Chapter 30
Claudia stared at her phone in shock and disbelief. “Shit!” she yelled in frustration. “Shit! Shit! Shit!”
What the hell had happened? She’d told no one about the results from the previous Sunday night and she was convinced neither Sally nor Ced would have said anything. As for the prof, he had been adamant that they keep it to themselves; he had been the first to realise the implications for John Andrews. He wouldn’t go back on his word now. Would he?
They had all agreed they needed time to absorb the implications of the findings. The prof wanted to pore over the data line by line, check all the procedures, reassess everything manually. Claudia and Sally had taken printouts of the data home with them to do the same. Claudia looked at the large pile of papers by the bed. She’d scrutinised them for hour upon hour but had found nothing wrong.
Ced had wanted to run a huge set of comparisons of John Andrews’ work against as many fine art images from the fifteenth century onwards as he could lay his hands on. He wanted to find out how many artists through the centuries fell into the ‘John Andrews group’. But it would take time; he certainly wouldn’t have finished yet. They’d all agreed to contact each other once they’d finished and then discuss the way forward.
She shook her head in disbelief. How could Andrews have been kidnapped?
She looked at the phone still in her hand and decided she had to call Sal. She checked the time. Midnight. She hit the first number of the speed dial and then remembered. It was Saturday night and both Sally and Ced had a mini-triathlon early Sunday morning in the depths of Cheshire. They would have been in bed hours ago. She couldn’t possibly disturb them, especially since Ced had been moaning about his training having gone down the tubes along with the professor’s whisky.
Who was the woman? She’d sounded American and she’d been as aggressive as a cop from some detective series.
She went to the bathroom and splashed water onto her face. She stared into the mirror. Had all this happened because she’d bent the rules and tracked down John Andrews? Was she to blame if he’d now been kidnapped? Were they going to tell the police about what she’d done? She had to get up to the Lakes as fast as possible.
She threw on some jeans, a T-shirt and a thin cotton jacket, pulled a brush through her hair, grabbed her keys, purse and mobile phone and ran out to her car.
Lola was dozing fitfully in the armchair when she saw the car headlights. She looked over at the clock: three fifteen. If that was the Reid girl, she’d made good time.
She opened the front door to the cottage. The outside light had come on, bathing Claudia’s car in a fierce white light as it drew up near to where Lily had left her rental. Lola watched her get out and recognised the small, slightly built young woman from when she had seen her in the gallery a few weeks before. She seemed flustered as she juggled with her things, dropping her purse as her fingers sought out the key fob to lock the door.
“There’s no need to lock it; it’s pretty quiet around here,” called Lola quietly, not having to raise her voice in the silence of the night.
“Oh, OK,” said Claudia, picking up her purse. She walked over to where Lola was standing.
“I’m Claudia Reid,” she said, her eyes wary as she tried to see Lola’s face in the glare of the light shining straight at her.
“We’ve met,” replied Lola, an edge to her voice.
“Yes,” said Claudia, with a weak smile, “at the gallery. You came in with your children.”
“You’d better come in,” said Lola, turning and walking into the house. She headed for the kitchen. “You made good time. Would you like some coffee? I’m making some for myself.”
“Thanks, I’d love some. The motorways were quiet and your directions were perfect. I was worried I’d get lost on all these dark roads, but I found you straight away.”
Lola nodded as she spooned the coffee into the plunger pot. Spilling some of the ground coffee, she angrily grabbed a cloth to wipe it up. She wanted to shout at this naïve-looking young woman, scream at her, ask her what the hell she thought she was doing. She grasped the counter top with both hands, trying to calm down.
“Can I help?” asked Claudia.
“No!” snapped Lola. “I’m perfectly capable of making coffee.”
Claudia took a step back.
“Is there … is there any news? About your husband?”
“No, nothing.”
Claudia heard a movement behind her and turned to see a yawning Lily coming through the door from the living room.
“You must be Dr Reid,” said Lily, rubbing her eyes. “I’m Lily Saunders. We spoke on the phone.”
“Hello,” said Claudia, hesitantly holding out her hand. “Please call me ... Claudia.” The last word was almost lost as she noticed Lily’s eyes.
Lily saw the question on Claudia’s face but said nothing. She turned to Lola. “Is there enough in the pot for me, Lola?”
“Plenty,” said Lola, still trying to control her emotions.
Sensitive to Lola’s mood, Lily took three mugs from a rack and placed them on a tray. “Do you take milk? Sugar?” she asked Claudia.
