Pandora's Helix

Nine

Frank MacSween called Neef just after eleven and said that he was carrying out the post mortem on Jane Lees. “Thought you might like to attend?”

“I didn’t think you’d be doing it till Monday,” said Neef.

“The Public Health people are anxious to have the report. I said I’d do it today.”

“I’ll come down,” said Neef.

Neef was just about to leave the unit when Kate Morse arrived. She was in uniform.

“You shouldn’t be here,” said Neef.

“I wasn’t doing much good up at Uni College,” said Kate. “They said they’d call me if there was any change in Charlie’s condition. I just don’t understand it. He’s not been responding to treatment at all. I know it’s ridiculous but I keep thinking about Jane Lees. She was admitted as a pneumonia and didn’t respond to antibiotics and the other girl... Mary... Marlene...”

“Melanie,” said Neef, feeling uncomfortable at keeping a secret from Kate. “Melanie Simpson.”

“Yes, Melanie. They both had severe pneumonias that didn’t respond to treatment. Mike, I’m scared.”

Neef couldn’t fob Kate off with false reassurances but he didn’t want to confide his own fears in her in case they turned out to be groundless. “Maybe he’ll turn the corner today,” he said with more sadness in his voice than conviction. “I’ll be down in Pathology for a while if anyone needs me.”

“Same as before,” announced MacSween as Neef entered the PM suite, doing up his gown. “The cancer is more advanced of course, but there are multiple primary foci just like Melanie Simpson and no involvement of any organ other than the lungs. There’s much less inflammation but that’s because of the steroid therapy I see you wrote her up for.”

“Would you still go for a true viral pneumonia on this one?” asked Neef.

“A toughie,” shrugged MacSween. “I was pretty sure with Melanie but with Jane Lees I’m in a bit of a quandary. There’s no doubt that she did respond to immuno-suppression with the steroids but on the other hand there are still definite signs of viral pneumonia.”

“So what side of the fence are you going to come down on?” asked Neef.

“Neither,” said MacSween.

“Neither?”

“I’m going to have to go for both. The girl’s lung condition was caused by both viral pneumonia and cancer.”

“You’re an obstinate old bugger, aren’t you?” said Neef. “You’re determined to stay with viral pneumonia.”

“I’m just saying what I see,” retorted MacSween. “That’s what you have to do if you’re a pathologist. Cold hard facts are what you get. If it’s bullshit you’re after, ask a psychiatrist.”

“But both these girls have been exposed to a powerful carcinogen. Everyone agrees about that, right?”

“Agreed,” said MacSween.

“It must have been something they inhaled because the condition is confined to the lungs and there are no signs of radiation burns on the skin.”

“Agreed.”

“Then surely it’s reasonable to accept that the inflammation of the lungs is caused by an immune response to the cancer rather than viral pneumonia,” said Neef.

“Perfectly reasonable,” agreed MacSween.

“Then why persist with the viral pneumonia angle?” asked a puzzled Neef.

“Because that’s what I see. Logic or reason doesn’t come into it. It’s simply my observation.”

“You know what troubles me about that?” asked Neef.

“What?”

“It’s not logical and it’s not reasonable but it’s the opinion of the best pathologist I know.”

“Well, thank you for that,” said MacSween.

“Until the virology Lab report comes in and they don’t find any viruses,” added Neef with a smile.

“The report for Melanie Simpson came in this morning,” said MacSween.

“And?”

“They found evidence of three or four viruses, just as we thought they would. The usual everyday sort of stuff. Rhinovirus, Adenovirus and the like. Nothing unusual. No big killer bug.”

“So?”

“Nothing changes,” said MacSween. “I see what I see.”

“What would you say if I told you I thought Charlie Morse is going to be case number three?” said Neef.

MacSween looked up from the table, the wrinkles prominent round his eyes as he screwed them up. “You’re not serious?”

“There are just too many similarities to be coincidence. I suggested to his doctor this morning that he might like to try Charlie on steroids.”

“My God,” said MacSween. “Does Kate know what you think?”

“Not yet. I’m waiting to see if he responds. I’m hoping I’m wrong.”

“I hope you are too,” said MacSween. “Have you mentioned this to Lennon?”

“Not yet, and for the same reason.”

“I think maybe you should. These guys need all the help they can get. They’re still getting nowhere.”

