THE most I could pay you is $20.
The child who had uttered these words looked around 10 years old. She wore a jumper featuring a Welsh terrier in a Christmas hat. Funny coincidence, was my thought at the time. My brother George and I have a Welshie; George had taken him out for his morning walk five minutes before this girl knocked on our door.
Her name was Lauryn Redgate. She turned out to be 13. She took three mince pies from the plate I offered her; her manner suggested no one was going to stop her, though no one had tried. She had made an appointment in the proper way and arrived on time; to some, this dual achievement might sound insignificant, yet it is a hurdle that fells more than half of George's and my adult clients. I was rather sorry that I was about to have to inform this child that we weren't able to take on under-18s as clients.
'I know $20 is almost nothing, but... well, this involves the attempted murder of a family member,' the girl said solemnly. 'Of mine and of yours, Mr Danes.'
'We have a relative in common?' I resisted the urge to offer my sympathies. George and I earned the strident disapproval of most of our family when we'd decided to set up as 'The Generalists' instead of going to university. They hated our description of our offering even more: 'Do you have a problem too outlandish or complex for any normal category of professional? Then you need The Generalists! No challenge too big, small, embarrassing or weird.'
It is, of course, understandable to worry if one's nearest and dearest choose an unconventional and untested path in life; less so, I would argue, once they are bringing in multiple six figures a year as the only operators in a ravenous market, the existence of which is denied by most. The Daneses are as stubborn as they are evidence-resistant, however.
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