Flora laughed. ‘Right. And you’re still milking the long blonde hair and blue eyes vibe. Looks like it’s not doing too badly for you.’
‘You mean the acting job?’ Celeste held a door open and waved Flora into the manor house. They were in a sort of boot room, with high-backed wooden benches lining the walls and racks for hats and coats and wellingtons. Celeste strode across the flagstones and Flora trotted to keep up. ‘I’ve landed on my feet, no denying it. Although Alberto … Well, he’s a pig. You saw what happened just then.’
‘I saw you push him over, yeah.’
‘Only after he hit me! You did see that, didn’t you? Don’t be coy – I can tell when you’re freaked out. Okay, it’s complicated, but I’ll explain later. First of all, tell me your news.’
In the time it took them to mount the curving staircase, Flora did as instructed, filling Celeste in on the sale of her parents’ bungalow, the purchase of her flat in Shrewsbury’s town centre, and her failure to extricate herself from Shakers Removals just yet.
‘I’m sorry I wasn’t around when your folks died, Flora. I got your letter, it caught up with me eventually in Australia, but it was impossible for me to get back to England. You do understand, don’t you?’
Flora said she did. Celeste stopped outside a white panelled door and rested her hand on the ornate handle. She regarded Flora for a moment, then said, ‘You ever think about tracking down your real parents? You know, now your adopted ones are gone.’
It wasn’t that Flora was shocked exactly – Celeste had never been what you’d call tactful, or even sensitive – but for a moment or two she couldn’t respond. She felt dislocated, as though the long carpeted corridor was carrying Celeste away on some kind of conveyor belt. Then she felt her friend’s hand on her arm.
‘Sorry. I did it again, didn’t I? Oh, Lord, will I ever learn?’ Celeste opened the door to her room and shepherded Flora inside. ‘It’s just like when we were at university – I open my big mouth and upset you, and then you go all quiet and sad and I feel like a complete cow.’
‘Really,’ Flora said, with effort, ‘it’s fine. And no, actually, I’ve never thought about tracking down my birth parents.’ She made sure to correct Celeste’s terminology, but was doubtful that her friend would pick up on it.
‘Okay, gotcha. Will never mention it again. Drink? There’s a minibar.’
Flora glanced at the clock on the mantel. ‘It’s ten to one. Bit early.’
‘Not in the film industry. You’ll see – they’ll just be getting started.’
‘I’m looking forward to meeting everyone.’ Flora sat on the end of a bed at least as wide as it was long.
‘Ha! They’re a motley crew. Well, all but one of them …’ Celeste’s eyes narrowed just a fraction and she smiled. Flora jumped to her feet.
‘I recognise that look,’ she said with a grin. ‘This will be the hunky new boyfriend you mentioned on the phone, right? What’s his name again?’
‘Eduardo,’ Celeste said, rolling her lips over each syllable.
‘And? Come on, don’t hold out on me. How did you meet him?’
Celeste walked over to the dresser and regarded herself in the mirror. ‘He’s an actor, natch. We met in Mexico. He’s Spanish, was already working with Alberto, told me there was a part going in their new production. That was it, pretty much.’
‘Wow. After all that extras work you did, I knew you’d hit the big time one day.’
‘Those were crap roles,’ Celeste said. She tilted her head and met Flora’s reflected eyes. ‘This is the real thing. An actual film. Okay, it’s only small fry, but Alberto has pedigree. Of a kind,’ she added, back to looking at herself. She picked up a lipstick and applied it, finishing off by putting her index finger in her mouth and sucking. ‘Gets any stray lippy off your teeth,’ she explained to Flora. ‘An old modelling trick.’
‘Tell me more about the film,’ Flora said, bouncing back down onto the bed. She smoothed out the grey satin bedspread, admiring its quilted design. It looked vintage, the kind of fabric you couldn’t buy anymore. ‘Hey, I hope my room looks like this one. This house is really cool.’
‘If you like faded grandeur,’ Celeste said with a grimace. Flora smiled. She loved faded grandeur, but knew Celeste couldn’t see the charm. Her friend poured herself a gin and tonic from the minibar, then sat on the bed and crossed her long legs.
