‘He said he’d never heard of it. It could have been an act of course.’
Or it could be paranoia on your part, Steven thought. ‘Did the lawyer have much to say?’
‘Very little, struck me as a cold fish. Dorothy introduced him as Mr. Medici from a law firm with three names. His was one, I can’t remember the other two.’
‘I can see why the Medici name stuck,’ said Steven with a smile. ‘Any jokes made about Venice?’
‘I don’t think Mr. Medici would recognise a joke if it kicked him up the arse.’
‘So, no clues dropped about who the funders are?’
‘None at all.’
Steven took a deep breath. ‘You know, I think it would be in both our interests to find out who they are.’
‘What’s your interest?’
Steven ignored the defensive edge in the question and said, ‘Sci-Med likes to know what’s going on in science and medicine; it’s our job and we’re talking about a big investment here. I think we’d both feel better if we knew everything was above board, don’t you?’’
Barrowman nodded although Steven noted signs on his face that said real paranoia was still in the mix.
Seven
If there was anything that could make Moorlock Hall look even worse than it usually did, it was rain. This was Owen Barrowman’s conclusion as once more he crested the hill under leaden skies and saw the building come into view. He found himself wishing the wipers could sweep away the building and all thoughts of it so that he could wake up and find it had all been a bad dream, but it hadn’t. He was living in the real world but his real world had changed out of all recognition over the past few months. It had turned against him; they had turned against him. Who? Everyone, his boss who blamed him for having changed when it was her who had changed with her desire to get money for what she was about to call her research, Jesus! The colleagues he’d thought of as friends who’d grown distant as they chose to side with whoever had the money and could offer them security.
Even his wife had turned on him with her constant questioning about what he was doing and whingeing about how long he spent working in the evenings. Christ, he was on the very edge of making a great discovery and she wanted to talk about a bloody baby they hadn’t planned for and what bloody colour the nursery should be. Would it be easier if they knew the sex before the birth? He didn’t give a damn about the nursery or the sex of the sprog for that matter. He had other things on his mind. Why couldn’t they all offer him support instead of constant criticism? The answer if he could work it out would have to wait. It was time for another session with Malcolm Lawler
Barrowman kept small talk with Groves to a minimum although he did feel obliged to bring up the upcoming inspection that Steven Dunbar had told him about. ‘I thought this place was supposed to be a secret.’
‘So did we,’ said Groves. ‘We’re not supposed to be subject to inspection or anything else for that matter. Officially we don’t exist.’
‘Let’s hope it’s just a formality.’
Groves smiled his lop-sided smile but didn’t comment further.
Lawler watched as Barrowman sat down and took out a notebook from his briefcase. As he snapped it shut, Lawler asked, ‘So, where is it?’
‘Where’s what?’
‘The elixir you’ve been designing that’s going to make me one of the chaps, a decent human being, a pillar of society, member of a golf club, chair of the round table and all-round good egg.’
‘I’m afraid we’ve still got a bit to go,’ said Barrowman through gritted teeth but affecting a small smile, ‘but we’re definitely getting there...’
‘You disappoint me, doctor. Didn’t you say last time you had identified certain interesting enzyme differences?’
‘Yes, but these things take time, everything needs to be checked and verified.’
‘Ah, I see. You’ve made one of these discoveries where you folks say, hopefully within five to ten years this will lead to blah blah blah... a cure for cancer... all our power from nuclear fusion... transmutation of lead into gold.’
‘I’m doing my best.’
‘And what does your best require of me today?’
‘I’d like you to sell yourself to me.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Imagine you’re being interviewed for a very senior post in an international company. I’d like you to tell me all about you, presenting yourself in the best possible light, emphasising your good points, highlighting your skills and abilities. Would you do that?’
‘No.’
Barrowman was disappointed. He felt sure Lawler would have been keen to seize the chance to show off. ‘Why not?’
‘The last time we spoke I told you all about me and what went on in my head... as you put it.’
Barrowman swallowed involuntarily as the awful memories surfaced inside him. ‘I remember.’
‘Well, I want to know what’s going on in yours. It’s only fair...’
‘What exactly do you want to know?’
‘You’re married.’ Lawler stared pointedly at the wedding ring on Barrowman’s finger. ‘Who is she? Tell me... all... about her.’
Barrowman felt instantly uneasy. Apprehension filled him as it so often did in his times with Lawler. Lawler’s eyes remained fixed on him.
‘This won’t help the research at all,’ Barrowman tried. ‘You’re just delaying your golf club membership.’
The joke fell flat.
‘What’s her name?’ demanded Lawler. He drove the words home like rivets.
‘Lucy, her name is Lucy.’
‘Lucy,’ repeated Lawler. ‘There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?’
Oh yes it was, Barrowman thought. Hearing Lawler utter his wife’s name was not a good feeling.
‘So, tell me about Lucy... is she good looking? Nice body? Of course, she has... Tell me... what sort of things does she like to wear?’
The thought of Lawler getting off on what Lucy wore made Barrowman shudder inside. He was being asked to pimp his wife’s image. ‘Clothes,’ he snapped.
Lawler smiled as he read Barrowman’s mind. ‘Children? Do you have children?’
A shake of the head.
‘Plans?’
‘One on the way.’ Jesus, why did I say that?
‘A baby? Aw...’ crooned Lawler adopting a sing song voice. ‘Owen and Loocee and baby makes three... I bet you have a house with a garden?’ he asked with feigned enthusiasm.
‘A flat.’
‘Pity, still... there’s plenty of time.’
It suddenly occurred to Barrowman through the anger simmering inside him that Lawler wasn’t just playing a part. He had adopted the personality and mannerisms of someone he had seen on TV, a popular, daytime TV presenter. He was doing it so well that it triggered an idea. He had taken samples from Lawler when he had been simulating a number of psychotic conditions; this would be his chance to get specimens when he was simulating someone who would be regarded by society as normal. His gut feeling sensed that this could be a huge bonus, but his gut feeling was also insisting that his association with Lawler was making him ill.
He had known this for some weeks but couldn’t bring himself to walk away because Lawler was the source of the data he needed to make a major breakthrough. The man was a genetic Rosetta stone and he wanted to be the one to unravel the secrets of the code. At least... he thought this was the reason, but there were times when he felt some other force was playing on him and he couldn’t quite focus on it. Lack of sleep, the drive of burning ambition, growing resentment of others and the constant need for deceit were all playing their part in sponsoring short temper, impatience and evasiveness in him, but that didn’t matter, it would be worth it in the end he kept telling himself.