I could not sleep.
Not badly. Just incompletely. The kind of night where you drift in and out and the hours pass but rest does not quite arrive. Too much in the house. Too much in the air after dinner. Robert Cole in one of the guest rooms down the corridor, Helena in hers, Damien somewhere in his own thoughts.
I gave up at five thirty.
I pulled on warm clothes and went downstairs.
The kitchen was empty. I made tea and stood at the window and watched the darkness outside do its slow reluctant business of becoming morning. The grounds were shapeless at that hour. Just suggestions of trees and grass in the grey light.
I took my tea to the back door and opened it.
The garden was cold. The kind of cold that feels clean rather than uncomfortable if you are wearing enough. I stood on the s
