Nurse Wading raised an eyebrow but made no comment as we followed her around the side of the house to a small paved terrace in the back. The terrace overlooked a long stretch of sloping lawn with a wide view of the Bedfordshire flatlands falling away in the distance.
Uncle Tom was reclining on a cushioned chaise longue, facing the broad expanse of green. Although it was a fine, fair afternoon, with scarcely a breath of wind, he was bundled in a nest of blankets and had turned his face toward the sun. His hair was white, his face gaunt, his skin nearly transparent, but his blue-green eyes were as radiant—and as alert—as Gerald’s.
An oxygen tank stood behind Tom’s chair, with a clear plastic mask attached to a hose hanging within his reach. An upright wicker chair—Nurse Watling‘s, no doubt-sat beside a small table that held pill bottles, a decanter of water, a glass, a pair of binoculars, a book with a brightly colored airplane on the cover, and a stuffed giraffe that looked as though it had almost been loved to death. Its neck was bent at an odd angle, its spots were nearly rubbed off, and there was only a suggestion of the long eyelashes that had been hand-stitched around the black button eyes. I thought of Reginald, back in the limo with Paul, and wished I’d brought him with me to meet Uncle Tom’s giraffe.
Nurse Watling gestured for us to wait by the house and crossed to Tom’s side, where she bent to murmur softly in his ear. His head turned, the bright eyes found us, and a fragile, waxen hand appeared from beneath the blankets, motioning for us to approach.
“More long-lost relatives?” he said, shifting his gaze to each of us in turn. “Cousin William left not an hour ago. I can’t imagine what I’ve done to deserve so much attention, but I’m flattered. We’ll need chairs, young man.” He eyed Bill’s cast. “I’m sure you can manage one, and Rebecca will bring the others.” His voice, like Gerald‘s, was beautifully deep and mellow. It was hard to believe that such a wasted body could produce so resonant a sound.
While Nurse Watling and Bill went into the house to fetch extra chairs, Nell approached the low table and bent to take a closer look at Geraldine.
“You’re beautiful,” Nell said. “I wish I hadn’t left Bertie in the car. He would have adored meeting you.”
“Bertie, eh?” Uncle Tom gave Nell a measuring look. “Badger, bear, or bunny?”
“Bear, of course,” Nell replied. “Lori has the bunny. His name’s Reginald, but he’s back in the car as well.”
“It seems we’re among kindred spirits, Geraldine,” Tom observed. “Here are the chairs. Please, make yourselves comfortable.”
Bill and Nurse Watling had returned, carrying three more wicker chairs, which they placed, at Tom’s direction, in a half-circle to his left, so that we, too, would be able to enjoy the view. I sat closest to Tom, Nell took the farthest seat, and Bill sat between us. Nurse Watling gave her patient a covert glance before she settled back into her chair, picked up the book, and started reading.
“We’ve been to see Anthea,” I began. “Lucy was there, too, and she told me to say hello to Geraldine.”
Tom made a wheezing sound that worried me until I realized it was a chuckle.
“Lucy’s always had a soft spot for old Geraldine.” The wheezing laughter continued. “And here I thought you’d come to talk to me. Should’ve known better. Geraldine’s far more entertaining.” He regarded me with interest. “But I expect you have questions for me as well.”
“One or two,” I admitted. “We have some theories.”
“Good! Love theories. Malleable things. Facts are so drearily rigid.” He paused to rest his head against the back of his chair while his blue-green eyes scanned the horizon.
I glanced outward, too, but saw only clear blue sky. At the very edge of my hearing, however, I noticed a faint buzzing sound, like the distant gnat’s whine of a propellor-driven engine:
“Ah,” said Tom. He gave me a sidelong glance. “Forgive me. Moment’s rest.”
“Of course,” I said solicitously. “Take your time. We’re in no hurry.”
The distant buzz came closer. I searched the sky again and saw a dot swing into view on the horizon. Seconds passed, the buzzing swelled, the dot grew larger, and I realized, to my delight, that a tiny silver biplane was zooming toward us.
“Here he comes,” Tom said, half to himself, an odd smile playing about his lips.
“Is he coming at the house?” I asked, delight shading into alarm as I sat unblinking, unable to tear my gaze from the beautiful, whirring propellor that seemed to be aimed directly at my nose.
“I’m afraid so,” said Tom, still with that loopy half-smile.
I stared in rapt amazement, hypnotized, paralyzed, as the biplane sped closer and closer, until it swooped so low that I could see the grinning face of the goggled pilot. I gave an incoherent gurgle and cringed, flinging both arms over my head, feeling the backwash toss my curls as the plane climbed steeply skyward.