Then, entering the room, he took the knife from beside his son and threw it at the wall. Its bone handle made a loud cracking sound as it broke under the blow. Then he began to belabour Peter, pulling him up by his short-cropped hair and slapping him across the face, the shoulders, anywhere on the boy’s body he could make contact. He finished by kicking him in the chest.

‘You animal! You filthy little animal! Is this what I brought you up for? This - carnage!’

Rupert watched the scene through glazed eyes.

Lord Hockley turned to Briony and said: ‘And where do you fit into all this, eh? Only I’ve washed my hands of the blighter if you’re thinking of getting money out of me. I want no more to do with him. This is the end! The finish!’

Briony said in a low voice, ‘I want nothing. I was called here by a mutual friend. I thought that as this Peter was your son, you’d better sort it all out. I want nothing from you, nothing. Except for you to finish what your son started.’

She saw Hockley deflate in front of her eyes. His whole body seemed to sag.

‘Come on, let’s go downstairs, get out of this. It’s up to you now. But if I was you I’d try and help your son, because that boy is dead and nothing is going to bring him back. He’s more than likely a pick up, so I shouldn’t imagine anyone’s looking for him just yet.’

Briony’s sensible words penetrated the man’s distress. But an innate sense of justice fought with his natural instinct to protect not just his child, but his family’s good name. He followed Briony down the stairs.

Mariah poured them all a drink and Hockley swallowed his straight down and held out his glass for more.

‘I gave that boy everything, but even as a child... His mother encouraged it, you know. She’s the real culprit. Should have let me send him overseas, put him in the army like his forebears, but no. Her darling boy had to be encouraged, he was artistic. Artistic, my eye! He’s plain unnatural, an offence to the eyes of God. My only son, can you believe that? My only son. And look where he is now...’

Briony heard the sorrow in his voice and felt an urge to flee. To get away from this house and its occupants. She had enough to think about as it was. Her Eileen was dead, and Peter Hockley was alive. It was so unfair.