A night at the opera for Grace and Helen and Francesca. And, as is appropriate, and traditional, and altogether in keeping with the reverence for the eternal verities that has so marked the telling of this tale, the end is signalled when the fat lady sings..

Not that anyone would ever call that epitome of svelte elegance, Grace de Messembry, fat! Even if she were surely no-one would dare? No I speak metaphorically only of course..

So no more secrets as we, you and I dear reader, eavesdrop from our privileged position in the back of the Royal Box at Covent Garden on the three guiding lights of the Venumar Foundation. The plain unvarnished, well relatively so, truth that no-one except you and I ........... .

But hush .... Listen .... Look .... The auditorium is stilled in expectancy. The baton raised, twice tapped, raised again. Poised .... Ssshhhhh ....

~ THE EPILOGUE ~

She sat well back in her box. Below her an anticipatory buzz and the rustling of programmes mingled with the sound of seats being raised, lowered, raised again, and of shuffling footsteps as the audience found their places and settled in.

From her vantage point Grace de Messembry could see the empty orchestra pit, still unlit. A good twenty minutes yet before the performance commenced. Plenty of time for a little chat first, to open the champagne and toy with the caviare and assorted amuse-gueules. It was after all a celebration. Such a successful year. Ending on such a high note with Helen back from the Far Hast and herself returned from the States via Brussels. All done and dusted with considerably enhanced funding from all quarters guaranteed for the foreseeable future. And reports from Helgarren and the the other pilot schemes abroad so very promising. All running like clockwork. One could be forgiven for feeling just the teeniest bit smug.

There was the sound of footsteps outside, quiet voices. The others were here. The door opened and Helen Vanbrugh and Dr. Francesca Pinecoffin sidled in.

“Not only the Grand Tier, but the Royal Box. You do us proud Grace.”

“You, we all, deserve it Francesca. But don't thank me, it's courtesy of that little creep Charles .... whatever his name is .... you know that Minister of Science and Technology chap. The one consolation of having to put up with his company at the Helgarren Ball. I happened to mention that I adored opera and the poor lamb arranged it all.”

“Helen can I ask you to open the champagne. It is something I have never learnt to do. My dear father always said that drinking it and opening it required two entirely different procedures and that no one could be expected to master both. If God had meant me to open bottles he wouldn't have created butlers.”

“Give it to me Grace. You are such a snob! Anyway if you feel so strongly about it why didn't you bring him?”

“God or my butler, Helen? I don't know about the former but alas the latter doesn't like opera. He has made his feelings quite clear on the subject and I dare not cross him. Butlers of his standard of excellence are a dying breed and have to be deferred to in all things.”

“Don't believe a word of it Helen. She is just being her usual devious self because she doesn't want to risk her nails. I happen to know that her butler absolutely adores both her and opera in almost equal measure.”

“You're such a traitor Francesca. A less generous soul would rescind the offer of a glass after that betrayal of confidence, but alas my forgiving nature .... “ Grace sighed and shook her head in sorrow at this evidence of her own weakness as she accepted the glass Helen proffered.

“To the Venumar Foundation, and to us!”

“To the Venumar Foundation, and to us!” Helen and Francesca murmured

The three sipped the champagne appreciatively.

“You both had good trips, I understand.”

“Yes Francesca. Both of us. Really beyond all expectation. The phrases 'Strength to Strength' and 'Sky's the Limit' spring to mind.”

Dr. Pinecoffin shook her head. “It's all rather beyond me. I still don't fully understand it. How you have managed to convince them to fund it in the first place .... Why they are so eager to fund it on an ever increasing scale ...”

Grace de Messembry took another sip from her glass.

“We are all they have. We are the ones that can offer them a solution. The only solution indeed.”

“But it isn't is it? I mean it is all so theoretical what we can do. OK we can change the mind set of men, some men. We can persuade them to accept feminine life styles and attitudes. To act as females, even to opt for, or at least accept, surgical intervention so that they conform physically .... The Venumar Group of companies have developed expertise, unrivalled expertise indeed, in all aspects of feminising men. But it is still a slow process and one which demands constant, expert, individual attention to each candidate. .... And have to put what we can do against the needs of one hundred and eleven million celibate males in China alone. I don't see how it works.....”

“Francesca darling you have led far too sheltered a life cloistered away in Helgarren. We shall have to arrange for you to get out more.”

Grace de Messembry helped herself to a spoonful of caviare spreading it carefully on a sliver of dry toast.

“The first lesson is that I didn't claim, to you at any rate, that it would work. That would be as foolish as claiming categorically that it wouldn't. Solutions don't have to work. They just have to be perceived as solutions. Possible, probable, unlikely, imaginative, ground breaking, lateral, Pick any description that appeals.”

Perfect, even, white teeth closed over a small piece of dry toast. In the slight pause that followed Helen Vanbrugh took up the thread.

