Of one mind they stepped towards one another and then Briony felt herself being pulled into the arms of her son, her flesh and blood. She could smell his aftershave, and a mingled scent of leather and tobacco. For the first time ever she was being held by her son, her big handsome son whom she had thought hated her, had been disgusted by her. It was a homecoming for both of them.

‘Oh, my son, my son. I’ve waited so long for this. A lifetime.’ Her words were thick with emotion and for long minutes they held one another, the only sound the deep steady ticking of the long case clock in the corner of the room.

Eventually Briony pulled her face from his coat. Smiling, she looked up into the face that mirrored her own.

‘Why? What made you come to me after all that’s happened in the last few weeks?’

Benedict smiled.

‘Because, Mother, you’re my blood, as silly as that may sound. You’re my mother. My reason for being. Your blood runs through my veins and the veins of my children.’ He grinned. ‘Do I sound pompous?’

Briony shook her head, unable to talk for the sheer enormity of what was happening to her.

‘I knew it that day. I had known about you for so long, but I couldn’t admit it to myself. Then my wife, dear Fen, pointed out to me what I had known myself all along. You are me, and I am you really. I wanted to come back that day and say I was sorry. I was paying you back for the hurt I was feeling over my father’s will. Over finding it all out like that. So cold-bloodedly. I can’t ever tell you how sorry I am.’

Briony grasped his hand and held it to her cheek.

‘You’re here now, Ben, that’s enough for me.’

‘I tried to help you. I put pressure on more than a few of my friends and colleagues.’

This statement pleased her enormously. She looked at him again, as if frightened he was going to disappear as quickly as he had come.

‘Thank you, Benedict. Thank you.’

As they stood there Molly burst into the room, her aged eyes still piercingly sharp.

‘What’s going on here then?’ Her voice was loud, distrustful.

Briony smiled. ‘Benedict, I’d like you to meet your maternal grandmother.’

She went to her mother and, taking her arm, walked her to Benedict and said proudly: ‘Mum, this is my son, Benedict Dumas.’

Molly smiled crookedly and said, ‘I’ve got eyes in me head. You look like two peas in a bleeding pod! Come here, son, give your old granny a kiss.’