The New Moon with the Old
Part 3
A shake of his shoulder woke Tristan. Rolling onto his back, he blinked blearily at his father who held out a phone. "Geoff Saunders."
Pushing himself up on one elbow, Tristan took the phone as he peered at the clock. It was not yet nine. "Geoff?"
"Sorry to wake you — could you hold on?" Geoff asked, and Tris heard him address an agitated Jamie. "It's Tris, not Robin, sweetheart."
Now fully awake, Tristan shot a look after his father as he closed the door on his way out. "What is it?"
"You haven't heard the news then."
"No, what's happened?"
Geoff took an audible breath. "It was on the news last night and in the papers this morning. Robin's father is dead."
"Oh, my god," Tristan breathed.
"He was interviewing a Bosnian government official, and the car they were driving in exploded. They were both killed instantly."
Tristan sat on the side of the bed and fought to get his bearings. Resting his elbows on his knees, he rested his forehead in one palm and stared at the floor. His grip on the telephone was so tight he had to consciously relax his hand.
"Tris?"
"Sorry, it's quite a shock. You said it was in the papers as well?"
"On the front pages of the Times and the Mail."
Tristan heard Jamie interject something before Geoff asked, "Would you mind talking to Jamie?"
"No, of course not."
Jamie burst onto the line, his voice half an octave higher than normal. "Tris? Is Robbie there? Can I talk to him? I need to talk to him."
"Jamie, I know you do, but Robbie doesn't know about his father yet. Why don't you let me tell him, and when he's ready, I'll ask him to ring you. It may not be for a few hours, though."
"Tell him if he wants me there, I can take the afternoon train. I've already looked up the times."
Tristan smiled. As voluble as Jamie was, he did love Robin. "I'll tell him."
"Will you ring at least if Robbie's not up to it? I want to know how he is."
"I will."
"Geoff wants the phone back. Give Robbie our love."
Geoff came back on. "Tris, we'll be here, so don't hesitate to call if you need us."
"Thank you."
When he had rung off, Tris laid back on the bed. Staring up at the ceiling, he felt faintly sick. He had never met Robin's father; had hoped, in fact, to avoid it for as long as possible. The little Robin had said had instilled a dislike of the man he was not certain he could overcome. He could not picture himself being civil to someone more interested in awards and prestige than his son, especially when that son was Robin. Scrubbing his face with his hands, Tristan rose and began pulling clean clothes from the chest of drawers.
When he arrived in the kitchen, Drew was finishing the last of his coffee as Kate trimmed the stems of flowers from the arrangement had been on the dining-room table. The scene was calm and familiar, but this morning it seemed as implausible as of showering and dressing had moments before.
"Where's Robin?"
Drew gestured with his cup. "Out on the terrace. I thought I'd ask him along when I went down for the papers. He mentioned going for a walk."
"Dad, I don't want — he shouldn't see the papers."
At the quaver in his voice, Kate turned from her flowers. "Tris, what is it? Why did Geoff call?"
Tristan coughed, trying to clear his throat. "Robin's father's been killed — murdered. It was on the news last night."
Kate gasped, her scissors clattering to the floor. "Oh, Tris!" Crossing the kitchen, she wrapped her arms around him.
"Dad, how do I tell him?" he appealed to Drew over her head.
"Gently but plainly," his father counselled. "Answer his questions as best you can."
Kate looked up at the clock. "It's just a few minutes until the news. We should listen, don't you think?"
Tristan nodded as his father switched on the radio. The story led the broadcast. Award-winning British journalist killed in terrorist bombing. The reporter mentioned the other victim, the bomb's actual target, only in passing.
As the story ended, the telephone rang in the hall. Drew shook his head as Tristan took a step in that direction. "I'll answer it."
In a moment, he was back. "It was Will wanting to know what they could do. "
Tristan pushed himself away from the dresser he had slumped against. He started to speak then saw the sympathy in his parents' faces and knew he did not have to explain where he was going. The time had come.
Most of the terrace still lay in shadow, but Robin had dragged his chair into the only patch of sunshine and sat with his trainers resting on the seat of the chair opposite. The light burnished the red and gold in his hair as his head bent over the book in his lap.
He looked up at the sound of Tristan's step and smiled, his face relaxed and rested as Tristan bent to kiss him. "I wondered when you were going to get up."
Tristan looked at his watch and raised an eyebrow. "It isn't that late, darling."