‘So you want to hear all about Una Cita con la Muerte?’
‘Come again?’
‘It’s the name of the film we’re shooting. In Spanish, of course. A Date With Death. Nick says it’s going to be a big hit in Cannes next year.’
‘Nick?’
‘Gibson. He’s our producer and money man. You’ll meet him later. He and Alberto hate each other, but then everyone hates Alberto, even his wife.’ Celeste roared with laughter, spilling her gin and tonic on the quilt. Flora jumped up to get a cloth, but Celeste waved her down. ‘Leave it, the staff will clear it up. I’m sure they’ve seen far worse. This place has been used as a location for tons of films. Even Bollywood stuff, apparently.’
Flora ignored her and fetched a wet flannel from the en suite bathroom. She mopped up the stain as best she could, then looked again at the clock. ‘Shall we go down to eat now? It’s after one.’
Until that point, Celeste had been jiggling her foot, or tapping her fingernails on the side of her glass, or fluffing out her hair. Now she became quite still. She looked at her drink, then said, in a tone that struck Flora as falsely bright, ‘Hey, let’s us girls have lunch up here. Doesn’t that sound like fun?’
‘Well, yes, but –’
‘I’ll ring for Sidney and tell him to bring up a plate of something. Hold on.’
‘But what about Marshall? He’ll be expecting me to go in for lunch with him. He doesn’t know anyone here.’
‘Sure he does. He’s met Alberto, and he seems the type to fit right in wherever he goes.’
Flora tipped her head to meet her friend’s eyes. ‘Are you being funny, Celeste? Because if you are –’
‘No! Of course not. I just meant, he’s American. And Americans are really friendly, aren’t they? Nice people. Warm.’
‘Yes,’ Flora said. She looked across the room to the door that led out onto the balcony. From her position on the bed all she could see was the relentless blue sky. ‘He is friendly,’ she said. ‘But even so, I’m not sure he’d appreciate being left on his own.’ But Celeste wasn’t listening – she was talking on the phone, ordering smoked salmon sandwiches and a bottle of Champagne and ‘Some of those little egg things we had yesterday.’
‘Champagne?’ Flora asked when Celeste had finished putting in her order.
‘Well, I’m celebrating, even if you’re not. Best friends, reunited after two years apart – isn’t that a cause for celebration?’
‘Of course it is.’ Flora got up and held out her arms for a hug. ‘I’m sure I’ve missed you more than you’ve missed me. After all, I’ve been here in boring old England. You’re the one who’s been travelling the world.’
Celeste allowed herself to be held, patting Flora on the back with one hand, then she sat on the dressing table stool, this time facing Flora.
‘So, what’s going on with you and this Martin bloke?’
‘Are you doing that on purpose?’
‘Okay, sorry. Marshall. What kind of a name is that, anyway?’
Flora shrugged. ‘An American one, I guess.’
‘“I guess”,’ Celeste mimicked. ‘You’re even picking up the accent. Do you spend a lot of time with him? I thought he was the hired help.’
‘He is. I mean, he’s Shakers’ manager. You know all this, I explained it on the phone.’
‘Right. But you told me last year – you said in that letter I got – that you didn’t like him and you were going to get rid of him.’ Celeste’s eyes narrowed. ‘Doesn’t look so much that way now.’
Flora said nothing. In fact, she was surprised Ce
leste had picked up so much from such a short exchange. She decided to change the subject.
‘Tell me more about Eduardo. Is he gorgeous?’
Celeste shook her head. ‘Not falling for that old one. Marshall first, then Eduardo. Are you sleeping with him?’
‘No!’ Flora felt her face grow warm. ‘No, I’m not. I’m his boss, for goodness sake.’
‘Sorry, Mrs Prim. He’s hot, though. In a rough, downbeat way. And he clearly likes you.’
‘You think so?’
‘Okay, so you just blushed when you said “you think so”, so I know you like him. You always were crap at keeping your feelings to yourself.’
Flora laughed, relieved to hear a knock on the door. Sidney wheeled in a covered trolley, then went back out for the Champagne bucket and stand. He set them both by the window, and arranged a straight-backed chair on either side.
‘The gentleman you arrived with said he would meet you in an hour at the Nook,’ Sidney told Flora.
