she found when she finally got home temporarily galvanised her. The house looked as though it had been burgled. Wilt’s ordinary clothes, along with his shoes, were scattered on the floor of the bedroom and to add to her alarm several drawers in the bedroom had obviously been clumsily searched. The same was true of the desk in his study. Finally, and in its own way most alarming of all, the mail had been opened and lay on a side-table beside the front door. While the quads, still relatively subdued, went upstairs she phoned the Tech only to be told by the Secretary that he hadn’t been seen there and there was no saying where he was. Eva put the phone down and tried the Braintrees’ number. They were bound to know where he was. There was no answer. She pressed the button on the answerphone and heard herself repeatedly telling Henry to phone her in Wilma. She went back upstairs and felt in the pockets of Wilt’s clothes but there was nothing to indicate what he had been doing or where he was. The fact that they were lying in a pile on the floor frightened her. She’d trained him to fold them up carefully and he’d got into the habit of hanging them over the back of a chair. From there she went to the wardrobe and checked his other trousers and jackets. None of them were missing. He must have been wearing something when he left the house. He couldn’t have gone out naked. Eva’s thoughts ran wildly to extremes. Ignoring Penelope’s questions she went back downstairs and phoned the police station.
‘I want to report a missing person,’ she said. ‘My name is Mrs Wilt and I’ve just got back from America and my husband is missing.’
‘When you say missing do you mean’
‘I’m saying he has disappeared.’
‘In America?’ asked the girl.
‘Not in America. I left him here and I live at 45 Oakhurst Avenue. I’ve just come back and he isn’t here.’
‘If you’ll just hold the line a moment.’ The telephonist could be heard muttering to someone in the background about some ghastly woman and she could understand why her husband had gone missing. ‘I’ll put you through to someone who may be able to help you,’ she said.
‘You lousy bitch, I heard what you just said!’ yelled Eva.
‘Me? I didn’t say anything. And I’ll have you for using offensive language.’
In the end she was answered by Sergeant Yates. ‘Is that Mrs Eva Wilt of 45 Oakhurst Avenue?’
‘Who else do you think it is?’ Eva snapped back.
‘I’m afraid I have some rather bad news for you, Mrs Wilt. Your husband has been in some sort of accident,’ the Sergeant told her. He obviously didn’t like being snapped at. ‘He’s in the Ipford General Hospital and he’s still unconscious. If you…’
But Eva had already slammed the phone down and, having told the quads in her most menacing manner to behave themselves really well, was on her way to the hospital. She parked and stormed through the crowded waiting room to the reception desk, pushing aside a little man who was already there.
‘You’ll just have to wait your turn,’ the girl told her.
‘But my husband has been injured in a serious accident and he’s unconscious. I’ve got to see him.’
‘You’d better try A&E then.’
‘A&E? What’s that?’ Eva demanded.
‘Accident and Emergency. It’s out the main door. You’ll see a sign,’ said the receptionist and attended to the little man.
Eva hurried out the door and turned left. There was no sign of Accident and Emergency
