‘Of course! I’ve never been to a bad funeral, have you?’

‘I don’t suppose I have,’ Judith said, after a moment’s thought. ‘And thank you very much for the invitation. You’re right, no one should be buried on their own. I’d be delighted to come along.’

‘Well, that’s that sorted then, isn’t it?’ Suzie said. ‘At least there’ll be two people at his service.’

‘I wouldn’t worry too much about no one being there,’ Becks said. ‘Men from the mosque will be expected to attend the service, even if they didn’t know him. Was this Imam Latif who called you?’

‘It was,’ Suzie said. ‘You know him?’

‘Only a bit. We do a food bank together on Thursday mornings. I have to say, he’s lovely.’

Judith was impressed with how easily Becks talked about working in the local food bank with the imam of a local mosque. Maybe she’d been wrong when she judged her as solely being a gilet-and-jeggings Marlow clone.

In fact, as she looked at the two other women, Judith realised she was having more fun than she’d had in a long time and decided that she didn’t want the evening to end yet.

‘I’ll come to the funeral on one condition,’ she said to Suzie with a smile. ‘I’d like you to help me for the next half an hour or so.’

‘Doing what?’ Suzie asked.

‘Don’t worry, it’s nothing strenuous. But I want to see if we can work out the importance of a painting Stefan Dunwoody bought from Elliot Howard’s gallery back in 1988.’

‘And how can we do that?’

‘Well, I suggest we pour ourselves a small glass of whisky and see what we can dig up on the internet. What do you say?’

Suzie didn’t want to seem like too much of a pushover.

‘I can’t leave Emma on her own in the van.’

‘Then bring her in.’

‘All right. You’ve got a deal.’

Judith and Suzie looked at Becks, but she was just smiling soupily, no doubt from the whisky, Judith guessed. Good for her, she thought to herself. She deserved to let her hair down.

‘So that’s a yes from all of us,’ Judith said, grinning. ‘Then I suggest, ladies, we get to work.’

Chapter 15

The women were looking at their devices, Judith in her favourite wingback, Becks sitting upright at the card table, and Suzie lolling like the Queen of Sheba on some cushions in the bay window, Emma lying at her feet, her head on her paws, eyes closed in sleep. Every now and then one of the women would take a sip of whisky, or make a passing comment about their research, or ask a question of the others. It was companionable, collegiate, and, in truth, all of them were having a terrific time.

‘So do you have any kids?’ Becks asked Suzie.