Elsie fought her confusion at the old man’s peculiar reaction to his son’s death, by treating the matter seriously.

“I thought Ernest was hard on Mary Mardle,” she said carefully. “She started working at the Grand at the same time as me. That’s a long time. And the guests thought the world of her.”

They had had the conversation before, and despite himself, Albert could not make light of it. He had to follow the old argument through.

“Maybe. But that cottage went with the job of caretaker. She understood that she’d have to move if anything happened to Fred.”

“It was wrong to make her leave when Fred died, especially when she was so ill.”

“If she thought it was wrong, she could have gone to the tribunal.”

“Ernest knew that Mary wouldn’t have gone to any tribunal. She wasn’t the sort. And she wasn’t the sort to live in a council flat.” She looked, with some reproach, at Albert. “ You could have had a word with Ernest.”

“I could have done,” he said, “ but it wouldn’t have done any good. You know Ernest.”

There was a silence. They both knew Ernest.

“Besides,” he said. “ It would have been wrong. I made him manager. I had to let him manage.”

“What did Nick say when he came to see you?” she said, perturbed but curious. She had never had the courage before to ask him. “Laurence would never tell me.”

“He said…” Albert spoke slowly, with emphasis. “He said that this family were a bunch of murderers. If ever he thought he could get away with it, he would murder us one by one.”

And the old man began to laugh again, rocking backwards and forwards in his chair, until he choked and she had to bring him water.

“Of course,” Helen said. “ You’ll tell the police about the Mardle boy.”

“I don’t know,” said Ernest Todd. “We’ve got to think about the publicity. All the business about the cottage is bound to come out. There are other things it’s best to keep secret. And of course, Mardle does still work for us.”

“I told you at the time that it was a mistake to keep him on.”

“And I told you that it wasn’t my decision. The old man felt very strongly about it.”

“The old man!” The contempt in her voice was directed at him as much as at his father.

“He does still own fifty percent of the business, and he can always call on Laurence for support. It puts me in a very difficult position.”

“So you’re always telling me.”

They stopped speaking as the waitress approached. They met most lunchtimes in the restaurant of the Grand. The food was often indifferent, but it was a free meal, and she enjoyed the special attention, the panic of the staff who had to serve the boss and his wife.

Ernest Todd was a heavy man, built like his father. He was in his late fifties with a red, always slightly shiny face. There was no trace of his native accent. He was one of the ruling members of the golf club, sang with the operatic society. He drank a lot and liked his secretaries to be very young. When he was not drunk, he was shrewd, intelligent. His wife Helen was fifteen years younger than he was. She had been his secretary. She knew his habits. She had worn well, dressed smartly, but she could not compete with his pink-haired, tight-skirted girl Fridays. Her father had been a doctor. She had been privately educated and although she had married her employer and money, it was considered that she had married beneath her. She was a magistrate, enjoyed good works and power, but her power over her husband was limited.