“Ours is just the best on offer, Francesca. Largely because no one has come up with anything else. As a solution it is the only player on the field.”

“The second thing to remember dear, “ Grace de Messembry swallowed, passed the tip of her tongue over her lips, and resumed, ”is that the more desperate people are for a solution, the less inclined they are to doubt that solution's infallibility. The need for a solution, for something that they can believe in, for something that allows them to sleep at night, eclipses any doubt. The natural reaction of a drowning man is not to shun a straw because of a well founded scepticism as to its qualities of buoyancy, but to seize it as the the best life saving solution on offer.”

Dr. Pinecoffin nodded thoughtfully. “Yesssss ..... I can understand that but .....”

“Put it in context Francesca darling. One hundred and eleven million is a starting figure. Over all Asia one can perhaps double it. All sex starved. All needing women of which the only available ones belong to their neighbours. And not just sex. There is a natural desire, an overwhelming desire for families, for companionship. Beyond that economies depend on women. Particularly in primitive societies. A male needs a female in order to be an economic unit. To provide the children that are his only chance of surviving into old age. Think of that not only on an individual scale, but on a regional one, on a national one.”

“Where can they get women? How can they survive without them? They will have to take them. Take them from someone else.”

“And all that against the background of the collapse of societies, of economies, of agriculture, of death, and of migration, Migration across national boundaries because such will have little meaning to starving populations.”

Again Grace de Messembry paused, spread a little caviare on toast, bit, washed it down with a sip from her glass.

“The possible consequences, the probable conflicts, darling Francesca, make the so called War on Terror resemble a pub brawl at closing time on a Saturday night in one of our sleepier provincial market towns. Not that it wouldn't give dissident extreme religious factions an ideal opportunity to pursue their own agendas. All those little groups marching behind their ragged banners to the tune of 'Happy Days Are Here Again'. As for the rest ....”

Grace de Messembry shrugged her shoulders, the necklace low around round her neck shedding sudden fire at the movement.

“.....dominoes. The Himalayas around which cluster China, India, Bangladesh and Pakistan which in turn borders Afghanistan which borders Iran which borders Iraq...... all dominoes. And on the other side of China, North Korea which is not the most stable of places even in normal times .... Shall I list them all?”

There was a slight disturbance below them. The orchestra was making its way into the pit, instruments being manoeuvred into place, little lights going on over the music stands.

Helen refilled their glasses.

“Grace is right Francesca. It doesn't bear thinking about. And they try not to think about it too much. But they are all worried. They have to be. The United Nations, the EEC, the States, Australasia, Canada, France .....us. And most of all China, India, Russia. Everybody. Worried did I say? .... Scared shitless is how it was expressed to me by a leading diplomatic figure in Washington.”

“But why is it never mentioned? Global Warming is a subject never out of the newspapers, never off our screens, boringly so even. Why if Asian sex-ratios are such a big problem isn't it ever mentioned?”

“Darling Francesco you really will have to get out more. For the simple reason they don't know what to do about it. Nobody does. Our government isn't going to draw attention to it because even the great British public might eventually get round to asking what they are going to do about it. And if they do ask what would they reply? It would tax even politicians who have made a lifetime career out of their ability to not answer questions. '....Er we'll think of something don't worry ....' is not likely to be good enough. Might even result in people asking even more questions. It is the same with all the so called Western democracies. And the governments of places like China and Russia have never had any irresistible inclination to share their thought processes with their populations.”

“But where does our solution come into it then? I still don't see ....?”

From below came isolated notes on oboe, violin and cello as the orchestra commenced to tune up.

“We are the Emperor's new clothes Francesca darling,” smiled Helen Vanbrugh holding up the bottle to see the level of the remaining champagne before carefully sharing it out.

“Well not really Helen. We do in fact exist, do in fact offer something, although I do see your point in so much as we are perhaps more effective when not examined too closely. And in the meantime governments, the UN, all, can feel comfortable in the fact that they are wearing something, that their nakedness is not exposed to public view, that the size of their genitals is not the subject of ribald mockery by an irreverent public.”

Grace de Messembry sipped her drink thoughtfully.

“Apart from being their comfort, their one hope, their possible saviour, what we offer the democratic nations is insurance against the slings and arrows of outraged voters. When it, as it eventually must, all does come out, when they finally are asked 'What have you done, what are you doing about it?' They will be able to say, with their hand on their heart “Her Majesty's Government has been cognisant of the problem and its potential for international conflict for some time now and has taken all necessary steps to mitigate any unfortunate repercussions that might otherwise befall this sceptred isle, this jewel set in a silver sea, this fortress built by nature.... etc., etc.... They will be able to publish a Government White Paper to this effect thus absolving themselves, in their own eyes at least, from any possible accusation of having done sod all.”

