Charlotte Vassell

STAFF at the Kentish Town McDonald’s look bewildered – as well they might when a crowd of Hooray Henrys turn up there for a black-tie party, butler in tow.

In Charlotte Vassell’s debut novel The Other Half, Rupert Beauchamp thinks it’s amusing to hold his 30th birthday party at the venue.

The following morning Detective Inspector Caius Beauchamp (no relation) is jogging on Hampstead Heath when he sees a stiletto poking out from some scrub. Its wearer is Rupert’s murdered girlfriend Clemmie.

Investigating the crime plunges Caius and his police colleagues Matt Cheung and Amy Noakes (she rugby tackled the “Finsbury Flasher”) into a world of inherited wealth, aristocrats, fancy houses and classics degrees.

The engaging story clips along smartly, spiked with satire on social class.

Charlotte Vassell told Review: “Class in Britain is very complicated. There’s so much nuance there. It’s not necessarily about wealth, but about culture as well. What school did you go to? Who are your family? It’s generational. We all like to pretend we live in a meritocracy but that just isn’t true.”

The novel’s McDonald’s partygoers all have alibis – Rupert’s provided by Jolyon (triple-barrelled surname and a monocle), who says he and Rupert slept on sofas in “Minty’s living room in Highgate.”

Clemmie, avid Instagrammer and influencer, was “swaddled in cashmere and trust funds”, says her hairdresser at a posh salon, where there’s a clue to shady dealings.

Another murder adds to the intrigue. The body of Hereward Trollope-Bagshott, recently retired from an auction house, is found in an Islington flat.

The twisty tale deepens, and the police investigation is stymied by powerful forces. There’s a lot more to be uncovered. Expect a sequel.

The likeable detective trio has a fresh, modern feel. Dumped by his girlfriend, Caius is into “self improvement”, including running, YouTube yoga and reading high-brow books.

Comprehensive school-educated Caius may be leagues away from Rupert, but both are beneficiaries of inherited wealth – very differently acquired.

Slavery bought Rupert’s family’s fancy property.

Caius (pronounced phonetically) lives rent-free in a Tufnell Park garden flat in a building bought for next to nothing in the 1960s by his Irish grandfather, and converted, lucratively, into flats by his father.

Asked by his colleague Matt why he hates the case’s “poshos”, Caius, who is half Jamaican, cites lack of accountability.

“Where’s the retribution? When the British government ended the slave trade, they borrowed £20 million to compensate the slavers for their losses, not us. Beauchamp was probably the name of the plantation owners that owned my ancestors, hence why I have it.”

It’s hard, he says, to carry the burden of someone else’s name, not to know where you come from. But he denies clouded judgement. “If anything, this proves my innate sense of justice. I can hold on to something for two hundred years.”

The author, who herself has Jamaican heritage, said: “Often we have quite grand-sounding names – mine included – that we acquired through sheer horror.

“The empire and squaring up to the legacy of it, is I think, one of the greatest challenges that we have as well as taking a bracing look at class divisions. I think it would be healthy to have an honest conversation about Britain’s history.”

She studied history at the University of Liverpool and completed a master’s in art history at SOAS before training as an actor.

The novel’s Nell and Alex were at Oxford with Rupert, but don’t come from generations of privilege. Nell is a counterpoint to posho caricatures.

Expensive clothes, food and drink abound. A pricey drink confirms to Nell that “even when you’re in a Viking-themed bar, you are still ultimately in Camden, and someone is taking you for a mug”.

Elsewhere, heritage tomato bruschetta with aubergine caviar is on the menu.

Cheeseburgers and champagne at McDonald’s make the toffs who completely took over its upstairs smirk.

Charlotte, who used to live off Caledonian Road, and later off Camden Road, said: “I couldn’t get the idea of black tie in McDonald’s out of my head. It’s so rude. People rely on McDonald’s. It’s the only place you can get a cup of tea at 2am.”

She writes with humour and sharp observation.

Caius likes Islington: “the little bistros and homeware shops… you never knew when you might come across a Guardian columnist”; Nell and Alex note that “judging by the high grooming standards, Islingtonites spent insane money on their labradoodles”.

Spear-shaped railings around the Bloomsbury niche publishers where Nell works form a genteel defence against “the great unread”.

Rupert’s crusty old-school grandfather, eating beans on toast in his stately home, says of his grandson: “No greater bounder have I ever met, and I played cards with Lucky Lucan when I was young.”

He might even have bought a shooting cap at Bates the Hatters, of St James’s, where Charlotte worked while at drama school. She said: “It was such a lovely job to have. I know a heap about different-shape shooting caps now.”

• The Other Half. By Charlotte Vassell, Faber & Faber, £14.99