CRABTREE LANE RAN DOWN TO THE RIVER, AND ON WEEKENDS IT WAS A little haven of peace that, spiritually, moved it miles from its relative centrality in the capital. On this chilly October night there was just a hint of mist settling on the water’s edge. Alex parked his car outside a period cottage, which had been witness to the amorous excursions of Charles II, when he brought one mistress or another up the Thames more than three hundred years earlier. With a little help from their parents to get the deposit, he and Anna had bought the house opposite eight years before, when Anna was pregnant with Max. It was handy for work and close to the water, which he loved, but it also had a country feel that his wife had been enchanted by. Mother and son had remained, and at least occasionally Alex wished that all three—Anna, Max, and the house with the two pretty trees—were still his to come home to. It wasn’t that he hadn’t appreciated them before. But his life as a doctor in organ donation and research demanded dedication and countless hours, which he gave; and he hadn’t noticed his home life steadily eroding without the attention due to a young wife and baby son. She was never especially vindictive about it, never even held him personally to blame for what she knew he couldn’t change; but one day they had woken up to find their relationship had passed them by. There was not too much hostility, or fighting about custody or maintenance, but a residual sadness that two intelligent people couldn’t avoid the pitfalls of a career that would come second to nothing.
Max was tall for his age, with hazel-green eyes that were similar to his father’s. He pounced on the door when Alex rang the bell to collect him for the weekend.
“I’ve got to show you something amazing!” He started to drag his father up the stairs before he could get his coat off in the hall. “I’ve been playing with the new Sims you brought me back. You won’t believe what they’re doing, Daddy.”
Anna appeared before her son could quite get away with the new arrival. Her blond hair was clipped up neatly at the back, and she was simply but elegantly dressed in a long cream shirt belted over matching trousers. It looked like she might be on her way out, but Alex was pleased when she didn’t sound at all hurried.
“Are you finished for the day, Al? Can I pour you a quick glass of wine?” She looked with concern at her former husband, for whom she had a lot of time and respect as a person and as a good father to Max. He looked harrowed, like someone who hadn’t had a full night’s sleep for the whole of the last month—which was likely. But whatever demons Alex chased, he did so alone, telling no one what was in his head or his heart. Keeping his own counsel was his habit—and, in her mind, still his worst personal failing.
“That sounds good, Anna, thanks. Today started a lifetime ago.” He took a step toward the kitchen with her. “Dad rang and told me he’d had an unofficial chat with the coroner—although the full inquest won’t be for another couple of months. I’ve been at work since six this morning, and I’ve got to sort out the last of Will’s things in my flat tonight. I keep tripping over them, and some of it ought to go to charity. Plus we got the bike back today from the insurers. Very little wrong with it, but I can’t decide what to do with it now. I guess I’ll get it back down to the country and then think about selling it. Typical of Will, isn’t it, to move in, and never properly move out again. I’ve been completely unsettled with him half in and half out of my life since May.”
She noted that his voice seemed steady, and passed him a glass. “Do you need any help with that? It’s going to be a difficult job.” Her words came with an inflection that was more an inquiry whether Alex wanted to talk, than whether he would accept her offer. Max was still tugging at his father’s arm, not at all willing to let go of him—which Anna understood very well; but she also sensed a possible moment that would be gone in an instant if she couldn’t get their son to give them some space.
“Max, let Daddy have ten minutes to talk to me, then we’ll both come up and see your game.” He was hard to dissuade, until she mentioned that the Sims’ house might burn down—or the husband lose his lift to work—if it wasn’t properly set on pause.
Max left them both at speed, and Alex followed Anna up the step to the living room. It had recently been redecorated—her once favorite country style giving way to a clean, modern feel, which added an airy lightness. White lilies in a plain glass vase, one white scented candle, which gave the room an air of sanctity, an Ingres-style drawing on the wall. The fire was lit, and he sank into a chair not far from it. He began by asking about their son, whether Max had said a lot to her about his uncle, how he seemed to be coping.
“Very much like you.” Anna’s answer was voiced in a mixture of irony and sadness. “He doesn’t say much unless he’s asked directly.”
Alex heard the criticism, and managed half a smile. “I’ll talk to him.”
“It sounds like a lot of practicalities are still dragging on?”
“The whole thing is just a nightmare.” This was strong stuff from Alex. “You know there was a robbery when Dad was at the hospital—extraordinary timing.” Anna nodded. “The police think it was kids, because they took a little loose cash, some CDs, nothing of any real value, like Mum’s jewelry.”
Anna had been horrified when she’d heard this at the funeral; that someone could be so callous. But she quickly realized that whoever was responsible had just seen an opportunity with an empty house, and not given the circumstances or grief of its occupants at the time the slightest thought. How could they? “It never rains…” she started to say.
“But there are two or three things we’ve now realized are missing. A couple of Mum’s old books that were in the house; including her family Bible—which had been given to her by her grandmother, and was with them all for generations. Valuable, I gather, and absolutely impossible to replace. Dotted throughout with marginalia, and births and deaths recorded for generations.” Anna was shaking her head in disbelief. “And a very tiny portrait, which we always meant to get valued. Hardly more than a miniature really. A lady in late-sixteenth-century dress, very much in Hilliard’s style—though not one of his, we think; and no one has ever suggested who it might be. But it’s gone now. And I know Mum was really attached to it.”