“No, neither, thanks,” replied Claudia almost inaudibly.
Lily put the coffee pot on the tray and picked it up. “OK, let’s go through,” she said with a nod towards the living room door.
They sat – Lily and Lola on the long sofa, Claudia in the armchair. Claudia took her coffee and sipped at it, feeling the instant buzz of the caffeine.
“OK, Claudia,” said Lily, sitting back and taking charge, “time to spill the beans. What’s going on?”
Claudia took a deep breath. “I told you on the phone that I know nothing about any kidnapping. I’ve been racking my brains all the way up here trying to make sense of it. Honestly, it was a total shock.”
“It may have been,” said Lily evenly, “but it’s too much of a coincidence that soon after you came up here asking about DNA samples, someone else turned up claiming to be a forgery expert–”
“Ced,” interrupted Claudia.
“What?”
“Ced. Cedric Fisher. He’s called Ced.”
“You know him?”
“Yes, I do.”
“I thought so. Right, Dr Claudia Reid, senior biochemist, from the beginning, please.”
Claudia looked cautiously at the two women. Lola’s face was dark and brooding, her eyes staring piercingly at her; Lily was serious, business-like.
She began by telling them about her results and how strange they were. She tried to explain about DNA profiling, about junk DNA and her research, but it came out rather garbled – the intensity of their stares was making her nervous.
“So let me get this clear, Claudia,” said Lily. “You’re saying that when you got these results, they were so strange that you felt you couldn’t ignore them. You had to follow them up.”
“That’s right.”
“So why didn’t you go through formal channels? Why did you resort to seeking out John yourself? Were you worried that someone else would steal the limelight? That this ‘discovery’ of yours would be claimed by one of your colleagues?”
“No, that’s not it at all,” replied Claudia indignantly. “Well, not really. It’s simply that there are no formal channels; these findings are unprecedented. But I was concerned that even with these results, my research interests wouldn’t be taken seriously so I decided to make my own enquiries while I conducted some more tests. The problem was that the personal information was totally confidential. It’s a very sensitive matter. I couldn’t just press a key on the computer and look up the name and address.”
“So you broke all the rules by finding out where it came from.”
“I knew that it was from Cumbria, because that information is in the ledger, as was the name of the submitting police officer.”
“So you called him up and he told you John’s name?” said Lola incredulously, her eyes flashing. “So much for confident
iality!”
“No, it wasn’t like that. Sally recognised his name.”
“Sally?” asked Lily.
“She’s a friend, also a biochemist, who works in a forensic lab; a different one from mine. She’s Ced’s girlfriend.”
“This gets cosier and cosier,” said Lola sarcastically.
Claudia paused to glance at her and then continued. “She knew the police officer, PC Roberts. She’d, well–”
“Roberts?” frowned Lily, turning to Lola. “Wasn’t that the name of the Romeo we met earlier? The one who was undressing us with his eyes?”
“That sounds like him,” said Claudia.
“So your friend Sally put in a good word for you and he told you what you wanted to know,” said Lola. “Well, his days with the police are numbered.”
“No, he didn’t tell me. Sally called him – she was worried he’d arrest me, report me, that I’d lose my job.”
“I’d still be worried if I were you,” growled Lola.
Claudia recoiled slightly, the remark striking home.
“Sally persuaded him that I was well-intentioned and he agreed to give me a hard time and send me packing. But something I said about DNA and research set him thinking. He’s got a son with a genetic abnormality, apparently. He still didn’t give me the name, but he told me enough for me to narrow it down to your husband.”
“But he wasn’t interested,” said Lily.
“No, definitely not. He gave me a hard time too. Threatened to report me, but then said he was willing to forget it if I stopped there and went no further. He was about to boot me out of the gallery when you turned up.” She looked at Lola. “That’s when I bought the painting.”
“Why did you do that?” said Lola.
“No reason other than I loved it. I don’t know anything about art but I could see that it was very special. I’d never seen anything like it. I couldn’t really afford it but I bought it anyway.”
“And you snapped away at others in the gallery,” said Lola accusingly.
“Yes, I did. I don’t really know why. I wouldn’t normally do that sort of thing. But I was so impressed by the paintings, and I was fairly overwrought – it had been a tense day with a shredding by PC Roberts and then one by your husband. I just did it. It was for positive reasons. I thought Ced would be interested.”
“Sounds like you and this Ced person have quite a thing going,” muttered Lola.
