Part 4 (1/2)

'Finally,' he said. 'There's a delivery drop-off point at the back of the building. Leave it there.'

'Excuse me?'

'The raffle prize.'

'I'm not a courier.'

He held his hand up to silence me and pointed to a tiny bluetooth headset in his left ear.

'Sorry about that,' he said, 'we've been waiting on a delivery.'

'I'm looking for Benedict Jones.'

'You're here for the fundraiser?'

I wondered whether my Miu Mius would take me back down the drive fast enough to catch up with Debs.

'Miss...'

'Stanhope. Ruby Stanhope.'

'I don't have you on my list-who are you with?'

'Myself,' I said. 'I was to be here with my aunt Daphne Partridge, and her partner Debs, Deborah...' I didn't know her last name.

'Sorry, I don't have you here.'

'Look, Pansy had puppies today, which was unexpected, and neither Aunt Daphne nor Debs was able to make tonight's party so I've come instead. They said to speak with Benedict Jones, so if you could show me to him I'd very much appreciate it.'

He pointed to his headset. I fantasised about ripping it from his ear and crus.h.i.+ng it under a Miu.

'Hi,' said a voice behind me.

I swivelled and another unsuitably suited man extended his hand to shake mine. 'Hi,' I said, 'Ruby Stanhope.'

'Luke Harley. You'll have to excuse my colleague, Ruby; he was just checking you're not press, which you're not, are you?'

'No. Recovering investment banker, actually.'

'Good.' Luke walked me under an arch crawling with star jasmine and along a candlelit path towards a suited congregation in the vineyard. It looked like a vine-side funeral.

'n.o.body told me the dress code was lounge suit,' I said, embarra.s.sed by my tropical G.o.ddess outfit.

'It's not supposed to be,' said Luke. 'It's just that most of us don't own anything else.'

'The man at the door said this is a fundraiser. What's the charity?'

He laughed; then his phone rang. He gestured towards a Clooneyesque man, with substantially more salt than pepper, and centurion pecs. 'GI Joe senior over there is Jones. I'll be back in a minute.'

The only other person at the function in civilian clothes wove through the vines towards me.

'I don't think we've met.' Benedict Jones extended his hand.

Pants man plus jet lag equals regret, my head reminded me.

'I'm Daphne Partridge's niece, Ruby.'

'Pleased to meet you.' He shook my hand. 'Welcome to Benedict Estate.'

'Thank you, it's lovely to be here.'

'Your accent is cute,' he said. 'Let me guess-English?'

Psychic, groaned my head.

'Yes, I'm from London.'

'I'm told I have a very good ear.' He lowered his voice. 'Shall I show you my vines?'

I tried to keep my eyes from rolling and accepted his arm. 'So what do you grow here?' I glanced around at the tailored monochrome and wished I didn't look like a big blue parrot.

'Pinot,' he said, 'and a little chardonnay.'

'I hear pinot's plagued with problems. Or is that just a vinicultural legend?'

'It is tougher to grow than any other grape,' he said, 'but it's worth the chase.'

Groan.

He picked a single grape for me from a perfect bunch. 'Eat it,' he directed, dropping it into my mouth. It didn't taste like I'd imagined. I could taste the spices, but not the fruit.

I unhooked myself from his arm. 'Tell me, do you often have parties like this?'

'Just for Max. We go way back.'

'Is it his birthday?'

'You're charming, Ruby,' he chuckled, until he realised my question was genuine. 'Max Masters is the Leader of the Opposition.'

'As in a politician?'

I felt like a dill. There I was a.s.suming I would meet a bunch of grape-lovers. Instead, I would spend the evening with a bunch of apes in suits expecting me to know who they were. The only politicians I knew were the ones I detested for taxing luxury goods and capping bankers' bonuses.

'Mingle!' directed Benedict, looking over my shoulder at a short-skirt suit. I found the bar in the marquee and mingled with the wines, where I was rudely interrupted by a woman sporting big teeth and a too-tight ponytail- think rabbit with an up-do.

'Christine,' she announced, thrusting her hand into mine.

'Ruby.' I felt her hand deftly deal me a business card.

'I work for the property development industry.'