I had left Bronwen and Daphne deliberating how to get in touch with their old school friend, who had a great nephew who could be useful in the investigation of recent events at the Institute.

As the youngest director I had to see to the running of the various classes, and I found myself making a tour of the building. There are seven levels counting the belvedire and after ascending the stairs to that lookout point I had to pause to regain my breath.

A life in which cookery plays some part requires rather more exercise than my old injury allows. I therefore gazed out over the New Forest which at this time of year is glorious in its Autumn colours which vary from pale gold to deepest burgundy, but my thoughts kept wandering to an image of a woman with glowing red hair.

I set off to make my inspection.

I found the dance classes in progress. Madam Erzulie was demonstrating in the Red Studio in her usual exuberant fashion - my how that woman can laugh. Next door about a dozen of the gels were indulging in freeform exotics, upon which I will not dwell. The classrooms were all empty and quiet, and so were most of the teaching kitchens.
I descended through the building - which is arranged on four sides of a central rectangle, and found nothing amiss until I came to the row of offices.
The door to The McGeek's office stood open, and the room was empty. I leaned against the door to the office opposite and considered why that should be, then I heard footsteps approaching. I reached behind me and opened the door, stepped inside and waited. Mister McGreagor strode past.

My eyes widened.

Although he still wore the long knitted cardigan which had given rise to his nickname, and the highly polished boots which I suspect indicate a military background if not training - he was wearing an ankle length denim kilt.