"Have you eaten?" Robin asked as he slipped a marker into his book and closed it. "I've been waiting for you so we might take a walk."
Tristan held out his hand and pulled him to his feet. Keeping Robin's warm hand clasped firmly in his own, he inquired, "The orchard? The church?"
"Church, please."
The gravel crunched under their feet as they followed the walk to the front of the house and then the drive. It was cool and damp in the trees where the sun had not filtered through the heavy leaf cover. They followed the timeworn footpath up the hill back into brilliant sunlight. Robin went first, pushing aside the grass that grew tall along each side and kept their passing to single file. As he followed, Tristan listened to the quiet humming that was a certain sign of contentment and knew he would always remember the sound in the stillness of the day.
What remained of the old church was a single wall no more than waist high, but enough stones remained of the foundation to mark where the building had stood. The ground was overgrown with vines and grass both in and outside the rough-hewn pattern, returning the land to the meadow it had once been.
"It was small," Robin murmured. "Really no bigger than a chapel."
"I suppose that's one reason they built the second one. That and wanting it close by the town."
Stopping, Robin pointed to a stone, almost perfectly rectangular, its surface worn with use. "That would have been the doorsill." Looking up at the sun, he nodded. "They would have built the altar in the east, facing the sunrise."
When they returned to the remaining wall, Tristan sat down, resting his back against it. "Sit with me," he said, tugging on Robin's hand.
When Robin had settled beside him, Tristan took a deep breath. "Darling, there's something I must tell you. Geoff rang this morning —"
"Is anything wrong? Jamie?"
"Jamie's fine." Tristan paused, then plunged ahead. "It's your father, Robin. He was killed yesterday."
Robin frowned slightly before dropping his eyes to the ground. "Oh."
Tristan blinked at the lack of reaction. He waited, leaning back against the wall as Robin pulled out handfuls of grass and sifted them through his fingers.
"Robbie, talk to me," he said softly.
Not lifting his head, Robin pulled out more grass. "I don't know what to say."
"What are you feeling, then?"
Concentrating on the grass as it drifted to the ground, Robin shrugged. "Nothing."
Tristan pulled him closer and wrapped his arms around him. "I know, it's a terrible shock."
"How did Geoff know?"
"They saw it on the news last night."
A slow nod. "Oh."
"I spoke to Jamie. He'll come down if you want him here." He waited for a response. "Perhaps you could ring him later."
"Is he terribly upset?"
"He is, as is Geoff as well. They sent their love."
They sat in silence, Robin now stripping the leaves off a vine he had found to hand. Tristan watched the methodical process, wanting to say the right thing while having no idea what it was.
When he finished denuding the vine, Robin leaned against Tristan. "Could we walk for a bit?"
Standing, Tristan brushed the leaves, grass and dirt from them both. Robin took his hand, and they followed a path across the meadow and down the hillside to the brook at its base. The jump over it was hardly an effort. Leaving the path, they walked through the overgrown orchard and along the lane that had once marked the edge of someone's land. Occasionally a bird called out or they startled one into flight, but the only other sounds were their footsteps.
An hour's time found them walking up the road to the house. Robin paused at the foot of the drive, his colour high after the exertion. "Do your parents know?"
Tristan nodded, a tad out of breath after the pace they had kept up.
"Good."
Drew and Kate were waiting for them as they came through the door. Kate hugged Robin, murmuring condolences as Drew clasped his shoulder.
"Robin has some calls to make," Tristan announced when Robin began looking uncomfortable.
Drew nodded. "Use my study."
"Thank you."
At the sound of the footsteps running lightly upstairs, Kate turned to Tristan. "How is he?"
"Overwhelmed, I think. He barely said a word when I told him and hasn't asked for any details."
"Trying to wrap his mind around it," Drew commented.
"He wants to ring a friend of his father's, his solicitor apparently. Robin says he'll know what arrangements have been made." He smiled at his parents. "He's worried we'll have to go back to London today."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Putting the handset down, Robin looked at the notes he had written. 'Thursday, 11:00, St. Bride's, Fleet Street.' He stared at the words for a moment and finally added 'Lunch to follow' at the bottom of the list. Still, the list looked incomplete.
Slipping the paper into his journal, he rolled his head forward and to the sides, trying to relieve the tension in his neck. He wanted Tristan but wasn't sure he could face anyone else. He appreciated Kate and Drew's concern but found it a tad overwhelming.
