An Anne Perry Christmas: Two Holiday Novels by Anne Perry

Author:Anne Perry [Perry, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, General, Political, Mystery & Detective, Juvenile Fiction, Christian, Religious, Mystery Fiction, England, Women Sleuths, Family, Aristocracy (Social Class), Fiction - General, Women detectives - England - Berkshire, Berkshire, Berkshire (England), Christmas Stories, Multigenerational, American Contemporary Fiction - Individual Authors +, Suicide Victims, Country homes, Women Detectives, Grandmothers, Highlands (Scotland)
ISBN: 9780345497000
Publisher: Ballantine Books
Published: 2006-11-07T05:00:00+00:00

upper was early, and there were only the three of them at the table. Henry did not sit at the head, in Judah's place. It seemed an insensitive thing to do, not only for Antonia, but for the grave, pale-faced Joshua, who had not yet reached his tenth birthday, and was so suddenly bereft of his father.

Henry did not know him well. Last time he had been here Joshua had been only five, and spent more time in the nursery. Already he had played the piano and had been too fascinated by it to pay much attention to a middle-aged gentleman here for a week in the summer, and more interested in hill walking than music lessons.

Now he sat solemn-eyed, eating his food because he had been told to, and staring at the space on the wall opposite his seat, somewhere between the Dutch painting of cows in a quiet field, and an equally flat seascape of the Romney Marshes with light glistening on the water as if it were polished pewter.

The servants came and went with each dish, soundless and discreet.

Henry tried speaking to Joshua once or twice, and received a considered answer each time. Henry had a son, but Oliver was a grown man, one of London's most distinguished barristers, well known for his brilliance in the criminal court. Henry could hardly remember now what Oliver had been like at nine years old. He too had been intelligent, certainly, precocious in his ability to read, and as far as Henry could remember, in his taste in books. He had been inquisitive, and profoundly argumentative. He could recall that clearly enough! But that was nearly thirty years ago, and the rest was hazy.

He wanted to speak to Joshua, so as not to appear to ignore him.

“Your mother says you composed a piece of music that the violinist at the recital played,” he observed. “That is very fine.”

Joshua regarded him soberly. He was a handsome child with wide, dark eyes like Antonia's, but his father's brow and balance of head.

“It did not sound exactly how I meant it to,” he replied. “I shall have to work harder at it. I think it ends a little soon… and it's too quick.”

“I see. Well, knowing what is wrong with a thing is at least halfway toward putting it right,” Henry replied.

“Do you like music?” Joshua asked.

“Yes, very much. I can play the piano a little.” Actually, he was being quite modest. He had a certain flair for it. “But I cannot write for it.”

“What can you do?”

“Joshua!” Antonia remonstrated.

“It's quite all right,” Henry said quickly. “It is a fair question.” He turned to the boy. “I am good at mathematics, and I like to invent things.”

“You mean arithmetic?”

“Yes. And algebra and geometry.”

Joshua frowned. “Do you like it, or is it that you have to do it?”

“I like it,” Henry replied. “It makes a very beautiful kind of sense.”

“Like music?”

“Yes, very much.”

“I see.”

And then the conversation rested, apparently to Joshua's satisfaction.

After a postprandial

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