Lulu raises her eyes. ‘You’re not?’
Em shakes her head. ‘Not even close. Can we trust you, Lulu?’
Lulu nods. She’s interested suddenly.
Em leans further forward still, until her torso is practically horizontal. ‘I’m sorry to mention this. I know the last few days will have been terrible. And ordinarily I’d love to be able to leave you alone. But the fact is: we worked for your father.’
Oh,shit. And now, like a chump,Ihave to play along, and give a little nod, like I knew she would say this. What is she playing at?
Whatever it is, Lulu’s digging it. She nods again, enthusiastic. ‘What did you do for him?’
‘We were investigating who might want to kill him.’
It’s all I can do not to let my eyes widen and my head slowly swivel round like an owl’s.Em, Em, Em, abort, let’s just ask a few questions and get out.We had a good cover story, which you’ve now torpedoed. For Christ’s sake.But she keeps going. ‘He paid us, and I know we let him down. Both of us, and our associates. But he hired us, and we want to work until we have an answer.’
Lulu is eating this up with a spoon. ‘I knew it,’ she mutters.
‘We were actually in Bridling on the night, but we didn’t get there in time.’ Oh my God. We may as well handcuff ourselves now. ‘But we’re determined to do the right thing for him. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?’
‘No, of course.’ For someone who’s lost her father, there’s something a little unnerving about how calm Lulu seems about this whole volte-face of Em’s. Maybe she’s in shock. I certainly am.
‘Richard – my colleague is called Richard, Lulu, he’s not really Kevin – you’re taking the lead on the case. Perhaps you can start us off.’ It takes me a moment to realise Em is talking to me. And as I glance sideways, she’s looking at me, and on the side of her face tilted away from Lulu, there’s the ghost of a twitch at the corner of her mouth. We will have words after this is over.
But Lulu’s looking at me too, expectant, so here goes nothing. I start off by mumbling a condolence, and she nods briskly, as if to say,Yes, that’s read, get on with the intrigue. She’s tougher than her appearance suggests.
‘How was your relationship with your father?’
‘It was fine. I live with Mum in the holidays, when she’s around, that is.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘West London.’ She says it dismissively, as though everyone lives in west London. For a second, I enjoy judging her, then I remember: she’s a child, she’s probably never known anything else, and considering what her parents are like, she’s refreshingly normal.
‘Did you see much of your father?’
‘Not really. They broke up when I was, like, twelve. He would come over a few times a year, for Christmas and the like.’
‘That sounds very mature.’
‘It wasn’t. They argued like children, then he would drink too much to drive home, she would walk out, we’d have an awkward conversation where he apologised to me over and over, then he’d fall asleep on the sofa and was gone by the time we woke up on Boxing Day. Every year.’
The Harcourt family Christmas reminds me why I’m glad to operate alone.
‘How was his relationship with your mother?’
‘How does it sound? They didn’t like each other. I mean, they literally called me by separate names.’
‘How’s that?’
‘She called me Lulu, because that’s the name she picked. He got the consolation prize of my middle name. From as long ago as I can remember, Mum’s called me Lu and Dad’s called me Pen. They’re messed up. Seriously.’
‘Pen?’
‘Penelope.’
‘Did you ever imagine that they might … reconcile?’
She laughs. ‘Why would they do that?’
