As they walked across the zoo, they saw a large group of people standing on one of the lawns opposite the main restaurant a motley mixture of civil servants and reporters.

Sarah waved to Robin, her photographer, who was already milling among the throng.

'It's all gone very smoothly,' said Charles. 'Suddhodana, he's the father, he's already been flown back to Peking. But mother and child are doing fine.'

Sarah consulted her notes. 'That's Mahamaya?'

'Correct.'

'And what's the baby called?'

His smile drooped a little. 'Ah, well. That's due to be announced once the ceremony's underway.'

'Oh, oh.' Sarah had known Charles since college and could tell when a bombsh.e.l.l was on the way. 'Do I detect a spot of diplomatic chicanery?'

He had a sheepish smile. 'Everything's tied up with selling Hong Kong off to China.'

'And your poor old Yeti got caught up in the negotiations.'

She hugged him. 'Poor Charlie. They should have asked you.

You were the first person to catch one and bring it back into captivity.'

'Yeah, well, China got one soon after. But just recently I've seen reports of two being used as dancing bears in Russia.'

There was a general disturbance as a new group of Grey Suits made their way across the lawn. At the centre, Sarah recognized the Chinese Amba.s.sador and, alongside him, the British Foreign Minister and, in a suit of cobalt blue, the Prime Minister herself.

One of the head keepers appealed to the reporters not to use flashguns for fear of frightening the Yeti cub. Then the zoo's director made a brief speech about there being three distinct sub-species of Yeti. Mahamaya and her cub were Yeti Yeti Traversii Traversii, belonging to the group that more closely resembled the bear family. They were very timid creatures and it was estimated that only a few hundred existed in the wild, which made the birth of the first cub born in captivity so important.

(Mild applause.) The Yeti's diet consisted mainly of rhododendron leaves and flowers, although they were partial to honeycomb too when they could get it.

The liaison between China and Britain, which had brought about this happy event, was of major international importance.

In recognition of that diplomatic concord, the yeti cub was to be named Margaret.

(Wild applause.) A nervous young keeper appeared carrying a small bundle of fur in his hands. The cameras (minus flashes) began to click and whirr. The Prime Minister plainly saw this as the photo opportunity sans pareil sans pareil. If one of her predecessors could do it with pandas, then she was certainly not going to flinch at a Yeti. She cooed regally over the wriggling bundle, determined to reinforce her maternal image.

She appeared less than enthusiastic, however, when the Zoological Society's director suggested she might actually hold the creature. Her cortege of Suits and PR men and the Chinese Emba.s.sy staff all looked on expectantly as the cub's nervous handler showed her the right way to hold his precious charge.

'Like handing Snow White over to the Wicked Queen,'

murmured Sarah and got a sidelong look from Charles. He was surrogate father to the baby and was suffering as much as its keeper.

The Prime Minister angled her Tibetan charge awkwardly at arms' length and gave a rictus smile for the cameras.

Sarah, unable to keep a professionally straight face, slipped away from the crowd to look at the Yeti enclosure.

There seemed to be nothing at home, which reminded her of childhood visits to the zoo. The label would tell you what was meant to be in the cage, but the inmate was always indoors or curled up asleep in the corner, and no amount of shouting or chucking peanuts, in the days when you were allowed to chuck peanuts, would get it to stir. Sarah didn't have a rhododendron to chuck either.

She gasped as someone barged past her an old man in extremely tatty and grubby clothes. He had a shock of wild white hair and a white beard and he gave off a musty smell like old cupboards.

'Pardon me!' exclaimed Sarah. Then she noticed the tapping white stick and realized her mistake. 'I'm so sorry. I didn't realize.'

The old man ignored her. His stick struck the safety barrier and he grasped at the rail with his free hand. 'Yeh-teh!' he called out. The voice was commanding for someone who appeared so old. 'Yeh-teh!'

He raised his stick and began to swing wildly across the barrier with it, clashing the implement repeatedly against the bars as he shouted.

There was a squeal from inside the enclosure. A ma.s.sive grey bearlike creature came scrambling out from behind some rocks. It reared up on its hind legs and squealed again. It was nearly eight foot tall. It was pushing itself against the inner barrier, clawing at the wire.

Sarah ran to pull the old man away, but he pushed her clear with alarming force. She stared in disbelief. His face was dirty and his spectacles were cracked, but she was certain she knew him.

' Yeti Traversii! Yeti Traversii! ' he shouted and began to haul himself across the barrier. ' he shouted and began to haul himself across the barrier.

Sarah ran to fetch help. She should have shouted, but she didn't want to cause an international incident. There must be trigger-happy bodyguards behind every tree. All of them ignoring events by the Yeti enclosure. She grabbed at Charles and pulled him away as quietly as she could, begging him to help.

He looked bemused. And even more so, when they reached the enclosure and there was no sign of the old man.

'All right, all right,' Charles kept saying. 'I believe you.

Something's certainly disturbed Mahamaya.' The Yeti had dropped back to all fours, but was pacing up and down the length of the barrier, swinging her head from side to side in agitation.

Sarah was trying to stay calm, but she had to tell him or burst with frustration. 'I know who it was, Charlie. Oh, don't ask how, I just do.'

