‘Where’s Wyatt?’ said Prenderby.
‘Oh, he’s staying down here – till the evening, at any rate.’
It was Jeanne who spoke. ‘It’s his house, you see, and naturally there are several arrangements to make. I told him I thought it was very terrible of us to go off, but he said he’d rather we didn’t stay. You see, the place is quite empty – there’s not a servant anywhere – and naturally it’s a bit awkward for him. You’d better talk to him, Dr Abbershaw.’
Abbershaw nodded.
‘I will,’ he said. ‘He ought to get away from here pretty soon, or he’ll be pestered to death by journalists.’
Meggie slipped her arm through his.
‘Go and find him then, dear, will you?’ she said. ‘It must be terrible for him. I’ll look after these two. Come and see me when you get back.’
Abbershaw glanced across the room, but Jeanne and Michael were too engrossed in each other to be paying any attention to anything else, so he bent forward impetuously and kissed her, and she clung to him for a moment.
‘You bet I will,’ he said, and as he went out of the room he felt himself, in spite of his problems, the happiest man alive.
He found Wyatt alone in the great hall. He was standing with his back to the fire-place, in which the cold embers of yesterday’s fire still lay.