Sampson nodded. ‘I understand.’
‘Perhaps I’m being paranoid.’
‘I don’t think so. I saw her on CCTV at the hotel where she was staying in London. The man she is with must be Wilson’s brother.’
The doctor didn’t react for a moment, then blinked and said, ‘What?’
‘The man Kate is with looked just like Stephen Wilson.’
Gaunt looked even more concerned. He pulled his computer keyboard towards him and started tapping away, concentrating on the screen.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Bringing up Wilson’s file.’
Stephen Wilson’s details, put together from his original personnel file and stored now in a password-protected computer system, appeared on the screen and the doctor started reading through it. A few moments later Gaunt swore to himself.
‘What is it?’
‘I’d forgotten Paul Wilson. What the hell is Kate Maddox doing with Wilson’s twin brother? She is up to something.’
He stood up and paced around the office. ‘She must have remembered something and come here to contact Wilson’s brother. She’s undoubtedly told him everything.’ He looked even paler than usual. ‘We have to find them immediately.’
Sampson opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, the phone on the desk rang. The doctor snatched it up. ‘Yes?’
Sampson watched as Gaunt’s eyes widened with surprise, and then a smile appeared at the edges of his mouth. ‘I’ll get someone onto it straight away.’
Sampson waited.
‘Well, speak of the devil and he, or she, shall appear. It seems we’ve found them.’
A few moments later, Sampson was on his way out, Gaunt’s final words ringing in his ears. Get up there now. And tie up these loose ends before she turns into a loose cannon.
Kate got out of the car, her legs so wobbly with desire that she could barely walk straight. She glanced down at herself and, sure enough, her nipples were rock hard and sticking out like light switches. Hopefully Mrs B wouldn’t notice. She shook herself slightly, took a deep breath, and walked up to Mrs Bainbridge’s front door again. Business first, pleasure later. The car was still parked in the drive, so hopefully she hadn’t gone out anywhere.
Kate tapped, hesitantly, thinking it less intrusive than the doorbell.
‘Mrs Bainbridge,’ she called, loudly and clearly, through the letterbox, catching sight of a flash of white shirt retreating through a door into what looked like the kitchen. ‘It’s Kate Carling here, you and Leonard knew my parents, remember? Derek and Francesca Carling? We last met when I was a little girl, you came to our house on the South Downs. Are you there? I’ve driven up from London to see you.’
Almost immediately, Kate heard footsteps from inside, and then the sound of the door being unlocked and unbolted. Mrs Bainbridge opened the door, but kept the chain on. Her face appeared in the gap, wrinkled and pale, but with the sort of bone structure indicating a once-powerful beauty. Kate recognised her only very vaguely, although thankfully Mrs Bainbridge didn’t have so much trouble with her.
‘Kate Carling! I’d know that face anywhere. You hardly look different to how you were at nine years old.’
Kate smiled, relieved. Mrs Bainbridge wasn’t a bit like the madwoman with the garden fork that Paul had described. ‘Well, I’m not sure whether that’s a compliment or not . . . How are you, Mrs Bainbridge?’
‘Call me Jean, please,’ Mrs Bainbridge said, unhooking the security chain and admitting Kate into the front room of the cottage. ‘What may I get you? Sorry if you find me a little disorganised, I had rather a shock earlier. It’s been quite a day for unexpected visitors. Anyway, would you like a drink? Tea, coffee, a cold drink? You look rather flushed.’
‘Oh – er – nothing, thanks, I’m fine, really. And I’m terribly sorry, but I think the unexpected visitor you’re probably referring to was Paul, my friend. He’s here with me. We rang the doorbell before lunch, and when there was no answer, he came round the back to see if you were in the garden. I’m so sorry he gave you a fright.’
Jean looked horrified. ‘Oh my goodness.’ She sank down into a chintzy armchair, her thin fingers raking absently along the arms of it. ‘Oh no.’
Kate sat down on the sofa next to her. ‘It’s all right, Jean, really. It’s not a problem. We just feel awful, that he scared you like that.’
Jean shook her head. ‘You don’t understand. It is a problem. I had no idea he was here with you! I suppose he was trying to tell me, but I wasn’t listening. I just assumed . . . He asked about Leonard and the CRU . . . If I’d known, I’d never have . . . Oh no.’
‘What?’ Kate asked, confused. Jean seemed to be really over-reacting, over what was merely a bit of entirely understandable fear-induced rudeness.
‘Never mind,’ she said, composing herself and sitting more upright. ‘So, my dear, it has been a very long time! What on earth brings you up here? You do know that my Leonard is no longer with us, don’t you?’ Her right hand flew to the third finger of her left, and twisted the large ruby ring around.
‘Yes. I’m so sorry, Jean. I was very sad to learn of his death. He was so good to me.’
‘He was very fond of you, Kate, and your parents. Perhaps I shouldn’t say so, but you were always his favourite, because you wanted to be a scientist just like him. You had a sister, didn’t you, what was her name?’
‘Miranda. She never wanted to be a scientist. In fact, I think she used to keep out of your way when you came to visit, because she’d get bored with me asking Leonard questions about experiments. She preferred to stay in her room playing with her dolls.’
‘And did you become a scientist in the end?’ Jean was asking these questions, politely, but under the surface she still seemed very distracted and flustered. Her eyes were darting between the telephone and the front door, as if she was expecting someone to arrive or call. Paul must really have freaked her out, thought Kate, as she answered Jean’s question with more than a hint of pride:
‘Yes. A virologist, just like Leonard. I couldn’t have done it without him, though. He organised me to go to Harvard, after the fire – you know, at the CRU.’
Jean hesitated. ‘The fire. Yes. I remember. Dreadful business.’ She patted her beautifully-coiffed silver hair. ‘Anyway, so what brings you up here? You hadn’t come to see Leonard, had you?’
Kate, who had already said that she knew Leonard was dead, was beginning to wonder if Paul might be right – if Jean was perhaps not quite all there. But she looked so together: her immaculate hair, smart clothes, and tidy house. Kate had first-hand experience of senile dementia, with poor lovely old Lil, and you couldn’t even begin to compare Lil and Jean. She decided that Jean must merely be a bit distracted at the unexpectedness of her visit.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t phone first, but I didn’t have your number, just your address. No, I knew about Leonard. But you might be able to help me. I’m after some information, really – about the fire, in fact.’
Was it Kate’s imagination, or did Jean’s hand tremble slightly?
‘The fire?’
‘Yes. It’s just that I seem to have an almost complete memory loss surrounding the events of that night, which is odd,