‘Sorry I wasn’t around yesterday.’

Iris flapped her away. ‘Tim was there, don’t worry. Good night with Greg?’

‘Yeah. Some great CVs,’ said Kate.

‘And how’s it going with this detective work?’

‘You mean Becky’s story?’

Iris nodded.

‘Well, I still don’t know who owns Ashdown Farm. It’s virtually impossible to find out the real individual behind these offshore companies.’

‘Scheming tax dodgers?’

‘And the rest. I’ve had to throw myself at the mercy of a forensic accountant.’

‘Never heard of them.’

‘Me neither, until in class the other day. They specialize in digging up dirt. Investigate what’s really going on behind the scenes.’

‘Sounds expensive.’

‘It is. Four hundred.’

‘To do the job? I suppose that’s not too bad.’

Kate grimaced. ‘An hour.’

Iris’s mouth dropped. ‘Good God. How on earth . . .?’

‘Like I say, I begged for mercy. Managed to persuade the trainee to take pity on me. Still costing a bit but I’ve got a couple of discounted hours out of her. Might not be enough but it’s worth a try.’

‘So, what are you going to do when you find out who it is?’

‘Sue him. Or her. On my course, I’ve found out that I can pursue them under “tort law”.’

‘Sounds painful.’

‘I’m slowly building up the case about the poisons that these people have had sprayed on or near them and what it’s done to them. And –’ she took a deep breath – ‘I’ve found a doctor!’

‘To make them better?’

‘If only that were possible. No, who also believes that herbicides are bad news. This doctor has had several children in his rural village become ill with cancer. He’s written a report stating that there is a link between herbicides and leukaemia – and in that report he mentioned Senerix, the agrochemical company who make the stuff that’s put on the fields at the farm in Sussex. I want him to look at Arnie’s case, and the others, and put his claims on record.’

‘Will he?’

‘Not yet. I emailed him last week, but he fobbed me off.’

‘He scared?’

‘Probably. He doesn’t know me. It’s a big thing to put your name to for a complete stranger.’ Kate started to drill, and the conversation paused. Iris, sitting on the loo lid, picked up her TV-listings magazine.

‘So, what next?’ she said when the drilling abated.

‘I thought I’d go and see him. Try and persuade him . . .’ said Kate, tentatively.

Iris beamed. ‘Good for you. Where is he? Local?’

‘France.’

‘Oh my Lordy Lord.’ Iris wafted her face with her magazine.

‘It’s not that bad.’

‘It’s positively foreign!’

‘I know. Exciting, isn’t it? I’ve never been abroad before. I’ve got my flight booked . . .’

‘When for?’

Kate’s eyes shone. ‘This afternoon.’

‘What?!’

‘After getting his email, well, I wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so I rang his surgery and asked for an appointment to see him. The earliest they could fit me in was tomorrow morning.’