He needed to be alone to recover himself completely. Their moment of shared emotion had sent him reeling, and he had to come to terms with it. One side of him had wanted to yield to it completely, tell his son how much he loved him and how much the hug meant to him. But the other side reminded him that Peter’s affection wasn’t really for him. Peter was simply grateful that Gavin was doing something for Norah. That was a bitter pill for Gavin to swallow, but he must force himself to swallow it before he saw his son again. Otherwise he risked making a fool of himself.

At last he went into the kitchen, to find Mrs. Stone up in arms. Supper was ready, but there was no sign of Peter. “Gone to finish feeding those dratted animals,” she snapped.

“Good heavens, yes! I’d forgotten all about them.”

“Here he is. You’re his father. Maybe you can make him see sense.”

Peter appeared in the doorway carrying an empty bowl. He’d clearly heard Mrs. Stone’s words and he looked nervously at his father.

But Gavin had learned wisdom. “First the animals eat, then we do,” he said. “That’s what Norah would say, and that’s what’s going to happen.”

“May I remind you, sir, that I’m off duty in exactly ten minutes and-”

“Then leave it and we’ll serve ourselves,” Gavin told her impatiently. “In fact, you can go off duty now.” Mrs. Stone snatched off her pinny and departed almost before he’d finished speaking. “Which leaves us on our own,” he told Peter. “With all those creatures out there waiting to be fed. And do you know what Norah got me to agree to do? Yes, you do, don’t you? That’s why you’re grinning. You’re going to enjoy watching me fumble around. And don’t give me that innocent look. Come on, let’s get on with it.”

For answer, Peter took hold of his father’s jacket and rubbed the fine material between his fingers, while shaking his head. “I’m not dressed right?” Gavin hazarded. “I should put on something shabby? Okay, I’ll join you.”

The most casual clothes he had were still too smart for what he was going to do, but there was no help for it. When he reached the kitchen dressed in slacks and shirt Peter was just coming back with an empty bowl, evidently having made his first trip. He filled the bowl again, offered one to Gavin and led the way out.

He found that one part of him stood back and watched the incredible sight of Gavin Hunter, head of Hunter & Son, filling troughs and water bowls. The other part was totally involved, concentrating, following his son’s silent instructions. He stood back while Peter made the decisions, confining himself to the drudgery.

“Is that ready to be mashed up?” he asked when Peter had filled a bowl with cereal and potatoes and sprinkled the result with some brown liquid. “Because if so, I’ll do it while you get on with the next thing.”

The bowl was in his hands before he’d finished talking and he set to, grinding the wooden spoon around and around. It was years since he’d taken orders from anyone, but tonight he felt only relief that his son knew what to do. Following Peter’s skilled guidance was the only way he would keep his promise to Norah.

He followed the boy out into the grounds and toward the pens, where he distributed mash in precise quantities, as directed. Four times they made this trip, and as they returned the last time he caught Peter looking at him slyly, almost with mischief. “All right, I’m tired, but I’m not giving up,” Gavin growled. “Not before you do. Let’s get started on the next lot. Why are you shaking your head? You don’t mean we’re finished? I don’t believe it. Yes? Good. Now, how about something to eat?”

But before they could touch the food the phone rang. Gavin snatched it up and said, “Hunter,” without thinking.

There was a gasp, then an elderly woman said, “I’m so sorry. I thought that was Norah’s Ark.”

“It is Norah’s Ark,” Gavin said quickly.

“Is Norah there?”

“I’m afraid she’s-detained. How can I help you?”

“This is Mrs. Hopkins. I found a sea gull hopping about in my garden. I think it has a broken wing.”

For once in his life he was completely nonplussed. What was he supposed to do in this situation? “A sea gull,” he prevaricated. “With a broken wing, you say?” He was looking at Peter, hoping for a response that would guide him, but to his dismay the child simply walked out of the room. “Are you quite sure the wing is broken?” he asked wildly.

“Well, no, I haven’t been able to examine it, but it can’t fly, and one wing is trailing.”

“Have you thought of calling the vet?”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t possibly afford a vet. I live on a very small income. Besides, Norah always collects…”

To Gavin’s vast relief Peter returned at that moment and he was carrying the car keys that Gavin had tossed down on the hall table. He held them up to attract his father’s attention.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Gavin said quickly. “I’ll come and collect. Give me your address.”

