The reading of the will took much longer than I had anticipated. It seemed that, as well as stowing cash in little bundles around the flat, Nick had invested in stocks and shares. And he’d been pretty canny at it and all. I lost count of what the various investments added up to, but they were bequeathed in their entirety to Helena Burgoyne. I dared a glance at her profile, but her expression didn’t flicker. To his son, Richard, he left a much smaller sum of money and also the Riley car, a fact which drew an appreciative chuckle from him and earned him a disapproving glance over the bifocals from Mr Young.

Nick’s flat, shop, the contents and stock, were left to Juno Browne.

There was a shocked intake of breath, not just from the Burgoynes, but also from me. Richard didn’t seem at all fazed by the news, just eyed me rather quizzically.

There was a codicil contained in the will, Mr Young hurried on before anyone had a chance to object, which stated that anyone who contested it in court would lose what they had received, which would then be awarded to the other parties concerned.

Richard laughed out loud. ‘The old devil!’ he cried cheerfully.

‘This is outrageous!’ Helena’s husband let out his breath in a snort of disgust. ‘It’s a bloody disgrace!’

‘Oh, belt up, Harry!’ Richard advised him pleasantly. ‘You surely weren’t expecting the old man to leave you anything? You never even met him.’

‘Of course not!’ Harry turned slightly pink. ‘But Helena’s got her rights.’

‘And I would say,’ Richard responded calmly, ‘with investments amounting to close on two hundred thousand, her rights have been very well taken care of.’

Helena, meanwhile, was saying nothing. She sat with eyes downcast, chewing her lip and looking a lot more upset than she had in church.

‘What about the property?’ Harry demanded.

‘Helena doesn’t want a grubby old flat and a shop full of tat.’

‘Look, we’re talking property here.’ Harry jabbed an aggressive finger. ‘That shop and flat are worth money. The builder down the road has already offered—’

‘Has he indeed?’ Richard cut him off, obviously nettled. ‘And when did this conversation take place?’

Harry did not speak; he huffed in embarrassment and turned a deeper shade of red.

‘We should count ourselves lucky that the old man left us anything,’ Richard told him frankly. ‘None of us have been near him in years. We couldn’t blame him if he left it all to a cats’ home.’

‘But he didn’t, did he?’ It was the first time that Helena spoke, and her voice quivered with outrage and bitterness. ‘He left it to her!’