The man saw the reaction his presence caused and instinctively put out a hand to steady her. Briony grasped it as if she was a drowning woman, feeling the warmth of her son’s hand for the first time in many years.

‘Miss Briony Cavanagh.’ It was a statement not a question.

Briony felt a sensation in the pit of her stomach, a burning as if she had swallowed a bottle of acid.

‘Benedict.’

As soon as she uttered the word Benedict Dumas knew that it was all true. He had watched her for a year, following in her footsteps, observing her. He had hired private detectives to find out all about her business interests and still his thirst for knowledge had not been quenched. No matter how bad the news about her, how terrible she seemed, she had fascinated him. He had to know about her. Now he had to speak to her.

A mixture of contempt for her mingled with curiosity. She was his natural mother, she had borne him.

‘Come inside ... Come into the house ...’ Briony was finding it difficult to talk. He had sought her out, as she had always prayed. He had sought her out and he was here, on her doorstep, and the joy in her knew no bounds. He followed her silently into the house.

Cissy took one look at the man with Briony and her jaw dropped with shock. It was like looking at Briony. He had the same green eyes, the same shaped face, he even had a reddish tinge to his hair. This was Briony’s son, come home.

Briony shut the door and gestured for Benedict to take a seat. He sat down carefully, as if he might break the chair. Briony went to the drinks cabinet and poured two large brandies.

He accepted his without a word.

They surveyed one another for long, long minutes. Both acknowledging the likeness. Both wary, and yet greatly interested in the other, and both loth to show this fact. Finally, after what seemed an age, Briony broke the silence.

‘Who told you?’

‘My father.’

Briony savoured the sound of his voice, as she might have a delicious pastry or a longed-for drink of cool clean water.

‘Henry? Henry told you?’

Benedict shook his head. ‘He died last year. He mentioned it in his will. I never knew, never had any idea...’

Briony heard the hurt in him then, the hurt and the unpleasant shock the knowledge had apparently given him. It was a revelation that he hadn’t enjoyed, that much was evident.

‘It was a long time ago. Over fifty years actually, but you’d know that of, course.’

‘You were a child, a child prostitute ...’

Briony heard the words and the effect they had on her was like a blow. Her head was reeling. The way he had said them! And then anger came to her. It spewed into her head, and came out of her mouth like molten lava.