Chapters (78)
- Title Page
- Dedication
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Remarkable Praise for Nicci French
- Also by Nicci French
- About the Publisher
Jude heard Dermot’s voice. She calculated that a cup of tea and maybe a biscuit would be enough and then she could start talking about how she really needed to get back to London.
Dermot walked quickly into the room and hugged his mother. Then he saw Jude and was visibly startled.
“Didn’t you know I was going to be here?”
“What?”
“Tara didn’t say?”
Tara and Dermot started to speak at the same time and neither would give way.
“I can just catch the train,” Jude said over the top of them, loudly enough to make them fall quiet.
“No, no. We can leave whenever you like.”
Jude looked at Dermot with dismay. His hair was unkempt. He was wearing a tracksuit top streaked with dirt. She wasn’t sure if she should point out that the laces of one of his shoes was untied. He was speaking slightly too quickly with a wide-eyed look that Jude associated with small children who were both overtired but couldn’t sleep. She felt an intense sympathy but also an intense worry that this was the man who would shortly be driving her along the motorway. He came forward and gave her a brief hug and she smelled alcohol and sweat. He was a man in clear need of help and a shower and a proper night’s sleep.
“Are you okay?” she said.
He ran his fingers through his hair.
“You’re a doctor. My brother’s been murdered. How should I be? What would be a healthy way to deal with that?”
“She was just asking,” said Tara. “There’s no need to bite her head off.”
Dermot started to reply, but then Andy came into the room with a pot of tea and a cafetière on a tray. Dermot moved toward him to help him and somehow they collided and Andy lost control of the tray. The teapot smashed and the cafetière didn’t, but the coffee still poured out of it and the mess was startling. There were splashes of brown liquid on a woven rug and on a large sofa. They looked like the sort of stains that would never come out, whatever you did to them.
“I was just trying to help,” said Dermot in a sullen voice.
Neither Andy nor Tara said anything at all in response. They didn’t seem cross or dismayed. They didn’t say it didn’t matter. They didn’t say anything at all. It was as if Andy had collided with an inanimate object. He bent down and picked up the cafetière and the larger fragments of the teapot. Tara fetched a bucket and a mop. Dermot said he would do it but she ignored him.
“I want to do something,” said Dermot.
“Just sit down,” said Tara. “It doesn’t matter.”