The door of the old family house was opened by a man of about Peter’s own age. He had straight, dark brown hair, an open, square face and large innocent brown eyes.
“Mr. Newman is expecting you, sir,” he said in a quiet voice before Peter could speak. The man’s whole attitude was quiet and deferential but without any trace of sycophancy, and his movements had a relaxed economy and grace which Peter recognised.
“Welcome home sir,” he said, unexpectedly helping Peter to remove his coat. “Mr. Newman would like you to go straight in. I believe you know where the office is.”
Peter nodded. He certainly knew where it was. It was the only place forbidden to him when he was a child, and he had fantasized endlessly about what was in there and what his father did. He walked slowly up the wide stai
