Page 70 of Good Sisters

Ross laughed. ‘I must advise very strongly against any violence. That would be impossible for me to defend. But seriously, Louise, for your own sake, go easy on her. Walter is very fond of his goddaughter. In the meantime, I’ll see if we can get her moved to Conveyancing.’

‘Please do.’

I left and went outside to get a coffee and cool off. I was on my way back to the office when my phone rang. It was the private investigator, Benedict Tyrell. I’d hired him to find Clara’s dad. He was an English colleague of the guy Quentin had hired to spy on his cheating boyfriend. Apparently, the European private-investigation world was relatively small and most of them knew each other. Benedict was based in Italy, so I’d hired him to help me.

‘Hello?’

‘Louise, it’s Benedict.’

‘Well?’

‘I’ve found him.’

My heart stopped.

‘Alive?’

‘Alive and kicking.’

‘Where?’

‘In Italy, in a little village not too far from Rome.’

‘Married?’

‘No.’

‘Kids?’

‘No.’

‘Gay?’

‘No.’

‘Oh, God, he’s not a priest, is he?’

Benedict snorted ‘No. He’s just a middle-aged bloke who runs a small olive farm and lives with his mother.’

A middle-aged man who lived with his mother? It sounded a bit odd.

‘His mother? Is he … I mean, does he seem normal?’

‘Yes. I did a bit of digging and there don’t seem to be any red flags. Marco is just a simple bloke who lives a simple life and seems very happy. He was married briefly years ago but it didn’t work out. He goes to the local bar for a few beers on a Friday night, likes football and runs his olive farm in a lovely place called Pico. About an hour’s drive from the airport in Rome. It’s a beautiful little town.’

My mind was racing. He was alive. Clara’s dad was alive and we had found him.

‘Are you sure it’s him?’

‘Positive. I did a DNA test from a glass he drank out of in his local bar and he’s a ninety-nine point nine per cent match for Clara.’

I felt faint. I reached out to the wall to steady myself. I’d found Marco, but now what? What did I do next? I couldn’t think straight. I told Benedict to email me all the information. I needed to think, figure out my nextmove. I needed my sisters. I took out my phone and sent a message to our WhatsApp:Crisis meeting, 8 p.m. Nina’s wine bar.

I arrived at the wine bar first, as usual, and was already one glass of wine down before Sophie and Julie arrived. Julie plonked herself beside me as Sophie sat on my other side. Her hair was tied back and looked greasy, which was so unlike her.

‘Stop,’ she said, patting her hair down. ‘I know it’s awful, but Robert has bloody nits again. I’ve just spent an hour combing eggs out of his hair – it’s so gross. Jess never had them. I almost gagged. I’m so paranoid he might have given them to me that I put the anti-nit product in my hair too.’

‘I spent half my life combing nits out of the triplets’ hair,’ Julie said. ‘There was one kid in the class whose parents just would not deal with his nits. The teacher had told them over and over that he had nits and his hair needed to be treated, but they refused to believe it or do anything. How they couldn’t see the full nit clan having a party in this kid’s hair is beyond me. Anyway, the teacher reached the end of her tether and caught one of the many nits in his hair on a piece of Sellotape and taped it into his homework notebook.’

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