Read Online Days Without Number by Robert Goddard - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Robert Goddard
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graveyard. He was surrounded by thousands of people of whom he saw barely a dozen. Not that he was in search of company. He could have had that by remaining at the Old Ferry. Solitude was what he most needed after the d�b�cle that the day had been. He had had his fill of talking. And of thinking.
But thoughts nevertheless swirled in his head. Why was his father so implacably opposed to the Doom Window project? Had he deliberately antagonized them in order to avoid answering that question? And what had he been getting at when he asked why the Bawden letter had been overlooked for so long? His behaviour made no obvious sense. He had always been obstinate, but that afternoon he had gone beyond obstinacy, fomenting an exchange of insults that would sour relations with several of his children for months to come. Andrew and Anna would probably refuse to speak to him for
63
the foreseeable future, and Irene would certainly keep her distance. He must have known . . .
That was it, of course. He had known. Nick could not help smiling at the old man's audacity. A family rift was just what he needed to nix the Tantris deal without having to explain his opposition to it, which he knew he would not be able to do. He had found himself in an impossible postion. And then he had found a way out of it. With a little help from his children.
64
CHAPTER FIVE
Nick's departure next morning went unmarked by much in the way of a send-off. Irene was depressed and distracted by the events of the previous afternoon. She had still not spoken to Andrew and could hardly imagine when she might bring herself to speak to their father. She would bounce back, of course - Nick knew her well enough to be sure of that - but it would take a few days at least. Accordingly, he did not ask what she would tell Elspeth Hartley. She would think of something - in due course.
The morning was grey and mizzly, the Hamoaze draped in a veil of murk, orange-clad workers swarming over the damp girders of the Tamar Bridge. Nick followed the nose-to- tail commuter traffic over to the Devon shore, paid his toll, then put his foot down as soon as he hit the dual carriageway. It was time to leave. And in so many ways, he was glad of it.
Two and a half hours later he pulled into Delamere Services on the M4 to grab a coffee and stretch his legs. Before getting out of the car he checked his mobile, which he had switched off for the drive. There was a message waiting for him - from Irene.
65
'Something terrible's happened, Nick. Call me as soon as you can.'
He pushed the car door open and puzzled over her words as he breathed the chill air and listened to the rush of vehicles on the motorway. Then he phoned the Old Ferry, already anticipating, even before Irene answered, what 'something terrible' might mean. He thought of Andrew and the state of mind in which he had left Trennor. He thought . . . and he wondered. Then the phone was picked up.
'Old Ferry Inn.'
'Irene? It's me.'
'Nick. Thank God. Where are you?'
'Never mind. What's happened?'
'Are you at the wheel?'
'No. I'm parked. What--'
'Dad's dead.'
'Sorry?' He had heard, of course. But he could not trust himself to have heard correctly.
'Dad's dead.' Irene sobbed, then swallowed hard. 'Pru found him this morning at Trennor.'
'I can't . . . What . . .'
'I know. It's hard to come to terms with. He was so very much alive yesterday. All his wits about him - too much about him, for our liking.' She sniffed. 'Sorry. It's a shock, I know. Sorry to have to inflict it on you.'
'What happened? Was it... his heart?'
'No. A fall of some kind. Down the cellar steps, apparently. The policeman said he seemed to have hit his head, probably on the handrail.'
Nick closed his eyes. There had been many times in his life when he had silently wished his father dead. He could admit that to himself, though he never would to anyone else. Those times were behind him now, buried by the overdue realization that the mistakes he had
But thoughts nevertheless swirled in his head. Why was his father so implacably opposed to the Doom Window project? Had he deliberately antagonized them in order to avoid answering that question? And what had he been getting at when he asked why the Bawden letter had been overlooked for so long? His behaviour made no obvious sense. He had always been obstinate, but that afternoon he had gone beyond obstinacy, fomenting an exchange of insults that would sour relations with several of his children for months to come. Andrew and Anna would probably refuse to speak to him for
63
the foreseeable future, and Irene would certainly keep her distance. He must have known . . .
That was it, of course. He had known. Nick could not help smiling at the old man's audacity. A family rift was just what he needed to nix the Tantris deal without having to explain his opposition to it, which he knew he would not be able to do. He had found himself in an impossible postion. And then he had found a way out of it. With a little help from his children.
64
CHAPTER FIVE
Nick's departure next morning went unmarked by much in the way of a send-off. Irene was depressed and distracted by the events of the previous afternoon. She had still not spoken to Andrew and could hardly imagine when she might bring herself to speak to their father. She would bounce back, of course - Nick knew her well enough to be sure of that - but it would take a few days at least. Accordingly, he did not ask what she would tell Elspeth Hartley. She would think of something - in due course.
The morning was grey and mizzly, the Hamoaze draped in a veil of murk, orange-clad workers swarming over the damp girders of the Tamar Bridge. Nick followed the nose-to- tail commuter traffic over to the Devon shore, paid his toll, then put his foot down as soon as he hit the dual carriageway. It was time to leave. And in so many ways, he was glad of it.
Two and a half hours later he pulled into Delamere Services on the M4 to grab a coffee and stretch his legs. Before getting out of the car he checked his mobile, which he had switched off for the drive. There was a message waiting for him - from Irene.
65
'Something terrible's happened, Nick. Call me as soon as you can.'
He pushed the car door open and puzzled over her words as he breathed the chill air and listened to the rush of vehicles on the motorway. Then he phoned the Old Ferry, already anticipating, even before Irene answered, what 'something terrible' might mean. He thought of Andrew and the state of mind in which he had left Trennor. He thought . . . and he wondered. Then the phone was picked up.
'Old Ferry Inn.'
'Irene? It's me.'
'Nick. Thank God. Where are you?'
'Never mind. What's happened?'
'Are you at the wheel?'
'No. I'm parked. What--'
'Dad's dead.'
'Sorry?' He had heard, of course. But he could not trust himself to have heard correctly.
'Dad's dead.' Irene sobbed, then swallowed hard. 'Pru found him this morning at Trennor.'
'I can't . . . What . . .'
'I know. It's hard to come to terms with. He was so very much alive yesterday. All his wits about him - too much about him, for our liking.' She sniffed. 'Sorry. It's a shock, I know. Sorry to have to inflict it on you.'
'What happened? Was it... his heart?'
'No. A fall of some kind. Down the cellar steps, apparently. The policeman said he seemed to have hit his head, probably on the handrail.'
Nick closed his eyes. There had been many times in his life when he had silently wished his father dead. He could admit that to himself, though he never would to anyone else. Those times were behind him now, buried by the overdue realization that the mistakes he had
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