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My mum still didn’t say anything.
I could have shaken her. Falk de Villiers was right. All these stupid hints weren’t getting me anywhere.
“Then I’ll have to find out for myself,” I said. “Yes, I want to meet him.” I don’t know what had suddenly come over me, but I no longer felt like a five-year-old who wanted to run home and hide under the bed.
Gideon groaned.
“You heard what she said, Grace,” said Mr. de Villiers. “I suggest you get a taxi back to Mayfair and take a tranquilizer. We’ll take Gwyneth home when we’ve … finished with her.”
“I’m not leaving her alone,” whispered Mum.
“Caroline and Nick will soon be home from school, Mum. It’s all right for you to go. I can look after myself.”
“No, you can’t,” Mum whispered.
“I’ll come with you, Grace,” said Lady Arista in a surprisingly gentle voice. “I’ve been here for two days without a break, and my head hurts. Things have taken a really unexpected turn. But now … well, it’s out of our hands.”
“Very wise,” said Dr. White.
Mum looked as if she might burst into tears any moment. “Very well,” she said. “I’ll go. I’m trusting you to make sure that no harm comes to Gwyneth.”
“And that she will be at school on time tomorrow morning,” said Lady Arista. “She shouldn’t miss too many lessons. She’s not like Charlotte.”
I looked at her in surprise. I’d forgotten all about school.
“Where are my hat and coat?” asked Lady Arista. There was a kind of collective sigh of relief from the men in the room. You couldn’t hear it, but you could sense it.
“Mrs. Jenkins will take care of everything, Lady Arista,” said Mr. de Villiers.
“Come along, my child,” Lady Arista told Mum.
“Grace.” Falk de Villiers took her hand and raised it to his lips. “It’s been a great pleasure to see you again after so many years.”
“It hasn’t been all that long,” said Mum.
“Seventeen.”
“Six,” said Mum, sounding slightly hurt. “We saw each other at my husband’s funeral, but you’ve probably forgotten.” She looked at Mr. George. “Will you take care of her?”
“Mrs. Shepherd, I promise you that Gwyneth will be safe with us,” said Mr. George. “Trust me.”
“I don’t seem to have any other option.” Mum withdrew her hand from Mr. de Villiers’s and slung her bag over her shoulder. “Can I have a word with my daughter in private?”
“Of course,” said Falk de Villiers. “You’ll be undisturbed in the room next door.”
“I’d prefer to be outside with her,” said Mum.
Mr. de Villiers raised his eyebrows. “Afraid we’ll eavesdrop on you? Watch you through peepholes in the portraits?” He laughed.
“I need a little fresh air, that’s all,” said Mum.
* * *
THE GARDEN WASN’T open to the public at this time of day. A few tourists—you could tell they were tourists from the big cameras around their necks—watched enviously as Mum opened an ornate wrought-iron gate six feet high and bolted it again behind us.
I was captivated by all the flowers in the beds, the lush green turf, and the fragrance in the air. “This was a good idea,” I said. “I was beginning to feel like a cave salamander.” I turned my face to the sunlight longingly. It was remarkably strong for early April.
Mum sat down on a teak bench and rubbed her hand over her forehead in the same way as Lady Arista, except that it didn’t make Mum look as old as the hills. “This is a nightmare,” she said.
