Strictly Murder (33 page)

"No, it's only just gone twelve. The sun isn't over the yard arm, yet."

She laughed, squinting upwards from behind dark glasses. The sun was almost directly overhead, well capable of shaking off the few, thin white clouds that streamed across the sky like strands of uncoloured candy floss. I munched on the snacks and washed the salt away with frequent sips of water. This was better than sitting in an office and I thanked my lucky stars for finding the job as KD's PA. I glanced across at her lying in the chair, eyes closed, wafting a Chinese fan in front of her face. The world seemed a long way away with the only sounds the buzz of insects and trilling, melodic bird song. All it needed was a babbling brook. Or maybe not. The sound of running water always makes me want to go to the loo.

"I think," KD muttered lazily, "Agnes Merryweather needs a place like this. Perhaps our missing schoolgirl," she turned her face towards me, "you know, the Charlotte Neal/Emily Whatshername, character, disappears on a geology field trip up here."

"No. You can't," I said. "That would spoil it. Don't bring death, murder and crime into this perfect place."

"Hmm. Maybe, you're right. I could make it a special, thinking place for Agnes to muse in, though, couldn't I?"

"Ye … es," I agreed. "That would work."

"Get your pad a moment," she indicated the bag at my feet.

Reluctantly—I knew it had been too good to last—I did so.

For the next ten minutes, while I wrote it all down, KD described the surroundings, the trees, the fields, the view, in glorious words and phrases that brought it all to life for the poor future reader who couldn't sit here and see it for real as we did. Or, rather, as I did, KD managed the feat with her eyes closed in concentration.

"That will do," she said, sitting up and reaching for a peanut. "Lunch time."

I helped her carry the food hamper and wicker basket from the car. Hardly a starvation diet, I thought, pushing back the hamper's lid, and pulling plates from the holdall. Chicken legs, mini quiches, a film wrapped bowl of salad, ham, cheese, olives, slices of ready buttered baguette. We could have fed the five thousand on top of that cliff. I poured more water for KD and a glass of chilled C
henin Blanc
for myself, while she unloaded sauces, pickles and condiments from the bottom of the basket.

"Are we expecting guests?" I asked looking at the still half full hamper.

She giggled.

"Do you think I might have over done it?"

My reply was merely a raised eyebrow. Nothing if not thorough, my boss. We ate in silence for a while. I took occasional sips of the fresh, flowery wine, its bouquet reminding me of honey and clover.

"There's a bowl of raspberry trifle under that plate of ham, for when you've got room for it." KD rose to her feet, shaking crumbs from her skirt. "I need the loo."

She glanced around.

"You mean you've got a Portaloo in the back of the car?"

I wouldn't have put it past her, but KD grinned.

"Nope, sorry. It will have to be the back of a tree."

She wandered off, leaving me to savour the wine and enjoy the rural peace and tranquility. I must ask her where we are, I thought, having got thoroughly lost on the drive.

"I think," she said, re-appearing through the trees, "that we should make a habit of this. We could make it a summer of picnics."

"Sounds good to me."

I spooned trifle into bowls.

"There's a sweet wine, a
Sauternes
, I think, to go with that if you want it."

"No thanks."

I shook my head. The wine I'd drunk already was making me feel tiddly. No point in overdoing it and making myself sick.

An hour later, we packed everything carefully away, stowed them in the Range Rover and drove back to Bishop Lea. It had been a lovely afternoon but tomorrow I was determined I was going home.

Chapter 14

After a detour to a showroom for me to choose a new car, KD dropped me back at my flat the following morning.
I unpacked my few things, opened the windows for an hour to air the place after nearly a week shut up, and then caught a bus into town. I knew my absence from the ABC would not have gone unnoticed and I wanted to reassure my friends of my continued existence as well as my continued need for a glass of Merlot.