A light tap on the door, then Tristan poked in his head. "Done?"
Robin nodded. "Just."
Tristan came in, closed the door and leaned against it. Robin recognised the look on his face. He was content to wait until Robin was ready to talk.
"I — I haven't rung Jamie and Geoff yet."
"There's no rush, love."
Robin picked up a letter opener and tapped it on the blotter. "The service is Thursday morning at St. Bride's. Miles is taking care of the arrangements. My father left specific instructions with him." He squinted at the emblem engraved on the end. "He was relieved I called."
Tristan sat down in the chair facing his across the desk. "He may not have known how to contact you —"
"No, Miles said he was afraid I wouldn't." He tapped the opener on the blotter again. "I don't understand that, Tris. Why wouldn't I have called?"
"He must not know you very well."
"He's known me since I was born." Dropping the opener on the desk, Robin stood up and walked to the crowded bookcase. The conversation with Miles had unsettled him, but he knew it was more what had not been said than what had.
"That doesn't mean he knows you well," Tristan maintained. "He was your father's friend, Robbie, not yours."
"Well, what would my father have said to make him think that?"
"Do you think your father was still angry with you after all this time?"
Chills ran up Robin's frame, and he knotted his hands in the hem of his jumper. The dull emptiness that had engulfed him when Tristan had told him of his father's death had not lessened. He still felt nothing but a distant sadness.
"Robin?"
"N-no, but I know he was disappointed in me." He turned to Tristan, forcing a shaky smile. "Not much I can do about that now, is there?"
Tristan was beside him in two steps. "If he were disappointed, Robin, it had nothing to do with you."
"I write children's books, Tris! Hardly befits his legacy."
"His legacy hasn't a damn thing to do with you! You have every right to write whatever you choose, and live your life however you wish. If you hadn't stood up to him, you would be well and truly miserable. And considering the time he spent being a father to you, you don't owe him more than a thank-you for paying your school fees."
Robin blinked at the vehemence of Tristan's words, but tried anyway. "He was busy —"
"No one is that busy, love." Tristan pulled Robin into his arms and dropped a kiss on his hair. "The worst thing is that he never realised what he missed in not knowing you."
"Please don't be angry with him," Robin begged quietly. "I'm not."
"I'm not. I grieve for him. He chose his career and lost a very important part of his life."
Robin leaned into him, weary beyond measure. "He loved my mother," he whispered, not certain if the words served as explanation or apology.
Tristan took his weight, rubbing his arms. "Oh darling, of course he did! But I don't want you ever thinking you did the wrong thing when you turned down his offer."
"We never would've met if I were covering a war somewhere," Robin mumbled, burrowing in as the chills grew worse.
"Not much call for advertising in the midst of an armed conflict," Tristan agreed. "Come here, love."
"Hmmm?"
Tristan settled him on the leather sofa, draping a soft rug over him. "Better?"
Robin pulled the rug closer and wedged himself in the corner. "Cold."
Tristan walked to the drinks cabinet and poured from one of the decanters. "Sip this," he said handing Robin the glass.
Robin sniffed it. Whiskey. He took a swallow and felt it burn all the way down.
"Slowly," Tristan warned, taking Robin's feet in his lap. Untying his trainers, he dropped them on the floor and then began massaging each foot in turn.
Resting his head against sofa, Robin closed his eyes. The chills had eased, and he was content to drift. A light tap on the door brought him fully awake. Tristan shifted the feet from his lap and tucked the rug over them before going to the door.
"I thought you could both do with something to eat," Kate said as Tristan took her tray. She leaned over the back of the sofa and laid the back of her hand on Robin's forehead as if she were checking for fever. "How are you, sweetheart?"
"I'm fine," Robin told her.
Kate ruffled his hair. "We'll be downstairs so if there's anything..."
"Thank you," Robin said as she walked to the door.
Taking the glass from Robin's hand, Tristan handed him a plate with a sandwich, crisps and slices of pear. He poured the last of the whiskey into one of the mugs of tea and put it on the coffee table near Robin. Taking the other plate for himself, he sat on the floor even with Robin's knees.
"Eat as much as you can."
They ate in silence, Robin with less and less interest. He managed most of the sandwich and fruit but left the crisps. A few mouthfuls of tea sufficed before he put plate and mug on the table and closed his eyes. He finally felt warmed through.
"Just rest. I'll be right here."
