It was an unusual suggestion, but Dalgliesh followed Kershaw’s painful steps to the bay window with two smaller windows flanking it, which gave a panorama of the English Channel. The morning was grey with rare and fitful sunlight, the horizon a poorly discerned line between the sea and sky. Under the windows was a stone patio with three wooden benches regularly placed. Beneath them the ground fell away some seventy feet to the sea in a tumble of entwined trees and bushes, thick with the strong glossy leaves of evergreens. Only where the bushes thinned could Dalgliesh glimpse the occasional strollers on the promenade, walking like passing shadows on silent feet.

Kershaw said, “I can only see the view if I stand and that is now something of an effort. I’ve become too familiar with the seasonal changes, the sky, the sea, the trees, some of the bushes. Human life is below me, out of reach. Since I have no wish to concern myself with these almost invisible figures, why do I feel deprived of companionship which I do nothing to invite and would strongly dislike? My fellow guests—we do not refer to ‘patients’ in Huntingdon Lodge—have long exhausted the few subjects which they have any interest in discussing: the food, the weather, the staff, last night’s television and each other’s irritating foibles. It’s a mistake to live until you greet each morning’s light, not with relief and certainly not with joy, but with disappointment and a regret that’s sometimes close to despair. I have not quite reached that stage, but it’s coming. As, of course, is the final darkness. I mention death, not to introduce a morbid note into our conversation or, God forbid, to invite pity. But it’s as well before we talk to know where we stand. Inevitably you and I, Mr. Dalgliesh, will see things differently. But you’re not here to discuss the view. Perhaps we should get down to business.”

Dalgliesh opened his briefcase and placed on the table Robin Boyton’s copy of Peregrine Westhall’s will. He said, “It’s good of you to see me. Please say if I tire you.”

“I think it unlikely, Commander, that you will either tire or bore me beyond endurance.”

It was the first time he had used Dalgliesh’s rank. Dalgliesh said, “My understanding is that you acted for the Westhall family in the matter of both the grandfather’s and father’s wills.”

“Not I, the family firm. Since my admission here eleven months ago, the routine work has been done by my younger brother in the office in Poole. He did, however, keep me informed.”

“So you weren’t present when this will was drawn up or signed.”