"Oh, Julie, Julie. How you hate me, a disgrace, a failure as a father. Beneath contempt. Written off. Well I'm an Evans, too, don't forget. A mighty Evans. I see things, I listen to what's going on. I know," He started up the stairs, clinging tightly to the banister rail. His foot slipped, nearly sending him tumbling. He looked round at her mute face staring up at him. "I could have done it. If he'd given me the chance, I could've run the company. Bastard never gave me the chance. He did this to me, his own son! Not you, though, Julie; everybody loves you. He does, I do. Everybody does." The words spluttered into incoherence. He glanced round nervously, suddenly confused as to where he was, what he'd been saying. His hand pulled hard at the banister, starting himself off on the climb again. He began muttering fractured words as he went.

Julia buried her face in her hands. After a while she felt Greg's arm round her shoulder. Misery compounded as she found she was quivering silently.

"Sorry," she mumbled, lowering her hands to wipe at her eyes. Absolutely refusing to cry. Then the implications of what her father had said penetrated. "Oh, God, do you think he was the one?"

"Not deliberately, if that's what you mean," said Greg. "Maybe he let something slip. But it wouldn't do any good asking him. I doubt he'd remember. And I couldn't tell whether or not he was telling the truth."

She considered that, if Greg couldn't make sense of her father with his ability— "His mind has gone, hasn't it? I mean, really gone, destroyed."

"Julia." He held her firmly, a hand on each shoulder. "Isn't it about time you booked him into a clinic?"

"He's my father," she insisted plaintively. "He needs me."

"He's hurting you, Julia. Far too much. You can't hide that from me, remember? A clinic will care for him properly. You can visit. Hell, you can afford to build a clinic. Put it in a house like this one, he won't even realise the difference."

She studied something away to the side of his head, swallowing hard. "Maybe," she whispered.

"You should get out," he expanded blithely, changing tone, breaking the mood. "A girl like you ought to be beating off the boys with a stick. Stay up till the wee hours at disreputable parties. That sort of thing. Do you the world of good. Wilholm is grand to look at, but it isn't exactly jumping and jiving, now is it?"

"No," she smiled meekly. "I'm going away next weekend, actually. A book launch."

"A what?"

"A book launch. It's a big PR event, lasts for two days, truly swish. Naturally the Evans heir was invited."

"Good. It's a start. Now, what about a boy?"

"I know someone," she said defensively. And the thought lit that idyllic warming core of delight.