Oh, God, surely not the entire household!

But no, Trevor must have meant himself and his grandson. And that was bad enough.

Rutledge swore with feeling, trapped and without any excuse or escape.

He found an umbrella and went back out to his motorcar, driving through the wet streets to his sister’s house. For a mercy, she was at home, and he came through the door almost shouting for her.

“Ian. I’m neither deaf nor in the attics. What’s the matter?” she demanded, coming down the stairs.

He held up the telegram. “Trevor’s coming. Did you know? He’ll have to stay with you, I’m afraid, there’s no hope that the flat can be made habitable in time.” The thought of Trevor being there, in the same flat, hearing Rutledge scream in the night, was unbearable. Explaining why he screamed at night would be beyond him. And Trevor—Trevor would speak to Frances, and ask if she knew.

“Habitable? Don’t be silly. When has your flat been anything but scrupulously tidy? I sometimes wonder if you ever really live there. But yes, he’s staying here.” She laughed at the panic in his eyes. “Darling, this is your godfather. Not your Colonel in Chief. He’s bringing the little boy. He told me that Morag was turning out the cupboards and beating the mattresses, and it was no place for sane men to linger.” But the panic hadn’t subsided in her brother’s eyes, and she said, her laughter vanishing, “Ian. Surely you don’t mind giving up a day or two to spend with David? I’ll see to his comfort, of course I will. But he’ll want to talk to you, dine with you, that sort of thing. He’s been worried, if you must know. You haven’t written in ages, and he needs to be reassured that all’s well.” She paused, still considering him. “All is well, isn’t it, Ian? It’s just been the press of work, hasn’t it?”

He was well and truly caught.

The trouble was, David Trevor was an insightful man, and he would see too much. What if Hamish sent him into darkness in the middle of a dinner—a drink at Trevor’s club—during a walk in St. James’s Park? And there had been insufficient warning, not enough time to prepare himself. He’d be on parade, as surely as if he were in the Army again, and in the end he’d betray himself out of sheer witless nerves. Something would slip, a word, a hesitation, an instant’s lapse in concentration. Trevor would know.

Frances said gently, “It’s David, my dear, and he’s lost his son. He’s still grieving.”

“I can’t replace Ross. No one can.” Rutledge stood there helplessly, with nowhere to turn.

“He isn’t asking you to replace him. I think he merely wants to hear your voice and see your face and laugh with you at some bit of foolishness, the way you and he did before the war. A little space in time where there’s neither past nor future, where he can pretend. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”