Dr. Pinecoffin laughed softly

“But what when someone asks them 'But what actually have you done?' What then?”

“Why then they will be able to say that they have spent many millions on it and have made ample provision for increased expenditure in the future to ensure that the current programme of research, that they have instigated in collaboration with the USA, the EEC, and the countries of the Commonwealth, under the aegis of the United Nations, will lead to a successful solution of the problem.”

“All of which, well the spending of millions bit anyway, is of course completely true. As our bankers can verify. Not that they ever would of course. Nasty things can happen, even to bankers.”

“And if someone asks what exactly does this research involve?”

The childlike innocence that shone frank and true in Grace de Messembry's green eyes was tinged with pity as she regarded her colleague.

“Dear, darling Francesca, I expect they will pass on to any such enquirers exactly what we have told them. Research into psychological profiling using the experienced gained in our internationally recognised contribution to helping the gender dysphoric, the sexually dysfunctional, and society's basket cases in general. Cutting edge, pardon the pun, surgical and pharmacological technologies. A break through in the use of stem cells in the development of female physical attributes, both secondary and primary, which it is hoped will also give new hope to breast cancer sufferers.”

Grace de Messembry drew breath in a somewhat exaggerated fashion.

“The establishment of a network of overseas Research Establishments to relate these findings to the physical and psychological characteristics of different ethnic groupings. The development of new and improved hormonal treatments including the suppression of testosterone production. Access to our database of more than twelve billion units of genetic information from which springs our award winning exploration of the human genome identifying those genes and tiny 'point mutations' controlling sexual proclivities. The comparative studies of DNA allowing us to analyse specifically female behavioural patterns. Our continuing research using the same methodology and data to tease apart the role of nature and nurture in the creation of a person's psyche. The exploration and testing of new counselling techniques .... “

“Stop it Grace! It is starting to give me a headache.”

“If you insist Francesca dear. The list goes on and on. It is practically endless conforming to the old principle that the greater the number of answers one gives to one simple question, the less any of them will be remembered, let alone be seriously subject to scrutiny. And of course it is so helpful that they are all rather boring and that lay listeners almost invariably develop headaches when subject to their recitation.”

Grace finished her champagne and looked at the glass as if surprised to find it so soon empty.

“But they won't ask Francesca darling. Science is all too difficult. No-one can concentrate long enough to understand it. Certainly not the great British public and its stalwart defenders, the popular press, whose only passing acquaintance with the more exacting disciplines is limited to statistics within the range of 36 to 44 inches. The bigger the better of course just as with Government spending.”

“All that matters is money. Tell them that millions have been spent on their behalf and everyone is happy in the knowledge that something is being done about whatever it is. They might ask the question 'what' but they are unlikely to listen to the answer and even less likely to understand it.”

“And the Opposition Grace?”

“Oh we have taken the precaution of keeping them well informed all along. They are, as it were, tarred with the same brush. They can hardly ask searching questions of the Government later when they didn't sooner. They have the same problem with Iraq. Having, being seized with a patriotic fervour which I can only assume was alcohol fuelled, supported the launching of an illegal war they are on somewhat less than firm ground in criticising it now. All they can say is that they were lied to. Which just makes them seem incompetent. And I haven't lied to them.”

Again a sigh

“They just never seem to learn. Fortunately. And fortunately of course Governments seem to be the same the world over. Having gone this far it would be difficult for anyone to break ranks. Besides they really haven't any other options open. We do offer the only solution they have.”

Grace de Messembry put down her empty glass. Smiled in satisfaction.

“And do you think our solution will work Grace?”

The smile broke into a small cry of not-quite-suppressed mirth.

“Francesca, dear you are hoot! Such a delight! What a question! I have not the slightest idea. It is not our problem. We only provide the research and ultimately the technical know-how should it be required. It is for others to put it into practice. Can they translate it into an actuality involving millions? Who knows? Personally I would doubt it very much. But then if I had been consulted at the time, I would have doubted their ability to cut three hundred million per annum off their birth rate by managing to persuade or coerce their people into having only one child per family. That would also be quite unthinkable here. Perhaps they can. Starvation, desperation, can make people violent but it can also make them malleable. People will submit to a lot if the alternative is death.”

A shrug of elegant shoulders. Dismissive.

“But I don't know. As I said, it is not my, not our, concern. All we do is provide a feasible solution for others to apply.”

A silence had fallen on the auditorium. A silence of expectation.

“I was going to ask you Grace ..... about Sophie. I wondered if you had had any news .....”

The opening notes of the overture filled the air. The heavily reiterated chords of the Magic Flute.

Grace de Messembry laid her forefinger to her lips, “Later Helen,” she mouthed as she sank back in her chair, absorbed in the music, a slight frown of concentration on her brow.

--------------------------

Hardly had the curtain swept back over the stage marking the end of the First Act than there was a discrete knock at the door followed by the entry of a waiter carrying an ice bucket in which lay another bottle of champagne.

