‘Worse. Brace yourself, boss. Your so-called friend has really done a number on you this time.’
Chapter 2
‘Oh, come on, Marshall. It’s not that bad.’
Flora was sitting on a rug on the floor with her back propped against a low coffee table made from railway sleepers. She had to lean against the coffee table because the room had no proper walls. In fact, it wasn’t a room at all. It was much, much better than a room.
‘You know,’ she said, ‘I’ve always wanted to sleep in a yurt. Don’t you think it’s cool? Celeste said it was cute, and she was right.’ Flora thought for a minute, then grinned. ‘She also said it was very “me”. She was right about that, too.’
‘How wonderful for you, to have a friend who knows you so well. Sure wish I had one of those.’
‘Give it a rest, why don’t you?’
Flora was too excited to let Marshall’s grumbling bring her down. He was sitting in the only chair – a brown leather button-back number that was probably worth a fortune – glaring at her and at the sheepskin-strewn beds and the tiny shabby chic table and chairs, and the chipped stone basin that sat by the entrance. He’d find something to moan about, whatever the situation. If they’d been housed in the manor he’d be complaining it was too grand, or too hot, or too crowded. Or something. In Flora’s opinion, a yurt in the grounds was perfect. She’d always wanted to give glamping a try. The roof was amazing, she thought, tipping back her head to avoid looking at Marshall’s sour expression. The way the thin strips of wood rose up from the lattice-patterned walls, self-supporting – almost defying gravity – with that lovely skylight effect at the very top. The thick, stretched canvas felt cosy and safe, but Flora thought the effect could be improved with the addition of a bit of bunting and some carefully-chosen decorative touches. It was far, far better than she’d expected.
Even if she did have to share it with Marshall.
‘So,’ he said, eyeing her carefully, ‘you don’t mind the fact that we’ll be sleeping in here … together?’
Flora could feel her cheeks begin to burn again, but she turned her head away and adopted a nonchalant tone. ‘There are two beds and they’re both huge and spaced well apart. And look – there’s that curtain there for privacy. It doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you.’
‘Doesn’t bother me any. So long as you don’t snore.’
‘I can assure you, I do not snore.’
‘How would you know? Far as I can tell, you’ve been sleeping alone for a long while now.’
He was trying to get a rise out of her, that was all. Flora caught her bottom lip between her teeth and said nothing. She looked around again, then got onto her knees to reach for her holdall.
‘There’s no bathroom,’ Marshall said. ‘No kitchen.’
‘We can wash and clean our teeth in that basin. And there’s a shower and a toilet in a kind of shed over there, just behind those trees. And that’s our kitchen.’ She pointed through the rolled-up canvas door to the covered area outside, where a barbecue rack had been set in concrete blocks. ‘It’s like camping,’ she added.
‘It’s not like camping – it is camping.’
‘Well, that’s fine with me. It’s the middle of August so it won’t be cold, and there’s plenty of –’
‘Midges and wasps,’ Marshall finished.
‘I was going to say, plenty of food up at the manor house, so we don’t need to cook here anyway.’
‘Speaking of food, did you have a nice lunch? With your wonderful friend who knows you so well.’
‘I’m sorry I left you to fend for yourself,’ Flora said. ‘Did you meet the others?’
Marshall shook his head. ‘I had my lunch in the van.’
‘Why?’ Flora frowned. That wasn’t like him. ‘Were you feeling shy? Overwhelmed?’
‘Yeah, right. Just didn’t feel like company, was all. And I guess …’
Flora pushed him on with her eyes. ‘You guess what?’
‘I guess I was looking forward to meeting them with you.’
She threw a floor cushion at him; it missed, but he smiled. ‘You are such an idiot,’ Flora told him. ‘I was hoping you could give me the low-down. Now we’ll have to wait until the gala dinner tonight.’
Marshall groaned. ‘I’d forgotten about that.’
‘Well, I’m not going on my own.’ She pulled her one good dress out of her bag and shook out the creases. ‘Not with that Alberto creep around. Celeste says he’s been coming on to her – yuk! I met her new boyfriend, Eduardo. I bet he wouldn’t stand for any messing around with Alberto, all that hot Spanish blood.’ She stood up to hang the dress on a hook made from pine cones, then caught Marshall’s expression. ‘What?’
