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“That’s not true!” protested Lady Arista. “Lucy would never have done such a thing. It was Paul who took advantage of her youthful naivety and led her astray.”
“Naivety! You must be joking!” snapped Dr. White.
Falk de Villiers raised his hand. “We’ve had this discussion often enough already, and it never gets us anywhere. I think we all know one another’s views.” He looked at the time. “Gideon will be back any moment now, and before that we ought to decide what to do next. Charlotte, how are you feeling?”
“I still have a headache,” said Charlotte, without looking up from the floor.
“There, you see?” Aunt Glenda gave a venomous smile.
“I have a headache too,” said Mum. “But that doesn’t mean I’m about to start traveling in time.”
“You’re … you’re just so horrible!” said Aunt Glenda.
“I think we should simply assume that Mrs. Shepherd and Gwyneth are telling the truth,” said Mr. George, mopping his bald patch with a handkerchief. “Otherwise we’ll be losing yet more valuable time.”
“You can’t be serious, Thomas!” Dr. White struck the mantelpiece with his fist so hard that the silver cup standing on it fell over.
Mr. George jumped, but he went on calmly. “According to what they say, the last time Gwyneth traveled back in time was an hour and a half to two hours ago. We could prepare her for her next journey and record it as closely as possible.”
“My own opinion exactly,” said Falk de Villiers. “Any objections?”
“I might as well be talking to a brick wall,” said Dr. White.
“How true,” Aunt Glenda agreed.
“I’d suggest the documents room,” said Mr. George. “Gwyneth would be safe there, and then on her return, we could read her straight into the chronograph.”
astonishment, Mum blushed. “Thanks. I could say the same of you, Falk.”
“I’ve gone gray.” The man made a dismissive gesture.
“I’d say it suits you,” said Mum.
Hello? Was she by any chance flirting with this guy?
His smile broadened a little and then his amber gaze moved from Mum to me. Once again, I felt I was being inspected uncomfortably closely.
Those eyes were really strange. They could have been the eyes of a wolf, or one of the big cats. He held out his hand. “I’m Falk de Villiers. And you must be Grace’s daughter Gwyneth.” His handshake was firm and warm. “The first Montrose girl I’ve ever known not to have red hair.”
“I get my hair from my father,” I said shyly.
“Could we perhaps come to the point?” asked the man in black by the mantelpiece.
Mr. de Villiers let go of my hand and looked at me with a twinkle in his eyes. “Go ahead.”
“My sister’s come up with an absolutely monstrous story,” said Aunt Glenda. You could tell what an effort it cost her not to shout. “And Mr. George wouldn’t listen to me! She claims that Gwyneth—Gwyneth!—has already traveled back in time. And not just once, three times already. Of course, as she knows perfectly well, she can’t prove it, so she’s thought up another fairy tale to explain the fact that the girl’s date of birth is wrong. I’d like to remind you what happened seventeen years ago. Grace did not play a very admirable part in those events. Now that we’re so close to success, I’m not surprised to see her turning up here to sabotage our plans.”
Leaving her place by the window, Lady Arista had come closer. “Is this true, Grace?” Her expression, as always, was stern and unyielding. Sometimes I wondered whether her hair, combed back so severely from her face, was the reason her features were so rigid. Maybe the muscles were simply held in one place and stuck there. At the very most, a slight widening of her eyes showed when she was upset. Like now.
“Mrs. Shepherd says she and her husband paid the midwife to enter the wrong date on the birth certificate,” Mr. George interjected. “So that no one would find out that Gwyneth was a potential gene carrier.”
“But why would she have done such a thing?” asked Lady Arista.
“She says she wanted to protect the child, and anyway she hoped that Charlotte had inherited the gene.”
“Hoped! You must be joking!” cried Aunt Glenda.
“I think it sounds perfectly logical,” said Mr. George.
