A door closed somewhere in the house, and Hudson seized on the distraction.
‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘That will be my daughter. I must have a word with her.’
‘He’s going to lie to us,’ said Fry when Hudson left the room. ‘Just like Christopher Lloyd did. But he’s buying a bit of time to decide on his story.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘Probe him. But gently.’
‘You want me to do it, Diane?’
‘He’ll take it better from you.’
‘OK.’
But it wasn’t Melvyn Hudson who came through the door. A dark-haired woman of about thirty hovered on the threshold.
‘Hello. Dad asked me to tell you that he’s just had an urgent call. He’ll be back in a few minutes. Can I get you anything while you’re waiting?’
‘No, but you can stay and talk to us,’ said Fry.
‘Oh, well, I’m not sure Dad would like that.’
‘Sorry, your name is …?’
‘Natalie.’
‘Do you work with your father?’
‘No, I’m an aerobics instructor.’
‘You’re not interested in the family business, Miss Hudson?’
Natalie shuddered. ‘Certainly not. The very thought!’
‘And there’s no son to follow in your father’s footsteps?’
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The woman hesitated. She took out a packet of cigarettes and lit one, not bothering to ask whether they minded, or to offer them one. It was her home, after all. She could do what she liked. But Cooper noticed her fingers trembling slightly as she used the lighter and took the first drag of nicotine into her lungs.
‘There was a son,’ she said.
‘Oh?’
‘David. My younger brother. He would have followed in Daddy’s footsteps, all right. That’s exactly what he was born for. It was all planned out.’
‘What happened?’
‘He was killed.’
‘Do you mean he was killed, or that he died in some other way?’
‘He was abroad, travelling in Indonesia,’ said Natalie. ‘They think it was bandits. A robbery that went wrong - that’s what you’d call it here, isn’t it? But I’m not sure it would apply to David’s death. I think they probably intended to kill him. He was twenty-two.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘The worst thing was that he liked to send postcards from wherever he got to. David thought in images, and he always chose the picture carefully when he sent one. His postcards took a long time to arrive from the countries he visited. They kept arriving for weeks after David died. They were postcards from a dead person. At first, it was wonderful, and I cried to think that he was still communicating with me. It was as if he was still out there somewhere, thinking about me. But then I began to pray for them to stop. I think we all did. We needed an ending.’
‘How long ago did this happen?’
‘Ten years, four months. Dad was devastated when it happened. For a long time, we thought the loss would kill him. That’s the phrase everybody used: “The loss will kill
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him.” Ironic, really, for a man who spends his life dealing with other people’s grief. The consummate professional. The person to call on in your hour of need.’
Natalie’s voice had become more bitter. When she blew out a cloud of cigarette smoke, her mouth was twisted into a sardonic smile.
‘The truth comes out at times like that, doesn’t it?’ she said. ‘Dad made no secret of the fact that he thought the wrong child had died.’
Natalie released more smoke and watched it drift in a lazy cloud before dissipating in the breeze from the open window.
‘You have no other brothers or sisters?’
‘No.’
‘Then presumably you’ll inherit your father’s share of the business some day.’
Natalie laughed. ‘Will I? I doubt it somehow. I don’t know if my father has made a will or not, or who he intends to leave his half of Hudson and Slack to when he dies. Probably my mother will take over the reins herself. Female funeral directors are becoming quite fashionable these days. I don’t know what will happen when the old man dies, either.’
‘Abraham Slack?’