“Yes, I think I can remember it with its midnight-blue background—on Diana’s desk. So they did know what they were taking—knew what had some serious value after all?”
“It looks that way. Even the police are revising their theory now. Besides, no one in the village can believe it would be locals. They all feel that sort of thing doesn’t happen in Longparish.” Alex smiled, but with no mirth.
“What do you think the coroner’s final verdict will be, Al?” She had to check her own voice now; she hadn’t come to terms with Will’s death at all. Four weeks had passed, and she still expected him to ring at any minute. How could someone so alive be gone? He was one of the worst casualties of her failed marriage to Alex—the brother she’d never had herself. Kind and funny with her, indulgent with Max, he was always the first to answer an SOS call if Alex wasn’t free. She’d miss him dreadfully. Could anyone but God even begin to guess what Alex and Henry must be going through?
“It will probably be accidental death—resulting from a cranial aneurysm. Unless they conclude that the hemorrhage was triggered by a previous head injury Will was aware of. That would change it to misadventure. But they’re not looking at anything more unusual. Dents on the helmet confirm that he wasn’t even traveling fast. Just the unhappy coincidence of fog and tiredness, they suggest. And if you believe that, you’ll believe the world is still flat.”
Anna couldn’t answer him. She agreed. She could see Will wrecking his back, breaking a leg, gashing himself with his tools, burning himself because he was always talking while he cooked. Never could she imagine he would miss a bend or crash into a bridge on that bike of his. He loved it, and rode it with style. She’d giggled like a teenager when he’d first come to show it to her and Max. “I’ve never had a bike that’s so easy to do wheelies on—it feels like the front wheel is on a loop, and you can reel it up and down like a yo-yo just by twitching the throttle: watch me!” He’d ripped down Crabtree Lane, got the revs up, and launched himself toward them, the wheel leaping up to the squeals of delight of her son and his uncle and the consternation of the neighbors. No, she thought, Will wouldn’t crash the bike. He cared for it far too much.
“Daddy, please come and see the Sims.” Max, impatient on the stairs again, made the word “please” last an age. “I’ve made the whole family look like us. You’ve got to look at them all. Your Sim even forgot to shave properly—just like you have today. It’s weird.”
It was true, and it made Anna laugh. Alex had had such a succession of early calls, and been so pushed for time generally, he’d grown a little five o’clock shadow—very unusual for him, though Anna was noticing it looked rather sexy and relaxed like the Alex of old. Will always teased him about his neatness, and would have enjoyed the joke.
“He’s put our whole family back together again, good as new, with that computer game you gave him. You can design each character to look like anyone you want. It’s his way of coping—with everything.” Anna looked at Alex sadly, well aware that the little boy had already absorbed enough shocks in his young life, with their marriage breakup and his grandmother’s death, to begin to process the news about his uncle properly. “He’s apparently pleaded with someone called the ‘Grim Reaper’ to bring Will back to life—which isn’t usually successful, he tells me, but somehow our Max managed to persuade him.”
Alex shook his head in a mixture of humor and disbelief. He privately thought this sounded perverse, but understood the wish well enough. “Let’s go, Max—show me how it works. Are you going to bring the disks back to Chelsea tonight?”
As Alex stood to put his wine on the mantel over the fireplace, he physically jumped and almost dropped the glass. A postcard had caught his eye. “The Chartres labyrinth?” He looked at Anna for an explanation.
“Will. He sent it to Max. It was so strange, Alex—it arrived on the Saturday morning after the funeral. It was like a voice from another world. It’s postmarked Friday, September nineteenth. Just the day before the accident.” She lifted it off the shelf and handed it to him to read. There was an intersecting group of five squares on the back, like a puzzle.
We never know where our path will lead. I’ll bring you back here in the spring or at midsummer, and we’ll walk this together. It’s the best game of hopscotch ever. See you soon, love to Mum—Will x
“He sent one to me, with just the same pattern on it, but it was from Lucca in Tuscany.” He looked at Anna, thinking. “Could I borrow this for a few days? I’d like to make a copy.”
Anna’s eyes widened with outright amazement. Was Alex being sentimental? Or was it just for him to try to recapture his brother’s last days? Both seemed so unlikely. Pleased to do anything, she put it into his hands. “Will you copy it? Max won’t want to lose it.” Alex put the card inside his suit jacket and climbed the stairs to his son.
They were just bundling out the door with the overnight bag and computer software when Alex’s cell phone rang. Anna placed a hand on Max’s head and resisted the temptation to sigh: she was waiting for the word that the weekend was off, that the hospital wanted Dr. Stafford back immediately. Fridays and Saturdays were the busiest time for organ transplantation—which had destroyed their best-laid plans a dozen times.
“Alex Stafford.”
“Alex, it’s Siân.” Her voice was high-strung.
“Everything all right?”
She cut short his reply. “Alex, it’s my birthday today.” She stopped for a moment, and Alex started to apologize for forgetting and wished her a happy day in a pleasant voice. She continued quickly: “No, Alex, listen to me. I’ve just received some absolutely beautiful roses.” She broke off again, wondering what to say. Alex waited, not knowing what he should say, until she added: “The card says…They’re from Will, Alex. The damn things are from Will.”