Nathan thought that Denver had inherited enough of their bad habits already. They didn’t talk about Doris Bellman any more, although Grace could tell that Nathan was still thinking about the basilisk, even when he was pretending to laugh at David Letterman. The phone rang twice, but each time it was for Denver. The first caller was a boy who even sounded as if he had raging acne; and the second was a breathy girl with a very strong South Philly accent. She called herself Whimzy (‘that’s with a zee . . . he’ll know who it is, aayt?) Nathan put down the receiver. He had been expecting a call from Richard, with the early results of his necropsy; and he had secretly been hoping that Dr Burnside might ring him, suggesting that if he was more disciplined with his budget, he could carry on with his breeding program. ‘Does Denver have a girlfriend called Whimzy with a zee?’ Grace shook her head. ‘I didn’t know that Denver had a girlfriend. Not since Marian Mellenstein, anyhow.’ ‘Marian Mellenstein wasn’t a girlfriend.