Flora nodded and gave him a solemn smile. She found the older man’s formality a little uncomfortable. As soon as the butler had gone, she turned to Celeste. ‘The Nook?’
‘Sure, it’s where you and Marshall are staying. It’s cute – real cute, as your American would no doubt say. You’ll love it.’
‘Hold on.’ There were so many things wrong with this, Flora didn’t know where to start. ‘Marshall and I are staying in the same room?’
‘Well, it’s not a room, exactly …’
‘And it’s not in the main house? What is it, some kind of annexe?’
Celeste gave her shoulders a tiny, uninterested shrug. ‘Hanley Manor isn’t a proper hotel. They do weddings, and they put up film crews, natch. But there are only a few guest rooms in the main house because it’s still used as a family home for some of the year. Vinny’s staying in the grounds too.’
‘In the grounds?’ Flora was standing now, holding a limp sandwich in her hand. ‘And who the hell is Vinny? Is he sleeping with Marshall and me as well?’
‘You wish.’ Celeste threw herself back on the bed, laughing delightedly. ‘Vinny is pretty hot, but I think you’d have competition from Alberto’s wife.’
‘Alberto’s wife …?’ Flora put down her sandwich. ‘Celeste, I’m not sure it’s a good idea for me and Marshall to stay in the same room. I can commute from Shrewsbury, you know. It’s under an hour. I told you on the phone, there’s really no reason for us to stay here.’
Celeste stopped laughing. She wound her fingers in her hair and looked up at Flora with a hurt expression. ‘But you promised,’ she said. For a moment or two she looked much younger than her thirty years. Her eyes were pink in the corners, her skin was pale, and there was a slight rash under her jaw line that the heavy make-up couldn’t quite conceal. Flora thought back to the scene in the garden. Celeste still hadn’t explained what had been going on out there between her and the director.
‘Look,’ she said, her tone mollifying but firm. ‘I can still be here early every morning. You know I won’t let you down. And it won’t hold up the filming if I’m not on site twenty-four hours a day, will it?’
It had been a sticking point with Marshall, staying away for an entire week. But Celeste had made it a condition, and as Flora had pointed out repeatedly, they really, desperately needed the work. Not that moving a film crew around the south Shropshire countryside, ferrying them from location to location and erecting scenery, was in Shakers’ usual remit. It would be a new direction, Flora had asserted. It might even lead to other contracts. Marshall had remained non-committal, but at least he’d agreed to give it a go.
Celeste got up and walked over to the window, rubbing her hair distractedly. Then she swirled around and faced Flora, planting her hands on her hips. ‘You promised, Flora. You said you’d stay here with me so that’s what you should do. I need you to be here, all the time.’
‘Why? I don’t understand what difference it makes.’
‘I just do!’ Celeste’s voice had progressed from whiny to irritated in a matter of seconds. In a minute, Flora thought, she’ll be stamping her foot. ‘Okay, look, it’s Alberto. He’s … he’s been making a nuisance of himself. That’s what you saw earlier. In the gardens.’
‘You mean, coming on to you?’
Celeste nodded.
‘Yuk.’ Flora made a disgusted face.
‘Right. So, I need you around to watch my back. And, in case you’ve forgotten, you did agree – it’s part of your contract to be here twenty-four-seven.’
‘I haven’t forgotten.’
‘So you’ll stay?’
‘Doesn’t look like I have much choice, does it?’ Flora picked up her holdall. ‘Won’t you tell me what this Nook is like? Just so I’m prepared?’
Celeste laughed, clearly more relaxed now she’d got her own way. ‘Oh, you’ll soon see. And don’t worry – it’s cute.’ She eyed Flora speculatively. ‘It’s very “you”, actually.’
There was a knock at the door. Celeste skipped across the thick carpet, smiling.
‘Eduardo!’ she said, throwing her arms around a tall, broad-shouldered man and dragging him into the room. ‘Come and meet Flora.’
Celeste’s boyfriend had wide brown eyes and white, even teeth. His hair was light brown, thick and curly but cut fairly short, and he wore a denim shirt over striped Bermuda shorts. The shirt was unbuttoned to the middle of his smooth brown chest. He looked exactly as Flora had expected.
