.. it's m-my fault your father is dead." I was stunned. How could it possibly be her fault? "Mom, that's ridiculous. It was an accident... an acc...dent, that's all." "No, baby. If it hadn't been for me, Bill wouldn't have been in that accident in the first place," she whispered. I stared at my mother in perfect incomprehension, "What -- Mom, what in God's name are you talking about?" She sighed, staring down at her hands. "On the day he died, right before he was going to work, I. Ted Allen was all cheery bonhomie. "Christ, Martin," he said, "Never saw you as the devotional type. George Allardyce is your man. You might not remember George, bit before your time. George took the hump when the Department moved out of Somerset House. He started up a little gallery in Chester. I think he still does valuations for some of the esoteric stuff. He's quite brilliant but a prickly old sod. If George doesn't it then it doesn't exist."We chatted for a couple of minutes more about. More

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