Max left them both at speed, and Alex followed Anna up the step to the living room. It had recently been redecorated—her once favorite country style giving way to a clean, modern feel, which added an airy lightness. White lilies in a plain glass vase, one white scented candle, which gave the room an air of sanctity, an Ingres-style drawing on the wall. The fire was lit, and he sank into a chair not far from it. He began by asking about their son, whether Max had said a lot to her about his uncle, how he seemed to be coping.

“Very much like you.” Anna’s answer was voiced in a mixture of irony and sadness. “He doesn’t say much unless he’s asked directly.”

Alex heard the criticism, and managed half a smile. “I’ll talk to him.”

“It sounds like a lot of practicalities are still dragging on?”

“The whole thing is just a nightmare.” This was strong stuff from Alex. “You know there was a robbery when Dad was at the hospital—extraordinary timing.” Anna nodded. “The police think it was kids, because they took a little loose cash, some CDs, nothing of any real value, like Mum’s jewelry.”

Anna had been horrified when she’d heard this at the funeral; that someone could be so callous. But she quickly realized that whoever was responsible had just seen an opportunity with an empty house, and not given the circumstances or grief of its occupants at the time the slightest thought. How could they? “It never rains…” she started to say.

“But there are two or three things we’ve now realized are missing. A couple of Mum’s old books that were in the house; including her family Bible—which had been given to her by her grandmother, and was with them all for generations. Valuable, I gather, and absolutely impossible to replace. Dotted throughout with marginalia, and births and deaths recorded for generations.” Anna was shaking her head in disbelief. “And a very tiny portrait, which we always meant to get valued. Hardly more than a miniature really. A lady in late-sixteenth-century dress, very much in Hilliard’s style—though not one of his, we think; and no one has ever suggested who it might be. But it’s gone now. And I know Mum was really attached to it.”

“Yes, I think I can remember it with its midnight-blue background—on Diana’s desk. So they did know what they were taking—knew what had some serious value after all?”

“It looks that way. Even the police are revising their theory now. Besides, no one in the village can believe it would be locals. They all feel that sort of thing doesn’t happen in Longparish.” Alex smiled, but with no mirth.