Robin reached out without bothering to open his eyes. The hand he knew he would find closed around his, holding tight as he fell asleep.
Part 4
Pushing himself up on one elbow, Tristan took the phone as he peered at the clock. It was not yet nine. "Geoff?"
"Sorry to wake you — could you hold on?" Geoff asked, and Tris heard him address an agitated Jamie. "It's Tris, not Robin, sweetheart."
Now fully awake, Tristan shot a look after his father as he closed the door on his way out. "What is it?"
"You haven't heard the news then."
"No, what's happened?"
Geoff took an audible breath. "It was on the news last night and in the papers this morning. Robin's father is dead."
"Oh, my god," Tristan breathed.
"He was interviewing a Bosnian government official, and the car they were driving in exploded. They were both killed instantly."
Tristan sat on the side of the bed and fought to get his bearings. Resting his elbows on his knees, he rested his forehead in one palm and stared at the floor. His grip on the telephone was so tight he had to consciously relax his hand.
"Tris?"
"Sorry, it's quite a shock. You said it was in the papers as well?"
"On the front pages of the Times and the Mail."
Tristan heard Jamie interject something before Geoff asked, "Would you mind talking to Jamie?"
"No, of course not."
Jamie burst onto the line, his voice half an octave higher than normal. "Tris? Is Robbie there? Can I talk to him? I need to talk to him."
"Jamie, I know you do, but Robbie doesn't know about his father yet. Why don't you let me tell him, and when he's ready, I'll ask him to ring you. It may not be for a few hours, though."
"Tell him if he wants me there, I can take the afternoon train. I've already looked up the times."
Tristan smiled. As voluble as Jamie was, he did love Robin. "I'll tell him."
"Will you ring at least if Robbie's not up to it? I want to know how he is."
"I will."
"Geoff wants the phone back. Give Robbie our love."
Geoff came back on. "Tris, we'll be here, so don't hesitate to call if you need us."
"Thank you."
When he had rung off, Tris laid back on the bed. Staring up at the ceiling, he felt faintly sick. He had never met Robin's father; had hoped, in fact, to avoid it for as long as possible. The little Robin had said had instilled a dislike of the man he was not certain he could overcome. He could not picture himself being civil to someone more interested in awards and prestige than his son, especially when that son was Robin. Scrubbing his face with his hands, Tristan rose and began pulling clean clothes from the chest of drawers.
When he arrived in the kitchen, Drew was finishing the last of his coffee as Kate trimmed the stems of flowers from the arrangement had been on the dining-room table. The scene was calm and familiar, but this morning it seemed as implausible as of showering and dressing had moments before.
"Where's Robin?"
Drew gestured with his cup. "Out on the terrace. I thought I'd ask him along when I went down for the papers. He mentioned going for a walk."
"Dad, I don't want — he shouldn't see the papers."
At the quaver in his voice, Kate turned from her flowers. "Tris, what is it? Why did Geoff call?"
Tristan coughed, trying to clear his throat. "Robin's father's been killed — murdered. It was on the news last night."
Kate gasped, her scissors clattering to the floor. "Oh, Tris!" Crossing the kitchen, she wrapped her arms around him.
"Dad, how do I tell him?" he appealed to Drew over her head.
"Gently but plainly," his father counselled. "Answer his questions as best you can."
Kate looked up at the clock. "It's just a few minutes until the news. We should listen, don't you think?"
Tristan nodded as his father switched on the radio. The story led the broadcast. Award-winning British journalist killed in terrorist bombing. The reporter mentioned the other victim, the bomb's actual target, only in passing.
As the story ended, the telephone rang in the hall. Drew shook his head as Tristan took a step in that direction. "I'll answer it."
In a moment, he was back. "It was Will wanting to know what they could do. "
Tristan pushed himself away from the dresser he had slumped against. He started to speak then saw the sympathy in his parents' faces and knew he did not have to explain where he was going. The time had come.
Most of the terrace still lay in shadow, but Robin had dragged his chair into the only patch of sunshine and sat with his trainers resting on the seat of the chair opposite. The light burnished the red and gold in his hair as his head bent over the book in his lap.
He looked up at the sound of Tristan's step and smiled, his face relaxed and rested as Tristan bent to kiss him. "I wondered when you were going to get up."
Tristan looked at his watch and raised an eyebrow. "It isn't that late, darling."
"Have you eaten?" Robin asked as he slipped a marker into his book and closed it. "I've been waiting for you so we might take a walk."
