Godfrey stirred, but just barely. Translucent eyelids fluttered and his weary chest rose for one final ragged breath. And then he was gone. Nobody moved except Baby Jane. The little dog stood, and with infinite care, she sniffed every inch of Godfrey’s face. Finally satisfied that her friend was gone, she jumped down from the bed, shook herself thoroughly, and sat down at Bomber’s feet, looking up at him beseechingly with an expression that clearly said, And now I really need a wee.
An hour later they were sitting in what was called the Relatives Room drinking yet more tea. The Relatives Room was the place where the Folly End staff gently shepherded people once they were ready to leave the newly deceased. Its walls were the color of faded primroses and the light was soft through muslin curtains, hung as a veil from prying eyes. With sofas plush and deep, fresh flowers, and boxes of tissues, it was a room designed to cushion the sharp edges of raw grief.
After a few initial tears, Grace had rallied and was ready to talk. In truth, she had lost the man she married long ago, and now, with his death, at least she could begin to mourn. Bomber was pale but composed, dabbing at the tears that occasionally leaked silently down his face. Before they had left Godfrey’s room, he had kissed his father’s cheek for the final time. He had then removed Godfrey’s wedding ring from his finger for the first time since Grace had placed it there a lifetime ago. The gold was scratched and worn, the circle a little misshapen; a testament to a long and robust marriage where love was rarely voiced, but manifest every day. Bomber had handed the ring to his mother, who slipped it onto her middle finger without a word. Then he had telephoned Portia, who was now on her way there.
Grace came and sat next to Bomber and took his hand.
“Now, son, while we wait for your sister, I have something to say. You probably won’t want me to talk about this, but I’m your mother and I have to say my piece.”
Eunice had no idea what was coming, but offered to leave them in private.
“No, no, my dear. I’m sure Bomber won’t mind you hearing this, and I’d rather like you to back me up on this one if you don’t mind.”
Eunice sat back down, intrigued. Baby Jane, who was sitting on the sofa next to Bomber, crawled onto his lap, as though to lend moral support.
“Right-ho. Here goes.” Grace squeezed her son’s hand and gave it a little shake.
“Darling, I’ve always known since you were a little boy that you were never going to be the sort of chap who got married and provided me with any grandchildren. I think that, secretly, your father knew that too, but of course we never spoke about it. Now I want you to know that I don’t give a jot about any of that. I’ve always been proud to have you as my son, and as long as you’re happy and leading a decent life, well, that’s all that matters.”
Bomber’s cheeks were growing very pink, although whether it was his tears or Grace’s words that were to blame Eunice couldn’t tell. She was deeply moved by Grace’s sentiments, but fighting a fit of the giggles at her peculiarly British way of trying to say something without actually saying it.
“Last week, Jocelyn took me to the cinema. It was supposed to be a little treat, to take my mind off your father for a bit.” There was the tiniest catch in Grace’s voice, but she swallowed hard and carried on.
“We didn’t pay too much attention to what was on; just bought the tickets and some mint imperials and went and sat down.”
Baby Jane wriggled in Bomber’s lap to get comfortable. This was taking a little longer than she had expected.
“The film was Philadelphia with that nice Tom Hanks, Paul Newman’s wife, and that Spanish fellow.”
She thought carefully about her next words and finally settled upon:
“It wasn’t very cheerful.”
She paused, hoping perhaps that she had said enough, but the puzzled expression on Bomber’s face forced her to continue. She sighed.
“I just want you to promise me that you’ll be careful. If you find a ‘special friend’ or”—the thought just occurring to her—“you have one already, just promise me that you won’t get Hives.”
Eunice bit down hard on her lip, but Bomber couldn’t hold back a smile.
“It’s HIV, Ma.”
But Grace wasn’t listening. She just wanted to hear him promise.
“I couldn’t bear to lose you as well.”
Bomber promised.
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
CHAPTER 36
“It wasn’t me, I promise,” said Sunshine.
They had come into the study to put some more things onto the website, and had found Anthony’s treasured fountain pen lying in a pool of black ink in the middle of the table. It was a handsome Conway Stewart and Sunshine had admired it many times, lovingly stroking its shiny scarlet-and-black surface before reluctantly returning it to its drawer.
Laura saw the worried look on Sunshine’s serious face and gave her a reassuring hug.
“I know it wasn’t, sweetheart.”
She asked Sunshine to rinse the pen carefully under the tap and then put it back where it belonged while she cleaned up the mess on the table. When Laura returned to the study after washing her ink-stained hands, Sunshine was busy choosing more things from the shelves.
“It was the Lady of the Flowers, wasn’t it?” she asked Laura.