He scribbled it down and had replaced the receiver before he realized the address meant nothing to him. “Do you know this place?” he demanded, showing it to Peter. “Good. Let’s get going, then.”

Peter stopped long enough to collect a cardboard box from a hall cupboard and a local map from a drawer, then followed his father out to the car. He indicated the place on the map, and to Gavin’s relief it turned out to be barely a ten-minute drive. They arrived at last at a small cottage near the shore, to find Mrs. Hopkins standing at the gate anxiously awaiting them.

“It’s at the end of the garden,” she said. “Every time I try to approach it flutters away.”

Peter had glided past her almost before she’d finished speaking and made his way around to the back. Gavin arrived a moment later to find his son sitting on the ground, his hand outstretched to the bedraggled bird, making soft whistling noises. To Gavin’s astonishment the wild terror went out of the sea gull’s eyes and it visibly grew calmer. When Peter reached forward to take the bird’s body between both hands, it offered no resistance. The next moment it was safely enclosed in the box.

Peter got to his feet, nodded to his father to indicate that the job was done, smiled at Mrs. Hopkins and headed back to the car. Gavin followed, feeling like the chauffeur. His whole world seemed to have been turned upside down that day, and the strangest thing of all was having to rely on his ten-year-old son to guide him, and realizing that in Peter’s hands he was perfectly safe.

On the way home he said, “You’ll have to tell me the way to the vet.”

“There’s no need,” came Peter’s quiet voice. “I can do this.”

Gavin jumped and clutched the wheel. His son had spoken to him for the second time that day. “You mean you can actually set a bird’s wing?” he asked, less in disbelief than a desire to hear Peter’s voice again.

But it didn’t work. Peter had said what was necessary and was obviously prepared to say no more. When Gavin ventured to glance down at him, he found him staring straight ahead. He sighed. It was painful to be offered scraps of hope, only to see them snatched away.

Back at the sanctuary Peter got to work without fuss, putting a splint on the tiny wing, his childish hands moving with the ease and confidence of a surgeon. At last the splint was on and the bird settled on some straw in the box.

“I wasn’t necessary at all,” Gavin thought sadly. “He could have done it all without me, except for driving the car.”

But something had changed for the better. It was there in the atmosphere as Peter went purposefully to the stove where the ruin of supper was rapidly drying out. Gavin produced the plates and Peter ladled food onto them.

“We’re a team,” Gavin thought. “If only it could always be like this.”

He ate the dried-out food without even knowing what he was eating. His mind was preoccupied with trying to find something to say to his son, words that would express his new sense of closeness without causing the boy to hastily back away from an unwanted intimacy.

But the words wouldn’t come. A lifetime of leaving feelings unexpressed had left him helpless now. The harder he fought for inspiration, the emptier his mind became.

“Peter,” he said at last, speaking desperately. The boy looked up. “Don’t you think-I mean, couldn’t we…?” It was no use. His heart was full, but inside his head there was only a vast trace of emptiness. “Why don’t you make me a cup of cocoa?”

Before going to bed that night Gavin took a flashlight and wandered around the sanctuary. Many of the animals had vanished into their hideaways, but there were still some, on trees or in water, who raised curious heads to regard him. It might be fanciful, but he had the strange sensation that they, too, were watching him expectantly, wanting him to do something for her. He remembered how sure Norah had been that they’d known about the fatal accident before anyone else. Perhaps they knew this, too; not in detail, only that she wasn’t here and that she was in trouble.

Buster ambled slowly over to the fence and nuzzled Gavin with his soft nose, something he’d never done before. Almost against his will he put out a hand to stroke the rough hide of the old donkey. Two bright eyes peering at him from the branches of a tree told him that Mack was also alert and watchful. He moved on, and heard the sound of faint pattering behind him. Looking back he saw Osbert, quiet for once, standing there, looking up at him.

I could bite you, the beady eyes seemed to say. I won’t, for her sake. But if you fail her-watch out.

Gavin gave himself a shake. It was just a goose, for heaven’s sake! But as he moved on he could hear the soft pattering immediately behind him.

At last he’d been around the whole sanctuary, and he felt strangely better for it. He was ready to go in now, but something stopped him.