But just supposing that one of the children – Annie, Giles – had been born like Thomas. What then? Unbearable to contemplate. But quite possible, if James’s theory that the fault lay in his genes, his chromosomes, was right. It could be in the Caldicott strain, I could have been responsible myself.

It was strange, in a way, how Thomas had so deliberately reached out towards me and how easily I responded. He needed, and recognized, a father-figure. Obviously. Madame Prideaux had said that he had been rejected by James. Disabled or not he was perfectly capable of recognizing the image he wanted, and he wanted a father. A boy needs a father. They always say so. A boy needs a father every bit as much as he needs a mother. It is the normal, natural, perfect balance.

Had I ever needed? Or Elspeth?

Never. We were both idolized to the edge of overindulgence by two adoring parents who had planned the Perfect Family. Until James arrived it worked. But by that time I was no longer dependent on paternal love.

So here I presently was, stuck in a small hotel room in some remote village in France I’d never even heard of, coming to terms with, and accepting the affection of, my brother’s rejected child Thomas. And what about my own flesh and blood? Giles? Had he reached out to me, metaphorically, and found rejection? I didn’t think so. He was a happy child, loved in a vague sister way by Annie, loved by his mother. Whatever one said about Helen she was not a bad mother. Amazingly, considering her own past, she was a devoted, caring, firm and loving mother. I suppose it was me who did the neglecting. Admit that. My job, however, was not a nine till five deal. Certainly, one sat at a desk for hours until the capricious muse decided to arrive, but research means reading a damn library of stuff, trailing about to talk to people, see places, taking notes. Like a detective. You get stuck in a room with a typewriter, books and papers. The gestation period is hell, the working period worse. Surfacing for meals, for example, I was usually preoccupied. Thinking. Half my mind was wandering about somewhere else. I was, during that time, intolerant of noise. Banging doors, laughter, dogs barking, shouts of pleasure, the Rolling Stones, beat music or anything at all on television.