"Where is he?"
"He's sitting out there in the garden, all by himself, in the dark, under the tree."
Frances went to him there.
"I wondered whether you would come to me," he said.
"I was doing something for Michael."
"Is it done?"
"Yes. It's done."
Five months passed. It was November now.
In the lane by the side door, Anthony was waiting in his car. Rain was falling, hanging from the trees and falling. Every now and then he looked at his watch.