“The Minister must have formed the impression that we are all alcoholics.”

“Better that than he believe us teetotallers Francesca.” said Grace de Messembry smiling at Helen in an invitation for her to resume her duty as hostess.

“You were going to tell us the news about Sophie Grace?” asked Helen, easing the cork out of the bottle.

“Pity she is not here. She would have appreciated the Temple of Ordeal and the Queen of the Night does sound a little like you Grace.”

“Really Francesca you make me sound quite an ogress. I was always most protective of her welfare. We used to have such cosy little chats. I quite miss them.”

“More a Papagena character perhaps Grace dear?”

“I don't catch birds Helen, I create them. Surely you must have noticed?”

The three clinked glasses, smiling at each other.

“To Sophie,” prompted Helen.

Grace sipped her champagne reflectively.

“Poor Sophie was always handicapped because she thought we wanted her to be a girl. It coloured her thinking. When of course we only wanted to observe what she became. To find whether the techniques work or to research other, more effective or more efficient, ones. To see if we could.- well we knew we could - but the means of persuasion needed, still needs, honing.”

“But Grace it could not have been easy for her. I did not know her so well .... but it must have been difficult for her. Impossible even, to see herself impersonally, just a victim of circumstances. To have her life changed simply because she had small feet and hands, a delicate bone structure; because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time, with no close friends or relatives.”

“Life doesn't come with guarantees Francesca. I understand that the American politicians often employ the admirably succinct, albeit rather vulgarly unimaginative, phrase 'shit happens' when faced with adverse circumstances. And so it does. All too frequently I am afraid. Sophie could have died at birth, or with her parents, or have been the victim of innumerable tragic happenings far worse than those which occurred at Helgarren.”

Helen sighed. ”It sounds better when you rationalise it Grace. Easy when one is dispassionate. And I know it is my fault for being so sentimental but I really got quite fond of her though and I feel.... well I feel I could have done more perhaps to help. Feel even a little guilty.....”

“And so you should Helen dear .... at least I never misled her. From me she always had the truth, or as much of it as was good for her, hateful though it might have appeared. And anyway I was, am, quite fond of her too. I wouldn't have wasted so much time with her if I hadn't been, I wouldn't have. ....”

“God, you are such an old hypocrite Grace dear. I think you must make it up as you go along. I....”

“Ladies, ladies,” Dr. Pinecoffin held up her hands in mock despair. “You forget I am not privy to all the background to this. Just a simple administrator stuck in her ivory tower I. Some of what happened latterly I am aware of of course, but before, at the Holding Wing and before that .... Well I am rather in the dark.”

“It is quite simple Francesca. No great mystery involved. Things were progressing smoothly. Sophie was responding very well to the programme. She has a high intelligence quotient which is of course a great advantage in any one transitioning. Her responses to suggestions and instructions both in the open and the subliminal training programmes were adjudged to be most satisfactory. Her progress in the adoption of feminine mannerisms, the assiduity with which she mastered the skills and habits so essential to any modern young lady, were the source of great self-congratulation amongst her tutors.”

“It wasn't all plain sailing of course,” interjected Helen, “there was the odd hiccup. Her being knifed by Coralie and ending up in hospital for example. Although in a way that all worked out well too. She was terrified that her part in it, of her hiding the knife to use later in an escape attempt of her own, would be discovered and that she would be packed off to Rehabilitation. Terrified and therefore all the more conscious of the need for her to toe the line, to conform, to accept, to convince us of her compliance in her feminisation.”

“Such a useful thing terror. Fame may well be a spur but it is but a pale shadow when compared to terror. A word so loosely used by politicians nowadays that it has alas lost all impact.”

Grace de Messembry smiled.

“Where would we be without it? Not the mundane fear of death, nor the remote possibility that something unpleasant might conceivably happen, but the sure and certain knowledge that within the next half hour something unspeakable will occur that will destroy all that you know of as you, that in a few minutes your worst fears will be realised if ..... if you put one foot wrong, stray one inch over a barely visible, erratic, line. The concept of Rehabilitation has been such a godsend to us. And the amusing part is ....”

“Amusing?” Dr Pinecoffin's eyebrows arched high.

“Well in a one sided sort of way, yes Francesca, amusing. Amusing in so much as the last thing we wanted to do was to send Sophie there. It was bad enough with Coralie, but with her we had no choice. Our bluff had been called as it were. We couldn't not send her there after she had tried to kill me, not after we had threatened to do so for such comparatively minor offences such as not sitting down to pee. We were hoist by our own petard.”

“Grace is right Francesca dear. Rehabilitation makes a wonderful threat, but is flawed as a process. At worst people seek death afterwards. Olive is the prime example here, but it has happened in other centres abroad. At best they emerge but empty shells of what they once were. Varying from near automatons to vaguely disturbed like Coralie. And she is a late example when the process has been much improved..People are infinitely variable, react in a multitude of ways. We can never be certain what we are going to produce.”