“If Charlie is going to respond to steroids we should see an improvement by this afternoon. If that happens, they should be able to get some decent pictures of his lungs. If he really has bronchial carcinoma I’ll call Lennon immediately. I’ll check with Uni College around four and give you a call at home if you like?”

“I won’t be there,” said MacSween. “I’m spending the week-end with my daughter and son-in-law up in Yorkshire. We weren’t due to go up until next month but young Nigel hasn’t been too well this week and Betty thought she’d like to go.”

“I’ll catch you on Monday then. Enjoy your week-end if you can.”

“I think your suspicions about Charlie have put paid to that,” said MacSween. “Maybe if I gave you my daughter’s phone number, you might call me if there’s any news?”

“Of course,” said Neef.

Neef walked slowly back to the Oncology Unit. He was just about to go in through the door when David Farro-Jones pulled up in his car and got out.

“I was just coming to see you,” smiled Farro-Jones. “I wanted to ask you how your trial patients are getting along.”

“Come on in. Let’s get some coffee,” said Neef.

“You sound as if you need it,” said Farro-Jones. “One of these days when nothing goes right?”

“They all seem to be, one of these days,” replied Neef. “It’s just one damned thing after another.”

“Sounds like I’ve picked a bad time to call,” said Farro-Jones. “Maybe I should...”

“No,” insisted Neef. “It’s OK. The trial patients are all on Gancyclovir now so, according to Max, we should start to see an improvement any day now.”

“I tried calling Max yesterday,” said Farro-Jones. “He wasn’t around.”

“He went back to working in the lab,” said Neef. “As he said, there wasn’t much for him to do around here until we start to see results. Apart from that things have been a bit difficult between us since I had to ask you to check out his virus preps.”

Farro-Jones made a face and said, “I thought that might be the case but I’m sure you did the right thing. You just can’t be too careful. Don’t worry about Max, he’ll come round. His sort always do. Maybe you’d let me take a look at the trial patients before I go?”

“Of course,” said Neef. His look must have betrayed puzzlement because Farro-Jones smiled and said, “As a molecular biologist, I have a personal interest in seeing my field come into its own, even if I’m not personally involved!”

Neef accompanied Farro-Jones on an impromptu tour of the unit and introduced him to the Gene Therapy children. This was a big success. The kids took immediately to the tall blonde man who looked like the Prince from a fairy tale. He also had a personal charm which coaxed smiles from children who were otherwise low in spirit. Neef exchanged smiles with the nurse who had been attending Thomas Downy when he saw Thomas break into a fit of giggles at something Farro-Jones had whispered to him.

“We’ll have to have you along more often,” said Neef when the time came for Farro-Jones to leave. “You’re good for morale.”

“I have a similar affinity for dogs and drunks,” smiled Farro-Jones. “But I would like to come back and see how they’re getting on if that’s all right?”

“Of course. Any time.”

“Give Max my regards when you see him. Jane and I would love to have him to dinner if he can find the time.”

“I’ll pass on the message,” said Neef. “But he seems to work all the time.”

Neef was about to tell Kate Morse that Eve would be taking Neil Benson out for a picnic on Sunday when he saw she was in conversation with Lawrence Fielding. He couldn’t hear what was being said but he sensed that something was wrong. Both of them looked in his direction and stopped talking. Kate walked towards him. “Could I have a word?” she asked. “In private.”

“Of course.”

Neef glanced at Fielding as he turned to follow Kate back to his office. He thought he looked apologetic about something.

“I just called Uni College. Charlie has been put on steroids,” said Kate. Her eyes were full of accusation. “I mentioned this to Lawrence and he said that was probably your idea. Is that true?”

“I’m afraid it was, Kate,” said Neef softly.

“You think Charlie has the same thing as the two girls, don’t you?”

“I don’t know, Kate,” said Neef apologetically. “That’s why I didn’t say anything to you earlier. I was waiting to see what effect the steroids would have. I didn’t want to upset you unnecessarily.”

“I was right,” said Kate. “There are similarities to Jane Lees, and the other girl, aren’t there?”

“There are. That’s why I spoke to Clelland. I don’t pretend to understand how all this came about but there are very definite similarities.”

Kate sank down into the chair in front of Neef’s desk and rubbed her forehead nervously. “My God, Charlie. He’s going to die, isn’t he?”

“I could still be wrong.”

Kate shook her head wistfully. “But you’re not,” she said. “I can feel it. My Charlie is going to die.”