“What? No, not at all. He’s Sally’s boyfriend; they’re crazy about each other. I love him dearly, but not like that. Sally’s my best and oldest friend.”
“OK,” smiled Lola thinly, “you’ve convinced me. What did your Ced think of the painting?”
“He loved it. Borrowed it immediately to get a set of hi-res images for his program.”
“Program?”
“He’s a forensic art expert. He’s brilliant. He’s written a program that analyses paintings and compares them with artists. It’s incredible.”
“He’s the one who turned up later at the gallery and spoke to John?” said Lola.
“Yes. But that was after I saw John’s face in a painting.”
“What?”
“Well, when Ced saw the painting I’d bought, he explained to me all about the technique, how like the old masters it was. He thought it was quite exceptional. He dug out this book to show me with a lot of paintings by a Renaissance artist, um, Piero della Francesca, and in one of them, it’s called ‘The Awakening’, I saw that one of the faces of the figures in it looked exactly like your husband’s.”
“And what did your friend Ced think of that?” asked Lily.
“He wanted to see John for himself. He was astounded by the likeness. So he came up here, to the gallery. That’s where he saw the other paintings.”
“What other paintings?” said Lola.
“The landscapes, the ones in the window. He said they reminded him of another artist’s work. So he talked to your husband about technique. You see, Ced’s field is art forgery, he–”
“He thinks John is a forger?” yelled Lola.
Claudia began to feel that everything she said was digging a bigger hole.
“He wanted to make hi-res images of his other paintings, to test his program, because John’s technique was so like the old masters. But John wouldn’t let him; he got quite angry. He wouldn’t even sell him a painting.”
“I remember,” said Lola. “I was cross with John.”
She snapped her fingers as something fell into place. “But Ced did get hold of it, didn’t he? And some others. That young woman who bought the portrait of Phoebe along with the landscape and the sunset, she was Sally. This Ced Fisher person sent her here to buy them. Am I right?”
Claudia nodded.
“Why? Why was he so keen to buy them?”
“He’d used his program to compare my painting with the pictures I took of the landscapes, and with the other artist whose works he thought they were similar to, and he couldn’t tell them apart. His program couldn’t distinguish John’s work from this other artist.”
“Who was…?” asked Lola, although she knew the answer.
“Er, Moretti, Francesco Moretti?”
Lola nodded in understanding. “And then?” she said.
“Well, then he found some other paintings by other artists that he also couldn’t tell apart from your husband’s work.”
“Other artists?”
“Yes, he was in the middle of a forgery case in his lab, and because he was getting strange results with the Moretti, he put the images of the genuine paintings he was using as controls from the case into the comparison routine. More to test it than anything. And he found another he couldn’t distinguish.”
“Strange,” said Lola rather dismissively.
“Yes,” replied Claudia, “and since then he’s found some more. It’s been very upsetting.”
“Upsetting! Poor thing! My husband’s been kidnapped and your Ced is upset because his bloody program doesn’t work. Perhaps his program’s no good.”
“No,” said Claudia quietly, “his program’s fine.”
“Then explain it,” snapped Lola.
“I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t,” said Lily quietly.
“What do you mean?” said Claudia, unable to keep the guilt out of her face.
“Claudia; your emotions are written all over your face. And what I’m reading right now is that you are not telling us everything.”
“I have!” protested Claudia. “I’ve been very honest with you.”
“So far, perhaps, but there’s more, isn’t there? More than just you got inquisitive over a result and you broke the law to track down the reluctant donor of the sample that gave the result, and more than that your best friend’s boyfriend’s written a computer program that should be good but is now baffling him. None of that leads us further down the road to discover what’s happened to John, why he’s been kidnapped. There’s still a huge gap in the middle of this story. Tell us what else has happened, Claudia. You’re a scientist who wanted to know all about John’s DNA. What have you found out?”
Claudia’s shoulders sagged.
“There have been some more tests done, on another sample of John’s DNA,” she said meekly.
“Where did you get that from?” demanded Lola angrily.
“From an envelope.”
“You stole John’s mail?”
“No! He gave me a sealed envelope with the description of the painting I bought. He licked the flap to seal it. I’d used all the original sample from the police in the profiling. Then I remembered the envelope.”
“And what did your new tests tell you?”
Claudia paused. “Look, I … I promised I wouldn’t tell.”
