House of the Lost (57 page)

War and peace . . . Elisabeth and Andrei Valk had waged their own war; they had fought communists and believed so strongly in justice they had both endured imprisonment. But they had found some kind of peace in the end.

And what of Matthew? Had Matthew found peace?

As the mourners were ushered across the hall and into the refectory, Theo looked across at Matthew’s sketches still hanging in the same place. He gave them a half nod of acknowledgement. I know you so much better now, Matthew, he thought. We’re still talking about what my book will be called, but I’ll stick out for
Matthew’s Story.
He had not yet asked Petra or Michael where Matthew had ended up, but it had sounded as if he was still alive in the world. Theo was hoping one of them would know where. And unless it was somewhere impossible, like the far reaches of the Amazon, or the wilds of Tibet, Theo would try to meet him.

The mourners were dispersing and the sun was sinking over the fens when Catherine, who had been helping hand round cups of tea and coffee and plates of sandwiches, summoned up the courage to say, ‘Theo, can we talk for a moment?’

‘Of course. Here?’

‘Let’s go out to the garden – it’s not all that cold.’

‘You look fully recovered from the dousing in the Chet,’ he said as they went through the side door.

‘I am. It’s four days ago anyway.’ Catherine looked at him and, with the feeling of plunging into treacherous waters of a different kind to the Chet, said, ‘Theo—’

He stopped her. ‘You’re staying here, aren’t you?’ he said.

‘Yes,’ said Catherine, startled. ‘How did you know?’

‘I think I knew when we got you out of the river that night,’ he said. ‘That’s when you made the decision, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, it was. I thought I was going to drown,’ said Catherine. ‘And when I thought that—’

‘I wasn’t the one you reached for in your mind.’

‘No.’ She looked at him, grateful that he understood.

He made a gesture with his hands, as if he was letting go of something. ‘We’ve sort of missed each other, haven’t we?’ he said. ‘One of us should have been born earlier, or later, or in a different place or something.’ He stood looking down at her. ‘If we had met when you were eighteen . . .’

‘But at eighteen I wanted something different,’ said Catherine. ‘And when I was eighteen, you were – I don’t know how old you were, but you were probably still in love with Charmery.’

‘Yes, I was.’ Some strong emotion showed on his face for a moment, then he suddenly said, ‘Catherine, since we’re exchanging all these confidences – you met Charmery, didn’t you?’

‘Yes. Just once.’

‘When?’ And, as Catherine hesitated, he said, ‘Was it nine years ago?’

‘Near enough.’

‘You were the one who helped Michael when David was born.’

‘Yes,’ said Catherine, seeing there was no way out of admitting this. ‘How did you know about David?’

‘Michael told me a couple of days ago,’ said Theo.

‘We agreed we’d never talk about it,’ said Catherine. ‘And I never have. But I’ve remembered David each year on the day of his birth.’

‘Have you? Thank you.’

Catherine thought for a moment, then said, ‘Charmery said something, after it was over. I don’t think she intended either of us to hear it, but I did. She looked at the baby and said, “I’m sorry, Theo . . . I loved you so much.”’

For a moment he could not speak and Catherine thought she had gone too far. Then he said again, ‘Thank you, Catherine.’

As they walked back towards the main doors, he was silent, but as they crossed the hall, he suddenly said, ‘Shall you have any second thoughts about all this?’

‘About us, d’you mean? Yes,’ said Catherine, ‘I’ll have second thoughts, and probably third thoughts, too. But this is where I belong.’

As he left, she stood for a moment watching him walk down the drive. It’s all right, she thought. I’ll probably have a few bad moments thinking about what might have been, but this really is where I belong. Here in St Luke’s, doing the work I studied and trained to do, seeing the years wheel by, fulfilled and deeply content.

With a brisk squaring of her shoulders to shake off any might-have-beens, she went back into the convent to help Sister Agnes with the washing-up.

Heathrow Airport was its usual seething mass of people and luggage trolleys, blared announcements in several languages and bewildering arrival and departure boards.

Theo had checked his luggage in and gone to the departure lounge. Unless there were any delays, in about ten minutes’ time he would be called to board the plane and in three or four hours he would be in Switzerland. Petra had made the arrangements, and had promised that a car would meet him at Geneva.

He sat back, enjoying watching the people for these last few minutes. Who were they and where were they going? A lot of them would be holiday-makers, even at this time of year, and almost as many would be travelling on business. Some would be families going to meet up with relatives.

But none of them would be going to meet the grown-up ghost of a small boy who had haunted an old house in a remote Norfolk village.

As his flight was called, Theo smiled, picked up his hand luggage, and went to board the plane that would take him to meet Matthew.