Part 3 (1/2)
”What a coincidence,” said Simon. ”I, too, am married to one of Lord Elstyn's attorneys.” He leaned closer and purred, ”I expect they'll be extremely busy this week. Whatever shall we do with our free time?”
My mouth fell open. ”You're kidding, right?”
”Sorry?” he said, looking mildly disconcerted.
I tilted my head to one side and eyed him doubtfully. ”I've heard that married people are supposed to play the field during country-house weekends, but I guess I expected the invitations to be a little more subtle. Honestly, Simon, if you had a mustache, you'd be twirling it.”
Amus.e.m.e.nt lit his eyes. ”I was under the impression that Americans were impervious to subtlety.”
”You've been misinformed.” I turned to leave, but my curiosity got the better of me. ”What you said before, about delivering a letter-what did you mean?”
”Someone's been playing post office.” His eyes twinkled as he added, ”I must say that I'm glad it's not you.”
”Right. Well . . .” I backed away, too dazzled by his smile to question him further. ”Better go find some shoes.”
”If you need anything else,” he said, ”feel free to knock on my door. Anytime.”
”Uh, thanks,” I stammered, and as I walked to the end of the long corridor, I could feel him watching me every step of the way.
I was so distracted by the sensation that I nearly barreled into Emma as she and Derek emerged from the last door on the right. Derek was dressed in a tuxedo that had, by the looks of it, only recently come out of hibernation, but Emma was resplendent in a floor-length silver-gray gown with a matching bolero jacket and-I noted with relief-a pair of pearl-gray flats.
”You made it!” Emma exclaimed. ”I thought you'd never get here.”
”We were held up by traffic and I'm in desperate need of shoes,” I blurted.
Emma peered down at my feet, shook her head in mock despair, and went back into the room.
”Everything all right, Lori?” asked Derek. ”You look flushed.”
”I'm fine,” I said, putting Simon's smile firmly out of my mind, ”though I'm dying to know how the topiary caught fire.”
Derek harrumphed. ”Disaffected peasants, I should imagine.”
”Seriously?” I asked, wide-eyed.
”Of course not.” Derek looked at me askance, then drew a picture in the air with his index finger. ”The lower terrace is bordered by a wrought-iron bal.u.s.trade. The blacksmith was soldering a joint near the shrubbery this afternoon. He must have let a spark fly into the bushes, where it smoldered until it flared up in the evening breeze. It's a pity.”
”It's a tragedy,” Emma corrected as she returned to the corridor, black pumps in hand. ”Do you have any idea how long it takes to cultivate large-scale topiaries? Thank heavens the unicorn and the peac.o.c.k were spared.”
”Are you sure about your facts, Derek?” I asked, slipping into Emma's shoes. ”Your father seems to think-”
”Father hasn't bothered to speak with the blacksmith,” Derek interrupted. ”Manual laborers are beneath his notice. Arrogant old fool.”
”Derek . . .” Emma pleaded.
”All right.” Derek held his hands up to pacify his wife. ”I'll behave myself. If he will.”
Emma sighed resignedly. ”It's almost eight. We'd better go down.”
I walked gingerly behind them, testing the fit of Emma's pumps and puzzling over Derek's words. I hadn't noticed an evening breeze when I'd stood watching the fire, but I had detected the distinctive scent of kerosene. ”Derek,” I began, ”what about the-”
”Cousin Derek!”
I looked up and saw Simon Elstyn striding toward us, smiling his devastating smile.
”Good evening, Si.” Derek's greeting was somewhat less than enthusiastic. ”Lori, this is my cousin-”
”We've met,” I said. ”Simon told me where to find you.”
”Always glad to help a damsel in distress.” Simon bowed gallantly and turned to Derek. ”A small reminder, Cousin-your father's an Edwardian at heart. He frowns mightily on husbands who escort their wives into dinner.” He offered his arm to Emma, adding smoothly, ”It's absurd, I know, but when in Rome . . .”
Emma glanced uncertainly at Derek, then took Simon's arm. ”Thank you, Simon. We seem to be short one husband.”
”I'm sure he and Gina will catch us up at dinner,” said Simon, leading her toward the staircase.
”Gina?” I whispered, slipping my hand into the crook of Derek's arm.
”Georgina Elstyn,” he replied quietly. ”Simon's wife. She works for my father. She's-”
”An attorney,” I murmured, and lapsed into a preoccupied silence.
It had suddenly occurred to me that Gina might be one of the intermediaries who'd met with Bill to conduct the earl's legal business at the London office of Willis & Willis. If she were, then Bill had worked with her for the past three months, without mentioning it to me. Had he known that she would be at Hailesham Park?
”I don't suppose you'd consider coming out with me for a bag of fish and chips,” Derek murmured gloomily. ”I tried to talk Emma into it, but-”
”Sorry, old bean, but wild horses couldn't keep me from this dinner.” I grasped his arm firmly and squared my over-exposed shoulders. If Gina Elstyn was as attractive as her husband, then Derek wouldn't be the only one I'd watch closely for the next five days.
The drawing room split the difference between the entrance hall's chilly cla.s.sicism and my bedroom's opulent warmth. The architecture was cool and cla.s.sical: The off-white walls held a quartet of pilasters that rose from the floor to a white-on-white frieze encircling the room, and the barrel-vaulted ceiling was pierced with a pattern of octagonal medallions. Two unadorned Doric columns at the far end of the room separated the main section from an alcove containing a grand piano and a half-dozen s.h.i.+eld-back chairs.
The fireplace looked like a miniature Greek temple. The oil portrait over the mantelshelf was framed by a pair of diminutive Doric columns supporting a triangular pediment, and the creamy marble surround was carved with scrolls and abstract acanthus leaves.
The hearth was flanked by two lacquered commodes that faced a pair of French doors opening onto a stone-flagged terrace. A rosewood secretaire filled the s.p.a.ce between the French doors, and an inlaid drum table sat between a pair of round-backed armchairs. An Aubusson carpet and a sparkling chandelier lent warmth to the room, as did the coral damask settee sitting at a right angle to the hearth.
Lord Elstyn was chatting with a young woman on the settee when we arrived. The young woman wore her white-blond hair in a spiky crew cut, and she was dressed in an electric-blue gown that covered her from neck to toes yet left nothing whatsoever to the imagination. If my dress fit like a glove, hers looked as if it had been sprayed on.
The young woman remained seated as we entered the room, but the earl rose from the settee to greet us.
”Lori, Emma, welcome. I see you've met Simon.” He beamed at Emma's escort, but his eyes merely grazed Derek's face. ”Simon's my brother Kenneth's eldest son. His other son is Oliver.” The earl turned toward a young man standing near the grand piano. ”Oliver, stop lurking in the shadows,” he called. ”I wish to introduce you to Ms. Shepherd and Lady Hailesham.”
Derek clenched his fists, but Emma's warning look and my grip on his arm restrained him from registering any complaint he might have had about his wife's correct name.
”There's no need for t.i.tles among family,” Emma said, with remarkable aplomb. ”Please call me Emma.”
”As you wish,” said the earl, with a courtly bow.
Oliver Elstyn was in his midthirties-about my age-and not quite as tall as his brother. His hair was dark, but it was hard to tell the color of his eyes because he scarcely lifted his gaze from the carpet as he shook Emma's hand, then turned to me.