The problem with them staying in an apartment, Philip had come to realize, was that it afforded him not an ounce of personal space. Had they been staying in a hotel, he could’ve escaped to the bar or, if he was exceptionally lucky, a designated library nook in which he could read. But in the apartment there was nowhere for him to hide without someone else being within speaking distance. He missed his garden.
Right now the apartment was full of people readying themselves for the memorial service at two. He felt invisible as they milled around him, his part in the production diminished from that of grieving father to bystander. Patricia was holding court in the middle of the room, barking her disappointment at the poor local florist who’d been commissioned online some weeks ago and had produced a wreath not to his wife’s liking.
The door to the apartment was open to allow for all the frantic comings and goings and the next person to walk through it was their son, George. He was checking something on his phone, as was often the way, and Philip surmised he must be reading an email from the clerk of his chambers back in London. Earlier he had mentioned there was a problem brewing with his trial at the Old Bailey next week and he might have to cut his trip short and return to London before the press conference. Patricia was not at all happy and had insulted Philip by saying she needed George to be there to speak because ‘you know what your father’s like, he’s useless at public speaking’. The atmosphere in the apartment was now strained to say the least.
George sat down and hooked his right ankle across his left knee. His legs were bare in shorts.
‘You are changing into something else, aren’t you?’ asked Philip worriedly. ‘I think your mother might have something to say about you wearing those.’
George grinned. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got a suit to put on, as per the orders Mum emailed to me a month ago.’
‘Orders? What else did she ask you to do?’
‘Book the orchestra, arrange the champagne toast, send an invite to the King of Spain.’ George burst out laughing as Philip recoiled in horror. ‘Dad, I’m joking! The only thing required of me was to turn up on time and look smart. Although the bit about the King’s invite is true.’
Philip found he couldn’t stop trembling.
‘The King of Spain? Oh, this is getting out of hand, George. Your mother –’ Philip lowered his voice – ‘she’s obsessed.’
George’s handsome features creased into a frown. ‘Dad, she just wants to find the bastard who did this.’
‘And I don’t?’
‘I never said that.’
Philip paused for a moment. For the past few days he’d been building up to asking his son an important question. It wasn’t something he felt able to raise in Patricia’s presence and there had been little opportunity for any time on his own with his son. But now, with Patricia distracted, this might be the only chance he got.
‘George, can I ask you something?’
‘Sure, fire away.’
‘Did you know Declan got Katy pregnant?’
The guilty look on his son’s face told him he had known all along.
‘She asked me not to say anything. She knew how you and Mum would react.’
‘So it’s definitely true? I had been hoping it might not be.’
‘Why?’
Philip groped for the right words. ‘No father likes to think of his little girl in that kind of situation.’
‘Situation? Dad, you sound like a Victorian. She got pregnant. She chose how she wanted to deal with it. You knowing that doesn’t change anything about her, or it shouldn’t do.’
‘I know, but—’
George reached over and gently took his dad’s hand. ‘Katy was nearly eighteen. She had a serious boyfriend. It can’t really come as any surprise that they were sleeping together.’
Philip felt his cheeks colouring. His mind simply wouldn’t allow him to entertain it.
‘As I said, no father likes to think of his little girl in that situation.’
Shaking his head, George grinned and Philip seized the moment to change the subject.
‘I wonder what those two are talking about.’
He nodded in the direction of Walker, who had just arrived and was now clearly losing whatever argument he was having with Patricia. His arms were tightly folded across his front, a classic defensive pose protecting him from the pointed finger that was getting perilously close to stabbing him in the chest.
‘Look at his face,’ chuckled George. ‘He’s dying to put Mum in her place. Maybe he’s telling her about the email.’
‘You mean the email sent to Declan? Has there been some news?’
George looked serious for a moment. ‘They can’t trace who sent it, but they’ve discovered that another email has been sent from the same address.’
‘To who?’
‘A woman in London. The police won’t tell us all the details yet, but she was on holiday in Saros in April 2009 and was involved in an incident that could be related to Katy’s case. That’s all they’re saying.’
Philip’s brain scrambled to keep up.
‘When did you find this out?’
‘Just now. Walker was outside with Maggie when I came in and he told her it was okay to fill me in.’
‘Is this woman someone we know?’
‘No, she’s not.’
‘I don’t understand then. How might it be related?’
George thought for a moment.
‘Why don’t I ask Maggie to explain it to you, like she did to me?’
There was something in the way George said Maggie’s name that made Philip stop. He was trying too hard to sound casual.
‘Yes, that’s a good idea,’ he said, staring beadily at his son. ‘I do like Maggie. She’s a very nice young woman, very considerate.’
‘She’s great,’ said George with enthusiasm.
Philip suppressed a smile. He knew his son well enough to know when he was keen on someone.
‘Perhaps I should speak to her now, before the ceremony. Would you mind fetching her?’
From the way George shot out of his seat it was obvious he didn’t mind at all.