‘He’s working in the lab, Steven. He said he wouldn’t be home before midnight and then he’ll probably be at his computer until all hours. Was it important?’
‘Not really,’ Steven replied. ‘Owen’s been keeping me in the picture about his research and I had a bit of relevant news for him if he hadn’t already heard...’
‘Does it concern Moorlock Hall?’ Lucy interrupted.
‘You know about Moorlock Hall?’
‘I wish I didn’t. I wish I’d never heard of it or that dreadful creature he goes to see there.’
Steven was surprised at the venom in her voice. ‘I’m sorry. Has something happened? Is there anything I can do?’
‘What’s wrong with Owen, doctor? Do you know? He’s changed. He’s not right... He’s just not Owen any more...’
The harshness in her voice had changed to anguish. Steven even heard the suggestion of a sob as she waited for an answer. ‘Look, why don’t I come over there? It’ll be better than trying to speak over the phone.’
Anguish became embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry, this is ridiculous. I’m so sorry. I’m pregnant; it must be my hormones.’
‘Don’t apologise, it’s not ridiculous at all and I’d guess it has nothing to do with your hormones either,’ said Steven gently. ‘Your husband’s been spending a lot of time with unsavoury people, convicted killers — psychopaths. That’s not the sort of thing people can cope with without some price being paid. Owen and I have spoken about this. Look, give me your address and I’ll come over. We’ll talk things through. Maybe he needs help.’
Lucy gave Steven the address and he wrote it down. He decided to drive over, estimating a journey of around ten to twelve miles. He hadn’t been out in his car for over a week and his Porsche Boxster didn’t like being ignored. She needed regular driving or she might cough and splutter in slow-moving traffic to remind him that she didn’t like being taken for granted. That’s the way Steven saw it. Tally saw things differently. ‘It’s a bloody car, Steven.’
Steven took the lift down to the underground garage and grinned as the Porsche sprang into life. He blipped the throttle a couple of times before murmuring, ‘Roll over Beethoven,’ as he set off round the exit curve with a squeal of the tyres to join London’s evening traffic.
The Barrowmans lived in a small block of flats in a pleasant avenue in north London It was flanked on both sides by mature English limes, which, judging by their height, had seen the comings and goings of many generations of residents. At nine in the evening the street lights struggled to penetrate their branches, but any loss of illumination was compensated for by an aura of calm respectability.
Steven ran his index finger down the list of those staying at number seven and pressed the appropriate button.
‘Come on up.’
He was met on the second floor by Lucy Barrowman who immediately dispelled his telephone-inspired-notion that she would be small, dark and attractive. She was tall, fair and attractive. He had the impression that when she felt relaxed she would exude an air of quiet confidence, but, at the moment, her eyes showed nothing but anxiety. They shook hands.
‘I’m Steven.’
‘Lucy. I’m sorry, I feel so guilty for dragging you over here like this.’
‘You didn’t,’ Steven assured her. ‘I volunteered.’
‘You said you had something to tell Owen about that awful place?’ said Lucy as if she couldn’t wait any longer to ask.
‘Moorlock Hall is going to be all over the newspapers in the next few days and not in a good way. I think there’s a very real chance it will have to be closed down when the dust settles.’
Lucy Barrowman’s features seemed to freeze for a moment then she let out her breath in a long sigh as tension left her body and she exclaimed, ‘Music to my ears. I can’t tell you how happy that makes me feel.’ She broke into a big smile before asking, ‘Not that it matters... but why?’
‘A House of Commons committee has carried out an impromptu inspection of the place and produced a damning report. The fact that the place has been kept a secret for so long will almost certainly ensure that it will turn into a political football’
It suddenly dawned on Lucy that she’d kept Steven standing just inside the front door. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, ‘what am I thinking. Please come in, sit down. Can I get you something to drink?’
Steven declined reluctantly, ‘A wine gum can get you three points on your license these days.’
Lucy smiled and offered alternatives. Steven jumped at the chance of espresso.
‘So, you think that Owen has changed?’
Lucy shook her head as if struggling for words. ‘Owen has always been ambitious, but that goes with being a researcher I suppose. There are no silver medals for researchers he kept reminding me, but, almost as soon as he started going to Moorlock Hall and spending time with that creature, Lawler, he started to change. He’s become angry, secretive, suspicious of everyone and seems to imagine there’s a conspiracy against him. He stays up all night, poring over reams of data, but never seems to take any of it with him to work. When I pointed this out he nearly snapped my head off, accused me of being “one of them” whatever that means. I’d never seen him so angry; his face was scarlet... spitting saliva... shaking. I thought he was going to hit me.’
Lucy paused and Steven could see she was finding it difficult to hold things together. ‘I’ve become afraid of my own husband... I have to consider carefully before I open my mouth... I know I’ve led a sheltered life — even privileged — I’m a middle-class girl, the daughter of professionals who’s never known anything but... niceness and decency, wanting for nothing. I never imagined for a moment I would end up talking to a stranger about being pregnant and in fear of attack by her husband.’
‘This sounds like a terrible situation.’
‘I suppose you know that Lawler attacked him?’ said Lucy.
‘What?’ Steven exclaimed, ‘I had no idea.’
‘He grabbed him by the throat while he was taking a blood sample. Another few moments and he would have died. He was saved by one of the attendants coming back from his break.’
‘You mean he was left alone with Lawler?’ Steven sounded incredulous.
‘I don’t know the details,’ said Lucy. ‘He didn’t want to talk about it and, despite what happened, he still wants to continue working with that animal.’
‘I didn’t know anything about this,’ said Steven.
‘Owen wanted it covered up and I suppose the people at Moorlock weren’t that keen to have it made public. I think they all colluded.’
‘Talk about tangled webs,’ said Steven with a sigh.
‘But, from what you say, his association with Lawler might well be over?’ said Lucy, keen to have it confirmed and managing to regain control of her emotions.
‘I’m pretty sure Moorlock Hall’s days are almost certainly over. I can believe it was founded with the best of intentions, but it’s a skeleton in the cupboard and the cupboard door has just been thrown open. Politicians are not the sort to look the other way when that happens. Someone will be sure to grasp the opportunity to storm the moral high ground and the blame game will begin in earnest.’
‘You don’t like politicians very much, do you?’
Steven gave a politician’s answer. ‘Well, it all depends on what you mean by “like”. What I am saying — and I’ve made this perfectly clear in the past — the question of liking or not liking is subject to constant change and, as such...’
Lucy cottoned on to what Steven was doing and said, You’re good at this. She became his interviewer, ‘Answer the question!’ she demanded. ‘Yes or no?’
‘Well, what I am saying — and you’re absolutely right to ask the question — is Mary had a little lamb, its fleece was white as snow...’