiting with a gun.”
“Aren’t you going to call a vet?”