Neef felt totally helpless. Kate knew as much about Charlie’s chances of surviving extensive lung cancer as he himself. They were virtually zero. “I don’t know what to say, Kate,” he confessed. “I can’t bullshit you. You know too much.”

“When will they know for sure?”

“I’ll call Clelland around four.”

Kate nodded and got up to go. “You’ll tell me?”

Neef saw the look of naked vulnerability on Kate Morse’s face and felt a lump come to his throat. “Of course.”

Lawrence Fielding came in when Kate had left. He looked very uncomfortable. “I’m afraid I rather put my foot in it, I’m afraid.”

“Not your fault,” said Neef. “Trying to keep a secret from a friend, even for the best of intentions, is usually doomed to failure.”

“You really think that Charlie has the same thing as Jane Lees?”

Neef nodded. “I’m afraid I do although, at this moment, I think I would give everything I own just to be wrong.”

“Amen to that. Mind you, statistics must be on the side of being wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“If Charlie Morse has the same condition as Jane Lees and Melanie Simpson it means that he’s been exposed to the same carcinogen.”

“Yes.”

“Then don’t you think it’s the strangest of coincidences that the third person to present with this condition happens to be one of the staff when in theory it could have been anyone in the city?”

Neef nodded and said, “I think you have just put your finger on what’s been making me feel distinctly uncomfortable about this whole business. There’s something just not right about it if Charlie Morse really is the third case.”

“It would be different if cancer was an infectious condition but it isn’t,” said Fielding.

“No, it isn’t,” agreed Neef. “So it would be so much easier all round if I was just plain wrong.”

“Agreed,” said Fielding.

“We’ll know later this afternoon. How are our patients?”

“I’ve just been assessing their scans,” said Fielding. “I suppose it’s a bit early to reach any firm conclusions but I would say that four of them are not showing any signs of improvement as yet while one is looking more hopeful.”

“Which one?”

“Thomas Downy. I think there may even be a slight reduction in the size of his tumour.”

“That must be the first piece of good news I’ve heard in a long time,” said Neef. “Can I see the scan?”

“I’ll get it,” said Fielding. He left the room and was back within a few moments carrying two CT scans. He also carried a clear plastic ruler. He spread them on Neef’s desk where a space had been cleared for them.

“If you measure Thomas’ tumour along this axis,” said Fielding, placing the ruler on the surface of the scan, “it measures 13 mm. That was taken before his op to introduce the Menogen virus. Now if you measure the tumour across the same axis on this scan done this morning I think you will find it slightly smaller.”

Neef placed the ruler across the image of the tumour and measured. “Eleven and a half, maybe twelve?” he said.

“But not thirteen,” said Fielding.

“Definitely not thirteen,” agreed Neef, sounding pleased. “A regression!”

“Looks like it, although it could be just a positioning artefact of the scan. We’ll find out when we do the next one on Tuesday.”

“Personally, I’m going to believe this is a true regression. I need to have some good news in my life. Pity about the others, but as you say, there’s time enough yet.”

“Will you tell, Max?”

“When I see him,” replied Neef. “Maybe we shouldn’t spread this around in case Tim Heaton gets wind of it and puts it in the Sunday papers.”

“Good point,” agreed Fielding. “He’d overlook the fact that we have four other patients who aren’t making progress at all.”

“Exactly. When all five are in regression we can call in the Press.”

“That would be just so good,” said Fielding with such obvious feeling that it made Neef smile. “It certainly would,” he agreed.

Neef found himself becoming more and more anxious as the time grew closer to four o’clock. He was just about to pick up the phone when a knock came to his door. It was Max Pereira.

“Can I come in?”

Neef looked at the receiver in his hand and then decided to put off the moment. “Of course,” he said. “I was beginning to wonder when we’d see you again.”

“I went back to the lab and did some work. I guess I was having withdrawal symptoms.”

“What are you working on?” asked Neef.

“The next generation of virus vectors.”

“You’re not happy with the ones you’ve got?”

“Not by a long shot,” replied Pereira. “If you have to open up the back of a kid’s head to deliver the vector there’s plenty of room for improvement.”

“I suppose when you put it that way,” agreed Neef.

“The real goal is to be able to deliver gene therapy by a simple one-off injection in the arm and have the bloodstream deliver the gene to exactly the right kind of stem cell so that the new gene is expressed in only the cells you want it expressed in and it will be maintained in these cells for the rest of the patient’s life.”

