Part 37 (1/2)

”Really?” she said, fascinated and impressed. ”What did you have?”

”His throat.”

Epilogue.

Standing on the terrace near the bal.u.s.trade, Ian gazed out at the magnificent gardens of Montmayne, where Elizabeth and their three-year-old daughter, Caroline, were kneeling among the geraniums, examining the vivid blooms. Their heads were so close together that it was impossible to distinguish where Elizabeth's bright golden hair stopped and Caroline's began. Something Elizabeth said caused Caroline to give forth a peal of happy laughter, and Ian's eyes crinkled with a smile at the joyous sound.

Seated at a wrought-iron table behind him, his grandfather and Duncan were indulging in a game of chess. Tonight seven hundred guests would arrive to attend the ball Ian was giving to celebrate Elizabeth's birthday. The silent concentration of the chess players, was abruptly interrupted by the arrival of a six-year-old boy, who already bore a remarkable resemblance to Ian, and the boy's tutor, who looked like a man driven to the brink of despair at having to cope with a six-year-old intellect that also bore a remarkable resemblance to Ian's.

”I beg your pardon,” Mr. Twindell said, bowing apologetically to the chess players, ”but Master Jonathon and I have been engaged in a debate which I have just realized that you, Vicar, can settle. if you will be so kind?”

Dragging his gaze from the chessboard, and his mind from the victory that was almost in his grasp, Duncan smiled sympathetically at the hara.s.sed tutor. ”How may I be of a.s.sistance?” he asked, looking from the tutor to the handsome six-year-old whose attention had momentarily s.h.i.+fted to the chessboard.

”It concerns,” Mr. Twindell explained, ”the issue of heaven, Vicar. Specifically, a description of said place which I have, all morning, been attempting to convince Master Jonathon is not loaded with impossible inconsistencies.”

At that point Master Jonathon pulled his bemused gaze from the chessboard. clasped his hands behind his back, and regarded his great-uncle and his great-grandfather as if sharing a story too absurd to be believed. ”Mr. Twindell,” he explained, trying to hide his chuckle, ”thinks heaven has streets made of gold. But of course, it can't.”

”Why can't it?” said the duke in surprise. ”Because the streets would be too hot in summer for the horses' hooves,” Jon said, looking a little stricken by his great-grandfather's shortsightedness. Turning expectantly to his great-uncle, Jon said, ”Sir, do you not find the idea of metal streets in heaven a highly unlikely possibility?”

Duncan, who was recalling similar debates with Ian at a similar age, leaned back in his chair while an expression of gleeful antic.i.p.ation dawned across his face. ”Jon,” said he with eager delight, ”ask your father. He is right over there at the bal.u.s.trade.”

The little boy nodded agreeably, paused to cup his hand over the duke's ear and whisper something, then he turned I to do as bidden.