An Absence of Natural Light by F. G. Cottam

didn’t know how and was too fuelled by anxiety to find the necessary patience in herself.
    â€˜I’m desperate, Professor Fleetwood,’ she said.
    He was frowning. The expression in his good eye had changed. He said, ‘Your resident wouldn’t be Tom Harper the footballer, would he?’
    â€˜Yes, he would.’
    â€˜My God,’ he said. ‘I’ve supported that team for over seventy years.’
    â€˜You speak with the same accent he does. I’ve only just noticed.’
    â€˜Different generations, but I think we were born about three streets apart. I saw his home debut, when he came on as a sixteen-year-old in the second-half of a cup game against Chelsea. I remember he scored. I was a season ticket holder, back then.’
    Thank the Lord for football, Rebecca thought. ‘Will you help him?’
    â€˜Bring him here. If you’re telling the truth, I’ll tell you both as much as I can. But do it today. I want to remember Rachel Gaunt for as short a time as possible and to forget her entirely again just as soon as I possibly can.’
    She went outside and phoned Tom from the care home drive but got no response. She looked at the sky, which was clear, and assumed he was running along the river. She had no idea how far he’d run, how long it might take him to cover the mileage. He was so formidably fit he could be jogging along for bloody hours.
    Her phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number, but she answered it anyway.
    â€˜Simon Swarbrick.’
    â€˜Who?’
    â€˜Simon Swarbrick?’
    â€˜Your voice sounds familiar, but you’re going to have to give me a clue.’
    â€˜I’m in charge of the alumni archive at the LSE. We met yesterday.’
    â€˜Of course we did,’ she said, ‘and of course I remember, very clearly. You were most helpful.’
    â€˜Thank you. I’m calling you now because of your interest in Rachel Gaunt. Is that still ongoing?’
    â€˜Very much so,’ Rebecca said.
    â€˜I’ve found some cine film you might be interested in seeing. In viewing, I mean. She features quite prominently. There’s no sound, but the footage is Super 8 and the camera must have been a Braun or something of a similar standard lens-wise because the quality is excellent. You could come and look at it this afternoon.’
    Except that she couldn’t, Rebecca thought, looking at her watch. She’d had the previous afternoon and this morning off and the clients were stacking up and it wasn’t like she’d taken a sabbatical or even any holiday time owed. She was supposed to be at work, or at least working while she was out of the office. She was doing neither.
    â€˜I can’t make it,’ she said.
    â€˜That’s a shame.’
    â€˜But I can ask the owner of the property she lived in to come to you. It’s on his behalf I’ve been doing the research.’
    â€˜I was rather hoping you’d come yourself,’ the hipster said. There was now a slight wheedling note to his tone. Rebecca rolled her eyes and then saw she had a call holding. She said, ‘He’s a very wealthy man with a deep appreciation of the importance of higher education and a proven tendency to put his money where he thinks it might be most beneficial, both to society and culturally. Bluntly, he’s someone worth keeping in with.’
    â€˜He will need to bring his credentials,’ Simon said. ‘I’ll expect him at 3 p.m.’
    â€˜Thank you, Mr Swarbrick.’
    â€˜Simon,’ he said.
    â€˜Thank you, Simon.’
    â€˜Anything to oblige you,’ he said, with the stress on the ‘
you
’.
    She terminated the call and picked up the one waiting, which was Tom. She told him about her encounter with Professor Fleetwood. He told her he’d be there in thirty minutes. She spent ten of them finding a coffee shop, ten slowly drinking a coffee and the remainder walking back