“I don’t have any best to save it for,” Jean replied. “I’m going to wear it to work.”
At the meeting, the main subject for discussion was the change in layout, moving the entertainments, listings, marriage lines, household hints, gardening, Pam’s Piece, features and fashion to the middle pages （displacing “news from the estates” and motoring）。 This would then form an eight-page section, aimed chiefly at women, which could be detached from the main body of the paper. It was felt that this would enable couples to share and enjoy the Echo more harmoniously. The mailbag was split between those who viewed all change with hostility （the majority）， those who approved of the principle of the supplement section but had alternative suggestions for its content based on their own preferences and those （few） who were in favor of the new layout.
After some debate it was decided to proceed as planned. Time, Roy’s argument ran, would deal with the opponents of change. The new and threatening would become the old and familiar in due course. The second group’s needs were too diverse and conflicting ever to be successfully addressed. That left the third and smallest group to carry the day.
The matter settled, it was Jean’s turn to give an update on Our Lady of Sidcup, as Larry styled it. Her frequent absences from the office had been noted and Roy felt the rest of the team deserved a report on the progress of the medical investigations.
“You might remember, but we approached this story with some skepticism,” Jean said, “imagining that it would be quite quickly dismissed.”
Heads nodded. Most of those present had in truth imagined that this is exactly what had happened, weeks ago, and were surprised that the story was still live.
“I’ve investigated the woman’s claims and interviewed various people connected with her during the crucial period, and I can’t find anything that undermines her version of events. For what it’s worth, I find myself inclined to believe her. What is more significant, though, is the results of various tests that she and her daughter have had at Charing Cross Hospital to try to prove beyond doubt that parthenogenesis—that’s virgin birth to you—occurred. And, so far so good.”
She was aware as she spoke that her colleagues had grown quiet and attentive. During the debate on the new layout there had been the usual distracted fidgeting, fiddling with pens and lighters, the grinding out of cigarettes, but they were all now focused on her.
“The blood tests were compatible, and,” she looked down at her papers to the most recent letter from Dr. Lloyd-Jones, “I’m quoting the doctor here—in the ‘taste test,’ both mother and daughter could taste phenylthiocarbamide at exactly the same threshold value of 2:54 mg per liter. This is significant. In the saliva test, both mother and daughter were ‘non-secretors’ and produced identical titers after treating their saliva samples against an anti-A antiserum.”
“Does this amount to proof?” asked Bill.
“Not 100 percent.” She referred back to her notes. “The probability of this kind of agreement if there was a father involved is less than 0.01 percent. There is one more serum test and then if they pass that, the clincher is a skin graft, but obviously they wouldn’t proceed with that if any of the previous tests failed.”
“The really persuasive thing as I understand it,” said Roy, entering the discussion for the first time, “is that Mrs. Tilbury presented herself as an example of a virgin mother before she was aware of the results of these tests and not the other way around.”
“Yes, exactly,” said Jean.
“Does the lady herself know the outcome of the tests now?” Larry wanted to know.
Jean nodded. “She’s been kept informed at every stage. The doctor leading the project was adamant that results should not be withheld from her.”
“What’s to stop her, having proved her case at our expense, so to speak, running off to one of the nationals with her story? Has she signed any kind of exclusivity contract yet?”
“No,” said Jean. “It’s not necessary. She isn’t the least bit interested in money or notoriety.”
“She might be,” said Larry. “If she knew how much was available.”
“I’ve built up a relationship with her. She trusts me and I trust her. However,” she turned to Roy, “if you think it’s necessary, I’m prepared to ask her to sign something.”
Roy looked at her over his glasses, considering.