‘Hot Spanish blood? Have you been reading How To Stereotype and Insult People again?’
Flora ignored him and finished unpacking, ramming her few clothes into a carton next to the bed she’d decided would be hers. It was the biggest, and the softest. The beds were just mattresses on the floor, but the floor was made from wooden boards, covered with rag rugs and an enormous kilim in faded blues and reds. While she unpacked she thought about Celeste, about how odd she’d been. Her friend had changed, that was for sure. She’d always been brittle, and a touch self-obsessed, but now there was something else. A harder edge. It was difficult to put your finger on. She seemed almost afraid of something.
But that was crazy. Celeste had never been afraid of anything.
Flora watched Marshall stretch out on the other bed, his body long, his legs tanned and muscular. He laced his fingers behind his head and closed his eyes. Typical. She wanted to talk, to tell him about the woman she’d seen watching Sidney – she was sure it was the same girl who’d driven off in such a hurry earlier. But then, he’d probably just quiz her on why she was spying on Sidney, and then he’d bring up the whole “investigator” thing again. She sighed and took a paperback out of her holdall, then leaned against the cushions to read. But her eyes kept flitting back to Marshall’s prone form. And her mind kept flitting back to the name Celeste had dropped into their conversation earlier. Jack Harding. Said so casually. Blasé, even. Flora shook her head and forced her tense shoulders down. Jack Harding was a complication she hadn’t bargained on. And the timing for her and Marshall couldn’t be worse.
***
By the time they headed back across the gardens, Flora’s stomach was starting to rumble – a hollow, bubbling sound she tried to cover up by clearing her throat. Maybe she should try and grab a pre-dinner snack from the kitchens. She cleared her throat again to mask another rumble, but if Marshall heard it, he gave no sign. They’d dressed for the gala dinner on opposite sides of the privacy curtain, Flora in her green silk vintage tea dress with the lace hem, which she thought set off her red hair pretty nicely, Marshall wearing a black dinner jacket and bow tie. The tie was undone – his personal snub to ceremony. Flora thought he looked like he was coming home from a party, not on his way to one. She also thought he looked stunning.
She kept both these thoughts to herself.
They came out from the cover of the trees and the house sprang into view. Flora stopped abruptly.
‘Wow,’ she said. ‘It’s beautiful.’
The grand old building had been decorated along its entire length with Chinese lanterns and fairy lights – a string of glittering, shimmering white and blue and green stars, punctuated by the red glow of the lanterns. Forming a path up to the main entrance were two rows of candles, each pressed into a silver bowl that sat on the ground. The effect was stunning, if a little intimidating.
‘What exactly is a gala, anyway?’ Marshall said, as they rounded the side of the house and made for the back entrance – Celeste had mentioned that Sidney preferred them to come in and out that way. Flora, in her dress and her heels and her few pieces of jewellery, felt as though they should be walking arm in arm, but Marshall hadn’t offered his and she wasn’t about to initiate anything.
�
��You mean, what’s a gala in general, or what’s this particular one in aid of?’
Marshall laughed. ‘Glad to see you’ve got your pedantic head on tonight. It would be great if you used your powers for good, though, not evil.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Sure you do. That friend of yours, she talks down to you, Flora. Are you telling me you haven’t noticed?’
‘Celeste? She does not.’ Flora laughed. ‘She’s just a bit –’
‘Full of herself? Downright rude? All that “still a stranger to make-up” crap. Turning up her nose at your hair, just because it’s a bit … unusual and all.’
‘You heard that?’ Now Flora’s laugh was more relaxed. ‘You idiot. That’s just her way. It doesn’t mean anything.’ She smiled to herself. Marshall being protective of her – she could get to like this. It made a change from him having a go at her, anyway.
‘Just watch out for yourself,’ he said. ‘I don’t trust her.’
‘You hardly know her. She comes across as all snarky and cutting, but she’s a pussycat underneath.’
‘With very sharp claws.’
