Through the confused mass of pain and bewilderment that possessed him, he couldn’t find the words that would express his true feelings. All he could manage to do was cry out, “Because he’s mine.”

It was the wrong thing to say. He wasn’t so insensitive that he couldn’t realize that. But no other words would come.

He saw her looking at him in contemptuous disbelief. “The house is your. Liz is yours. Peter is yours. It’s all property to you, isn’t it?”

“No, it isn’t,” he snapped. “Peter and I…” He stopped. It would have been hard enough to speak of his bittersweet love for his son with a sympathetic listener. With this judgmental young woman it was impossible. “Never mind,” he said, unaware of how plainly his thoughts had been revealed on his face. “Just tell me where I can find my wife and son,” he said.

Her eyes were fixed on his face, and they had a new look, as though she’d seen something that had startled her. Her manner softened. “They’re inside,” she said. “I’ll tell them you’re here.”

She thrust her spade into the earth with a strong movement and ran back to the house. Gavin felt shaken and drained by the interview. He began to look around him and realized that the destruction extended much further than digging up a lawn. Tony Ackroyd evidently had big plans for the grounds, if the huge rolls of wire lying about were anything to go by.

“Daddy.”

He turned to see his little son scampering across the lawn toward him. For a moment delight blotted out all other thought, and he opened his arms to scoop him up. The little boy’s warmth sent a sensation of joy flowing through him. “Have you missed me?” he asked.

Peter nodded, smiling.

Gavin looked around. There was nobody about. Soon the angry young woman would rouse the house, but for the moment the coast was clear. He could escape now, taking Peter with him. “Peter,” he asked in a low, urgent voice, “would you like to come home with me?”