She was plump, matronly, and efficient. In front of her on the desk Trevor noticed a bottle of pills. “I’m just back at work after an illness,” she said. “Well, then,” she went on, her voice becoming more brisk, “you’re looking for your brother. And you say he’s not dead.” She studied the document that he had been given at the office of Births, Marriages and Deaths. “According to this man — what was his name again … Douglas — your brother was in Sydney and as far as he knows may still be there. I hope you realize what you are letting yourself in for if you find him. You say you want him to come home but he may not want to. Again he may be a confirmed alcoholic. We had a lady from England who took her son home, paid a great deal of money for his ticket, and shortly afterwards he disappeared again. She doesn’t know where he is. That’s the sort of thing you have to take account of. Do you understand me? Now I’ve got some sources that I don’t normally divulge.”
