Two weeks later, Margot, David Wyndham, Allenby, and Elena all stood silently in a quiet country graveyard. Lucas, Josephine, and Peter Howard were there also, clustered together with Robert Hastings as John Repton was lowered into the grave. None of them spoke.
Allenby had given the eulogy. He remembered Repton more vividly than he had expected to and shared stories about him. They were filled with memories of the beauty Repton saw in life and those quiet kindnesses he never realized others had observed.
The heat was gone out of the air, and the breeze brought more leaves drifting down. Margot moved closer to Wyndham, and he put his arm around her gently. The man who was to have been her brother-in-law was now her friend, and they were two people sharing the pain not only of loss, but of disillusion. Their partners were gone. The young man who had conspired against Hastings was in exile, his passage undoubtedly paid for by Mosley’s people. Hastings had been reinstated, and the name “Repton” was finally linked to patriotism and one man’s effort to save his country.
Elena slipped her hand into Allenby’s. She recognized his grief and did not intrude upon it. He had cared. He had seen the gentleness in Repton, the humanity, and grieved for him more than he could express, and she loved him for that.
She felt his fingers tighten on hers. They were strong and warm, even in the cooling air.