Tristan held out his hand and pulled him to his feet. Keeping Robin's warm hand clasped firmly in his own, he inquired, "The orchard? The church?"
"Church, please."
The gravel crunched under their feet as they followed the walk to the front of the house and then the drive. It was cool and damp in the trees where the sun had not filtered through the heavy leaf cover. They followed the timeworn footpath up the hill back into brilliant sunlight. Robin went first, pushing aside the grass that grew tall along each side and kept their passing to single file. As he followed, Tristan listened to the quiet humming that was a certain sign of contentment and knew he would always remember the sound in the stillness of the day.
What remained of the old church was a single wall no more than waist high, but enough stones remained of the foundation to mark where the building had stood. The ground was overgrown with vines and grass both in and outside the rough-hewn pattern, returning the land to the meadow it had once been.
"It was small," Robin murmured. "Really no bigger than a chapel."
"I suppose that's one reason they built the second one. That and wanting it close by the town."
Stopping, Robin pointed to a stone, almost perfectly rectangular, its surface worn with use. "That would have been the doorsill." Looking up at the sun, he nodded. "They would have built the altar in the east, facing the sunrise."
When they returned to the remaining wall, Tristan sat down, resting his back against it. "Sit with me," he said, tugging on Robin's hand.
When Robin had settled beside him, Tristan took a deep breath. "Darling, there's something I must tell you. Geoff rang this morning —"
"Is anything wrong? Jamie?"
"Jamie's fine." Tristan paused, then plunged ahead. "It's your father, Robin. He was killed yesterday."
Robin frowned slightly before dropping his eyes to the ground. "Oh."
Tristan blinked at the lack of reaction. He waited, leaning back against the wall as Robin pulled out handfuls of grass and sifted them through his fingers.
"Robbie, talk to me," he said softly.
Not lifting his head, Robin pulled out more grass. "I don't know what to say."
"What are you feeling, then?"
Concentrating on the grass as it drifted to the ground, Robin shrugged. "Nothing."
Tristan pulled him closer and wrapped his arms around him. "I know, it's a terrible shock."
"How did Geoff know?"
"They saw it on the news last night."
A slow nod. "Oh."
"I spoke to Jamie. He'll come down if you want him here." He waited for a response. "Perhaps you could ring him later."
"Is he terribly upset?"
"He is, as is Geoff as well. They sent their love."
They sat in silence, Robin now stripping the leaves off a vine he had found to hand. Tristan watched the methodical process, wanting to say the right thing while having no idea what it was.
When he finished denuding the vine, Robin leaned against Tristan. "Could we walk for a bit?"
Standing, Tristan brushed the leaves, grass and dirt from them both. Robin took his hand, and they followed a path across the meadow and down the hillside to the brook at its base. The jump over it was hardly an effort. Leaving the path, they walked through the overgrown orchard and along the lane that had once marked the edge of someone's land. Occasionally a bird called out or they startled one into flight, but the only other sounds were their footsteps.
An hour's time found them walking up the road to the house. Robin paused at the foot of the drive, his colour high after the exertion. "Do your parents know?"
Tristan nodded, a tad out of breath after the pace they had kept up.
"Good."
Drew and Kate were waiting for them as they came through the door. Kate hugged Robin, murmuring condolences as Drew clasped his shoulder.
"Robin has some calls to make," Tristan announced when Robin began looking uncomfortable.
Drew nodded. "Use my study."
"Thank you."
At the sound of the footsteps running lightly upstairs, Kate turned to Tristan. "How is he?"
"Overwhelmed, I think. He barely said a word when I told him and hasn't asked for any details."
"Trying to wrap his mind around it," Drew commented.
"He wants to ring a friend of his father's, his solicitor apparently. Robin says he'll know what arrangements have been made." He smiled at his parents. "He's worried we'll have to go back to London today."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Putting the handset down, Robin looked at the notes he had written. 'Thursday, 11:00, St. Bride's, Fleet Street.' He stared at the words for a moment and finally added 'Lunch to follow' at the bottom of the list. Still, the list looked incomplete.
Slipping the paper into his journal, he rolled his head forward and to the sides, trying to relieve the tension in his neck. He wanted Tristan but wasn't sure he could face anyone else. He appreciated Kate and Drew's concern but found it a tad overwhelming.
A light tap on the door, then Tristan poked in his head. "Done?"
Robin nodded. "Just."
