‘I don’t think Tony’s ever really loved anyone in his life, you know,’ said Bristow suddenly, as they stood aside to allow a helmeted child, wobbling along on a skateboard, to pass. ‘Whereas my mother’s a very loving person. She loved all three of her children very much, and I sometimes think Tony didn’t like it. I don’t know why. It’s something in his nature.

‘There was a breach between him and my parents after Charlie died. I wasn’t supposed to know what was said, but I heard enough. He as good as told Mum that Charlie’s accident was her fault, that Charlie had been out of control. My father threw Tony out of the house. Mum and Tony were only really reconciled after Dad died.’

To Strike’s relief, they had reached Exhibition Road, and his limp became less perceptible.

‘Do you think there was ever anything between Lula and Kieran Kolovas-Jones?’ he asked, as they crossed the street.

‘No, that’s just Tony leaping to the most unsavoury conclusion he can think of. He always thought the worst when it came to Lula. Oh, I’m sure Kieran would have been only too eager, but Lula was smitten by Duffield – more’s the pity.’

They walked on down Kensington Road, with the leafy park to their left, and then into the white-stuccoed territory of ambassadors’ houses and royal colleges.

‘Why do you think your uncle didn’t come and say hello to you, when he called at your mother’s the day she got out of hospital?’

Bristow looked intensely uncomfortable.

‘Had there been a disagreement between you?’

‘Not… not exactly,’ said Bristow. ‘We were in the middle of a very stressful time at work. I – ought not to say. Client confidentiality.’

‘Was this to do with the estate of Conway Oates?’

‘How do you know that?’ asked Bristow sharply. ‘Did Ursula tell you?’

‘She mentioned something.’

‘Christ almighty. No discretion. None.’

‘Your uncle found it hard to believe that Mrs May could have been indiscreet.’

‘I’ll bet he did,’ said Bristow, with a scornful laugh. ‘It’s – well, I’m sure I can trust you. It’s the kind of thing a firm like ours is touchy about, because with the kind of clients we attract – high net worth – any hint of financial impropriety is death. Conway Oates held a sizeable client account with us. All the money’s present and correct; but his heirs are a greedy bunch and they’re claiming it was mismanaged. Considering how volatile the market’s been, and how incoherent Conway’s instructions became towards the end, they should be grateful there’s anything left. Tony’s irritable about the whole business and… well, he’s a man who likes to spread the blame around. There have been scenes. I’ve copped my share of criticism. I usually do, with Tony.’