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“You looked a bit shocked, sir,” the policeman said apologetically.
“I am shocked. I’ve known him a long time. Was it a heart attack?”
“No, sir, he fell and hit his head.”
Suddenly, Lucas’s attention was total, thoughts whirling in his mind. Hit his head? Violence, accidental or…“I’ll come. I must tell my wife.” He turned away, leaving the man on the step. Hospitality did not even enter his mind. He headed back into the kitchen. “Josephine, where are you?”
She came in from the garden at the sound of his voice. She saw his face and her expression changed. “What is it? What has happened?”
“The police. Stoney’s dead. They want me to go and identify him and…” He saw the surprise in her eyes turn immediately to grief. And then sympathy.
“I’m so sorry, Lucas. I didn’t know he was ill. At least—”
“I’m not sure that he was,” he cut across her. “He fell. The postman found him. They want me to identify him officially. And it seems he left a letter naming me as the person to be informed.”
“Of course.” She undid her pinafore and hung it up on the nearest hook, revealing the blue and white dress she was wearing beneath it.
“Do you mind coming with me?” he asked.
“Really, Lucas.” She gave him a glance he was not sure how to read, but he was extraordinarily grateful. This news had shaken him more than he would have expected.
The policeman was still waiting a little awkwardly on the step. It must be one of his most difficult duties, and at another time Lucas would have been sorry for him.
“How do you do?” Josephine said politely. “We will take our own car.”
“Ma’am, there is no—”
She fixed him with a steady stare. It was not unkind, but it froze his remark, whatever it had been.
“Yes, ma’am.”
It was not a long drive, about thirty-five minutes, but neither Lucas nor Josephine spoke, filled with memories, each concerned for the other. There would be enough to say later. They were on the edge of the city and they moved quickly in the opposite direction from most of the traffic. The trees in the small copses of wood were just beginning to turn color. The chestnuts like liquid amber deepening here and there; willows still trailed streamers of green. The wild roses in the hedges were long finished, and they showed bunches of orange hips where flowers had been.
Lucas thought of blackberries; they would be ready, but he did not say so. “Why does loss make you notice the beautiful things so much more?” he said instead.
“Because you don’t know if the dead still see them,” she replied. “I like to think they do.”
“Do you believe that, Jo?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t dare disbelieve,” she replied.
He smiled and said no more. He knew what she meant. As he grew older, life became ever more precious. He took it for granted sometimes. He lifted his hand off the steering wheel for a moment and touched hers, where it lay in her lap.
They reached Stoney’s house behind the police car. The policeman got out and led them in through the big oak front door and into the hall. It had not changed since Lucas had been there seven or eight years ago. There were the same familiar pictures on the wall; he remembered the carved newel post at the bottom of the stairs, and he recalled with a sudden clear ache how Stoney had loved its lines, and must have run his hand gently over the curves a thousand times.
A man who appeared to be the local doctor came out of a side room and the policeman introduced him. “Dr. Hardesty, thank you for waiting for us. This is Lucas Standish and Mrs. Standish.”
“How do you do?” the doctor said, nodding grimly. He was a lean, dark man with an intense face. “Sorry to have to inform you of Mr. Canning’s death. We presume it is Mr. Canning, but we need a formal identification by someone who knew him, if you would be so kind? I understand that there is no close relative to take care of his affairs.”
“Not in England anyway,” Lucas replied. “He lost most of his family in the war; the surviving ones are pretty distant, both emotionally and literally. Australia, I believe.”
“It happens,” Hardesty replied. “This way. However…” He looked at Josephine, as if to bar her way, his face showing a sudden pity.
“I was in France during the war, Doctor. I have seen at least as many dead men as you have,” she replied with a sad shake of her head.
His hand, which was stretched out to hold her back, fell to his side. “I doubt it, but of course you may, if you wish. Sometimes it helps…” He did not complete the idea.
Lucas knew that she was going in to
