Throwing back the covers he discovered something that appalled him still further. He was wearing his pajamas. Searching his mind frantically, he was unable to recall putting them on. His last memory was of lying down on top of the bed in the damp robe. But the robe had now vanished.

A search revealed it on a hanger behind the bathroom door. Norah must have returned, gone through his dresser to find his night wear, stripped the robe off him and somehow managed to get the pajamas on. And he’d been drunk enough to sleep through it all.

He knew he should be grateful. He took cold easily, and if he’d slept in the wet robe he would have developed a nasty chill. But for the moment all he could think of was the sheer effrontery of the woman who had dared to strip him naked while he was unaware. The fact that it was his own fault only made her crime more unforgivable.

As he dressed he reflected that it wasn’t too late. When he looked into her eyes the consciousness would be there, but if he kept the consciousness out of his own eyes it would die in hers. What he didn’t remember couldn’t be used against him.

He had a moment’s distress at what he was going to do. The memory of feminine warmth and kindness was so alluring that he was almost tempted to yield to it. But that was exactly what she wanted him to do. He must never forget that such thoughts were dangerous, never forget to be on his guard against her.

But with all his heart he wished it weren’t necessary.

Norah came into the house from her early morning rounds of the animals. Peter had been out with her, conscientiously performing all his tasks. He’d long ago absorbed the only discipline that counted in the sanctuary, that the care of the animals came first. Your heart might be broken, you might be dying inside, but the helpless creatures who depended on you still had to be fed and cared for. It had given him a maturity well beyond his ten years, and she guessed that at this moment it gave him strength.

She could only guess, because even with her he was silent, although he would sometimes press close to her. In the last few days the only time she’d heard him speak had been when he whispered, “Goodbye, Daddy” in the chapel. And when Gavin had pushed past them and stridden out of the chapel, Peter had turned his gaze up to her as if seeking reassurance. She’d hated Gavin at that moment, and she’d hated him even more when he didn’t come back for the rest of the day. She’d gone to his room still hating him, but there she’d found a drenched, desperate man who’d turned to the bottle to assuage his pain. The fact that he couldn’t cope with the brandy had been a gleam of vulnerability that had helped soften her.

She’d found herself forgetting their enmity and striving to comfort him. He’d called her a nanny, and she’d agreed. It had been the instinct that had made her return later to make sure he was all right, only to discover him asleep on top of the bed, still wearing the damp robe. She’d tried to awaken him, but he’d been very deeply asleep, and at last she’d taken action, finding his pajamas and maneuvering him into them. It had been difficult to cope with his deadweight, but not as difficult as she’d feared. She was strong and there was muscle but no fat on his long bones, and the feel of his flesh had been firm and smooth against her hands.

The memory of that came back to her now, along with the sight of his smooth chest and lean hips, and suddenly she felt her whole body suffused with warmth. The sensation took her by surprise. She lived so close to nature that physical embarrassment was almost unknown to her, and for a moment she wondered what was happening. Then she remembered how he’d fallen against her while she was putting on his jacket, how his head had rested against her breasts, and how sweet the feeling had been.

She made herself coffee and was sitting in the kitchen sipping it when the sound of Gavin’s footsteps made her jump. She looked up as he came in, but the smile died on her face as she saw the chilly distance in his eyes. “Good morning,” he said distantly.

“Good morning,” she said, watching him.

“I’m sorry about yesterday. I shouldn’t have walked out of the funeral like that, but…” he shrugged, “things got a bit much for me. Did it cause much trouble at the reception?”

“No, I…explained that you’d been under a lot of strain.” Norah spoke slowly as it dawned on her that they’d covered the same ground last night.

“Thank you. I suppose I should tell you where I went.”

“There’s no need,” she said significantly.

“You’re entitled to an explanation,” he said coolly. “I took a long walk to clear my head. I went down to the shore and walked out in the direction of the sea. By the time I came back it was pouring with rain and I got soaked. I should have told you I was back, but I didn’t want to risk taking cold, so I went straight to bed.”

Norah took a deep breath before making her voice carefully neutral. “That’s perfectly all right. I hope you’re all right this morning.”

“Fine, thank you. Can you tell me where Peter is? I should say something to him.”

