Marilyn Monroe or exhaling clouds of cigarette smoke although she didn't indulge in the latter as far as Isabelle knew. "Bob said he tried to reach you earlier,"
Sandra told her. "He left a message on your mobile? I did tell him to try your office, but ...You know Bob."
Ah yes, Isabelle thought. She said, "I've been caught up in things here, Sandra. We've had an incident with a bloke in the street."
"Are you somehow involved in that? How dreadful. I saw the news conference. It interrupted my programme."
Her programme was medical, Isabelle knew. Not a daily hospital drama, this, but rather an intense scientific exploration of debilitating conditions and numerous afflictions - fatal and otherwise. Sandra watched it religiously and took copious notes as a means of monitoring her children's health. As a result, she regularly ferried them to their paediatrician in a state of panic, most recently because of a rash on the younger girl's arm, which Sandra had firmly believed was an outbreak of something called Morgellons disease. Sandra's obsession with this programme was the single subject that Isabelle and Bob Ardery could actually share a chuckle over.
"Yes, I'm involved in an investigation related to that incident," Isabelle told her, "which is why I wasn't able to - "
"Shouldn't you have been at the press conference? Isn't that how it's done?"
"It's not „done' any particular way. Why? Is Bob monitoring me?"
"Oh no. Oh no." Which meant that he was. Which meant that he had probably phoned his wife and told her to switch on the telly posthaste because his ex-had blotted her copybook properly this time and the proof was at that very moment being offered up for public consumption on the airwaves. "Anyway, that's not why I'm phoning."
"Why are you phoning? Are the boys all right?"
"Oh yes. Oh yes. Not to worry about that. They're right as rain. A bit noisy, of course, and a bit rambunctious - "
"They're eight-year-olds."
"Of course. Of course. I don't mean to imply ...Isabelle, not to worry. I love those boys.
You know I do. They're just wildly different to the girls."
"They don't like dolls and tea parties, if that's what you mean. But you didn't expect them to, did you?"
"Not at all. Not at all. They're lovely. We had an outing yesterday, by the way, the girls and the boys and I. I thought they might enjoy the cathedral in Canterbury."
"Did you?" A cathedral, Isabelle thought weakly. For eight-year-olds. "I wouldn't think - "
"Well of course, of course, you're right. It didn't go quite as well as I'd hoped. I'd thought the Thomas Becket part would appeal. You know what I mean. Murder on the high altar? This renegade priest? And it did, rather. At first. But holding their attention was a bit of a problem. I think they would have preferred a trip to the seaside, but I do so worry about sun exposure what with the ozone layer and global warming and the alarming increase in basal cell carcinoma. And they don't like sunblock, Isabelle, which I can't understand. The girls slather it right on, but one would think I'm trying to torture the boys, the way they react to it. Did you never use it?"
Isabelle drew in a steadying breath. She said, "Perhaps not as regularly as I might have done. Now - "
"But it's crucial to use it. You must have known - "
"Sandra. Is there something particular you've phoned about? I'm quite tied up in things here, you see, so if this is just to chat ... ?"
"You're busy, you're busy. Of course, you're busy. It's only this: Do come to lunch. The boys want to see you."
"I don't think - "
"Please. I do plan to take the girls to my mum's, so it will be just you and the boys."
"And Bob?"
"And Bob, naturally." She was silent for a moment and then she said impulsively, "I did try to get him to see, Isabelle. I told him it was only fair. I said you need time with them. I told him I would cook the lunch and have it ready for you and then we could all be off to my mum's.
We'd leave you with them and it would be just like a restaurant or a hotel only it would be in our house. But ...I'm afraid he wouldn't consider that. He just wouldn't. I'm so sorry, Isabelle. He means well, you know."