‘I’ll keep your name handy then. I’m an informer myself. We may be able to do business.’ The veiled surprise in Parvo’s expression reminded me that most people expected I would now retire. It was still too early for me to be certain, though I thought Helena was probably right; work would always claim me. ‘You’re far too young to have prepared my father’s will, Parvo—assuming the date is right?’

‘No, my own late father did that. We have worked for many years with Didius Geminus—we always called him that. Or do you prefer to say Favonius, Falco?’

‘To be frank, I just called him an incorrigible swine.’

The young man kept his expression neutral. He managed to avoid glancing around the salon we were in: the walls were drab because Pa never paid out for fresco decorators, but the room was adorned with a fabulous collection of furniture. Given how much I had just inherited, Parvo may have been wondering at my attitude.

Helena rejoined us. She led in Thalia. It was the first time I had ever seen the circus entertainer looking nervous. Normally she was as brazen as she was statuesque, even when not wrapped in her python.

‘This is Thalia, Parvo. Have you met?’

She was a tall, striking woman, with muscled thighs like wharfside baulks, which were impossible to ignore through a fringed cloak that barely covered her toned body, minute skirt and tightly laced circus boots. Faced with this vision, Parvo inclined his head twitchily, as if he could tell Thalia ate men like him as pre-lunch snacks. ‘No—but I heard a lot about you, Thalia.’ Always a wily operator, Thalia made no reply to that thumping phrase. ‘We are about to discuss the will,’ Parvo murmured, acknowledging that Thalia should be part of the conversation, though not immediately saying why.

The women seated themselves in comfortable half-round chairs, filling in time by arranging cushions. Thalia folded the cloak so it just covered her legs, in a curiously modest gesture. I glanced at Helena, then waited. She had given me a ‘don’t say anything impetuous’ look, the put-down that strong-minded wives inherit from their mothers. You know, the look you should always pay attention to, though the mischievous Fates somehow make you foolishly ignore it.

Parvo must be a piecework lawyer, not paid by the hour. He moved things along: ‘Falco, when we spoke just now, did I detect a query?’

‘Only that I was surprised by the will’s date. I understand Pa made frequent revisions—and didn’t that include one last week?’

‘Yes, I brought that for you,’ Parvo replied calmly. ‘It is a codicil. Your father did indeed frequently make changes, but he always left the will itself alone.’

‘Your fee for a codicil is much cheaper than your fee for a new will?’ I guessed drily.