Page 27 of Things We Do for Love and Science
She suppressed a fit of the giggles. “I promise not to breathe a word.”
“Let’s do it then.”
She went to the corner where she’d dropped her handbag, produced a DNA test kit, and handed it to him. “If you could move this around the inside of your cheeks, and, just to be sure, if you could also spit into this test tube?”
“No problem.” He gripped the test tube with his long, slender fingers and unscrewed the lid. “I’ll better turn around. This is bound to be disgusting.”
She chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’m not such a delicate flower.”
He completed the task then held out test tube and swab. She stowed both safely in her bag.
“You know, what annoys me most is that I have to pester you for genetic samples of your family when I don’t really believe in John’s longevity project.”
Gabriel appeared to be disappointed. “You don’t?”
She frowned. “Firstly, to attempt this kind of thing, Professor Winter would need a much,muchlarger sample size. Even if he gathered the DNA of every Renwood in that crypt of yours, it wouldn’t be nearly enough. Secondly, you’d need proper funding and a huge, dedicated lab working on it full time. What he’s doing with the ‘Renwood Longevity Project’ is of personal and local significance at best. John Winter brought his hobby into our lab, even though we already have more than enough work with our day-to-day research.”
Gabriel quirked his head. “What a shame. Nothing special in our DNA after all?”
“I’m not saying the Kirwans aren’t blessed with a nice set of genes,” she glanced at him from beneath her eyelashes, “but I’d be more interested in examining a farm laborer with similar DNA to your ancestor, Edwin. Someone who had periodically suffered from malnutrition, and who had to work the land from morning till night, rain or shine. Epigenetics is more my jam.”
“What does that mean? Epigenetics?”
“Oh, sorry, I’m slipping into jargon. It’s an area of research that examines how external factors influence which of our genes are expressed and which aren’t. How do experiences shape our DNA and that of our children? Transgenerational trauma written into our bodies is fascinating stuff, and we’re only at the beginning. John’s a dinosaur who still considers DNA as the blueprint of a human being and life running according to a preordained plan. But it’s much more complicated and interesting than that.”
“It certainly sounds like it. Not that I’ve much of a grasp of science, but maybe some basic understanding will rub off on me if I continue to hang out with you.”
“And you can teach me to properly appreciate art. That’s an area of which I have exactly zero clue.”
“Sounds like a plan.” He gave her one of his radiant smiles, and her pulse quickened.
“Don’t let me forget that model; I need it for my lectures.” She tore her gaze from him and fixed it on the double helix on the Louis XV table.
The session had come to an end. Gabriel was in the process of opening the tricky top inch of the metal zip. With his hands on Delia’s back and his face close to her exposed skin, she fought hard to stay calm.It’s normal to get a bit flustered.
“What’s it like to be stuck in front of a herd of young ones? he asked. “Are they ready and eager to drink from the font of knowledge?”
She leaned back slightly and turned her profile to him. “It’s a touch more prosaic, I have to admit. Not all of them are eager. Some are a bit sluggish, or bored, or not particularly motivated, but I aim to make sure the eager ones go far.” Her voice steadied. “Professor Winter will retire in a couple of years, and it’s my ambition to take over as the head of the biochemistry department.”
“That’s great. I wish you every success. You deserve it.” The top of the zip was undone, and he took a step back.
“I certainly do, especially after extracting those DNA samples from you.”
“Extortionist.”
She batted her eyelashes. “That’s what I am. Now get out, and let me change into my clothes.”
~ * ~
“Would you look at thelength of those telomeres. This man is thirty-five, and he has the telomeres of a twenty-year-old.” Delia turned to Sandra, who was writing up the results of her latest experiment at the table next to hers.
Sandra came over and peered through the microscope. “Wow, not bad. You should make babies with him.”
“Stop it, or I won’t show you anything anymore, ever,” Delia snapped.
Laughter shook Sandra’s petite frame. “I’m just saying,” she gasped between breaths, “you’re right at the source. Help the poor man fill that large house of his with a clutch of little Renwoods.”
Delia scowled and folded her arms across her chest. “You’re beginning to sound eerily like John Winter.”