“And it has other drawbacks.” Grace de Messembry took up the thread. “It is costly. The end product is flawed and can be quite worthless. We are vulnerable to its discovery. Practically all of the rest of our operation is so inextricably bound up with more socially accepted research projects, or can be explained away without too much embarrassment, but not Rehabilitation in all its glory. And it has an adverse effect on staff morale. Dear Tabatha is apoplectic whenever it is mentioned. Perhaps it has a future but it is far from the finished article and until it is, the less we have recourse to it the better.”

Dr. Pinecoffin nodded.

“To get back to Sophie ..... Why did Grace imply you lied to her, to Sophie, Helen“

“Well as Grace said, it was all going swimmingly. So much so that we decided to fast track Sophie. We needed, still need, to cut down on delivery times. And costs come into it. It all sprang from a comment made by Tabatha. The good doctor mentioned that the long term effects of what she called our brainwashing techniques were cumulative. That if we stopped all treatments on a given subject after a certain stage then the feminisation process would continue willy-nilly. That there was a point of no return, as it were, after which further treatment was a luxury. The fact that the water is no longer boiling does not mean that the egg is no longer cooking. There is a residual effect that will carry the subject all the way home. So we needed a subject that was still only partially cooked as it were.”

“Such as Sophie?”

“Yes Francesca, such as Sophie. Anne had already had a taste of Rehabilitation remember which ruled her out; anyway she was further down the road to girlhood. Already reconciled to it. Whereas we knew from Tabatha's somewhat guarded comments that Sophie certainly was not. And by chance we had a vacancy in the next intake to the Finishing Centre at Helgarren Hall. Caused, as it happened, by another adverse reaction to Rehabilitation. So we decided to send Sophie before she was really ready. It was ideal because we could both measure her progress against Anne's and the latter would also be an invaluable support for her. They had become great friends and a source of mutual strength. For much the same reason we promoted Emma to a staff position where she would have continued contact with the two of them. One happy family. We wanted minimise the risk of any mental breakdowns. We had no other suitable candidate on the horizon.”

Helen, paused, sipped her champagne. Then repeated.

“We had no other suitable candidate on the horizon. And needed to be sure she was up to it mentally. So we needed to give her hope. She had to believe that all would end well. We couldn't let her go immediately of course because she needed to learn more. Needed to be able to pass easily as a female in the world outside. But we needed her to remain mentally resilient”

Grace de Messembry smiled wolfishly.

“So Helen had to lie to her, or mislead her as she prefers to think of it. Sophie needed to think that she would not be taking the hormones. It had to be presented as a bargain because nobody believes in free lunches any more. Even so it wouldn't have made sense if I had proposed it to her. But it would if Helen did because Sophie seemed to trust her.”

“It was all quite easy really. Helen fed her the lie between large slices of truth. And of course Sophie wanted, was desperate, to believe her. Had already half convinced herself that she might be able to help. Liked her even.”

“I liked her,” Helen sighed. “And that meeting when at last she faced me down with the truth was one of the most wretched ten minutes I have ever had. I shall never forget her face. I had nothing to say to her. I couldn't explain the rest.”

“The rest being that she would in fact be getting a chance?”

“Yes Francesca. A chance of a sort. Some say in her destiny. But you know the rest.”

“A lot of it. After her breasts appeared, after the tipping point had been reached, it was necessary for her to escape.”

“Yes. We couldn't just let her go. Open the doors and pat her on the back with a leaving present and our best wishes for whatever life would bring because .... “

“.... because she would tell the world,” Grace de Messembry broke in. “She needed to be still terrified of us. To hide from us and in doing so hide from society in general. Whatever she did, however she lived, it must be secretly. Additionally she must not be able immediately on release to seek the latest medical opinion to rectify her situation. It would rather spoil the object of the exercise to have someone take her into a Remedial Centre for the next six months to try to undue what we had devoted so much time, money, and ingenuity to doing.”

“The only problem with her escaping was of your doing Francesca.”

“You refer to the security cable and the enhancer ring that Dr. Walters and I told all the girls about Helen? “

Grace de Messembry sighed. “Oh what a tangled web we weave when once we practice to deceive. It was a brilliant idea Francesca to keep people in, to ascribe totally false qualities to Uncle Silas' enhancer, but unfortunately we couldn't tell them it wasn't true without destroying the threat of painful castration and possible death which long term did normally serve such a useful purpose.”