Tristan came in, closed the door and leaned against it. Robin recognised the look on his face. He was content to wait until Robin was ready to talk.
"I — I haven't rung Jamie and Geoff yet."
"There's no rush, love."
Robin picked up a letter opener and tapped it on the blotter. "The service is Thursday morning at St. Bride's. Miles is taking care of the arrangements. My father left specific instructions with him." He squinted at the emblem engraved on the end. "He was relieved I called."
Tristan sat down in the chair facing his across the desk. "He may not have known how to contact you —"
"No, Miles said he was afraid I wouldn't." He tapped the opener on the blotter again. "I don't understand that, Tris. Why wouldn't I have called?"
"He must not know you very well."
"He's known me since I was born." Dropping the opener on the desk, Robin stood up and walked to the crowded bookcase. The conversation with Miles had unsettled him, but he knew it was more what had not been said than what had.
"That doesn't mean he knows you well," Tristan maintained. "He was your father's friend, Robbie, not yours."
"Well, what would my father have said to make him think that?"
"Do you think your father was still angry with you after all this time?"
Chills ran up Robin's frame, and he knotted his hands in the hem of his jumper. The dull emptiness that had engulfed him when Tristan had told him of his father's death had not lessened. He still felt nothing but a distant sadness.
"Robin?"
"N-no, but I know he was disappointed in me." He turned to Tristan, forcing a shaky smile. "Not much I can do about that now, is there?"
Tristan was beside him in two steps. "If he were disappointed, Robin, it had nothing to do with you."
"I write children's books, Tris! Hardly befits his legacy."
"His legacy hasn't a damn thing to do with you! You have every right to write whatever you choose, and live your life however you wish. If you hadn't stood up to him, you would be well and truly miserable. And considering the time he spent being a father to you, you don't owe him more than a thank-you for paying your school fees."
Robin blinked at the vehemence of Tristan's words, but tried anyway. "He was busy —"
"No one is that busy, love." Tristan pulled Robin into his arms and dropped a kiss on his hair. "The worst thing is that he never realised what he missed in not knowing you."
"Please don't be angry with him," Robin begged quietly. "I'm not."
"I'm not. I grieve for him. He chose his career and lost a very important part of his life."
Robin leaned into him, weary beyond measure. "He loved my mother," he whispered, not certain if the words served as explanation or apology.
Tristan took his weight, rubbing his arms. "Oh darling, of course he did! But I don't want you ever thinking you did the wrong thing when you turned down his offer."
"We never would've met if I were covering a war somewhere," Robin mumbled, burrowing in as the chills grew worse.
"Not much call for advertising in the midst of an armed conflict," Tristan agreed. "Come here, love."
"Hmmm?"
Tristan settled him on the leather sofa, draping a soft rug over him. "Better?"
Robin pulled the rug closer and wedged himself in the corner. "Cold."
Tristan walked to the drinks cabinet and poured from one of the decanters. "Sip this," he said handing Robin the glass.
Robin sniffed it. Whiskey. He took a swallow and felt it burn all the way down.
"Slowly," Tristan warned, taking Robin's feet in his lap. Untying his trainers, he dropped them on the floor and then began massaging each foot in turn.
Resting his head against sofa, Robin closed his eyes. The chills had eased, and he was content to drift. A light tap on the door brought him fully awake. Tristan shifted the feet from his lap and tucked the rug over them before going to the door.
"I thought you could both do with something to eat," Kate said as Tristan took her tray. She leaned over the back of the sofa and laid the back of her hand on Robin's forehead as if she were checking for fever. "How are you, sweetheart?"
"I'm fine," Robin told her.
Kate ruffled his hair. "We'll be downstairs so if there's anything..."
"Thank you," Robin said as she walked to the door.
Taking the glass from Robin's hand, Tristan handed him a plate with a sandwich, crisps and slices of pear. He poured the last of the whiskey into one of the mugs of tea and put it on the coffee table near Robin. Taking the other plate for himself, he sat on the floor even with Robin's knees.
"Eat as much as you can."
They ate in silence, Robin with less and less interest. He managed most of the sandwich and fruit but left the crisps. A few mouthfuls of tea sufficed before he put plate and mug on the table and closed his eyes. He finally felt warmed through.
"Just rest. I'll be right here."
Robin reached out without bothering to open his eyes. The hand he knew he would find closed around his, holding tight as he fell asleep.
Part 4