Celeste and he spoke for a minute in Spanish, then he turned to Flora and smiled.
‘Flora, encantado de conocerte.’ Eduardo lifted Flora’s hand to his lips, never taking his eyes from her face. She blushed, then shrugged and looked at Celeste.
‘I’m going to have to learn some Spanish, aren’t I? Otherwise I’m going to look very stupid.’
‘Oh, Eduardo speaks English quite well. He’s just trying to charm you.’
‘And you speak Spanish really well,’ Flora said. ‘Did you learn in the few months you were there? You weren’t this good at languages at uni.’
‘God, no. I’ve been having lessons since we got back to the UK. Jack’s been helping me.’
‘Jack?’
‘Jack Harding, of course. He’s our very own language consultant.’ Celeste paused as Eduardo spoke in Spanish again. She said, ‘Well, yes. He hasn’t only been helping with the language barrier. But you’ll find out about all that later,’ she told Flora. ‘At the gala dinner.’
Flora was still processing this new information. ‘Jack Harding is here? At Hanley Manor?’
‘He’s not staying here, he lives just down the road. You look stunned. Didn’t I mention it on the phone?’
She hadn’t, and she knew perfectly well she hadn’t. And Flora knew why. Celeste had wanted to retain the element of surprise.
She’d certainly managed that.
***
Flora said goodbye to Celeste and Eduardo, then headed back down the main staircase, her hand trailing along the polished curved banister, enjoying the feel of the old wood under her fingers and imagining the countless hands that had done the same over the last two hundred or so years. She figured she’d retrace her steps to get back out to the garden, then head across the lawn and go into the trees at the same point Sidney and Marshall had disappeared from view. This Nook place couldn’t be that difficult to find.
At the bottom of the stairs she saw Sidney heading towards her. He was carrying a large silver tray piled with dirty dishes and muttering to himself. Flora, on an impulse she didn’t understand or analyse, ducked into a recessed doorway next to a huge Chinese-patterned urn. Sidney strode past, still muttering. He stopped across the hall in front of a closed door, then reached into a deep pocket with his free hand, pulling out an enormous ring of keys. He rattled it like a jailer, then grabbed a key and jabbed it into the keyhole. As he swung the door open and hoisted the tray through it, Flora caught sight of another long corridor, dimly lit and narrow. Then the butler kicked
the door closed with his heel, and Flora heard it being locked again from the other side. She frowned. Odd to keep a service door locked like that. Wouldn’t it make life difficult for him and the other staff? Every one of them would have to have a key, for a start, and locking and re-locking doors all the time didn’t seem very safe from a fire safety point of view. Wouldn’t it be simpler to put a No Entry sign up and leave it at that?
She stepped out of the doorway. Weird. Maybe the family who owned Hanley Manor insisted on keeping doors locked, to stop prying eyes. A shuffling sound to her left caught Flora’s attention, and she turned to see a young woman step out of an alcove only five or six feet from where Flora herself had been hiding. The woman’s eyes flashed in alarm when she saw Flora; she whirled around in a mass of wild, dark hair and fled into the music room. Flora followed, but there was no sign of the woman in either the music room or the next room along.
‘Hello,’ Flora said. Her voice sounded hollow and too loud in the vast space. Every wall was crammed with ancient paintings, some so dark and discoloured it was impossible to discern colours or features. She turned in a circle, wondering if the woman was hiding in here. Which would be ridiculous, of course. The faces on the closest paintings stared back at her, their expressions either bleak or sneering. The silence felt so absolute it was almost a noise in itself.
Flora retraced her steps, and found her way back to the small lobby area with the benches and the coat racks. She stepped out of the dark house into the sunlit gardens with a sense of pure relief. And there was Marshall, slouching on the lawn, kicking at something in the grass, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his cargo shorts, familiar and incongruous as hell. Flora smiled, then headed over to greet him.
‘Hey, Lively,’ he said, looking up and shielding his eyes from the sun. ‘You are gonna love where we’re sleeping.’
Flora pulled a face. ‘As bad as that?’
A Date With Death: Cozy Private Investigator Series (Flora Lively Mysteries Book 2) Page 2