Silence. Then silent tears. They stand with their heads bent and weep for their loss. And in among them, Vita. Still there, still with them, still mother to them all.
She moves between them like the spirit of their world. Vita who is, who always has been, their continuity and their kindness. Pale with grief, but still finding it within herself to smile. A face touched here, a palm pressed to the back of a hand, a pair of arms to wrap yourself in. She sees Somer, even Somer, and envelops her in her golden web of fellow feeling. Presses her forehead against Somer’s, holds it there, holds her hand. Moves on.
He loved you. He loved you all. Each one of you was special to him. He has left, but he is not gone. He will live on with all of us, in everything we do.
Somer is dazed. The beautiful day, the blue sky above, the people with whom she has shared her life for all these years, seem unreal to her, like ghosts or distant wood smoke. He never forgave me. I waited and waited, but forgiveness never came, and now he’s gone and I will live my life like this.
The Guards are gathered with them, Ilo among them, his face blank as though someone has erased the soul within. Eden weeps with her remaining siblings and never casts her a glance. Over by the gate she sees Romy, standing alone, dry-eyed like her brother.
The surprising sound of an engine beyond the wall. They turn to look, wonder who is disturbing their sorrow. Then they see that it is the compound car, Jacko at the wheel. He drives through them like a cop through a demo: slowly, slowly as they part, carefully, so as not to inflame. Vita glances, then glances away. Keeps her back turned as two Guards emerge from the kitchen door and begin to load it up. Three canvas bags on the back seat, a box in the front.
They know what it means. Now Lucien is no longer here, Vita’s days at Plas Golau are done.
They wait.
The bolts draw back on the Great House door and the people of the Ark look up as one. Faces animate, and she is surprised to read hope on many. They hope he’s going to come out now, she realises, and tell us it was a mistake. They hope he isn’t dead.
And then Uri comes from the shadows within and their shoulders slump and they exhale.
His Guards straighten up. Stand to attention, separate their legs and stand at ease. Like soldiers. Like proper soldiers. Uri sweeps them with his eyes and what they see on his face is ... triumph.
Silence. They hold their collective breath. Vita turns round slowly to face him and her shoulders straighten. She holds her head high, like a queen.
‘You can go now,’ he tells her.
When she speaks, her voice is clear. ‘These aren’t your people, Uri,’ she says, ‘and this place isn’t for you to take.’
He is white with fury. And still no grief.
‘It’s mine! He wanted me to have it,’ he shouts. ‘He told me. It was always going to be me!’
Vita, now the moment is here, is as calm as he is enraged. ‘But Uri, he left it to me. I’m his wife. You have Cairngorm. That was what he wanted you to have. It’s all in the will, if you want to look.’
Lucien, keeping everybody happy, playing them all.
He is robbed of words. His jaw works, but no sound comes out. For a moment she thinks he’s going to call his Guards to action, that battle will break out here and now. Then he blinks. Grinds his teeth.
‘You are not his heir,’ he says. ‘You’re not the One. And you’re nothing without him.’
Vita tosses her beautiful silver hair. ‘Whatever,’ she replies.
The strain of self-control must be monumental, thinks Somer, as he marches down the steps, head held high, back rigid. He walks to the car and removes Vita’s bags from the back seat and hands than to the people nearby. Takes her box from the passenger seat and lays it gently on the steps, feigns respect for her hated possessions.
‘We’ll stay for the funeral,’ he says.
‘Of course,’ says Vita. ‘Anyone who wants to stay afterwards is welcome, as well. There will always be a home here for the members of the Ark.’
His eyes bulge for a second. Then he throws himself into the driver’s seat and starts the engine. Turns the wheel with a crunch of gravel and drives away. Sees Romy standing by the gate, drops down a gear and accelerates as he approaches. Swipes her with his wing as he passes.
Somer’s daughter flies through the air like a ragdoll, all dangling limbs, and hits the finialled gatepost with a crunch that echoes through her very viscera. As though she can feel her own bones breaking.