Bubba looked at Archie, who looked set to stay behind the Porsche’s wheel all day if he could. ‘Come along, Arch, get out of the man’s car. Let’s go see your mum and get him some food and drink.’

‘No, let him sit there, he’s fine,’ said Connor. ‘Bubba? You know anything about a Claire Milo?’

‘Sure I do. That was Pally’s girl, she vanished years back. Moved on somewhere, I guess. She was going to marry your father, and then it was all off.’

Connor was quiet, absorbing this. Then he said: ‘You know anything about some people called the Cleavers?’

‘I know they’re arseholes,’ said Bubba. ‘We got an agreement – they leave us alone and we don’t bother them.’

‘Someone mentioned them to me,’ said Connor.

‘Yeah? Well, that someone ought to be more careful of who they mix with. They’re pig farmers up the lane. Wife took off years ago, then the two eldest boys. Now there’s only Jeb and his dad Bill there, but they ain’t friendly.’

‘You think I could speak to them?’

‘I think you’d be crazy to try,’ said Bubba. ‘Now come on in and forget them, for the love of God.’

139

139

A week later, Connor put on his black suit, Turnbull & Asser white shirt and black tie, and then he drove Mum in the Porsche to the West End offices of their family solicitor for the reading of the will.

They sat in a dark-toned waiting room with comfy low seating and two over-large ficus pot plants. Pink copies of the Financial Times were laid out on a coffee table in front of them. Mum was still in the black of mourning. She was pale but crisply groomed, her eyes dark-shadowed and without expression.

Aysha arrived ten minutes after they got there, letting in a gust of cold air with her. She looked washed out, depressed. Connor reckoned that not even Benedict could cheer her up on a day like this. The receptionist offered them all coffee or tea, but they refused.

‘I’m sure he won’t be much longer,’ said the smiling girl, who was used to a procession of grief and misery passing through.

The outer door opened again, admitting another blast of chilly air, and then closed. None of them took any notice. Two women crossed to the desk. The receptionist smiled at them.

‘We’re here for the reading of Mr Flynn’s will,’ said the older one.

Connor, Aysha and Shauna looked up. The older woman had bobbed blonde hair and a neat figure clothed in a crisp black trouser suit. Beside her stood a younger woman with long pale-blonde hair. She was wearing a neat boxy black jacket and a matching slim-fitting skirt with a kick-pleat at the back. She wore killer black stiletto heels and Connor couldn’t help noticing that her legs went right up to her armpits.