Jude woke early. She could smell coffee and hear the clatter of dishes. She climbed out of bed, pulled on the old dressing gown that still hung on the door hook, and opened the curtains. The sky was pale gray, and in the distance the green hills of Shropshire folded away. From here, she could just make out the renovated barn on the slope above the town. That was where their wedding party had been planned to take place. Nat would need to cancel that; they probably wouldn’t get the deposit back.

“I got some croissants out of the freezer,” said her mother as she came into the kitchen.

“Great.”

“And the weather’s cleared. I thought we could go for a walk.”

“There’s someone I’ve got to see first. Can I use the car again?”

Dermot Birch lived over a shop selling ceramic tiles. Jude looked up at his windows. All the curtains were closed. Perhaps he was still asleep. She pressed the doorbell anyway, stood back, waited, then rang again. Finally she heard footsteps coming swiftly and lightly down the stairs and the door swung open.

For a moment Jude couldn’t speak. The man who stood in front of her, barefooted, in jeans and a white T-shirt, looked so like his brother it was a mockery: the same dark hair, the same nearly black eyes and high cheekbones. But he was slighter than Liam, his face was thinner and beardless, his skin smoother. He was like a watercolor version, and when he spoke his voice was several shades lighter, though rough with sleep.

“Sorry. Did I wake you?”

“No. I thought I might be seeing you.”

“You know who I am then?”

“Jude,” he said. “Jude Winter.” He smiled then, a quick, wary tightening of his lips. “You’ve heard about the will?”

He was still blocking the doorway and Jude felt awkward.

“I thought, since I was in the area . . .” She trailed off.

He nodded, as if coming to a decision. Jude followed him up the narrow stairs, through the door at the top and into a space that was kitchen and living room combined. It was tidy, bare and neutral, nothing like Liam’s crazy house or his family home.

“I’ve not been here long,” Dermot said, seeing her looking around the room. “I was living with my girlfriend in Shrewsbury until August. But it didn’t work out.” He shrugged, picked up the kettle and took it to the sink. “What can you do?”

Jude made a vague, sympathetic sound.

“We met once before actually,” she said. “You probably don’t remember.”

“I remember. And of course I know you were the girl in the car.”

His mother’s phrase. Jude winced. “Yes.”

“You came to the house once and gave me a message.”

“That’s it.”