“How far are you away from that?” asked Neef.

“With the competition as fierce as it is and the prize that big, I would guess at three to five years.”

“That soon?”

“I think so. A lot of guys are burning the midnight oil.”

“For all the wrong reasons,” said Neef.

“Like I said before, it doesn’t matter. If you are the patient, why should you care what the motivation was? Stop fighting human nature, Mike. It’s easier to go along with it. Don’t expect too much of your fellow man and you won’t be disappointed, well, not as often.”

“I’ll try to bear that in mind,” said Neef.

“How are our guinea pigs doing?”

“One of our guinea pigs is showing signs of tumour regression already. Nothing from the others just yet.”

“Which tumour?”

“The cerebellar. Thomas Downy.”

“Wow,” said Pereira. “I didn’t think he’d be the first. I thought maybe the hepatoma. Any pictures?”

Neef pointed to the scans lying on the side of his desk. “It’s not much but I think it’s definite.”

Pereira, who still had his beret on, pushed it back a little so he could slip his glasses on over his ears. He used the ruler and a magnifying lens. “About a millimetre and a half, right?”

“That’s what we made it,” agreed Neef.

“Ace!” said Pereira.

“Ace,” agreed Neef with a smile.

“Is the kid OK? I mean no ill effects from the surgery or the injection?” asked Pereira.

“He seems fine,” said Neef. “David Farro-Jones came by to ask how things were going. Thomas was laughing and joking with him. David sends his regards, by the way. He and his wife extend a dinner invitation to you.”

“That’s nice,” said Pereira.

Neef glanced up at the clock on the wall and saw that it was a quarter past four. Pereira noticed him do it and got up from his chair. “I’ll get out of your way,” he said. “I’m taking up your time.”

“I’ve just got some calls to make,” said Neef. “Why don’t you stick around? Maybe we could have a drink together. Celebrate Thomas’ progress.”

“OK, I might do that.”

Neef called Clelland at University College Hospital. “It’s Michael Neef, here. How did Charles Morse respond?”

“There has been quite a marked improvement in his lung condition,” replied Clelland. “The inflammation has subsided; we’ve been able to get some decent X-rays.”

“And?”

“I’m looking at one right now,” said Clelland. “I’m afraid you were right, Doctor.”

“He has lung cancer?”

“He’s riddled.”

Neef let out his breath in a long sigh.

“Just what you didn’t want to hear,” said Clelland, apologetically.

“Quite so,” said Neef, feeling as if he’d just had the stuffing knocked out of him.

“You’ll tell his wife?”

“I’ll tell her.”

Kate Morse had her back to him when Neef found her talking to one of the nurses. He was waiting until they had finished but the other nurse looked at him over Kate’s shoulder and Kate turned round. Neef saw immediately that she had read what he had to say in his eyes. She finished with the nurse and followed Neef back to his office.

“You were right, Charlie has cancer?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Neef softly. “I’m so sorry.”

Kate put her hand to her mouth as if afraid to speak then she said hesitantly, “I suppose I’ve known all day yet I’ve been clinging to the hope that it was all some crazy mistake. Charlie would get better and we’d all be back to normal. I’ve watched so many other people do this in my time and yet when it happened to me, I’m no different.”

Neef nodded. “None of us are,” he said.

“I think I’d like to go see Charlie now if that’s all right?” said Kate.

“Of course,” said Neef. “If there’s anything I can do, you only have to ask. You know that.”

Kate nodded and said, “I know.”

Neef watched Kate leave his office and wished that there was something more he could do but there wasn’t. He called Lennon at the Public Health Department and told him that Charles Morse was the third case.

“One of the staff you say?” exclaimed Lennon.

“He’s chief technician in our Pathology Lab,” replied Neef. “He’s in his mid thirties and his wife is my head nurse here in the unit.”

“Good God,” said Lennon. “Of all the people in the city it could have been, the third case turns out to be someone on the staff of the hospital.”

“You’re not the first person to point this out,” said Neef. “My registrar, Lawrence Fielding made the same comment. What do you think?”

“Just coincidence, I suppose,” said Lennon. “But this could be the lead we need. There can’t be too many things that a thirty-five year old man and two teenage girls have in common in the way of habits and haunts. We must be able to discover where their paths crossed providing we can speak to this man?”

“Maybe not tonight,” said Neef. “His wife has just left to be with him. Maybe tomorrow when they’ve both had time to come to terms with it.”