“What are you going to say?” she asked quietly.

“I’m going to apologize to him, of course. What happened wasn’t his fault.”

“I’m glad you realize that.”

He looked at her angrily. “Credit me with some understanding. He’s only a little boy, and a very unhappy one. I’m not going to pile a lot of emotional pressure on him…” he checked himself, drew a swift breath, and walked out. Norah stared after him, astounded at hearing her own words quoted back to her, and wondered how much, if anything, Gavin really remembered about last night.

Gavin found his son feeding Buster and Mack. He approached him slowly and with caution. He seemed to have stripped away an outer skin this morning, and to have a new sensitivity. It told him now that Peter was conscious of him long before he seemed to be, and full of tension. At last the child looked up. “Are you all right?” Gavin asked.

Peter nodded.

“I’m sorry about the way I left yesterday. I shouldn’t have done it but-we all do things we shouldn’t, at some time.” Peter nodded, and Gavin was emboldened to go on. “I found myself remembering your mother as she was years ago, before things were bad between us. That’s how you should always remember people when they die.” Peter nodded again, and this time he also managed a faint smile. Relief flooded Gavin. It was communication of a sort.

Peter had finished his work. He left the pen, shutting it carefully behind him, then took a few steps away, looking back over his shoulder as if indicating his father should follow him. Gavin did so, and Peter led him almost to the edge of the sanctuary and pointed at a bank where wild violets made a show of color among the green. As he met his son’s gaze Gavin understood why he had been brought here, and he knew more relief, tinged with happiness. “Yes,” he said. “This is where you got the flowers yesterday, wasn’t it?” The child nodded. “I’m glad. She would have liked that so much.”

This time there was no doubt about it. Peter actually smiled. It was only a brief smile before he became once again the withdrawn child he usually was, but it had happened. Gavin’s conscience pricked him. He knew the debt he owed Norah for this moment. In justice he ought to acknowledge it, even thank her. But that would be another demonstration of weakness to add to last night, and he couldn’t quite make himself risk it. Besides, it was probably just part of her cleverness, and he ought to be more wary of her than ever.

The following day he received an unwelcome phone call. “Hallo, Father,” he said reluctantly.

Despite William’s ailment, his voice sounded loud and forceful in Gavin’s ear. “Got the funeral over with yet?” William demanded, coming straight to the point. Gavin couldn’t remember a time when his father had wasted his energy over people’s sensibilities.

“The funeral was yesterday,” he said.

“When’s that woman leaving?”

“All in good time. I can’t just throw her out.”

“Why not?”

“For one thing she owns half the place.”

“Rubbish. Legal technicality. A good lawyer will drive a coach and horses through it. Get rid of her and start raising your son properly. I’ve had some ideas about that. Bring him to see me as soon as you can and we’ll talk. I’d like to see if your boy is turning into a real Hunter.”

“He’s Liz’s boy as well,” Gavin reminded him.

William snorted. “Yes, and look what she did with him. Brought him up a namby-pamby, I shouldn’t wonder.”

This had been Gavin’s own thought, but he immediately said, “You’re prejudging the situation. Peter may be only a child, but he already seems to me to be a-a strong person.”

“Let’s hope you’re right. The world belongs to the strong. I hope you’ve told him that.”

“I’ve told him what I think is appropriate,” Gavin said in a tight voice, “but his mother was only buried yesterday and-”

“All right, all right,” William interrupted him, evidently uninterested in any point of view other than his own. “While you’re wasting your time down there, who’s minding the store?”

“My assistant, Miss Fuller. She’s coming down here soon, and we’ll work from Strand House.”

“Huh! Women!”

“She happens to be excellent at her job.”

“If you say so. Look here, I’ve written you a long letter, giving you my views. You’ll get it tomorrow. Just take what you need and discard the rest. You know I never interfere.”

Gavin grunted and hung up as quickly as he decently could. He dreaded William’s bouts of “not interfering.”

The letter arrived next morning and proved to be so prejudiced and ignorant that Gavin couldn’t finish it in one sitting. He put it away, then called his office to make final arrangement for Miss Fuller’s arrival. But she wasn’t in yet, which was unlike her.