Days Without Number by Robert Goddard Read Free Book Online Page B

the situation, though later she had taken them both severely to task. It was a familiar story, expertly told. But the events had occurred in Oxford, Nick reflected. Irene had chosen her tale carefully, pointing up as it did their mother's delicate management of the family and Andrew's lovable irresponsibility, as well as reminding them of their other home in Oxford, which they had abandoned readily and willingly when the time had come.
    The moment passed, though not all of the tension. Irene had warned Nick that she meant to raise the subject of the Doom Window project over tea, when, according to her, everyone, especially their father, would be relaxed. But the old man was just as likely to be liverish and tetchy following an afternoon doze. Nick was not sure they should wait so
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    long. Nor, however, did he wish to take the initiative himself. The next few hours promised to be anxious ones.
    Lunch ended. Their father retired to the drawing room for a snooze by the fire. Irene and Anna set to in the kitchen, assisted by Basil. Nick accompanied Andrew on a stroll down the lane. The weather was grey and smokily chill: a January afternoon of thin light on bare trees, a moist breeze blowing in fitfully from the east, bearing the tang of river mud and the desultory shriek of gulls.
    'Before you turned up,' said Andrew, 'Dad asked me if his grandson was likely to put in an appearance. Being my birthday and all.'
    'Everyone would have been pleased to see him.'
    'Yeah. I'm sure they would. Me especially. No such luck, though. Dad didn't say it in so many words, but he blamed me for Tom's absence. I could tell. Something in his eyes. It's always been there . . . for me. Contempt, that's what it is.'
    'Come on, Andrew. That's not true.'
    'Isn't it?'
    'None of his grandchildren are here.'
    'No. But Laura's a girl, and Zack's illegitimate. They don't count in Dad's scheme of things. Tom, now, he's different. Only son of his eldest son. Dad sees him as the torchbearer. Except that he doesn't see him. Any more than I do. It might be different if you or Basil had . . .' Andrew shrugged. 'Well, you know.'
    'Married and had children?'
    'Yeah. Especially sons. To carry on the name.'
    'I expect Tom will manage that.'
    'But will I know about it?'
    'Of course. He's just . . . growing up. I wasn't exactly a model citizen at his age.'
    'That's a fact.' Andrew cast him a knowing look.
    'I don't suppose Dad was either,' Nick said levelly.
    'Maybe not. But he's unlikely to volunteer any details. And
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    it's not his past we have to worry about, is it? It's his future. And ours.' Andrew glanced back at the house. 'I could do with this going well. I really could.'
    Michael Paleologus's study looked out over the lawn from the side of the house. There was also a door by which he could step straight out on to the grass without going round by the front. As Nick and Andrew wandered back past the hedge flanking the lawn, Nick caught some movement out of the corner of his eye that he thought might be the study door opening or closing. It was a double surprise, since not only had he assumed their father was still asleep but also the exit was never used in winter, when it was as likely as not to be blocked by a pile of books.
    He could see no sign of anyone in the study, no stooped figure watching from the window. His father would surely need the light on if he was in there. His seated silhouette against the glare of the anglepoise desk lamp was a familiar sight from that side of the garden. But he was not at his desk, poring over an archaeological journal. He was not there at all, as far as Nick could tell.
    They went in by the front door, to be met by Basil emerging from the kitchen.
    'Ah, there you are,' he intoned. 'I've been sent to wake Dad. Irene seems to think he'll be in need of coffee.'
    'We'll do that,' said Andrew. T'd prefer tea, by the way.'
    'Coffee for me,' said Nick.
    'I'll report back.' Basil grinned and beat a retreat with some