“You’re a voyeur,” he snapped.

We were way back. He was feeling intruded upon and that, with him, was dangerous as I’d seen already. I tried to slip sideways.

“Tell me how your father made his money,” I said. “And you could try thinking how it might link up with what’s happening to your sister.”

“Mark’s was real estate money, of course,” he said, sounding a bit too pat, as if he’d rehearsed the answer. “This place should tell you that. It’s the ultimate development, the ultimate spiel. He sold people on this sort of thing and he believed in it himself.”

“He was a developer then. Did he build houses himself?”

“Yes hundreds, thousands.”

“Good ones?”

“Fair, they didn’t wash away in the first rain.”

“He sounds like par for the course. What else did you know about his business?”

“I can’t see what you’re driving at.”

“Enemies, people with grudges, visiting the sins of the father and all that.”

“I see. Well, I don’t think Mark had enemies. He didn’t have many friends come to that, mostly business acquaintances, lawyers, a couple of politicians, senior administrative people, you know.”

“I get the idea. Pocket friends, just as good as enemies any day.”

“I don’t think you do get the idea.” He emphasised the words snakily. “My father was a warm and eloquent man, he won people to his point of view. He almost invariably got what he wanted. He pulled off some remarkable deals, some colossal gambles.”

“You liked him?” He looked down at the deck, the first evasive gesture he’d made.