Henry hadn’t noticed Gregory walk in, and he couldn’t answer for a moment. He just turned and looked at him, while in his mind’s eye he saw Alice, her lithe body, her spirit. ‘Do you feel nothing for her?’ he managed. Since the death of Alice, Gregory had been blinking a lot. It was surely because he missed her too, but his demeanour was not that of a bereaved man, but rather of a child who’d lost a favourite toy. Lazy, ineffectual and unbusinesslike, he was not the man Henry had hoped he would become. Henry had wanted a strong son, one who was dedicated to the family and the business. Instead, he had a boy who was spendthrift, and possibly worse. ‘She was a good maid, I suppose. You were very fond of her, weren’t you?’ His tone was pointed, his manner accusing, and Henry felt a sudden anger. ‘Don’t speak to me like that! At least I grieve for the poor girl.’ ‘Yeah, well, I suppose we all do in our own ways.
