"Stand and deliver."
Luckily, Roger had not been going very quickly.
"On a motorbike?" he asked, "It would have to be something very small."
The taller, thinner highway person smiled a polite, humouring-the-grown-ups smile. The smaller, squarer highway person scowled even more deeply. Roger presumed she was still at the age when jokes needed to be laboriously explained.
"Are you Roger?" she demanded.
Roger restrained himself from saying "That's Wing-commander Walker to you." He had a suspicion he knew who she was.
"Yes. And you're Fob."
She nodded, not finding this strange. "If you know where Rowan is, you have to tell us."
"I hoped you would tell me that. I won't make a nuisance of myself if she doesn't want to see me."
The small, square highway person lost a little of her certainty and glanced at her brother.
"You were our last chance – well, probably our last chance." Chas said.
"Nicola went to London to look for her in the Easter Holidays. But she wasn't there." Fob said.
"Not that Nicola searched the whole of London, exactly." Chas explained," but she went there for days – staying with a friend you know – and visited all the places they used to go to, and where they used to live. And she asked Patrick because they live in the house that they used to live in. Before, I mean, but only when it's parliament."
Roger nodded. He hoped Charles would manage a more comprehensible reply to his next question.
"Do you know why Rowan left?"
"Not exactly."
"You don't have any idea why?"
"She said" Chas said thoughtful, face screwed up in the effort of accurate recollection, "that she had been sent away – effectively sent away. And a bit before, there was some sort of row and Ann came home for the weekend and then didn't stay for all of it."
"Does Ann know where Rowan is?"
Fob shook her head. Charles elaborated.
"No. Nicola went and asked her and she said she didn't, even though Nicola isn't meant to visit Ann. Fob hear d her telling Kay. But you mustn't tell anyone else about that. You really mustn't. Nicker-Nacker is OK you know."
Roger gravely agreed that he did know.
"Only we have to go now to school. We've thought of an excuse – sort of, but it's not going to be credible if we're too late."
Roger had intended to go to London, of course, wondering if Rowan and gone to stay with old friends there. There didn't seem to be much point in that now. He had wondered if he should go to Kingscote and asking to speak to Nicola. Now it seemed likely that that would just get Nicola into trouble. North seemed as good a direction to ride in as any.
He had thought of riding straight to the Lake. He couldn't take the risk that there was a letter waiting for him at Benson for him from Rowan. There wasn't. He telephoned to tell the Mrs Blackett he was coming. She asked him if something was wrong. Roger could hear the gong being thumped unrhythmically in the background. Roger supposed, since it was Friday and the girls would be at school, that it must be young Robert. Nothing was wrong, Roger assured Mrs Blackett in a most casual and unconcerned voice, but he might be later than supper, since he was only just leaving Oxfordshire now.
All the small Walkers were ostensibly in bed by the time he arrived. Robert and Julia really were asleep. Jane padded out onto the landing in bare feet, wrapped her arms around him fiercely as high up as she could reach, said "Promise you'll be here in the morning." and padded back to bed, reassured.
He awoke from sweat-soaked nightmares at some time before dawn and wandered downstairs, touching items; feeling the texture of the polished wooden banister, the worn stair carpet beneath his feet, the cold metal of the gong in the hallway. The gong sounded slightly when he touched it. Roger didn't think anyone would have heard. He padded on bare clammy feet into the kitchen. A cup of tea might help. Susan would say he should have a glass of milk, if she was here, but he didn't feel like milk. The teapot was standing on the well- scrubbed kitchen table. It was still warm. There seemed to be enough left for another cup in the brown pottery depths although it was hard to be sure. The tea-cosy wasn't on the pot, so it couldn't have been brewed that long ago and still be warm. There was still hot water in the kettle too. He made himself a cup of tea, being sparing with the milk and putting a couple of spoons of sugar in. He tasted it – not too badly stewed. Roger reached for a third spoonful of sugar and then paused. Was sugar still on ration? He supposed so. He used the spoon from the sugar bowl to give the cup a second more vigorous stir and drank it as it was.