“I’ll go up to University College in the morning then,” said Lennon. “Please God; we’ll discover the source this time. It’s driving us to distraction.”

“I can imagine,” said Neef.

“Do the Press know about this yet?” asked Lennon.

“Not from me and I don’t think Uni College will be saying anything. The truth is we’ve only found out ourselves in the last hour.”

“Good,” said Lennon. “We could use a bit of breathing space after last week’s attention.”

“I imagine it wasn’t too comfortable down there,” said Neef. “We’ve had our moments with the Press ourselves.”

“You wouldn’t believe some of the calls we got after the story,” said Lennon. “We’ve had reports of Martians landing on the common. It was the exhaust from their space ship that was causing the cancer.”

“I hadn’t considered that,” said Neef dryly.

“One woman thought the government were poisoning the water. Another thought it was the increase in dog shit that was the problem. She said it was the smell on sunny days that had given the kids cancer.”

“I hadn’t reckoned on calls from nuts,” said Neef.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“Makes you worry what’s out there,” said Neef.

“You can say that again,” said Lennon. “God knows what we’ll get when the Press hit the panic button over number three.”

“Let’s hope they don’t get hold of it.”

“Chance would be a fine thing,” replied Lennon.

“Let me know how you get on. I’ll be off tomorrow but I’ll be back on Monday.”

“Lucky you,” said Lennon. “I haven’t had a day off since this thing started.”

Neef looked for the piece of paper with Frank MacSween’s daughter’s telephone number on it. He found it in the second pocket he searched in and punched up the numbers. There was no reply. He folded it up again and slipped it into the breast pocket on his shirt. He would try again later. It was time he went to find Max Pereira, assuming he was still around. He found Pereira in the duty room reading one of the nurses’ magazines.

“Sorry I was so long. Still fancy that drink?”

“Only reason I’m still here,” replied Pereira.

“What’s with Sister Morse?” asked Pereira as they left the hospital and walked over to the pub on the corner. The Two Dragoons was the local for the staff of St George’s. “She seemed kind of upset when she left.”

“She’s just found out her husband has cancer.”

“Shit. What kind?”

“Lung.”

“Shit. Heavy smoker?”

“Aged thirty-seven, never smoked in his life.”

“Lousy luck,” said Pereira.

“Luck had nothing to do with it. It’s the same thing as Jane Lees. Remember? You saw her scans.”

“The kid in your unit? Sure, I remember. A real mess.”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d keep this to yourself in the meantime. The Public Health people are having a hard enough time as it is.”

“Mum’s the word.” Pereira took a sip of his bourbon. Neef could almost sense what he was thinking. “You know,” said Pereira, “that sounds like some kind of weird coincidence.”

“That hasn’t escaped our attention,” said Neef. “But we can’t read anything into it. Can you?”

Pereira played with the leather band of his beret as he considered. “I guess not,” he said. “What kind of things have your public health guys been looking for?”

“Something that gives off a gas,” said Neef. “The cancer in all three cases is confined to the lungs and there are no signs of radiation burns.”

“How about asbestos?” suggested Pereira.

“There were no fibres in the lungs; that’s what makes PH think it must have been a gas or fumes of some sort. They’ve been looking for a chemical that’s been illegally dumped.”

“Must be like looking for a needle in a haystack,” said Pereira.

“They’re hoping that Kate Morse’s husband will help them narrow down the possibilities.”

“I wish them luck. Another drink?”

“Thanks, another gin,” said Neef.

Pereira returned from the bar with the drinks.

“So how are you going to spend your Sunday?” asked Neef.

“In the lab,” replied Pereira.

Neef smiled and asked, “When do you find the time to go diving?” He nodded at the motif on Pereira’s Tee shirt which advertised yet another diving school. This time it was an Israeli outfit on the Red Sea.

“Two weeks in February, every year.”

“What about summer holidays?”

“I don’t take any.”

“But you must go to scientific meetings and conferences. They’re usually held in pretty nice places.”

“I don’t go to them.” replied Pereira. “If anyone has anything at all worth saying they publish it in the journals. Some guys just like to hear the sound of their own voices. They spend half their life trotting round the world in the same little club talking about work without actually doing any. I’m not one of them. You can get away with that sort of shit in universities but not in business. Mind you, every time I publish something on the vectors I get mail from half a dozen of these bozos suggesting, ‘collaboration’.”

