At the sound of a buzzer, the nurse said, ‘Sorry, I need to go and see to that.’

‘Yeah, course,’ Frank said, stepping out into the corridor. ‘Happy Christmas,’ he added, but she’d already closed the doors.

Sighing, he rode the lift back down to the ground floor and walked outside. If Yvonne had suffered some kind of trauma to the brain, he hoped it wasn’t permanent, because he doubted she’d be allowed to go home while she was so far out of touch with reality. She would need looking after, and Social Services would probably step in and have her moved into a care home. Yvonne would absolutely hate that, but there would be nothing Frank or anyone else could do about it if her family couldn’t be traced.

Making a mental note to have a little nose around in the cottage when he went to feed the animals that afternoon, to see if he could find an address for the mysterious Johnny, Frank climbed into his car and set off for home.

17

The bumper of a car was sticking out from the behind the wall at the back of the house when Frank pulled onto his drive, and his heart leapt as he wondered if Evan had decided to pay him a surprise visit. Quickly parking up, he unlocked the front door and smiled when he heard the low murmur of voices coming from behind the closed kitchen door. A male laugh rang out as he was slipping his coat off, and he paused and tipped his head to one side. It hadn’t sounded anything like Evan’s laugh, and he frowned as it occurred to him that it might not be his son, after all. But if it wasn’t Evan, who was it? Irena would never have opened the door for someone she didn’t know.

Nikolai . . . The name leapt into his head.

Had the man tracked her down and forced his way in?

Shaking now, Frank was looking around for something to use as a weapon when Irena’s tinkling laugh drifted out to him. She didn’t sound scared, so maybe it was Evan.

He opened the kitchen door with a half-smile on his lips, but it slipped when he saw Irena sitting at the table with two men he’d never seen before: one blond, with a tattoo of three teardrops running down from the corner of his eye; the other with jet-black hair, dark eyes, and heavily tattooed hands.

Irena spotted him and leapt to her feet.

‘Ah, good, you are home.’

‘What’s going on?’ he asked, warily eyeing the men.

‘Is my surprise,’ she said, placing her hand on the shoulder of the dark-haired one. ‘Karel has arrive to spend Christmas with us. Is fantastic, yes?’

‘Sorry?’ Frank was thrown. ‘I thought he was supposed to be in Prague? And how did he know where to find you?’