He’d joined Fran as soon as the reporters had dispersed, embracing Zac and Bethany again as if he was their father. All four, plus their ever-present FLO, whose smile would have driven Fran to murder in an hour flat, walked to the waiting car. For half a minute Zac had played truant, taking Mark to one side while Fran thrust the pink bear into Bethany’s arms as a furry talisman. Now, hooking her arm into his, he escorted her back to her room. ‘D’you really want me to be honest? The answer is, not much longer. Oh, Mark, I don’t know where I ache most. And there’s another three or four hours to go before I can consider stopping. I’ve got to report to Wren at ten,’ she added, as he opened his mouth to protest. ‘And tomorrow all hell is likely to be let loose – I don’t think the press embargo on our skeletons will hold much longer. Monday’s the last possible day, for sure. And all we want is for some venal soul to tell the red-top press we’ve lost Sean Murray and—’ She spread her hands, lost for further words.
