His white shirt, collar and black tie were neatly pressed, his dark suit shiny, the sleeves and trouser legs too long, the shoulders too wide as if it had been tailored for a taller, broader man, and Helena wondered if he had inherited his foster-father’s suit along with his ecclesiastical duties. He was holding a worn, leather-bound prayer book. A carved wooden crucifix bookmark hung from its pages and she watched it sway in the slight breeze that was ruffling the leaves of the trees and bushes. Wiktor and an old woman, who looked so like Magda Helena knew she could only be her grandmother, stood on Josef’s right. Beside them was another younger woman, whose eyes and hair were as dark as Magda’s had been. A mousy-haired woman and four children, all of whom appeared to be of secondary school age, hung behind them. Helena presumed they were Wiktor’s wife and children. Wiktor deliberately turned away from her and Ned when they walked to the grave.
