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Holms resumed his seat and relit his pipe which had died. “I come to my conclusion soon. I had reached the point where we were considering that Henderson had run away with an older woman by his own choice.”
“Never! He loved me,” the young woman claimed.
“Silence, Miss La Crème. As it happens, you have nothing to fear. This older woman has not stolen the affection you believe is your due.”
“You're confusing me now, Holms,” I confessed.
“All will become clear. This is where the culpability of Manchester United Football Club comes into play.”
Alexander rose to the bait. “I warn you, some of our finest supporters are in the legal trade.”
“I fear them not,” Holms said gravely, “let them do their worst, Repeat for me, Mr Alexander, the regime you impose on players of Henderson's generation.”
It was Alexander’s turn to appear confused. “The deprivation regime? Well, we take them from their families at a young age and deprive them of all the benefits of a modern upbringing. This instils a hunger to succeed in them and …”
Holms held up a hand “Enough. You say you take them from their families?”
“With their permission, of course.”
“And they have no contact with their family thereafter?
“No, that's one of the things they're deprived of.
“And did it never occur to you that Henderson or his family might wish to regain contact?”
“This is boring. Where's Jimmy?” the young woman moaned.
“Yes, Holms, this is all very interesting,” Alexander added, “but where is Henderson?”
Holms gave him a withering look. “No, Alexander, you shall not escape without censure.”
The Scotsman now looked almost terrified about what was about to be revealed. “We never stopped them seeing their family. Once they were adults, of course.”
“Yet you never actually encouraged it,” Holms accused.
“They didn't need families. They had wealth, fame, adulation,” Alexander pleaded.
“I'd like a family,” Cynthia chirruped, “If I had a son I'd call him Birnham Crescent.” She stared at our blank faces. “After where he was conceived.”
Holms ignored this interruption. “It served your purpose that a player should never meet a member of his family … his mother, for instance.”
“What's his mother got to do with this, Holms?” I asked.
Holms turned to me with an evil grin. “You are being unusually dim today, Wilson, despite the high standards you set. Older woman … mother.”
It came at me in a rush and I cried out, “My God … his mother. He was going to meet his mother.”
“Who are you talking about?” Cynthia asked.
“Your Jimmy, my dear. He was going to meet his mother.”
“Jimmy didn't have a mum,” the girl said confidently.