“Ideally we wanted Sophie away earlier, she was already becoming worryingly reconciled to her feminisation and increasingly seemed to lack the necessary strength of purpose, but the Helgarren Ball was the first opportunity we had. We knew of course they were plotting like mad, and it really was quite funny to think that both Grace and I on one side, and Anne, Emma, and Sophie on the other, were wracking our brains to find a solution to the same problem. Finally it was Grace who rather lost patience with the whole set up and just cut the Gordian Knot by writing Sophie a note to say that the Gateway was clear the night in question”

“I just thought I would drop it in myself to avoid complications and secretaries' gossip, but as luck would have it Sophie was late for her evening drinkies with the girls and I met her just by the fountain. It gave me the opportunity to wind her up a little about her approaching femininity. To underline that it was now or never if she was to avoid the destiny we had planned for her. Stiffen the resolve, if stiffen is a word she still recognises.”

Grace de Messembry permitted her self a most un-Grace like smirk at the vulgarity of the thought.

“So as soon as she had gone I slipped back and was about to post it under her door when it struck me that she would recognise my perfume. It is distinctive, expensively so, and the note would have been quite permeated with it by then. So I rather acted on the spur of the moment. I had a clementine in my bag from which I sprayed a little of the zest onto the paper. Then I thought I may have made it a little too obvious, so I drew little wren in the corner. Just to give them something else to think about. To distract them.”

“And that was it?”

“Yes Francesca. That was it. It was all they needed. By they I include Anne and Emma. I don't think that Sophie could have done it without those two. I must say they were quite splendid. I think they will prove an asset to The Foundation long term. I managed to extract the rough details of what happened later from Simon. Not much because Anne obviously has managed to put the fear of God into him, but enough to know that she showed considerable qualities of leadership, not to mention an encouraging degree of brutality. And after that, well I was fortunate to arrive on the scene just in time to see Sophie's head bobbing around behind the cars and to see a boot lid rise and close. So I hung around to make sure that she didn't complicate things further by getting out of the car, whilst I rang Helen and she sent Amanda down to drive Sophie to the station. Just in time for the last London train.

“And now? Do we know ...”

On cue, providing a timely punctuation mark, the orchestra sprang into life and the curtain rose to reveal a palm grove with an unlikely population of priests. Again Grace de Messembry's finger was at her perfect lips, bidding silence.

-----------------------

Afterwards when bows had been taken, when the cast had been called back again and again to receive the enthusiastic plaudits of the audience, before the latter, their voices loud in appreciative comments on the performance, began to filter slowly out of the theatre, Helen, secure in their box, replenished their three glasses with champagne.

“It is just like a pantomime really. Forget all the intellectual posturings about Obscurantism and Masonic Symbolism, it's just really a pantomime for grown-ups.” she said.

“Pantomimes are for grown-ups also. Proper ones anyway without TV celebrities cluttering them up. The Magic Flute has far far better tunes though. And better singers too, although Principal Boys usually have better legs than those gracing an opera stage. And....”

“Grace save the musical insights till later. What happened to Sophie?”

“Sophie? Well as you know, as indeed we told her, we have always maintained the flat for her. It would be quite unethical of us to do otherwise. So everything was long prepared. The secret drawer with all her, or rather his, birth certificates etc. undisturbed. All her favourite CDs and DVD's left out for her. She took more or less what we expected. No electrical equipment or laptop though, she really has developed an unattractively suspicious nature, but she did take the photograph of her parents. The one in the silver frame. And then to the garage for the car, lucky we remembered about the battery, and away she went.”

“She sold the car in Bristol so that tag went, rather as we expected it would, and she must have bought another privately in Exeter because the next contact we had was going north on the M5 and M6. She showed up the VenuMed and VenuTech screens at Cheltenham and Knutsford respectively and then at the new Stem Cell Laboratories outside Preston. But nothing registered at our Lockerbie installation, so....”

“But if she had got rid of the tagged car? .... How did you track her?”

“Helen dear we had a double blip all the way. Firstly from the enhancer ring which is quite the latest thing in passive tracking devices. It has no connection with the Uncle Silas. It is only round the penis because it is really rather difficult to get rid of there. I mean one can chop a finger off but messing around with the sort of cutter you would need to have to disembarrass oneself of that .... well it would give even the most confident amateur pause for thought. It reacts to signals up to a range of up to thirty five miles in ideal conditions and is very accurate. Also from the photograph frame. That's in another league altogether of course, large aerial, more room for the technical gubbins, giving satellite linkage. But we could not be really sure that Sophie would take it with her, although we were fairly confident, and rightly so as it turned out.”

“And so you know where she is?”

“Of course Francesca. She has a darling little cottage in Ullswater. Quite idyllic and just the place for her to come to terms with .... well with whatever she does eventually come to terms with. We guessed where she was going as soon as she passed Preston.”

“How? There is nothing in her file about the Lake District. Did she talk of it to Tabatha?”

