Best of Fiona Harper

‘I just knew you’d be a good sport about this,’ she half-whispered, half-giggled into my ear.

I didn’t do anything to disillusion her. I needed to keep on Izzi’s good side this weekend, didn’t I?

Now we were all gathered, Izzi introduced the murder-mystery weekend organisers she’d hired, who were playing the parts of Lord Edward Southerby, Izzi’s character’s husband, and the housekeeper. They gave us a brief introduction to the weekend, which I mostly ignored, and then handed us large white envelopes with our characters’ names on them.

We were then led through into the drawing room. I could see why Izzi had decided to ‘borrow’ the family home for the event. It was perfect. The Chatterton-Joneses’ drawing room was chockablock with antique furniture, and stern-faced portraits were everywhere on the moss-green walls. The room was so huge that there wasn’t only one seating area but various groupings of sofas and chairs, the largest of which was in the centre of the room, close to the stone fireplace. They were upholstered in a deep plum jacquard, half hidden by a million tapestried cushions in all shapes and sizes. Anywhere else this decorating style would have seemed haphazard and messy, but in the drawing room of Inglewood Manor it just softened the effect of the vast fireplace and the grand plasterwork ceiling, making the space seem both elegant and comfortable at once.

I eyed my white envelope suspiciously. I had a horrible feeling that whatever instructions were inside were going to send my plans into reverse. I already didn’t like what I’d heard about the reason for our characters to be gathering this weekend. We were supposed to be celebrating the engagement of Rupert and Frances—Nicholas and Louisa’s characters.

‘Robert will serve us cocktails while we take a little time to read our character packs,’ Izzi announced, then dropped into one of the plum armchairs and got straight into being Lady Southerby by fixing us all with her beady eyes.

‘What would you like, miss?’ a silky voice asked from behind my right ear. I almost jumped straight out of my tweed suit. I turned to find Mr Discreet from Nicholas’s house standing there. I pressed a hand on top of my thumping heart and gave him a long hard look.

‘I wish you wouldn’t do that,’ I said, frowning. ‘I thought you worked in the London house, anyway.’

Mr Discreet—or Robert, as I know knew he was called—didn’t let his weariness with the whole situation show anywhere but his eyebrows, which drooped a little at the outer edges. ‘Sir thought I might enjoy a weekend in the country and a chance to…’ He paused, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to utter the words. ‘To dress up and have a bit of fun.’

The eyebrows said otherwise. I suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for the poor blighter. I glanced across the room to where Nicholas and Louisa were standing by the fireplace. He was pointing out family photographs of when he was younger and she was cooing over them.

‘What have you got that’s got a bit of a kick to it?’ I asked grimly.

I could have been mistaken, but I thought I saw a hint of a twitch in Robert’s left cheek. ‘Perhaps madam would care for a Gin Sling?’

‘That sounds lovely. A Gin Sling it is.’

Robert gave a nod of approval, but before he’d got two steps away Izzi, who was still holding court from her armchair, announced, ‘Oh, no. That won’t do at all, Robert! We can’t have the vicar’s sister tipsy on hard liquor.’ An evil glint appeared in her eye. ‘None of the demon drink for you, Constance, dear!’ she added loudly. ‘You’ll just have to have something virgin!’ And then she collapsed into a fit of giggles, as if it was the funniest thing anyone had ever said.

Of course everyone else had stopped their chatter when she’d raised her voice, and now they all chuckled along with her. Even Nicholas. I just pushed my horrible tortoiseshell glasses up my nose and pretended I didn’t mind at all. The last thing I was going to do was let it show that her judgement of me had stung. Somehow, without my heels and my lipstick on, I couldn’t bat the comment away as I could have done if I’d been ‘me’.

I suppose I should have been grateful. I’ve been on the receiving end of plenty of chat-up lines involving filthy-named cocktails in my time. At least this was a joke in the other direction. But the joke was still on me, and I didn’t want anyone to think that the idea of me being anything but a floozy was hysterically funny. Just because I normally look the way I look, it doesn’t mean I’m…easy.

Adam suddenly appeared at my side and put his arm round my waist. ‘Well, if we’re drinking in character,’ he said, looking in Izzi’s direction, ‘I think you should hand that champagne to me and replace it with a tomato juice cocktail.’

I had to give Izzi her due. Whether it was class or privilege or cold hard cash that kept her armour-plated self-confidence intact, it was doing a terrific job. There wasn’t even the hint of a dent in it as she laughed back at Adam, downed her champagne, and then ordered the tomato juice from Robert, who was still standing beside me, waiting for my revised order.

‘Whatever you bring me is fine,’ I told him.

‘How about a Maiden’s Prayer?’ he said smoothly.

