She switched on a coffee percolator and took down two mugs from the cupboard, and they stood in silence until the coffee was ready. She had collected a jug of milk from the refrigerator, and they passed into the sitting room. Seated opposite her at a square table, he thought again how little had been done to the cottage. Most of the furniture was hers, taken from store, some pieces enviable, others too large for the space. Three walls were lined with wooden bookshelves brought to the cottage by Peregrine Westhall as part of his library when the old man had moved from his nursing home. The library had been bequeathed by him to his old school, and the books thought worth preserving had been collected, leaving the walls honeycombed with empty spaces on which the unwanted volumes fell against one another, sad symbols of rejection. The whole room had an air of impermanence and loss. Only the cushioned settle at right angles to the fireplace gave promise of comfort.

He said without preamble, “Marcus has just given me the news that he’s leaving for Africa in three months. I’m wondering how far you influenced that not very intelligent plan.”

“You’re not suggesting that my brother isn’t capable of making his own decisions about his life?”

“He can make them. Whether he feels free to carry them out is something else. Obviously you influenced him. It would be surprising if you hadn’t. You’re older by eight years. With your mother an invalid for most of his childhood, it’s not surprising that he listens to you. Didn’t you more or less bring him up?”

“You seem to know a great deal about my family. If I did influence him it’s been to encourage him. It’s time he left. I can see it’s inconvenient for you, George, and he’s sorry about that, we both are. But you’ll find someone else. You’ve known about this possibility for a year now. You must have a replacement in mind.”

She was right, he had. A retired surgeon in his own field, highly competent if not brilliant, who would be glad to assist for three days a week. He said, “That isn’t what concerns me. What does Marcus propose? To stay in Africa permanently? That hardly seems feasible. To work there for a year or two and then come home? To what? He needs to think very clearly about what he wants to do with his life.”

Candace said, “So do we all. He has thought. He’s convinced this is something he has to do. And now that probate has been granted for Father’s will, the money’s there. He won’t be a burden in Africa. He won’t go empty-handed. You surely understand one thing, the need to do what every instinct of your body tells you is ordained for you. Haven’t you lived your life like that? Don’t we all at some time or another make a decision which we know is absolutely right, the assurance that some enterprise, some change, is imperative? And even if it fails, to resist it will be a greater failure. I suppose some people would see that as a call from God.”