“I don’t think there’ll be any trouble at all,” he said. He wanted to reassure her. She seemed so tense that he was afraid she might make a scene. “You see,” he continued, speaking gently, hoping to calm her, “any of the younger birdwatchers will have his phone number. I’m sure I can put you in touch with someone who will know where he is. If I’d realised when you telephoned who your son is, I would have been able to help you then. You don’t need us to do it.”

He was wondering how much he could charge Franks for his wasted day.

“Oh, no,” Muriel said so violently that he realised the obsession with her son was a desperation. She did not really want to consult Greg about the family business. She was not even concerned for his safety. She just wanted him home with her. “ That won’t do at all. You must see Gregory. Personally.” And then, as if reading George’s mind, she added, “We don’t care what it costs. Do we, Dennis?” There were already tears in her eyes.

Her husband shrugged uneasily. Molly was surprised that he said so little. Perhaps he was fond of her and did not like to see her unhappy. Perhaps this independence was such a surprise to him that he did not know how to handle it.

“You must persuade Gregory to come home,” Mrs. Franks continued. She spoke very quickly. “Then we can discuss the sale of the business properly. We couldn’t do that over the phone. He wouldn’t take us seriously. He never does.”

She looked at her husband for support, but he turned away, as if embarrassed that she made her wishes so obvious. There was an awkward silence.

“Have you any other children?” Molly asked.

Muriel Franks shook her head violently.

“No,” she said. “Only Gregory.” She hesitated, and George was afraid she would cry again. “ We were lucky to keep him,” she said at last. “He was a sickly baby. He spent most of his first year in Frenchay Hospital. Perhaps that’s why he’s always been so special.”

Molly spoke gently. “ If Gregory hasn’t come home of his own accord,” she said, “ I don’t think anything we say could persuade him. You’d been wasting your money.”

“You don’t understand,” Muriel Franks interrupted eagerly. “That’s why we asked you to come here. Mr. Palmer-Jones has been a hero of Gregory’s since he was a little boy. I remember him saying, when he was still at home, ‘George Palmer-Jones is the only member of the British Birds Rarity Committee you can really trust. He knows more about bird identification than any man in Europe.’” She turned to her husband, her eyes bright, her voice brittle with hope. “ He used to say that, didn’t he, Dennis? All the time?”