him to function— Departures and Arrivals in airports, for example—but beyond that—
Holly remembered his mother’s lack of warmth. What had her role been in her son’s early years? Had the tension between them started decades ago? Holly knew from her teacher training that literacy problems often stemmed from emotional issues connected to early schooling experiences.
She also knew that illiterate people could still be incredibly astute and competent—and Gray was clearly intelligent and gifted. He made up poetry in his head. How many people did that? With Ted’s bookkeeping help, he managed his business very successfully.
Her soft heart ached to think that a proud and capable man like Gray could have a problem he’d felt compelled to hide, managing superbly in spite of it.
Then again, she might be overreacting—jumping to totally incorrect conclusions.
The last of the daylight was turning the paddocks to pink and mauve as they pulled up outside the homestead. Crickets and katydids were already singing their dusk chorus in the trees by the creek.
Anna and Josh, freshly bathed and in their dressing gowns and slippers, came running down the front steps to greet Holly and Gray, while Janet hurried after them like a fussy mother hen.
‘They’ve been no trouble,’ Janet assured Gray. ‘They’ve been busy in the school room for most of the day.’
‘I thought they’d be playing with their puppets,’ he said.
‘The puppets have had a good airing, but mostly they’ve been doing their homework.’
‘Homework?’ Holly frowned. ‘But I didn’t set any homework.’
‘Well, they’ve been beavering away on some kind of writing project for the puppet house.’ Janet laughed. ‘I’m definitely renaming them Shake and Speare.’
‘We’re going to have a puppet show after dinner,’ Anna explained with great excitement. ‘And there’s a part for everyone.’
Out of the deep pockets of her cherry-red dressing gown, she pulled folded sheets of paper and, glowing with pride, the little girl separated three pages for Holly, three for Janet and three for Gray.
Each sheet was covered in photocopies of her best printing.
‘You’re Hector Owl, Daddy, and I’m Timothy Mouse and Josh—’
Holly didn’t hear the rest. She was too busy watching Gray and the dawning horror in his eyes.
Her heart galloped as she looked down at the paper in her hand. Clever little Anna had written a rudimentary play script with a list of characters and lines of dialogue beside the characters’ names.
It was the sort of creative writing exercise the twins had been encouraged to try at their progressive school in Manhattan, and Holly wanted to be thrilled for them. She was thrilled, actually, but she was also very worried about Gray.
Were her suspicions about his literacy correct? Was this his personal D-Day?
Judging by the sudden paleness of his complexion and the unhappy twist of his mouth as he stared at the paper, the answer was…
Yes.
Her heart broke for him as she watched him force a crooked smile.
‘Wow,’ he said. ‘A play. Aren’t you two clever?’
‘You have to put on your growliest voice,’ Josh informed him.
‘I see.’ Gray tapped the paper and blew out his cheeks thoughtfully. ‘So have you changed much of my original story?’
‘We’ve changed lots!’ exclaimed Anna. ‘See!’ She pointed importantly to her script. ‘You can read it all here. We’ve made up a whole new story, so we can have the owl and the mouse, as well as a frog and a wombat and a pig. There are parts for everyone.’
Gray looked decidedly ill.
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