Free Liz Carlyle - 07 - The Geneva Trap by Stella Rimington

problem,’ said Edward. ‘I’d hoped she was doing it to get away from those people she’s been involved with.’
    Susan said, ‘She’s been living in a commune in the South of France.’
    ‘How long has she been there?’
    Edward sighed. ‘Five years or more. Teddy’s father, Paul, introduced her to the place when they were living in Cahors; the commune’s not far from there in the Lot-et-Garonne. When Teddy was born and Paul took off, her mother and I urged Cathy to come home. But she wouldn’t – she’s always been very independent. Still, it couldn’t have been easy on her own with a baby in a foreign country, and eventually she went to live in the commune. I thought she might come back when her mother died, but she didn’t.’
    ‘When did she leave France?’
    ‘About three months ago. I have the feeling the commune leaders didn’t want her to go.’
    ‘Is it some kind of a cult?’ asked Liz, imagining a hippie-style enclave, with a charismatic, controlling guru at its head.
    ‘Not really. They style themselves anarchists: none of this love and peace stuff for them – their activities can be pretty violent. They’ve clashed with the police on several occasions, though thank God Cathy has never been arrested. They like to disrupt G8 summits – that sort of thing.’
    He sighed, and Susan said, ‘Why don’t you two go next-door and sit down and I’ll see about supper.’
    They went into the sitting room and, equipped with a stiff whisky, Edward told Liz more. He had been pleased that his daughter had come back to England, happy that he could see her more often and get to know his grandson better. And at first things had seemed to pan out – Cathy had found work three days a week with a software company within walking distance of the flat she’d rented in Brighton; Teddy had adjusted to English school (and English) very well; and the upheavals of Cathy’s life in France seemed well behind her.
    ‘But then?’ asked Liz sympathetically.
    Edward shook his head. ‘These wretched anarchists contacted her again.’
    ‘What did they want?’
    ‘Money, I think. You see, my wife set up a trust for Cathy, and I’m one of the trustees.’ His face darkened. ‘But the trouble is she’s twenty-eight now and she’s entitled to the money.’
    Recently, she’d asked for some of it, to buy a house she’d found on the Hove side of Brighton. ‘The solicitor, who’s the other trustee, and I were happy with this – not that we could have done much if we weren’t. We told her to go ahead and make an offer, and we gave her enough for the down payment.
    ‘But then the French people she’d lived with got in touch, and since then nothing’s happened – Cathy’s still in her small flat with Teddy, and there’s no sign of her buying anything. Since she’s got some money now I’m worried she’s going to give it to these anarchists. It’s impossible to talk to her. She won’t explain anything or come here to tell us what’s going on.
    ‘If I push too hard, she just threatens to go back to France, and take Teddy with her. We’re barely on speaking terms, I’m afraid. When I rang last week and offered to take the boy out for the day, she said no and put the phone down.’
    His distress was obvious. Liz realised it must be made worse by his feeling of powerlessness. From the sound of it the boy could use a strong paternal figure like Edward in his life.
    ‘It does sound very difficult,’ she said. There didn’t seem to be any useful advice she could offer.
    ‘The thing is, if Cathy wants to go and live with these people again, there’s nothing I can do to stop her. It’s her life after all. And ultimately the money’s hers … not just the ten thousand she’s already had, but the rest as well. I’m legally as well as morally obliged to give it to her.’
    He hesitated for a moment. ‘But …?’ prompted Liz.
    ‘Well, I may be kidding myself, but I don’t think this is one of those