“I don't think so Francesca. And if she had Tabatha wouldn't have told us. You know how stuffy and old fashioned she is about patient confidentiality. No not Tabatha, but it just shows how all the latest gadgetry is no match for simply keeping your eyes open. It saved us a lot of time, particularly as even the latest in surveillance equipment is severely limited in mountain terrain. And she could always have gone east into Northumbria.”

“Stop preening yourself Grace. You can be quite unbearably smug. Just tell us how you guessed.”

“The photograph Helen darling, When we took the frame off in order to modify it, there on the back was scrawled in pencil 'With David.- Ullswater - August 1993.' Quite touching really. And it made the final screening so much simpler. Helicopters are such an expense.”

There was a discrete tap at the door. Nothing else. Just a tap to let them know that their evening tenancy of the box was drawing to its close.

Grace de Messembry eyed the champagne bottle. “One should always leave some in the bottle don't you think? It not only shows a commendable degree of moderation but there is also something exquisitely satisfying in being wasteful, particularly where luxuries are concerned. Although admittedly champagne is more of a staple, still .... one has to start somewhere.”

Helen finished her glass. “Added to which we have had quite enough, Francesca looks quite flushed and I should never forgive myself if she were to start accosting complete strangers on her way home. There are enough ladies of easy virtue in London already without Francesca enlisting in their merry throng.”

“Don't worry Helen. I can give her a lift home. Amanda has arranged for the Rolls to pick me up.”

“Don't be such a spoilsport Grace. She may well be looking for a little excitement to round off the evening. Otherwise she can share my taxi. We live practically next door to each other.”

Dr. Pinecoffin laughed. “Helen's taxi will be fine. Excitement can wait. But you still haven't told us what will happen to Sophie now. What will she come to terms with in her little cottage? Being Sophie?”

“That is the whole point of the exercise Francesca. That is what we are interested in finding out. Will the egg continue to cook? Have we judged the situation, judged Sophie indeed, correctly? I suppose it all depends on Sophie.”

“How?”

“Well can she overcome her addiction for a start? Tobacco is an addiction according to some who are slaves to it. To others it is a habit that anyone with a bit of will power can overcome with little or no trouble. Addictions are so unpredictable and vary from one person to another. Dr Walters told Sophie the hormones were, in conjunction with those appalling OGTA cartridges, quite drastically addictive but the truth is we don't really know. How could we? The hormone tablets are commercially available to the general public and so addiction to them is out of the question .... she was being a little economical with the truth there. The cartridges are indeed addictive and there may be some linkage with the tablets too but how strong it is .... well we do not have enough research data on human consumption to be sure. Rats and chimpanzees are one thing but the severity of addiction in humans is .... well uncertain. Sophie is a test case.”

“It sounds as if she may well beat the system yet then?”

“Well yes Francesca, but there is more to it than Grace says. The Uncle Silas is effective even if only for reasons which nobody seems certain about. It does stop, or at least severely inhibits, the production of testosterone. And Sophie is at an advanced stage of her conditioning. Not only is she subject to continuous subliminal urgings to adopt femininity, to surrender herself to it, but she is also subject to constant persuasion that the hormones and cartridges are addictive. She has to first find the resources from within herself to question that, to put it to the test. And how severe that test is? Well even we don't know.”

“But Helen .... Sophie isn't being conditioned now is she? You say 'is subject to constant persuasion' — the present tense, but away from Helgarren we can no longer ....”

“Dear Francesca, we are not as careless as all that. Why do you think we left all those CD's and DVD's handily placed in Sophie's London flat? She will still receive our little encouragements. And of course free CD's, DVD's, through the post, special offers, that kind of thing. Even TV repair men can work wonders. We are not quite toothless. Dear Sophie is still under our care.”

The three of them walked together down the now almost deserted corridors, leaving the warmth of the box and its half empty bottle of champagne behind.

“It's the old truism Francesca. It's all in the mind. It always has been. At Helgarren, even in the Holding Wing. Once out of Reception, Sophie has never been physically forced to do anything. Threatened yes, but never compelled. She will deny it fiercely of course and it is true that she has had before her the example of others such as Olive and Coralie who were. But with her the battle has always been in her mind.”

“You really are an old fraud Grace. All in her mind you say. But a mind living in a body that any third party would think of as being female. With pert boobs and an increasingly curvaceous rear. When she looks in her mirror in the morning and affirms her masculinity there must surely be question marks, a nagging doubt as it were, that perhaps .....?”

“You're splitting hairs Helen darling. It was not always so. That it is now is of course an added complication from her point of view. Another obstacle that she must surmount to regain. .... to regain whatever she had before....”

“”Are you referring to her masculinity Grace dear?”

Grace de Messembry's eyebrows shot up in mock horror. “That's a little word that we just don't use in this company Helen dear.”