“Which you decline,” smiled Neef, stating the obvious.

“Damned right. They can hitch a lift on some other guy’s train.”

“It sounds a pretty monastic existence,” said Neef.

“I like it that way.”

“Another drink?”

“No, I’ve got some cultures to check on. I’d better be going.”

“See you on Monday?”

“Yeah. I’ll come in. If the brain tumour is responding already, the others shouldn’t be far behind.”

“I hope you’re right,” said Neef.

“Trust me,” smiled Pereira as he got up to go and slung his leather jacket over one shoulder.

The irony wasn’t lost on Neef.

Neef drove home, filled Dolly’s food bowl and then called Frank MacSween’s daughter again. Once more there was no reply. He shrugged and went off to find himself something to eat. This meant hunting through the freezer among the packet meals. Neef bought these by the armful on his monthly trips to the supermarket. He picked something involving chicken and read the instructions after grabbing a cold beer out of the fridge.

To his surprise, Dolly decided to acknowledge his presence this evening and jumped up to join him on the couch. She lay along it with her head resting on his right thigh.

“Well, well, well,” murmured Neef. “I’m honoured, Miss Daydream.” He scratched Dolly behind the ears, knowing that she liked this and pretty soon Dolly purred her appreciation.

“I hope you’ve had a better week than I’ve had, little friend,” sighed Neef.

Neef considered moving the cat so that he could put on some music or turn on the television but decided against it. Dolly did not bestow her affection lightly or often. The moment was to be honoured. Neef put his head back on the couch and closed his eyes. He tried letting his mind go blank but events of the past week kept intruding, not least Charlie Morse’s cancer. He tried not to imagine what Kate and Charlie were going through at that moment but it was impossible. Eve Sayers had been right in her observation, he did carry too much on his shoulders and it was going to make him ill if he didn’t find a way of dealing with it.

What were his alternatives? he wondered. Booze was the easiest option but also one of the most dangerous. He had seen a number of doctors use drink to lighten the load in his time. The pathologist up at Uni College, Eddie Miller was a case in point. Transcendental meditation? Eastern religion? A holiday perhaps? Somewhere far away with blue skies and endless beaches where he could sit on a rock and fish all day, sip rum punch in front of scarlet sunsets. It had been a long time since he had taken a proper holiday and he knew why. He couldn’t face going alone. His last holiday had been with Elaine in Mexico. They had spent three glorious weeks just enjoying each other’s company away from the cares of the world. It had been Garden of Eden stuff, a treasured memory and a carefully guarded one. Nothing and no one had been allowed to intrude on it. But maybe the time had come to let go a little? The pain and guilt associated with such a thought was this time tempered by insistent logic. Elaine had been dead a long time and she wasn’t coming back. He had to let go some time.

This train of thought brought Neef to thinking about Eve Sayers. He was certainly attracted to her but something always seemed to stop him thinking beyond this. Maybe it was just Elaine’s ghost or maybe there was more to it than that if he was truthful with himself. Eve was a much more independent spirit than Elaine, a career woman with strong opinions of her own, an intelligent challenging woman whereas Elaine had been content to be a home-maker and play second fiddle to his career. He wasn’t at all sure how he would cope in a relationship with someone like Eve. Maybe it even scared him a little.

At ten thirty, just before turning in for an early night, Neef decided to call Frank MacSween’s daughter one last time. On this occasion the call was answered, not by Frank’s daughter but by his wife, Betty.

“Betty? It’s Michael Neef. Frank asked me to call him. I’ve been trying since five o’clock.”

“I’m sorry, Michael, we’ve been out.”

Neef felt instant alarm as he detected a sob in Betty’s voice. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

“It’s our grandson, Nigel,” replied Betty. “He fell ill last week; that’s mainly why we came up to Yorkshire so soon after Clare’s visit to us. But he got worse around tea-time today and was taken into hospital.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Neef.

“He died an hour ago,” said Betty.

“Oh Betty, I’m so sorry. That’s absolutely awful. This has been the most hellish week for bad news. Do they know what it was?”

“Not yet,” said Betty. “There’ll be a PM of course but I still can’t believe it myself. He was such a gorgeous baby. We all doted on him.”

“I won’t intrude any more Betty,” said Neef.

“Do you want me to give Frank a message? I don’t think he can speak to anyone right now.”

“It’ll wait,” said Neef.