Chapters (67)
- Cover
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
He watched her. The immediate shock had cleared from her face but he saw that pained look in and around her eyes, and that they were sunken slightly, the little flesh there was, on her cheeks and jaw, had fallen. He remembered her as slight, thin, small-boned, but now she looked brittle as a bird, and old age lay in wait close by, though she was probably not far into her fifties. He felt anguish for her, and a flash of fury, too, as he had felt in this situation before, wishing that Olivia could see her mother as she was now and understand the lasting effects of she had done. It was an anger he could never admit to but of which he did not feel ashamed.
She poured tea and sat down, but said nothing, did not meet his eye, only looked down at the table mat, her attention far away.
‘Thank you. I left home too early.’ He drank, sat quietly, gave her all the time she needed. He was facing the window onto the garden, where a squirrel was leaping up the branches of an ugly fir tree with blue-grey needles. There was a rectangular lawn. A fence on all three sides. A shed. No shrubs, no other tree, no flower beds, no bird table or feeders.
‘You’ve found out something,’ Greta Tonks said.
Serrailler put down his cup and took out the folded piece of paper.
‘Would you look at these carefully, please and tell me if you recognise any of them? Before I explain, may I be rude and ask if there’s any more tea?’
‘I’ll make a fresh pot.’ She glanced at him with a slight smile. ‘Reminds me of all the pots I made at the beginning . . . all those visits and questions, all those people in white suits . . . I pretty much ran out of tea.’
‘We should have brought some.’
‘Pish, of course not.’
‘Between ourselves, I’m delighted it’s tea leaves.’
‘I have never had a tea bag in this house, I hate the things, sopping round the draining board, and no matter if they’re the most expensive brand, the tea just doesn’t compare with freshly made from leaves. I don’t drink much coffee, but if I do, it doesn’t bother me what kind or where it’s from – beans, a jar of instant – it’s all the same. But tea . . .’
‘I couldn’t agree more, though we’ll have to differ on the coffee.’