Izzi grinned and clapped her hands. ‘Oh, yes! That sounds much more suitable.’

I ignored her and nodded my appreciation to Robert.

‘Thank you,’ I whispered to Adam, and then deposited myself with as much grace and dignity as I could muster at the end of one of the sofas.

I looked across the room at Louisa, all slender elegance and perfection. Nobody would have made that crack about her. She had that otherworldly kind of beauty that made men think of medieval princesses and cherubic waifs. Whereas I was an easy target. Blessed with a figure that meant I was always labelled the same way—even in tweed, for goodness’ sake!

For a long time I’d thought my sex appeal was the source of all my power, but just then, just for the tiniest moment, I started to wonder if it might be a curse, if I might always be the object of lust but never of devotion…

No. That was stupid. Of course I inspired devotion. I had my puppies, after all. And what could be more devoted than a gorgeous little puppy? And with that thought I squashed the nasty, wriggling feeling of insecurity away and sat up tall.

Stupid stuffed-olive suit. It was messing with my head.

So I imagined myself out of my suit and into Louisa’s dark blood satin. I imagined my lipstick back on and four-inch heels on my feet, and instantly I began to feel better. Things improved even more when I tasted the Maiden’s Prayer that Robert brought me. One sip and I knew the drink hadn’t been named for its innocence. More likely because supplication would be the only way of saving oneself after two or three of these little babies.

My envelope was still unopened in my hand, so I decided to delve inside and see what the rest of the weekend might be about. When I leafed through the sheets of paper I had to stop myself from groaning. Izzi, in her mad-doggish fever about her project, had timetabled the weekend to within an inch of its life. How was I going to convince Nicholas how low-maintenance and laid-back I was if we didn’t get any down time to mingle?

Along with a lengthy itinerary of activities—both indoor and outdoor—designed to promote clue-solving, was a full character profile of Constance, a brief summary of the other house party guests and some personal objectives for the first part of the evening. I had one thing I needed to keep secret and another thing I needed to find out: why Harry, my big brother, had become so overprotective of me in the last few weeks.

I let out a sharp little laugh at that bit. Talk about life imitating art…or was it the other way ’round?

Adam had just plonked himself down beside me, in the space I’d mentally reserved for Nicholas, and he leaned over to try and read my sheet over my shoulder. ‘What’s so funny?’

I quickly rolled my papers up so he couldn’t see anything. ‘No peeking!’ I told him, looking over the top of my little round specs.

‘With those glasses on you’re actually quite cute when you’re being bossy.’ Adam didn’t sound chastised at all. ‘I might just let you order me around a bit more when we get home—if you promise to keep them.’

See? There was no winning with Adam. He was, and always will be, completely untrainable.

Since my character notes were still rolled up in my hand, I swatted him on the nose with them. ‘You’re not taking this seriously,’ I said. My gesture had the desired effect and he backed away, rubbing the bridge of his nose. ‘You can’t talk like that to me. It didn’t sound a bit like how a brother would talk to his sister.’

Adam came as close to frowning as I’d ever seen him. ‘Suppose I don’t want to be your brother?’

I sighed and fixed my eyes on Nicholas and Louisa over by the fireplace, toasting their pretend engagement with champagne cocktails. ‘Tough. We’ve got to make what fate’s given us work to our advantage…remember?’

Adam’s gaze followed mine and then he sank heavily back into the sofa cushions. ‘What idiot told you that?’

I grinned at him. Strangely enough, he didn’t grin back instantly, as he normally did. But I’m pretty persistent. I just kept going until one corner of his mouth tilted a tiny fraction.

‘So…brother of mine…I’m supposed to be finding out why you’ve gone all prison warder on me in recent weeks. Care to spill the beans?’

Adam shook his head and waved his own big white envelope at me. ‘Can’t tell you. It’s supposed to be a secret.’

‘Adam Conrad! You’ve never kept a secret from me in your life!’

‘But I’m Harry, remember?’ He rubbed his nose again and I started to regret whacking him there. An awkward Adam was twice as infuriating as the regular one. He planted his feet firmly on the Persian rug and stood up. ‘And, actually, Adam does know how to keep a secret—even from you.’

I shook my head and let out a low, disbelieving chuckle. ‘No, he doesn’t!’

His expression clouded over. ‘If you knew about it, it wouldn’t be a secret any more, would it?’

Before I could quiz him further, to find out whether he was actually pulling my leg or—rather alarmingly—telling the truth, he glanced across the room to where Jos was standing with Robert. By the look of Robert’s eyebrows he wasn’t too enamoured with his partner in crime.

‘Now, if you’ll excuse me,’ Adam said loftily, ‘I have to go and weasel some family secrets out of Ruby Coggins the parlour maid.’

CHAPTER SIX

Wishin’ and Hopin’