"You could say that," I said, smiling wryly. "You'd better come inside and we can discuss it all."
"Thanks," he said, and he followed us inside.
Five minutes later we sat around the dining table. I watched Hugo as he sipped his coffee. He seemed in no hurry to talk, but I could sense the agitation below his apparent serenity. He was worried, but seemed reluctant to initiate the conversation. Oliver decided to help him out.
"So, you're Mark and Rebecca's father. Bit of a surprise, meeting you under these circumstances. Particularly since those two are under the impression that you are - how shall we put it - dead."
"I know. A necessary evil. I don't age, and their mother and I decided it would be best for all of us if I simply disappeared. Questions were being asked. Suggestions made, that sort of thing. We wanted Rebecca and Mark to grow up free from suspicion and speculation."
"So Rebecca's mother knew?"
"It was Rose's idea."
I leaned back in my chair and searched for any hint of dissimulation in his mind. There was none. He spoke the truth. It made sense on the face of it. And it helped to explain Rebecca's mother's evasiveness regarding much of her childhood. I wondered if Rebecca would see the fabrication of her father's death as a necessity, or as further evidence of her mother's betrayal. I was not by any means an expert on family dynamics, but it struck me then that it might have been better for that particular family if this had not become such a dense and impenetrable secret. Rose's good intentions may have cost her relationship with her daughter. And possibly her relationship with Mark too.
"I believe Jack is dead," said Hugo in that deliberate way that he had.
"He is indeed," Oliver grinned unpleasantly.
"How?"
"My mother decapitated him."
"Excellent. I hope you don't think I'm prying, but who exactly is your mother?"
"Her name is Julia. Jack's sister."
"I had heard of Julia. Elizabeth too. My mother spoke of them frequently, my father less so. I am pleased that they survived him. I am even more pleased that one of his sisters was able to deprive us of the dubious privilege of his existence. I can only hope that his death was a painful one."
"I believe it was," said Oliver, frowning now. "Excuse my ignorance, but you just seemed to imply that Jack was your father."
Hugo paused then, and eyed us all contemplatively. Then, as if he'd decided somehow that we could be trusted, he spoke again.
"He was indeed. And Anne is still my mother, though hopefully not for much longer." He leaned back, awaiting a response from us.