And his son knew better than to say anything more. Besides, what could he say? Be careful to wrap up warm. Remember to take the stick. Don’t fall over again. Do you want me to come with you? He’d sound ridiculous. And his father would almost certainly snap his head off, and say something cutting about not being in his dotage just yet!

Nevertheless, after consuming their breakfast over some more father-and-son banter, Vincent Ryder went to the window of the sitting room to watch his father’s figure as it set off into the snow. Clement, he was relieved to see, was wearing his heaviest overcoat and a fur-trimmed hat, and had on a pair of warm sheepskin gloves. And he had, indeed, taken a walking cane. This was something new, for he’d never known his father use a walking stick before, and he’d like to think his father was carrying it solely because of the weather conditions.

But something about the familiar and confident way he used it made him wonder.

And although the former surgeon and now city coroner seemed to step out with all the verve and vigour that Vincent had always associated with his parent, he felt a trickle of unease nonetheless.

For there was no getting away from the fact that he’d become rather unnerved when seeing his father this Christmas. Clement had seemed more than a year older somehow. A little frailer, and perhaps a little thinner too? What’s more, Vincent was sure that he’d seen his father’s hands tremble – once when he’d been carving the goose that they’d enjoyed for their Christmas dinner, and once when they’d been playing backgammon and he was moving his counter.

And, though it might be comforting, he didn’t think he could put the shakes down to the old man imbibing a bit too much of the Christmas spirit either. Although he liked the odd drink, his father had never been one to overindulge in alcohol, his former career as a surgeon no doubt having a lot to do with it.

Perhaps Vincent was just imagining that slightly slurred word last night too? It had, after all, been late, and both of them had been tired. And perhaps all the times that he’d imagined he could see fatigue in his father’s eyes were actually no more than a reflection of the harsh white light bouncing off the snow that lay everywhere outside the windows.

Still, Vincent shifted uneasily at the window as he watched his father’s figure until it was out of sight. Perhaps he was just kidding himself, not wanting to face up to the fact that Clement was getting older, just as everyone did.

As Vincent Ryder watched his father disappear, he felt himself shiver. Which was silly – the fire in the grate was roaring away.

And his father was invincible, indomitable, even. Everyone knew that. Right?

Chapter 2