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missed the announcement in the Telegraph.”
    Nat had his staff scan the death notices and obits every day. He had a file full of extremely tasteful condolence cards ready to be sent out to newly bereaved relatives at the drop of a hat.
    “We didn’t put an announcement in,” said Mark, aware it was bad form to have forgotten. Still, his mother wasn’t such a stickler for form in her latter years, as that bloody painting of the dogs had proved.
    “Oh, well. In that case I don’t feel quite such a chump,” said Nat. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure? Want to arrange some work experience for one of your children?” he suggested disingenuously. They both knew why Mark was calling.
    “No. Not yet. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind coming down to Cornwall and having a look over the house. There are a few things that might be worth something. I really don’t know. I haven’t been able to look that closely. Mother’s death is still too, too fresh.”
    “I understand,” said Nat, voice dripping with concern. “Well, don’t trouble yourself about it. You’ve come to exactly the right man. I’ll take care of everything. When would you like me to stop by?”
    Nat was unusually accommodating. He and Chubby Trebarwen hadn’t been the best of chums at school, but Nat had sensed from very early on that the Trebarwen family had a bob or two. Mark Trebarwen senior had sent his driver and a Bentley to pick his two sons up at the end of each term. And when Louisa Trebarwen had graced her boys with her presence on speech and sports days, she had usually been wearing fur and been dripping in diamonds. Nat was almost salivating at the thought of what her house might contain.
    “I can come down tomorrow,” he said. “I’ve always been of the opinion that when you suffer the loss of a beloved parent, you should deal with the grief by keeping on the move. It’s once you stop that the unhappiness hits you. But if they get straight on with sorting out their affairs, people usually find that by the time they’ve stopped moving, the pain has lessened a good deal.”
    Nat didn’t mention that he’d also found that the more quickly you pushed bereaved families into putting up their loved one’s estates for auction, the more likely they were to agree with whatever you told them. Grief. Befuddlement. Despair. They all worked in Nat’s favor. Of the three Ds that kept the auction business going—divorce, debt, and death—death was definitely Nat’s favorite. And by far the easiest since the deceased couldn’t quibble about the sale of their treasured possessions. Thepressure of inheritance tax was also a great joy to the auctioneer.
    “I will drive straight there. I know it’s a terrible thing that has brought us back into contact, Mark, but I’m very much looking forward to seeing you and catching up.”
    “I won’t be there,” said Mark. “I’ve got to go back to Singapore. You’ll be dealing with my little brother.”
    “Wonderful,” he said through gritted teeth. Mark Trebarwen was a known quantity, but Nat didn’t know Julian Trebarwen except by reputation. Hadn’t he been expelled from Radley for knocking another boy’s teeth out? “I’ll look forward to meeting him.”
    Nat Wilde needn’t have worried about Julian Trebarwen foiling his plans to get Louisa Trebarwen’s estate into the salesroom at Ludbrook’s. When Nat talked to him on the phone, Julian Trebarwen was much friendlier than his brother had been. And he was obviously in need of money, Nat surmised the very next day, as he pulled his Range Rover into the grand drive of Trebarwen House and clocked the ancient BMW that was parked there.
    This was to be a perfunctory visit. As well as making sure that he was in the running to sell the contents of the house, Nat wanted to be equally sure it was worth bothering with. As he followed Julian from room to room, ostensibly making small talk about their memories of prep school and friends in