And then

“If she does choose, and regains, the path back then .... well good luck to her. We will have to refine our processes. We will have learnt much of value. If it were to fall out that way we would no longer interfere. She, or he rather, would have nothing further to fear from us. As long as our own integrity was not threatened of course. Otherwise it doesn't matter. It is no longer our concern although we have the responsibility of goodwill.”

“And if she doesn't. If she truly becomes Sophie?”

“It works both ways Francesca. Helgarren may have prepared her to be a woman but it has given her little experience in living as one in the outside world. It will be another test for her. And one which will provide us with invaluable data. And of course we will have a better idea as to the efficacy of a cost saving truncated programme. ”

“And we would welcome her back. If she wanted, if she needed us. And help her.” added Helen softly.

Grace de Messembry watched as the other two hailed and boarded their taxi, waved, and then turned and slid into the welcoming leather upholstery of her own car.

“Did you have a pleasant evening Miss Grace?”

Grace de Messembry smiled at the back of her driver's head, blonde curls under a saucy pill box hat that really was far too haute couture for a normal chauffeuse, as the car silently drew away from the curb.

“Delightful thank you Coralie dear. Home now.”

Sinking back Grace de Messembry closed her eyes and after a few minutes the driver heard the sound of her singing to herself. First a gentle suggestion of a tune, a tune without words, hauntingly familiar. Nothing from the opera though. Not from The Magic Flute, nor from any other of the Master's works, but from a later generation's treasury, albeit still before Grace was born. An evergreen melody first sung by Doris Day in the 1950's, humbler perhaps but sharing still that ability to enthral, to move.

The words only half articulated at first became, for the last chorus, discernible to the listening Coralie. Or perhaps it was just the music's familiarity that whispered to her brain the words that escaped her ear, but quite clearly at the end she heard -

Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.

' .... d. '

Author's Note

I shall miss them all. David and Anne and Emma, Grace and Helen and Tabatha and Laura and .... and Bramble too. And all the others who have flitted in and out of our tale. All of them We have become friends in the years we have spent together.

Not least because through them, because of them, I have made other friends. Friends here on Top Shelf. Readers and other writers whom I otherwise would never have met, talked to and enjoyed. And so I drink the characters' health in a large Plymouth gin and tonic with loads of ice and a slice of lime. But mostly gin. And added to that toast is the hope that they have lived a little also for some of my friends here. Friends that I owe to them.

Helgarren Hall too I can see in my mind's eye. The original Queen Anne building disfigured by later additions, The new Laboratory and, in a dip in its rolling parkland, between Hall and river the Holding Wing and the roof garden where ..... But leave memory lane for other days.

But when I google for it the only links I get are to Top Shelf and the DofC so perhaps my memory plays me false and it is only an illusion after all.

Googling for The Venumar Foundation too leads me back to Top Shelf. Not surprising really because they are such a secretive lot. One doesn't really expect a Home Page from them.

But the 'Bare Branches' is quite a different story. I fact I have long been haunted by the fear that some reader would take me at my word when I insisted on the fundamental reality of the plot and would google for the 'Bare Branches'. Well if you did, thanks for not commenting on it and telling the others. For anyone who still doubts, the book is as described, Bare Branches: The Security Implications of Asia's Surplus Male Population (BCSIA Studies in International Security) written by Valerie M. Hudson and Andrea M. Den Boer. Published by the MIT Press, it is available from Amazon.co.uk /.com priced at  £22.32 (only  £4.99p. in paperback) and $32.19 respectively. I was first alerted to it by a review in the Financial Times dated 29th. May 2004. For my American friends the equivalent is a Washington Post review of July 4th of that year.

Not that they are the sole references. There is much on the internet about disproportionate sex ratios in both China and India.

I assure you that neither I, nor Helen Vanbrugh, nor even Grace de Messembry herself, have exaggerated the problem and its probable consequences. Quite the reverse in fact. Read the reviews yourself if you doubt my, our, word.

And of course one could spend the rest of one's life pursuing links about climate change. David King, the British government's chief scientific adviser, raised eyebrows several years ago when he warned that climate change posed a far bigger global threat than terrorism and since that time his forecast has received a more universal acceptance.

To the best of my knowledge however no-one has linked the disproportionate sex ratios in Asia and climate change before. Not that I have looked all that thoroughly. But it is a little odd that greater prominence hasn't been given to it. There is a possible, probable, nay certain inter-reaction surely?

And if you, dear reader, haven't yet heard of it either, then do remember that you first read about it here. Another Top Closet first.

So perhaps Helgarren Hall and The Venumar Foundation do exist after all? Although admittedly not under those names and not in quite the form that I have depicted.

And perhaps after all Grace de Messembry .... or someone very like her .... a different name surely .... isn't just a figment of my imagination? Maybe....

Hang on a moment. Someone is at the door .... a rather splendid black Rolls Royce has just driven up. With a chauffeuse in a rather saucy pillbox hat. Must be someone important .... I wonder who? .... Back in a minute .....

.............