"Verity!
Ah, cherie!
At last you are returned.
"

Only one table was still occupied when I entered the ABC wine bar and Valentino had no compunction in telling the young couple who sat there, lingering over empty glasses, that he was closing. He turned the sign round on the door and gave me a big hug before racing off into the kitchens. I heard him call out to his brother and the rapid, excited words that followed before he re-appeared carrying a tray with three glasses and a venerable bottle of the family's own
marc
. I hid a smile at this demonstration of the esteem and affection that the D'Ambreys still held for me. It wasn't everyone who was offered a glass of the precious grappa, made by their late father and cherished by all the family and the few others lucky enough to taste it.

"Come. Come and sit down."

Val carried the tray to one of the booths and had barely poured a small amount of the fiery liquid into each glass before Jacques slid on to the seat opposite me. He leaned across and kissed me warmly on both cheeks.

"Salut!" Valentino said.

We clinked glasses.

"I am so glad to see you, Verity." Jacques' dark, sardonic features surveyed me closely. "You are better now, yes?"

"Yes, thank you. The hospital released me into KD's care on Monday. How did you know? How did you find out about it?"

I couldn't imagine my boss coming into the wine bar to tell them. It isn't her sort of place.

"It was your friend the policeman. The one who is in love with you."

I coughed, pretending the strong spirit had caught my throat, but failed to hide my surprise.

"Oh, but yes. Did you not know?" said Val.

"I hardly think so, Val."

"Trust me. We Frenchmen can tell these things," he replied while, across the table, his brother nodded in agreement.

Not for the first time I wondered why the French are so convinced they are the only ones to understand love. I hurried to change the subject.

"What else did he want?"

"To ask questions, naturally. He said you had been in an accident. That somebody had been trying to kill you."

Jacques raised an interrogatory eyebrow. I nodded and let him continue.

"He wanted to know about your meal with Greg Ferrari."

"And who had been in the wine bar recently at the same time as you," put in Valentino beside me.

In other words, the same enquiries that KD had told me to make of Val. I took another sip from my glass.

"What did you tell Inspector Farish about my dinner with Ferrari?" I asked Jacques.

He rubbed a finger down the side of his thin nose for a moment before replying.

"Not very much. I could have told him what you'd eaten …"

I grinned, not only at Jacques' phenomenal powers of recall where food is concerned but also at my own memory of his chocolate mousse.

"…but I did not think that the Inspector desired to know your menu choices. He asked if you had left together. I told him that you had left first …"

"That's right." I interrupted. "Greg said he'd order two taxis."

"Non." Jacques shook his head. "While you were using the Ladies room, Ferrari asked me to call a taxi for you but then I see him making a call on his mobile and telling someone to come and pick him up."

"Oh. Do you know who?"

Jacques gave a shrug.

"It was a woman." Valentino supplied. "After he left the restaurant he came in here for a night hat …"

"A night cap." I corrected.

"
Exactement
. Then this woman arrived and he left with her."

"Can you describe her?"

"Tall, perhaps late thirty or forty, yellow blonde hair. You know her?"

Val turned at my inarticulate sound.

"Yes. She works at the studios."

So Greg Ferrari had called his producer after I'd left, had he? Which led me to the obvious question.

"Was he drunk, do you think?"

Val gave a shrug while he considered this.

"Perhaps."

"He had not drunk much wine," Jacques pointed out.

And a thin Italian red, as I recalled but I'd noticed him slurring his speech during the meal. Perhaps he'd been drinking before he'd arrived at the restaurant.

"Hmm." I ran a finger over my lower lip.

The boys remained silent waiting for me to continue. Busy wondering if Greg always called his producer when he needed a lift home or whether he had again been in need of the same service she had rendered to him once that day, I sipped at my glass of
marc
. There remained the possibility of another as yet unknown explanation, of course but Candida Clark's name had just shot to the top of my list of subjects. I really needed to talk to her again.

"You are safe now, Verity? Now this Ferrari is dead? Yes?"

Valentino had asked the question but both the brothers looked at me keenly.

"Oh, yes. I'll be fine now."

I smiled brightly, confidently, in an effort of reassurance but a killer still lurked out there somewhere.

"The good Inspector Farish," Jacques pronounced it Faireesh, “he will protect you, Verity."

Val didn't look convinced but I'd caught the laughter in his brother's eyes and didn't quibble. I just hoped he was right.