‘It does feel so different here without Pa,’ I said suddenly.

‘Yes, of course it does. But can you imagine how proud he would be if he could see what you are doing tomorrow? You know how much he loved his sailing.’

‘Yes,’ I said, smiling sadly. ‘Changing the subject, you obviously know that the father of Maia’s son was Kreeg Eszu’s boy, Zed?’

‘I do, yes. Anyway’ – Marina abruptly changed the subject – ‘I’ll ask Claudia to make sure supper’s ready by seven tonight. I know you have an early start in the morning.’

‘Yes, and I must go and check my emails. Is it okay if I use Pa’s study?’

‘Of course it is. Remember, this is yours and your sisters’ house now,’ Marina said patiently.

Taking my laptop from my bedroom, I went downstairs, opened the door to my father’s study, and for the first time in my life, sat down tentatively in Pa Salt’s chair. I stared into space as my laptop went through the process of opening, and gazed blankly at the cornucopia of objects Pa had kept on his shelves.

The laptop then decided to tell me it wanted to shut down, having just opened up, so while I waited for it to reboot, I stood up and went over to Pa’s CD player. All of us had tried to move him on to an iPod, and even though he had a raft of sophisticated computers and electronic communication equipment in his study, he’d said he was too old to change, and preferred to physically ‘see’ the music he wanted to play. As I switched the CD player on, fascinated to discover what Pa Salt had been listening to last, the room was suddenly filled with the beautiful opening bars of Grieg’s Morning Mood from the Peer Gynt Suite.

I stood, rooted to the spot, as a wave of memories assailed me. It had been Pa’s favourite orchestral piece, and he’d often asked me to play the opening bars for him on my flute. It had become the theme tune of my childhood and it reminded me of all the glorious sunrises we’d shared when he’d taken me out on the lake and patiently taught me to sail.

I missed him so very much.

And I also missed someone else.

As the music swelled from the hidden speakers, filling the room with glorious sound, on instinct, I picked up the receiver of the phone on Pa’s desk to make a call.

Holding it to my ear as I made to dial the number, I realised someone else in the house was already on the line. The shock of hearing the familiar, resonant tones of the voice that had comforted me from childhood forced me to interrupt the conversation.

‘Hello?’ I said, hurriedly reaching over and turning the CD player down to make absolutely sure it was him.

But the voice at the other end had become a monotonous bleeping, and I knew he had gone.