thathalf smile that made me think uncomfortably he was laughing at me, and despite my better judgment I suddenly wished he was still here, sharing the bottle of wine with me.
“Better stock up on some cruise wear,” he’d written, mockingly. I got up and began to pace the kitchen floor, mulling over my strange situation.
Rats levered himself from the sweater in front of the Aga and began to follow me around, hoping for a walk, but it was too cold. Instead I just let him out the back door and waited, shivering, glass in hand, until he’d finished and we both hurried back inside.
I eyed Montana’s note again. “I’ll be in touch—soon,” he’d said. I put it in my pocket, then rinsed off my plate and glass, put them in the dishwasher and wiped off the table. Rats trotted after me as I walked back upstairs, but instead of going to my own room, I turned left at the top of the stairs and headed to the Red Room. I opened the door and peeked inside. If I was expecting to find any trace of Montana, any lingering vitality, any hint of his hard masculine persona still hanging in the air, I was disappointed.
Are you nuts? I asked myself as I hurried down the hallway to my own room. You meet a guy who’s definitely going to drive you crazy and you act like you miss him? Forget it, baby, he’s being civilized only because it’s his job.
I slammed my door behind me just as the phone rang. I pounced on it. “Hello?” I said.
“Just thought you’d like to know I made it back safely.”
I sucked in my breath, happy to hear Montana’s voice. “I wasworried,” I admitted softly, realizing I meant it. “The roads are so icy.”
“You missing me then?”
“Not a bit.” I made my voice crisp as iceberg lettuce. “It’s simply a natural concern for my fellow men.”
He laughed then, a good, deep sound that made me smile. “Okay, then this fellow man may have some news for you late tomorrow. I’ll call back then.”
“I’m going back to London,” I said, unable to bear the silence at Sneadley any longer. “You have that number?”
“I do. And it’ll be my turn to worry about you on the icy roads.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I said nothing.
“I mean it,” he said gently.
“Thank you.”
“Speak to you tomorrow then.”
He rang off, and I sat holding the phone. Suddenly London seemed like a great idea.
I hurried to my closet and picked out a black dress I particularly liked, one suitable for a dinner date, just in case. Then I turned on the TV, flopped onto the chaise lounge, and with Rats on my knee, numbly watched a reality show until I fell asleep. Tomorrow would be another day. And soon those invitations would be arriving at the suspects’ doors.
PART II
T HE S USPECTS
The truth is rarely pure,
and never simple.
—O SCAR W ILDE ,
T HE I MPORTANCE OF B EING E ARNEST
15
Lady Diane Hardwick
Ex-wife, Suspect No. 1
When she was married to Sir Robert, Diane Hardwick lived in a palatial apartment in one of Monte Carlo’s best buildings, complete with a white-jacketed houseboy, personal maid, chef, and housekeeper, plus an ever-changing staff of day workers who kept the place polished, dusted and germ-free. Diane had a phobia about germs. Even though every door handle, every faucet and every bathroom was cleaned twice a day she still wore gloves in the house, but because she didn’t want people to know of her eccentricity she never wore them when she went out. Instead she surreptitiously dusted things with Handi Wipes before touching them. Except, of course, for the gaming chips at the Casino.
She wouldn’t have been permitted to play the tables in gloves anyway, though how they could suspect a woman of herstature of cheating was unthinkable. And of course she did
not
cheat. She simply lost. That’s why she was now living alone in a small apartment on the Place Charles-Félix in the old part of Nice, close by the house where Matisse once lived. It was also close to one of
“Better stock up on some cruise wear,” he’d written, mockingly. I got up and began to pace the kitchen floor, mulling over my strange situation.
Rats levered himself from the sweater in front of the Aga and began to follow me around, hoping for a walk, but it was too cold. Instead I just let him out the back door and waited, shivering, glass in hand, until he’d finished and we both hurried back inside.
I eyed Montana’s note again. “I’ll be in touch—soon,” he’d said. I put it in my pocket, then rinsed off my plate and glass, put them in the dishwasher and wiped off the table. Rats trotted after me as I walked back upstairs, but instead of going to my own room, I turned left at the top of the stairs and headed to the Red Room. I opened the door and peeked inside. If I was expecting to find any trace of Montana, any lingering vitality, any hint of his hard masculine persona still hanging in the air, I was disappointed.
Are you nuts? I asked myself as I hurried down the hallway to my own room. You meet a guy who’s definitely going to drive you crazy and you act like you miss him? Forget it, baby, he’s being civilized only because it’s his job.
I slammed my door behind me just as the phone rang. I pounced on it. “Hello?” I said.
“Just thought you’d like to know I made it back safely.”
I sucked in my breath, happy to hear Montana’s voice. “I wasworried,” I admitted softly, realizing I meant it. “The roads are so icy.”
“You missing me then?”
“Not a bit.” I made my voice crisp as iceberg lettuce. “It’s simply a natural concern for my fellow men.”
He laughed then, a good, deep sound that made me smile. “Okay, then this fellow man may have some news for you late tomorrow. I’ll call back then.”
“I’m going back to London,” I said, unable to bear the silence at Sneadley any longer. “You have that number?”
“I do. And it’ll be my turn to worry about you on the icy roads.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I said nothing.
“I mean it,” he said gently.
“Thank you.”
“Speak to you tomorrow then.”
He rang off, and I sat holding the phone. Suddenly London seemed like a great idea.
I hurried to my closet and picked out a black dress I particularly liked, one suitable for a dinner date, just in case. Then I turned on the TV, flopped onto the chaise lounge, and with Rats on my knee, numbly watched a reality show until I fell asleep. Tomorrow would be another day. And soon those invitations would be arriving at the suspects’ doors.
PART II
T HE S USPECTS
The truth is rarely pure,
and never simple.
—O SCAR W ILDE ,
T HE I MPORTANCE OF B EING E ARNEST
15
Lady Diane Hardwick
Ex-wife, Suspect No. 1
When she was married to Sir Robert, Diane Hardwick lived in a palatial apartment in one of Monte Carlo’s best buildings, complete with a white-jacketed houseboy, personal maid, chef, and housekeeper, plus an ever-changing staff of day workers who kept the place polished, dusted and germ-free. Diane had a phobia about germs. Even though every door handle, every faucet and every bathroom was cleaned twice a day she still wore gloves in the house, but because she didn’t want people to know of her eccentricity she never wore them when she went out. Instead she surreptitiously dusted things with Handi Wipes before touching them. Except, of course, for the gaming chips at the Casino.
She wouldn’t have been permitted to play the tables in gloves anyway, though how they could suspect a woman of herstature of cheating was unthinkable. And of course she did
not
cheat. She simply lost. That’s why she was now living alone in a small apartment on the Place Charles-Félix in the old part of Nice, close by the house where Matisse once lived. It was also close to one of
Similar Books