‘It’s a front, that’s all.’ Flora paused. She’d never confessed to anyone before how painful she’d found the whole experience of university; even now, the memory of those first few months had the power to make her skin burn with embarrassment. Celeste had offered her a lifeline – popular and attractive, with a doting group of admirers, Celeste’s friendship had seemed like a miracle to Flora. Different though they were, the two girls had bonded, eventually sharing a small house off campus, and sharing their hopes and dreams for the future. If Flora had ever wondered why Celeste chose her as a friend, had ever questioned what she brought to the table, she told herself that her job was to be steadfast and loyal, and to overlook her friend’s sometimes acerbic attitude.
It wasn’t as if she had so many people in her life these days that she could afford to shake that friendship off too lightly.
‘Deep down she’s a good person,’ she said to Marshall. ‘And I owe her. Okay?’
‘Fine. Whatever you say, Miss Lively. I’m going to find the bar – coming?’
‘I think I’ll go up and see Celeste. She mentioned something about helping me get ready, or maybe it was me helping her get ready. I can’t really remember.’
‘Maybe she wants to give you a makeover,’ Marshall said, smirking. ‘Paint your nails, fix your hair, that kind of thing.’
‘Get lost, Goodman.’ Flora sent him on his way with a shove, then headed for the stairs, still smiling.
Celeste opened her door almost as soon as Flora knocked.
‘So, how’s your love-nest?’
Flora couldn’t think of a clever retort – she was too taken aback by Celeste’s appearance.
‘Wow. Don’t you look every inch the film star.’
Celeste wore a strapless red cocktail dress that fitted as though sprayed on. Her hair, piled on top of her head in an elaborate design of curls and ringlets, shone with silver glitter. As she twirled on the spot, Flora’s mouth dropped open when she saw the back of Celeste’s gown – it was cut away as low as her knicker line.
‘Celeste! Is it wise to wear that? I mean, with all the problems you’ve been having with Alberto?’
‘What, I should wear an old sack just because that goat might get turned on by me? I don’t think so.’
Flora reddened. She had noticed the way Celeste’s eyes dropped to her tea dress when she said old sack.
‘Did you do your make-up yourself?’ Flora said, mainly to change the subject. She peered up into her friend’s face. ‘You look like one of those girls on the beauty counters at Boots.’
‘Get over yourself, Flora. You’re just jealous that some of us know how to apply foundation.’
‘Apply it? You mean shovel it on with a trowel.’
‘Gabriella did it, okay? It’s important that I look the part tonight.’
‘You certainly look the part,’ Flora said, grinning to show she was just teasing. ‘I’m just not sure what part. Hey, don’t get defensive. You look great.’
Celeste perched on the bed and started checking the contents of her bag. She looked up at Flora and smiled, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Thanks. So do you. I love your hair, actually. It’s really vibrant. I had to wear a red wig for a role when we were in Italy and it completely washed me out. But on you, it looks nice.’
Coming from Celeste, this was a massive compliment. Flora sat in front of the dresser, mollified. ‘Who’s Gabriella?’ she asked.
‘Our wardrobe girl. Well, our new one. The old one resigned just before we left Spain. Nick found her, and just in time too. She’s quite good,’ Celeste added, leaning over Flora’s shoulder to admire herself in the mirror. Her eyes strayed to Flora’s face, and she frowned. ‘You know, I’ve picked up a few tricks over the years. A little bit of concealer would really even out your complexion, and some blusher would give your face that bit of definition it so desperately –’
‘Say, how about that bag of yours!’ Flora jumped up, latching onto yet another change of topic. ‘It’s awesome. I’m sure I saw one like that in Vogue.’
‘You read Vogue?’ The scepticism in Celeste’s voice made Flora bristle.
‘At the dentist, sure. But I wouldn’t waste good money on it.’ Nor would I waste good money on a designer handbag, she didn’t add. Celeste picked up the bag and turned it around in her hands.
‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Chanel. All the A-listers have these.’
‘What colour is that?’ Flora said. ‘Beige? Pink?’
‘Nude,’ Celeste said. She looked perplexed when Flora burst out laughing.
‘Nude! Oh well, that figures.’
Flora brushed off Celeste’s attempts to lend her an equally showy handbag for the evening, saying she preferred her trusty old vintage clutch.
