felt he was reserving judgment: possibly on her, possibly on England.
The circumstances in which he and his brother had been kept would emerge in due course. Even a sensitive debriefing would have to wait until they were capable of dealing with it. Hazel knew they’d been separated from their mother for much of the time, but neither showed the scars of either cruelty or neglect. Perhaps some local family had been given the task of caring for them, and over the years the barriers between the boys and their fosterers had blurred. Perhaps they felt that being made to return to a land neither of them could remember very clearly, and to a mother who was almost a stranger, was another abduction, more painful to them than events half a lifetime ago.
They wouldn’t go on feeling like that, Hazel told herself. By the time they were old enough to understand what their father had done for them, to comprehend the enormous wellhead of love his sacrifice had sprung from, they would be old enough and settled enough to be grateful.
She made no attempt at conversation as she drove, left Cathy to set the pace. And clearly Cathy was worn-out—exhausted by the long journey, by the emotional upheaval that had preceded it, most of all by four years of living on a knife edge. For four years this woman had been the captive of utterly ruthless, wholly unpredictable men. They had snatched her from her safe, comfortable life in London with a husband who loved her and sons she adored; somehow they’d smuggled her out of the country and across a couple of continents; they’d taken her sons away and made her plead for their lives with a total stranger on a computer screen. Now she had her children back and was bringing them home to a place she didn’t know, to pick up a life she must hardly remember, without the husband who had bought her freedom with his death. Hazel couldn’t begin to imagine how Cathy Ash must be feeling. But she understood why the woman didn’t want to make small talk all the way to Norbold.
On the backseat, first one, then the other of the little boys fell asleep.
It was five o’clock before she turned into Highfield Road and stopped outside the big stone house near the end. “We’re here.”
Cathy looked at it out of the car window, made no attempt to get out.
“Have you been here before?” asked Hazel gently.
“A couple of times.” Cathy’s voice was colorless. “To visit his mother. When did he move back?”
“A couple of years ago, I think. It was before I knew him. You knew…” But of course Cathy didn’t know how Ash had passed the time they’d been apart. How could she? Perhaps a hint from Graves, but he didn’t know much more himself. Hazel made herself look Ash’s wife in the eye. “Gabriel had a mental breakdown after you were abducted. He blamed himself. He was hospitalized for a time. He only came back here after his doctors thought he was fit to cope on his own.”
And that, she added in the privacy of her own head, was a fairly doubtful judgment. But perhaps if he hadn’t come back here, Ash would never have gained the strength to rebuild his life. In which case he’d still be alive, and you’d still be in a whitewashed room in Mogadishu.
There was a pause while Cathy considered. Then she said, “I didn’t know that.” Another pensive gap. Then: “Do you think that’s why he … did what he did? Because the balance of his mind was disturbed?”
“No!” said Hazel quickly—so quickly, so vehemently, that Cathy’s pale eyes rounded for a moment. “You mustn’t think that. He knew exactly what he was doing. He finally found a way to help you. He was glad to take it.”
Cathy managed a thin, pale smile. “You were a good friend to him, I think.”
“I valued his friendship, yes.”
Cathy Ash sighed, finally opened her door. On the backseat the boys stirred. “I suppose we’d better go in. See what we’ve got and what we need.”
“I’ll come back tomorrow, if you
The circumstances in which he and his brother had been kept would emerge in due course. Even a sensitive debriefing would have to wait until they were capable of dealing with it. Hazel knew they’d been separated from their mother for much of the time, but neither showed the scars of either cruelty or neglect. Perhaps some local family had been given the task of caring for them, and over the years the barriers between the boys and their fosterers had blurred. Perhaps they felt that being made to return to a land neither of them could remember very clearly, and to a mother who was almost a stranger, was another abduction, more painful to them than events half a lifetime ago.
They wouldn’t go on feeling like that, Hazel told herself. By the time they were old enough to understand what their father had done for them, to comprehend the enormous wellhead of love his sacrifice had sprung from, they would be old enough and settled enough to be grateful.
She made no attempt at conversation as she drove, left Cathy to set the pace. And clearly Cathy was worn-out—exhausted by the long journey, by the emotional upheaval that had preceded it, most of all by four years of living on a knife edge. For four years this woman had been the captive of utterly ruthless, wholly unpredictable men. They had snatched her from her safe, comfortable life in London with a husband who loved her and sons she adored; somehow they’d smuggled her out of the country and across a couple of continents; they’d taken her sons away and made her plead for their lives with a total stranger on a computer screen. Now she had her children back and was bringing them home to a place she didn’t know, to pick up a life she must hardly remember, without the husband who had bought her freedom with his death. Hazel couldn’t begin to imagine how Cathy Ash must be feeling. But she understood why the woman didn’t want to make small talk all the way to Norbold.
On the backseat, first one, then the other of the little boys fell asleep.
It was five o’clock before she turned into Highfield Road and stopped outside the big stone house near the end. “We’re here.”
Cathy looked at it out of the car window, made no attempt to get out.
“Have you been here before?” asked Hazel gently.
“A couple of times.” Cathy’s voice was colorless. “To visit his mother. When did he move back?”
“A couple of years ago, I think. It was before I knew him. You knew…” But of course Cathy didn’t know how Ash had passed the time they’d been apart. How could she? Perhaps a hint from Graves, but he didn’t know much more himself. Hazel made herself look Ash’s wife in the eye. “Gabriel had a mental breakdown after you were abducted. He blamed himself. He was hospitalized for a time. He only came back here after his doctors thought he was fit to cope on his own.”
And that, she added in the privacy of her own head, was a fairly doubtful judgment. But perhaps if he hadn’t come back here, Ash would never have gained the strength to rebuild his life. In which case he’d still be alive, and you’d still be in a whitewashed room in Mogadishu.
There was a pause while Cathy considered. Then she said, “I didn’t know that.” Another pensive gap. Then: “Do you think that’s why he … did what he did? Because the balance of his mind was disturbed?”
“No!” said Hazel quickly—so quickly, so vehemently, that Cathy’s pale eyes rounded for a moment. “You mustn’t think that. He knew exactly what he was doing. He finally found a way to help you. He was glad to take it.”
Cathy managed a thin, pale smile. “You were a good friend to him, I think.”
“I valued his friendship, yes.”
Cathy Ash sighed, finally opened her door. On the backseat the boys stirred. “I suppose we’d better go in. See what we’ve got and what we need.”
“I’ll come back tomorrow, if you
Similar Books
