A short while later, it fell silent and then Clement reappeared in the kitchen, rubbing his hands with satisfaction. ‘Well, that’s all sorted. Robbins was delighted to have one less thing to worry about, as I thought.’

Vincent smiled grimly, wondering if that was the case or if, as happened so often, his father had simply told the poor man what was going to happen and expected to be obeyed. He noticed that a similar smile was hovering around Trudy’s own lips and Vincent’s gaze sharpened on her.

He felt an unexpected but definite sense of anger creep over him. Just who was this attractive girl, to know his father so well? And think she could smile about it?

‘The milk’s about to boil over, Dad,’ Vincent said sharply and watched as Clement made a brief noise of annoyance and reached for the saucepan on the stove.

Vincent handed over the mug, and he and Trudy watched as Clement poured out the milk. His hand shook slightly as he did so, spilling some milk on the draining board. Clement looked up quickly, no doubt checking to see if either of his guests had noticed, and Vincent saw the pretty young police officer glance carefully away. There was something in the way she pretended not to see it that made his hackles rise in growing alarm. Just what the hell was going on here? Who was this young woman, and how well did she know his father?

‘So, do you often get called out by the police to do their work for them?’ Vincent asked, careful to keep his voice light and teasing.

Clement grunted, stirring the cocoa mix and handing the mug to Trudy, who took it and sipped from it nervously. In truth, she didn’t really want the hot drink, welcome though it was. There was something increasingly odd in the atmosphere between father and son now that made her feel distinctly uneasy.

She couldn’t for the life of her have said why, but she was sure that the coroner’s handsome son had taken against her for some reason, and she wanted only to make herself scarce.

‘As a matter of fact, Constable Loveday and myself are old hands at it,’ Clement said cheerfully. Things had been pretty dull for him of late, and even if a dead, probably drunken driver, wouldn’t amount to much of an investigation, it beat staying indoors, listening to the wireless and rereading Tolstoy.

Vincent’s head came up sharply. ‘Sorry? What do you mean, exactly? Old hands at what?’

Clement smiled at his son, and began to explain their previous cases. Trudy, whilst proud of their successes, couldn’t help but feel that Vincent Ryder was less than happy to hear that his father fancied himself as a detective and had actively been working with her to investigate actual crimes.

‘So you and … er …’ Vincent looked at the pretty young girl incredulously. ‘Er … Constable …’