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
“Hello!” A voice sang out from behind the closed door. The handle turned, and a very long and slender lower leg slid through, holding open the door. On the foot was a lime-green pump.
“Hi?” Jude waited.
A tall, sharp-edged drama of a woman came sideways into the room, holding two large mugs in one hand and in the other a plate. Her hair was dyed pale red with dreads plaited into it. Her face was dramatic, with a beaky nose and carved cheekbones; her large mottled-green eyes were thickly outlined, giving her a tragic air. She had narrow shoulders, a protuberant collarbone, and her body, encased in a saffron-yellow jumpsuit with rolled-up sleeves, ripped knees and dirty hems, looked flat as a board. Jude, still squatting on the floor and gazing up at her, couldn’t decide if she looked grotesque or glorious.
“I’m Irina,” said the woman.
Jude stood up, the nasty, mild pain shifting inside her skull. She felt very small and ordinary in this house of tall, extraordinary people.
“Jude.”
Irina put the mugs on the desk and the plate on the chair. She held out a hand and took Jude’s, shook it very firmly. The muscles in her bare forearm rippled. She might be thin, but she was strong.
“I know,” Irina said. “At last.”
Jude was starting to tire of the way people were treating her as an object of curiosity.
“Liam’s mystery,” Irina continued, then: “Liam’s final mystery.” Her eyes looked even bigger. She was about to cry.
“I’m so sorry,” said Jude, bringing out those ritual words again, because they were all she had. “It’s terrible to lose a friend.”
“And such a friend,” said Irina, arresting a sob, while her green eyes examined Jude. “A beautiful soul. Ginger okay?”
“What?”
“Tea. I brought us spicy ginger tea and banana cake that I found in some tin or other. I don’t know how long it’s been there.”
Jude tried to remember what Vin had said about Irina. She cleared people’s houses and brought home lots of junk; she was a bit wild; she danced when she couldn’t sleep.
“Thank you,” she said. “I guess Danny told you that Liam named me his executor?”
“Mmm.” Irina pushed half a slice of banana bread into her mouth and sat on the swivel chair, the plate on her lap. She spun herself round once, then picked up her mug of ginger tea. Her long bony fingers were nicotine-stained. “That’s weird, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“So?”
“What?”
“You know.”
“No.”
“Did he leave everything to Danny?”
“Oh! I see.”