As if reading his mind, Vincent, waiting by the toaster, sighed heavily as he looked out of the window. ‘I’ve checked, but there’s no chance of making it back to Cheltenham any time soon, Dad. No trains or buses and the roads are blocked everywhere. What’s more, the weather forecast last night said that there would be more snow flurries in the next two days. So it looks as if you’re stuck with me for a while yet.’

Clement grinned. ‘I’ll cope! There’s no problem with your office, I hope? You being snowed in here, I mean?’ His son was a junior member of a small but well-respected architect’s firm. Fortunately, he’d brought with him some plans for a private boys’ school that he was currently working on, so it wasn’t as if he didn’t have something to be getting on with.

‘No, I managed to get through to Chris on the telephone at last. Apparently nearly everyone is stuck at home. And it’s not as if I can’t continue to work on the plans here. The new pavilion for the indoor sports facility isn’t urgent or particularly taxing.’

Clement grunted. ‘Don’t worry. You’ll be designing power stations by the time you’re my age,’ he prophesied proudly.

Vincent grabbed the toast as it popped up, laughing and juggling the hot bread onto two nearby plates. ‘Hope I won’t have to wait that long!’

‘Cheeky pup!’ his father mock-growled.

Vincent glanced at him then quickly away again. Like his father, he was six feet tall. Unlike his father though, whose hair was steel-grey with touches of white, his own light brown hair had near-golden touches here and there, and he’d inherited his mother’s rather striking green-flecked hazel eyes. A former girlfriend had told him that he had an expressive face, and he hoped that none of his growing concerns about his remaining parent were on his face when he brought the buttered and marmalade-bedecked toast to the kitchen table.

‘You going into the office today?’ he asked, careful to keep his voice casual. When his father confirmed that he would, he was even more careful to keep his face blank.

‘You’re not going to try and take the car though, are you?’ he added casually. He thought he’d managed to sound nonchalant and offhand, but the quick, sharp look his father sent his way made him wonder if he’d succeeded.

‘No, there’s no point. The roads are like an ice rink right now. And I’m not sure that last night’s snowfall will have been cleared everywhere in the city. Besides, Floyds Row isn’t that far.’ His workplace was handily located next to the city’s mortuary. ‘The fresh air and exercise will do me good,’ he concluded, his own tone having a definite ring of finality to it.