She matched exactly the image that her voice on the phone had conjured up. A thick-set woman probably in her sixties, she wore sensible black leather pumps, a denim skirt and one of those fawn padded gilets which imitate the contours of a woodlouse. The steel-grey hair was parted in the middle and curled in at the jawline to frame her broad face. Her make-up was uniform pinkish beige. She was one of those women who formed the rather unbending spine of England, the affluent middle class.

‘You must be Jude,’ she said forcibly. ‘Sorry, I didn’t get your surname …?’

‘Most people just call me “Jude”.’

‘Right.’ Natalie Kendrick’s tone suggested the response had not been entirely satisfactory. ‘Anyway, come through to the sitting room and have some coffee. Hang your coat over there.’

The décor of Troubadours was as predictable as its owner’s wardrobe. Beige fitted carpet, custom-made parchment-coloured curtains with a subtle design of foliage, matching pale green velvet sofa and armchairs (all of whose cushions had recently undergone a regimental plumping). One entire wall was windows, curved at the edges, providing, beyond the garden fence, the much-prized sea view.

Coffee was ready on a low table. Tray, cafetière, nice china. Posh, correct.

After the obligatory pleasantries about the weather and recent Fethering events (not many of those), Natalie Kendrick started the proceedings proper by saying, ‘As I mentioned on the telephone, it’s about my son.’

‘Yes.’

‘Tom.’

‘Yes.’

‘He’s been going through a difficult time.’

‘What kind of “difficult”?’

‘The fact is that my husband died three years ago.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘And Tom took it badly.’ Somehow there was the implication in her voice that she hadn’t taken it as badly as her son had.

‘That kind of bereavement can be very difficult for teenagers,’ said Jude. ‘Everything’s difficult for teenagers.’

‘Yes.’ There was a silence. ‘I should perhaps say that Tom wasn’t a teenager when his father died.’

‘Oh?’

‘He’s twenty-five now. Twenty-two when Gerald passed.’

‘Ah. Well, losing a loved one is difficult at any age.’

‘Yes.’ For the first time, Natalie Kendrick looked a little flustered. ‘I think his father’s death definitely made things worse, but Tom’s behaviour had always given cause for concern.’

‘In what way?’

‘He always had trouble, kind of … fitting in, I suppose one could say.’

‘Fitting in socially, making friends? Has he always been a bit of a loner, is that what you’re saying?’

‘To an extent, yes. Though he can be quite a gregarious boy. But …’ Natalie Kendrick looked the picture of middle-class angst. ‘It’s the kind of people he likes to mix with that’s the problem.’

‘Bad company?’

‘I’m not sure that they’re exactly bad, but definitely unsuitable.’