“For God’s sake!” yelled Lola. “My husband’s been kidnapped, his life might be in danger and you may be responsible, directly or indirectly. And you’re telling us that there’s something you’ve found out that you don’t want to
tell us? This is serious, Dr Reid! So either you tell us or I get on the phone right now to the police and tell them about you. I’ve no doubt they will be able to get the truth out of you soon enough, before they send you off to prison for breach of the Official Secrets Act, or whatever law protects your database!”
Lily saw the tremor on Claudia’s lower lip. She leaned forward and laid a hand on her arm.
“Claudia, you’ve come a long way in a hurry tonight because you’re worried about John and because you think you might be responsible in some way for what’s happened to him. You’ve been very forthcoming so far with your account. There are no secrets now, Claudia. You have to finish it off.”
Claudia retrieved a tissue from her jeans pocket, wiped her eyes and blew her nose.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s all so difficult and confusing.” She turned to Lola.
“Lola, how much do you know about your husband?”
“Whatever do you mean?” frowned Lola.
“I mean, where he comes from, what his background is.”
“That’s none of your business,” said Lola defensively.
“It’s just that … well … let me put it this way. I took the DNA sample from the envelope to my old professor in London. He’s an expert in immune systems, in the genetics of immunity. I told him about what I’d found. He was initially very reluctant to carry out any tests. He has to be very careful over privacy and permissions. He realised that I’d … bent the rules,” – Lola shifted on the sofa and gave a snort – “but finally he agreed to do one screening test. I mean, it was a bit of a shot in the dark whether the unusual structures in John’s DNA would have any connection to immunity. We agreed that if there was anything, we’d have to go to John to explain things and try to get some more sample. In the interests of genetics research.”
“I can imagine what John’s answer would have been if you’d tried that,” said Lola.
“Exactly what I said,” agreed Claudia. “Well, the results were very interesting. It was a screen to indicate enhanced or reduced immunity to ten different diseases. John’s DNA showed total immunity for all ten. I mean total. Off the scale. For that to happen for one of the conditions is almost unprecedented; for ten, it’s unimaginable.”
“So I’ll bet your professor got all excited with that and wanted to do more,” said Lola, unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
“Um, yes,” nodded Claudia, chewing her lip.
“I really feel as if I’m betraying a confidence here,” she added, but noticing the cold glare on Lola’s face, she continued.
“Well, you realise, even from that one test, what it might mean,” she said, but neither Lily nor Lola said anything or showed any change of expression.
“It means,” she continued, “that John must be remarkably healthy. Is that correct, Lola, that he’s never ill? Has he, in fact, ever been ill?”
Lola stared at her for what seemed like an age. “Never,” she replied at last.
Claudia nodded. “That’s what I thought.”
“So the professor threw caution and the law to the wind and conducted more tests. Is that right?” said Lily.
“Y-Yes,” said Claudia reluctantly, “you could put it like that. There was enough material to carry out three more tests.”
“And?”
“Well, that’s why I asked you, Lola, about John’s background, how much you really know about him.”
Lola’s face was now set, showing no hint of what she was thinking.
“The thing is, the results indicated something really crazy, I mean, unbelievable. Something so bizarre that you’ll think I’m nuts to even voice it.”
She took a deep breath. “You see, the results show that John’s immune system is perfect. Absolute. This means that he would never, ever be ill. He can’t catch any disease. But it means more than that. It means the cells in his body remain in pristine condition; they never mutate or deteriorate. I mean, they get replaced like everyone’s, but the replacements are always perfect, never changing. The most profound outcome of this is to do with ageing. John won’t age. He will stay young.”
She stopped. She had expected them to be surprised, but all she could see were guarded frowns on their faces.
Claudia closed her eyes and sat back in her chair. She shook her head slowly in realisation. “Oh my God!” she said, her voice scarcely more than a whisper, “You know, don’t you? You know John’s secret!”
She felt the tension drain away. “This means we are correct in our interpretation. Our conclusions are right, aren’t they? John really is hundreds of years old!”
Lola finally reacted. She leaned forward and reached out to take Claudia’s hand. “Yes, your conclusions are correct. What I, we, really need to know is how many people you have told. Who knows about this, Claudia?”
“Only the four of us. The prof, Sally, Ced and me. No one else. We agreed absolutely that we should tell no one. There are a couple of other people, art experts, who know about Ced’s problems with his program. But they have no inkling of why it’s giving the unaccountable results for certain artists – that John is, in fact, all these other artists.”
“You worked that out, then,” said Lola.
