linen, mothballs. On the second floor landing stood a grandfather clock, silent and cobwebbed. He quickly checked the two bedrooms, which revealed nothing but a chest of drawers in the first and a solitary iron bedstead in the second.
He took a deep breath, went back down the narrow staircase, retrieved the pile of letters and began to open each in turn. It seemed a futile exercise, but he knew that he daren’t leave anything to chance. The stakes were too high. He rubbed a bead of sweat away from his forehead and, tight-lipped, continued to slit open and discard his aunt’s correspondence.
Sara placed a hand gently on his arm. “I’ll start in this bureau.” She attempted to roll back the lid but it refused to budge. “Blast. Locked.”
“One moment, ma’am.” Farrell stepped forward and produced a set of keys. A moment later the desk was open.
“Thanks.” Sara began sifting through the various pigeonholes of the bureau. Farrell took up his position by the bay window and began a flat, tuneless hum.
Sara drummed on the bureau with her fingers. “You’re making me nervous, Farrell. I can’t concentrate. Sit down, can’t you?”
“I have to keep an eye on things, ma’am.” Farrell raised the corners of his mouth slightly and turned back to the window.
Dracup returned his attention to the letters, but his mind refused to cooperate. What if he had been in England? What if Natasha had been at home? What if Yvonne had answered the phone when he had called from the hotel? What if –
“Hey.” Sara sat on the arm of his chair. “She’ll be all right, Simon. It’ll be okay.” She squeezed his shoulder and withdrew her hand as Dracup gave a gasp of pain. “Sorry, I forgot.”
“It’s just bruising.” Dracup ran his hand through Sara’s hair. She was so beautiful. He wished he could share her optimism. He looked at the pile of letters and rubbed his eyes; a dull, throbbing headache was taking root in his temple. He pushed his chair back and took Sara’s hand in his. “I need to maintain focus. Keep occupied.”
“Well, there’s no shortage of material here. I’ve never seen so much packed into a bureau.” Sara waved a rubber-banded sheaf of papers. “Look at this lot.”
“Anything so far?”
“There’s some old photos – nothing unusual. It would help if I knew what I was looking for.”
“Let’s see.” Dracup took the bundle and quickly flicked through the photographs. “Yes. This is my grandfather – Theodore.” He held the photo up for inspection. The faded image showed a frail-looking man in his early thirties sitting in a chair by a garden pond. A young woman had a hand on his shoulder, smiling bravely for the camera although it was clear that all was not well with the sitting figure. He looked old before his time, hunched and defeated. “That’s my aunt standing next to him,” Dracup said. “This must have been at the old house – my grandfather’s – after he was institutionalized. She used to take him home at weekends. She felt it gave him some dignity. And she was sure that he felt at peace there.”
Sara took a long look at the photograph. “She has a kind face – a family trait, obviously.” She looked at Dracup and the photograph in turn.
“I don’t know about that,” Dracup said. “I can be very unpleasant when push comes to shove.”
“Usually when you’re hungry, I seem to remember,” Sara said. “Shall I slip down to the corner shop? And Farrell, make yourself useful –see if you can get a fire going. There must be a few logs in the garden – some coal in the bunker. Something tells me this is going to be a long haul.”
Farrell nodded. “Sure. I’ll walk you down when you’re ready. Leave the fire to me.” He left the room and they heard his footsteps on the stairs. The front door opened and closed.
“He’s driving me up the wall,” Sara said with a grimace. “Our all-American high school baseball star.”
Dracup raised his
He took a deep breath, went back down the narrow staircase, retrieved the pile of letters and began to open each in turn. It seemed a futile exercise, but he knew that he daren’t leave anything to chance. The stakes were too high. He rubbed a bead of sweat away from his forehead and, tight-lipped, continued to slit open and discard his aunt’s correspondence.
Sara placed a hand gently on his arm. “I’ll start in this bureau.” She attempted to roll back the lid but it refused to budge. “Blast. Locked.”
“One moment, ma’am.” Farrell stepped forward and produced a set of keys. A moment later the desk was open.
“Thanks.” Sara began sifting through the various pigeonholes of the bureau. Farrell took up his position by the bay window and began a flat, tuneless hum.
Sara drummed on the bureau with her fingers. “You’re making me nervous, Farrell. I can’t concentrate. Sit down, can’t you?”
“I have to keep an eye on things, ma’am.” Farrell raised the corners of his mouth slightly and turned back to the window.
Dracup returned his attention to the letters, but his mind refused to cooperate. What if he had been in England? What if Natasha had been at home? What if Yvonne had answered the phone when he had called from the hotel? What if –
“Hey.” Sara sat on the arm of his chair. “She’ll be all right, Simon. It’ll be okay.” She squeezed his shoulder and withdrew her hand as Dracup gave a gasp of pain. “Sorry, I forgot.”
“It’s just bruising.” Dracup ran his hand through Sara’s hair. She was so beautiful. He wished he could share her optimism. He looked at the pile of letters and rubbed his eyes; a dull, throbbing headache was taking root in his temple. He pushed his chair back and took Sara’s hand in his. “I need to maintain focus. Keep occupied.”
“Well, there’s no shortage of material here. I’ve never seen so much packed into a bureau.” Sara waved a rubber-banded sheaf of papers. “Look at this lot.”
“Anything so far?”
“There’s some old photos – nothing unusual. It would help if I knew what I was looking for.”
“Let’s see.” Dracup took the bundle and quickly flicked through the photographs. “Yes. This is my grandfather – Theodore.” He held the photo up for inspection. The faded image showed a frail-looking man in his early thirties sitting in a chair by a garden pond. A young woman had a hand on his shoulder, smiling bravely for the camera although it was clear that all was not well with the sitting figure. He looked old before his time, hunched and defeated. “That’s my aunt standing next to him,” Dracup said. “This must have been at the old house – my grandfather’s – after he was institutionalized. She used to take him home at weekends. She felt it gave him some dignity. And she was sure that he felt at peace there.”
Sara took a long look at the photograph. “She has a kind face – a family trait, obviously.” She looked at Dracup and the photograph in turn.
“I don’t know about that,” Dracup said. “I can be very unpleasant when push comes to shove.”
“Usually when you’re hungry, I seem to remember,” Sara said. “Shall I slip down to the corner shop? And Farrell, make yourself useful –see if you can get a fire going. There must be a few logs in the garden – some coal in the bunker. Something tells me this is going to be a long haul.”
Farrell nodded. “Sure. I’ll walk you down when you’re ready. Leave the fire to me.” He left the room and they heard his footsteps on the stairs. The front door opened and closed.
“He’s driving me up the wall,” Sara said with a grimace. “Our all-American high school baseball star.”
Dracup raised his
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