A violent voice broke in so abruptly I jumped.

“You have a bracelet that belonged to my cousin!”

I half turned: the stiff young woman with the little girl. Eyes like burnt caramel in a bitter almond face. Golden hoop earrings, each hung with a fine carnelian bead. Suddenly I understood; this was my senator’s daughter, this was Helena.

She was sitting in a half-round basket weave chair, the child happily squirming on and off her lap. (I knew she had no children of her own, so the little girl must belong here.) No one would call the young woman plain, but in appeal she raised no competition for her aunt. She had her father’s domineering eyebrows, but her air of tight-lipped distaste reminded me of his brother Publius.

“You should return it, Falco!”

Females with loud voices and bad manners were never my type. “Thanks, but I’ll keep it.”

“I gave it to her!”

“She gave it to me.”

I could see why the senator was so attached to his kind-eyed sister, if this was the spiteful virago he had spawned himself.

As the tension flashed between us, Aelia Camilla interrupted, a note of reproof in her light voice. “It seems to me we shall all need to be adult in our loyalties! Didius Falco, you were fond of my poor niece?” She was the classic type of Roman matron; Aelia Camilla did not permit angry scenes.

After thirty years of deflecting my mother, questions about women slide by me.

“I’m so sorry.” Aelia Camilla reproached herself. “That was unforgivable.”

These open, intelligent people were shaking my confidence. I managed to reply, “Madam, anyone who knew your niece would have been fond of her.”

She smiled sadly. We both realized my mundane compliment was not what she had meant.

Aelia Camilla glanced at her husband, who took over the conversation again.

“I received a formal brief, of course, on why you were coming to Britain, though I should like to hear your own account of your motives,” he put to me with his acceptable bluntness. “Do you blame yourself?”

“I blame the man who killed her, sir,” I stated. I saw his thinning eyebrows lift. “But until he is identified, I take responsibility.”

The woman I had quarrelled with extracted herself from the child then swiftly left the room. She was tall. Watching her, I remembered bleakly how once I had liked women who were tall.

Since it pays to be hypocritical, I spoke up with gravelly respect. “Have I just had the honour of offending the noble daughter of my client?”