“Anyone home?” Charlotte asked loudly, shutting the front door behind her.
“We’re in the study...”
We – Charlotte was first confused then intrigued, half suspecting – or was it half-hoping – it might be Anderson. The study was awash with boxes and books; books in boxes, books in waist-high piles, books strewn across her father’s desk. Anderson and her mother were on their knees searching through a box each, discarded books seemingly being added to any random pile.
“I assume you’re looking for something?” Charlotte said flippantly.
“I never realised your father had so many books,” responded Jessica, struggling to her feet. “We’ve emptied the garage and the loft; there are just hundreds of them, certainly enough for our own library.”
“I’ll ask again,” Charlotte said. “What exactly are you looking for? And, Mike, why aren’t you photographing the Avon Gorge or something a little further west than Dad’s study?”
It was Jessica who answered first, “We’re looking to see if your father’s liking for four-hundred page narratives on terrorism was purely a one-off and so far there’s nothing even close. They really needed sorting out anyway and it’s nice to have a helper. Now you’re here, Charlotte, make yourself useful; my knees are getting too old for such work.”
Charlotte kicked off her shoes and knelt down beside Anderson, “I’m guessing this is Mike’s idea?”
Again Jessica answered for Anderson, “I’m encouraging Michael to continue his interest in Mr McDowell, so please don’t give him a hard time. And I must admit I’m quite intrigued by the mysterious Yuri and Lara.”
“As are we all”, said Charlotte. “Or at least until we discover McDowell’s trying to widen Erdenheim’s appeal by offering language courses.”
“There’s always a cynic,” Jessica said unabashed. “Apparently, Michael’s been upsetting important people, and not just you.”
Charlotte ignored the jibe, “Are we talking about Erdenheim? How did it go? Or is Mike not actually allowed to speak for himself?”
“Pat McDowell was the perfect host,” said Anderson, pleased to finally get a word in. “And there was nothing suspicious that I could see. It’s not clear who I’ve upset but it’s another incentive to stick around.”
“And how long might that be for?”
“A few more days,” said Anderson, trying not to smile. “A week maybe.”
Jessica again jumped in. “Charlotte, don’t forget I’m off to Dublin on Saturday, then a few days with your Uncle John; back on the 26th. I told Michael he could stay here – as a sort of house-sitter – rather than some cramped room at the Farriers, but he politely declined. Perhaps you could sort something better out for him, dear; not tonight, of course, but maybe tomorrow or at least before the weekend?”
Charlotte ignored Anderson’s hint of a smirk and gave her mother a daughterly-glare, “Of course, Mum; just leave it with me.”