The Word Is Murder(57)

‘Let’s not talk about that right now, Andrew,’ Cornwallis interrupted him. ‘If you want to help, you can go out and tell your brothers it’s time for bed.’

Out in the garden, Toby and Sebastian had moved onto the climbing frame. They were shouting at each other, overtired, sliding into that zone where they lost almost any resemblance to rational human beings. It was something I remembered well from my own children. Andrew nodded and did as he had been told.

‘Can I ask you something?’ I knew I was risking Hawthorne’s anger but I was interested. ‘It’s not completely relevant but I’d like to know why you chose this line of work.’

‘Being an undertaker?’ Cornwallis didn’t seem bothered by the question. ‘In a way, it chose me. You saw the sign above the door of our South Kensington office. It’s a family business. I think it was started by my great-great-grandfather and it’s always been in the family. I have two cousins working in it. You met Irene. My cousin George does the books. Maybe one of my boys will take it over one day.’

‘Chance will be a fine thing!’ Barbara scoffed.

‘They may change their minds.’

‘Like you did?’

‘It’s not very easy for young people these days. It’ll be good for them to know there’s a job for them if they want it.’ He turned back to us. ‘After I left college, I did other things. I travelled and in my own way I suppose I sowed a few wild oats. There was a part of me that resisted the idea of becoming a funeral director – but if I hadn’t joined the firm, my life would have been very different.’ He reached out and took hold of his wife’s hand. ‘It was how we met.’

‘It was my uncle’s funeral!’

‘One of the very first where I was officiating.’ Cornwallis smiled. ‘It’s probably not the most romantic way to meet your life partner, but it was the best thing that came out of that day.’

‘I never much liked Uncle David anyway,’ Barbara said.

It was getting dark outside and the two children were now arguing with their older brother, who was trying to bring them in. ‘I’m afraid if you have no more questions, we’re going to have to ask you to leave,’ Cornwallis said. ‘We have to get the boys into bed.’

Hawthorne got to his feet. ‘You’ve been very helpful,’ he said.

I wasn’t sure if this was true.

‘Can you let us know if you find anything?’ Barbara asked. ‘It’s hard to believe that Damian Cowper has been killed. His mother first, then him. It makes you wonder who’ll be next!’

She went outside to gather up her children while Cornwallis took us to the door. ‘There was one other thing I thought I ought to mention to you,’ he said as we stood on the crazy paving outside in the grey light. ‘I’m just not sure if it’s relevant or not …’

‘Go on,’ Hawthorne said.

‘Well, two days ago, I got a telephone call. It was someone wanting to know where and when the funeral was going to take place. It was a man at the other end of the line. He said he was a friend of Diana Cowper and that he wanted to attend, but he refused to give me his name. In fact his entire manner was – how can I put it? – rather suspicious. I won’t say he was deranged but he certainly sounded as if he was under a lot of strain. He was nervous. He wouldn’t even tell me where he was calling from.’

‘How did he know you were in charge of the funeral?’

‘I wondered about that myself, Mr Hawthorne. I imagine he must have telephoned all the undertakers in west London, making the same enquiry, although we’re one of the largest and best respected so he could have started with us first. Anyway, I didn’t think very much of it at the time. I simply gave him the details that he wanted. But when Irene told me the awful things that had happened today, well, of course I was reminded of him.’

‘I don’t suppose you have his number?’

‘Yes. I do. We keep a record of all our incoming calls and he rang me from a mobile, so his number showed up on our system.’ Cornwallis took out a folded piece of paper and handed it to Hawthorne. ‘I was in two minds whether to give this to you, to be honest. I don’t want to get anyone into any trouble.’

‘We’ll look into it, Mr Cornwallis.’

‘It’s probably nothing. A waste of time.’

‘I’ve got a lot of time.’

Cornwallis went back inside and closed the door. Hawthorne unfolded the paper and looked at it. He smiled. ‘I know this number,’ he said.

‘How come?’

‘It’s the same number Judith Godwin gave me at her place in Harrow-on-the-Hill. It’s for her husband, Alan Godwin.’

Hawthorne folded the piece of paper and slipped it into his pocket. He was smiling as if it had been something he had expected all along.





Fifteen


Lunch with Hilda




‘You’ve bought new shoes,’ my wife said as I left home the following Monday.

‘No, I haven’t,’ I replied. I looked down and saw that I was wearing the shoes that Hawthorne had given me, the ones that had belonged to Damian Cowper. They were comfortable, Italian – but I had put them on without thinking. ‘Oh, these!’ I muttered.