“It’s the only plausible explanation. Ced’s program proved to be truly brilliant after all. It was just that the only explanation for the results was so far off the wall that none of us even considered it.”
Her eyes were sparkling now, the enthusiasm of having their conclusions confirmed temporarily eclipsing thoughts of John’s kidnapping. She turned her attention from Lola to Lily, realising that Lily had said nothing. She saw a far away look in her eyes. Those eyes. Suddenly everything clarified in her mind.
“Lily?” she said hesitantly.
Lily smiled gently at her, seeing in her eyes that she understood.
“Lily, who exactly are you? You didn’t really introduce yourself, apart from your name.”
“Who do you think I am?” said Lily, the smile becoming enigmatic.
“It’s the eyes. I think so, anyway,” said Claudia, now a little flustered. “You’re like John, aren’t you? You’re a relative.”
“Yes,” laughed Lily, “I’m a relative. But which relative, Claudia? Can you guess?”
“Well, um, you’re Asian. No, not completely. Part Asian. Yes. John doesn’t appear to be Asian in any way, so you could be his daughter if your mother was Asian.”
Lily nodded and then laughed. “Or maybe John has lost his Asian looks through several generations. Perhaps I’m his grandmother, or great grandmother!”
Claudia looked stunned. “Really? Yes, I suppose–”
Lily clapped her hands together, still laughing. “Claudia, it’s not too difficult to throw you into confusion is it? You were right first time. I’m John’s daughter.”
“Then how ol–?”
“How old am I? I shan’t ask you to guess this one; it’s too difficult. I was born in Hong Kong in 1885. I am like John – who, of course, wasn’t John then – in that I am never sick. Your explanation about immune systems, although rather beyond my nonscientific mind, answers many questions.”
Claudia gazed at her in wonder. “I don’t know what to say. Yes, I do! What about John? How old is he?”
“How’s your maths?” said Lola. “Oh, of course, you’re a scientist.”
“Actually my maths is rubbish; I can’t do anything without a calculator,” said Claudia.
“Try this one. 1427.”
Claudia stared at her as she worked it out. Her eyes widened. “Piero della Francesca?” she asked.
“Mentor and close friend.”
“Wow!” gasped Claudia. “Ced will be so thrilled. The first thing he said was that John could have known Piero.”
“Lola?” she continued. “Your daughter, the one Sal bought a painting of. Her eyes. Is she…?”
“John thinks so,” nodded Lola. “She’s never had a day’s illness in her life. And believe me,
I’ve given her every opportunity: measles parties, mumps exposure. Sophie’s had the lot, but Phoebe – nothing. Not a sniffle, except when she bawls, which she can be very good at.”
She paused. “Claudia, I know this is all a bit gobsmacking; it has been for me, too. Lily and I only met yesterday afternoon and John has no idea she’s even here. But we really have got to concentrate on what might have happened to John.”
“John doesn’t know you’re here?”
“No,” said Lily. “It’s a long story, Claudia, one we must leave until later. I last saw my father in 1905, when I was twenty years old.”
“Oh my God!”
“Yes, which is why I’m so anxious to get to the bottom of this and find him. As is Lola.”
“Yes, of course, but I–”
“Claudia,” said Lola matter-of-factly, “I’m now perfectly willing to accept that you know nothing about any kidnapping so there’s no need to continue being defensive. What we’ve got to do is work out why John might have been kidnapped.”
“What we need to know,” added Lily, “is what could be gained by kidnapping him. What would the discovery of my father’s DNA, and mine, mean in terms of genetic research, genetic engineering? Although I don’t really understand what that term means.”
Claudia leaned forward to explain. “Working out how your DNA gives you your perfect immune system could have unbelievably profound implications for all sorts of medical research. It could provide a way of treating many diseases, not necessarily with a view to giving people eternal youth or extended lives, although inevitably you’d expect that people would live longer, but–”
She broke off and gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.
“Oh my God, do you think that someone has found out about John and kidnapped him to be some sort of guinea pig, someone they can study further?”
“I think we have to assume that, Claudia.”
Claudia shook her head.
“But there’s no need to do that! All they would need is a larger sample from John. Some more blood would be ideal. But not much – a hundred millilitres would be more than enough for endless research.”
Lily smiled. “You’re thinking like an honest scientist. But don’t you see, every researcher in this field in the world would want to get his hands on John’s blood, and mine, come to think of it, if they knew about me. The outcome of the sort of research you mentioned would be worth untold millions to whoever got there first – drug companies for instance, not a few of whom are more than willing to resort to underhand practices to improve their profit line. Worse, there could be rich individuals who want to keep the knowledge to themselves. Think of the power they could wield.”
