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she feel so uneasy? “And is this another member of your family?” she asked him, seeing that he showed no signs of making an introduction to the ginger-haired man.
    “Good God, no,” the man said. “No relation. Just good friends,” he added and laughed.
    “This is Tim Froot,” Gavin said shortly. “A Tresham business associate.”
    Froot obviously thought that sounded a little abrupt, and added that his building company head office was in Holland. “But I spend most of my time in Tresham,” he explained. “My Amsterdam office runs itself, and as there is much work to be done in the UK, I prefer to be here. Now, we had better be getting on,” he added to Gavin. “No peace for the wicked!” This last was directed at Lois, along with a knowing smile.
    “Speaks very good English, for a Dutchman,” said Derek, and then in spite of Lois’s mocking laugh, he stepped inside the now vacant cabin and began pressing buttons.
     
     
    MATTHEW AND JOSIE HAD FIRST GONE UP A FLIGHT OF STAIRS and on to a gallery, which led to the rocket lift. Halfway along, they stopped to stare at what they read to be an actual Soyuz spacecraft, found in a Russian car park. It looked used, secondhand, and Josie said she felt a bit sorry for it. “Looks a bit like it was made of Meccano,” she said sadly. “Got left behind.”
    He took her hand and squeezed it. “Cheer up,” he said. “Come on, let’s go. Space awaits us!” He was feeling a little light-headed, something to do with a combination of Josie’s hand in his, and the undeniable atmosphere of excitement that pervaded the whole place.
    Fathers and sons were playing games based on magnetic attraction, and Josie said, “Why does that dad always win? He could lose for once. Give the boy a chance.”
    Matthew looked at her seriously. “Any son of mine would probably win anyway,” he said. She was about to answer that it would depend on whose genes the child inherited, when her eye was caught by a familiar figure. “Hey, that’s that new bloke from Farnden,” she said. “Comes in the shop occasionally, and has his groceries delivered from Tesco.”
    “Where? Who is it?”
    “Him, over there. Adstone, that’s his name. Gavin Adstone, with his wife, Kate. She’s all right, but he’s a real know-all. Treats us all like country bumpkins. He’s on Dad’s SOS committee, unluckily for Dad.”
    “Not taken to him, then, Josie? I expect he’s harmless enough,” he said, and began explaining the function of a hoodlike piece of equipment apparently lined with gigantic shirt buttons.

SEVEN

    A S THEY ALL MADE THEIR WAY TO THE CAR PARK, JOSIE announced that she would go back to Farnden with Matthew. They were both effusive in thanking Douglas for organising the outing, and Josie said she intended to give the centre some publicity by pinning details to the shop notice board.
    “That’ll certainly up the attendance figures,” said Douglas with a straight face. “Mind how you go, Matt,” he added. “Won’t do for a policeman to be caught speeding!”
    Matthew Vickers sighed. How many times had this been said to him? But he was a good-humored soul, and smiled dutifully. “Precious cargo,” he said. “I shall be extra careful.”
    “Blimey, our Josie’s a precious cargo, is she?” muttered Derek to Lois. “Getting serious, d’you reckon?”
    “Hope so,” said Lois. “Time Josie got wed.”
    “Mum! I heard that,” Douglas said, as he started the engine. “Don’t push. Best way to put them off, that is.”
    They turned out of the car park, and this time they took no wrong turnings but drove steadily down a mercifully quiet M1 motorway. Conversation consisted entirely of an exchange of views about the centre, what they had liked best, what they’d missed. The general consensus was that it was a great day out, and they’d certainly go again soon.
    Harry’s head soon drooped, and he was asleep.
    “Look, Doug,” Susie said, turning round from the front