He tried to be patient. 'All right, tell me.'

She clasped and unclasped her hands. 'It was Edward Travers. The The Edward Travers. The professor.' Edward Travers. The professor.'

'Don't be ridiculous, darling.'

'But it was. The one who discovered...'

He completed her sentence: '...who first discovered the Yeti in Tibet in 1936. How could it possibly be?'

Sarah shook her head. 'I interviewed him once for Metropolitan Metropolitan. I know it was him, Charlie. Please believe me!'

'Sarah, he was an old friend of mine. He's dead. He's been dead for nearly five years.'

She gave a huge moan of despair. 'I know.'

He put his arm round her shoulder. 'Come on. You had a shock and made a mistake.'

'I've had worse than that. And I wasn't wrong. It was so like him.' She bit her tongue.

'There you are then,' he said and there was a note of triumph in his voice.

A tuft of fur fluttered on the inner barrier.

'She's moulting,' Sarah sniffed. But the fur looked more like cobweb.

Charles offered her his huge coloured handkerchief. 'Come on, it's not like you to get so upset. When we're finished here, I'll take us out to lunch.'

'Thanks,' she said flatly. 'Sorry.'

But she did notice the nervous, even expectant, glances he had cast in every single direction while she was talking.

As they walked back towards the group, they heard a shout and a general disturbance among the crowd. There was another barrage of clicking cameras.

'What did we miss?' Charles asked.

'The cub,' smirked the nearest reporter. 'It just bit her.'

'Now do you feel better?' Charles muttered, giving Sarah's arm a squeeze. They peered over the heads, trying to get a better view.

One of the Suits was winding a handkerchief around the Prime Minister's hand. The nervous young keeper was hurrying his squirming charge away.

'It's all right. It's all right,' piped up one of the Foreign Minister's aides. 'Just a little nip.'

There was embarra.s.sed silence as the entire British contingent stared at the Chinese party. Finally the Amba.s.sador said loudly, 'More likely to offend j.a.pan, I believe. Thank you for a most gratifying occasion.'

'No chance of rabies, I suppose?' whispered Sarah.

'Not a hope,' said Charles.

Sarah raised an eyebrow. 'Actually, I was worrying about the cub.' She waved to Robin the cameraman and then flounced away. 'Coming for a cuppa before you buy me lunch? Then you can tell me what else you brought back from Nepal.'

4.

Home to Roost e never got in touch, Victoria thought.

H The front page of Mrs Cywynski's Telegraph Telegraph was dominated by a picture of the Prime Minister, a pained look on her face, as she nearly dropped a small bundle of fur. The headline said PM DISCOVERS THAT DIPLOMACY BITES was dominated by a picture of the Prime Minister, a pained look on her face, as she nearly dropped a small bundle of fur. The headline said PM DISCOVERS THAT DIPLOMACY BITES BACK. The report listed various comments from the dignitaries present and ended with a caustic quote from Charles Bryce, the British explorer who first captured a Yeti and brought it into captivity. 'No wonder the poor creatures keep clear of civilization. At home the worst thing they have to worry about is the occasional snow leopard.'

She had been back from hospital for two weeks, back at work for one. The hole in the pavement was still there and the house had taken on a musty smell. At the office, there were stacks of filing to do and letters to type. She felt as if her boss had deliberately done nothing while she had been away. She also still had no recollection of what had happened in Tibet.

She remembered waking up in the hospital, but when she had fallen asleep she could not recall. The entire journey was a dream, littered with more dreams of journeys and things she might have only imagined or thought she remembered. It had become a gaping black hole from which blew cold, decaying air.

She even thought Charles might have been a dream until she saw the newspaper.

She thought she remembered waking up in hospital, but the more she thought...

'Thinking again?' the d.u.c.h.ess asked with another dig of her sharp little chin. another dig of her sharp little chin.

The words of a song began to circle in her head: Row, row, row your boat Row, row, row your boat Gently down the stream Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily...

And there was the letter from St John Byle. It had been waiting when she got back. She'd read it and taken it straight to Mrs Cywynski.

The letter curtly informed her that her father's will had been resolved. She was ent.i.tled to an undisclosed eight figure sum of money. There were papers to sign, but no other complications.

'Who were were your family?' Mrs C had said. 'Exiled Russian royalty?' your family?' Mrs C had said. 'Exiled Russian royalty?'

'I never even said he was my father,' protested Victoria. 'I don't want any money. Why don't they leave me alone!'

'You could always give it to charity,' the landlady suggested. The noticeboard in her kitchen was covered in leaflets from the local cats' home.

'I'll think about it,' Victoria had mumbled. That had been a week ago.

As she sat on the stairs between Mrs C's flat and her own, brooding over the paper, she heard a loud thump as if something had fallen. It had come from the locked room the forbidden sanctum that was the late Mr Cywynski's shrine.

Mrs C was out at her bridge circle evening, so Victoria went and listened at the door. There was definitely something moving inside. On impulse, she knocked. The movement stopped.

Silence.

The musty smell that had permeated the house seemed at its strongest here. She called Mrs Cywynski's name and tried the handle. The door was locked as usual. She waited.

It must be a cat, she decided. It had got trapped inside.

Heaven knows how long it had been there.