“You mean they’d be thinking of it as a sort of elixir of eternal youth?” said Claudia. “Yes, that would be worth a lot, although you can’t just change someone’s DNA. You’re making it sound like some sort of James Bond movie, with an evil baddie trying to become immortal and rule the world forever.”
“A bit melodramatic, put like that,” said Lily, “but yes, it’s possible.”
“So,” said Lola, “if we assume for a moment that someone has found out about your results, who could that be and how have they found out?”
Claudia frowned. “As I said earlier, there’s just the four of us. I know that I haven’t told a soul, and I’m convinced that neither Sally nor Ced would either. But equally, I’m also convinced that the prof wouldn’t. I mean, he’s a bit eccentric, but he’s totally honest.”
“Tell me about where he works. What’s the security like?” said Lola.
Claudia thought about it. “The security is very tight indeed. Actually, it’s a slightly odd set-up. It’s affiliated to Kings, but that’s only for the secondment of research students. The lab is privately funded, I’m not sure by whom, and it operates quite independently of the college. But the prof is happy because he’s free to devote himself to his research full-time.”
“But presumably he’s accountable to someone,” said Lola. “He must have to deliver something.”
“Yes, of course,” replied Claudia, “but there are breakthroughs all the time in his field. Most of them are minor in the scheme of things, but they would be enough to keep his sponsors happy.”
“I think it could be worthwhile speaking with your professor, don’t you?” said Lily. “He might have got overexcited and talked to someone; someone who has bigger and grander ideas.”
Claudia shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible. But I know Frank Young; I really don’t think he would be involved in anything criminal.”
“Maybe not intentionally, but brilliant academics can sometimes be a tad naïve when it comes to dealing with the real world,” added Lola, looking pointedly at Claudia.
Claudia blushed.
“So what’s our plan of action?” asked Lily. “It’s four fifteen in the morning now and I think we all have to get some rest, especially if we’ve got a lot of driving to do. Will your professor be beavering away later on today? It is Sunday.”
“He’s probably in the lab now – he often works late and stays overnight,” said Claudia. “I’m pretty sure he’ll be there – I’ll check first thing in the morning.”
“Then I suggest we drive down to London and pay him a visit. What do you think, Lola?”
Lola was unsure. “I’m supposed to be seeing the police. And there’s also the possibility that John will call, either the gallery or here. And then there are the girls. I don’t know what to do.”
“I suggest you sleep on it, but it sounds like it would be better if you stayed here. We can keep in touch by phone,” said Lily. “One thing occurs to me, Claudia. Has the professor ever seen Papa?”
“Papa? Oh, sorry, I forgot. No, I don’t think he has.”
“In that case, he won’t make any connection between Papa and me, from the eyes, I mean. I’d rather keep him in the dark over that one; the fewer people who know, the better.”
“Yes, I agree,” said Claudia. “Although it might be better if you didn’t meet him for the moment. We’d have to explain why you’d suddenly been brought into the loop, and if by some remote chance he is involved in John’s kidnapping, that could be very dangerous for you. But there’s no reason why you shouldn’t come. After all, we’re trying to find out where John might be and if we do I’m sure you’ll want to be involved with trying to rescue him.”
“Damn right I will. What about your friends, Ced and Sally. Do you think they should be in on the visit? Where do they live?”
“They live in Knutsford. It’s on the way, not far off the M6. And yes, I think they must be involved. But one problem is that they’re taking part in a mini-triathlon first thing in the morning.”
“What time will they be finished?”
“It’s summer, so it’ll start early. I should think it’ll be over by 10.30 or 11. They should be home by 11.30. I’ll call them before they start to make sure they are.”
“OK,” said Lola, standing up and stretching. “I’m dead beat, as I’m sure you both are. I’ll sort out the beds for you. Lily, I suggest you sleep in the girls’ room, but be prepared to be bounced on when they come charging back in the morning. Claudia, I’ll put you in the guest room.”
As Lily walked to the door to get one of her bags from the car, Lola put a hand on her arm.
“Lily,” she said. “He will be all right, won’t he?”
Lily put an arm round her.
“He’ll be fine, Lola. Don’t worry; we’ll have him back in no time. He and I have a lot of catching up to do.”
She tried to sound calm and reassuring, but after the conversation with Claudia, she felt sick with worry.