“Then, a few years later, an amateur spiritualist by the name of Leonard Stirling began to piece together enough―”
“Hold on, Mr Penwright.” It was Richard’s dad, and he sat rigid, gaping at the journalist.
“Please, if you’ll just let me finish.”
“No, I’m sorry, Mr Penwright. That name? Say it again.”
“Stirling. Leonard Stirling.”
“Mr Penwright – that’s our name. Stirling. And my great grandfather’s name was Leonard.”
There followed a long silence, the impact of Stirling’s words leaving the others stunned. It was Penwright who recovered first. “So,” he began somewhat hesitantly, “let me try to string together these somewhat disparate facts. If Leonard Stirling was indeed your great grandfather, we have a link perhaps? The beginning of a link, anyway. Wouldn’t you say?”
“I’ve no idea.