‘Right, then.’ Celeste laid a hand on her chest and inhaled slowly. Then she let out her breath and fixed a bright smile on her face. ‘Time for action. Come on, Flora. Let’s go and meet our public.’
***
Tempting though it was to observe the reactions of every man in the room when Celeste walked in, Flora demurred. She remembered too clearly what it had been like at university, always being in the shadow of her glamorous friend – her clever, popular, confident friend – and it wasn’t an experience she intended to repeat. She would wait, and then make her own entrance. By herself, and not as some kind of frumpy sidekick. She told Celeste she needed to use the toilet, and said she’d follow her down straight after. Celeste hovered for a moment, and Flora could see she was torn between offering to wait for her friend, or getting started on her evening as soon as possible.
Eagerness won out, and Celeste grabbed her bag and headed off, throwing Flora a kiss over her shoulder.
Flora waited in the corridor until her friend was out of sight, keeping her eyes trained on the worn patterned carpet. Watching Celeste shimmy down the hall in her unbearably high crimson heels, her back toned and tanned and sparkling with yet more glitter, made Flora feel kind of shrivelled up inside. And dowdy. She pressed the toe of her sandals into the squashy carpet and wondered whether she should slip back inside Celeste’s room and borrow some of her make-up after all.
Wouldn’t that just make Marshall’s day? She could imagine his face, the sarcastic tilt of his eyebrows. Finally, Flora Lively gets a makeover.
No way.
A door opened further down the hall and someone stepped out into the corridor. It was the woman with the wild hair again. She looked about twenty, maybe twenty-five, with big round eyes and darkish skin. She was wearing some kind of utility trousers, like army combats, in a faded grey-green, and a plain white T-shirt that showed off her wiry frame. Flora began to smile, a greeting forming on her lips, but as soon as the younger woman saw her she broke into a run.
‘Wait,’ Flora called. ‘What’s wrong?’ But it was too late
. The woman had already reached the top of the stairs.
Flora shrugged and made her way to the ground floor, musing. This girl must be one of the cast, if she was staying in the main house, but her behaviour was really odd. Celeste had told Flora that only she and Eduardo, Alberto and his wife, and Nick Gibson the producer had rooms inside Hanley Manor. Vincenzo – or Vinny, as Celeste called him – was staying in the other yurt, and their wardrobe girl, Gabriella, had a room in a nearby B&B. Maybe the mystery woman was Alberto’s wife, but she didn’t match Celeste’s description at all.
The sun had slipped down behind the hills by the time Flora stepped out into the gardens. She stood for a moment, taking in the peculiar silence of the countryside in the late evening. An owl hooted, and a train rattled in the far distance. The sound of revelries seeped out of the house, carried on the wind, but faintly. An animal howled in the distance, and Flora shivered, then laughed at herself.
‘Typical townie,’ she said under her breath, and she hugged her bare arms around herself, despite the humidity.
She followed the glow of lanterns towards the front of the house. The driveway was rammed with cars, and Sidney stood under the showy porch, welcoming the guests and bowing so often he looked like a marionette. Flora was still about a hundred yards from the lit-up driveway when a noise to her left caught her attention. Voices raised, arguing. One of the voices was a woman’s, but Flora didn’t think it was Celeste. She took a step towards the house, just to make sure.
It wasn’t Celeste, but the man’s voice belonged to Alberto, and this time the target of his anger was a handsome woman wearing a silver ball gown with a large chiffon sash. The French windows – leading into the music room, if Flora’s geography served her right – had been thrown open, and Flora, standing in the shadows outside, could hear every word.
Unfortunately she couldn’t understand many of them because the couple were arguing in Spanish. The object of Alberto’s wrath had on her head the most incredible piece of jewellery Flora had ever seen. It was a diamond tiara, which must have been fastened very tightly to the elaborate black hair because no amount of head-shaking seemed able to dislodge it. The light from the chandelier sparkled off the tiara’s diamonds, one of which was almost the size of a newborn baby’s fist. Flora stared, unable to take her eyes off it. The diamonds must be fake, she thought. But the way they sparkled, the way the tiara shone, like a beacon, dipping and weaving as the woman shouted and waved her arms at Alberto.
A Date With Death: Cozy Private Investigator Series (Flora Lively Mysteries Book 2) Page 3