Best of Fiona Harper. Fiona Harper

constructed for years.’

      He shook his head. ‘Not for quite some time, actually. You’d be surprised at what I’m doing now.’

      I wasn’t convinced. A summerhouse was a summerhouse, and a shed was a shed, after all. Not that I’m not proud of him for turning his hobby into a business that keeps him afloat, but it’s hardly glamorous. Wherever you find wood like that, there are inevitably spiders. And I’m not big on spiders.

      ‘And this thing you’ve being doing down in Kent is wildly different, is it?’

      ‘I finished that months ago. I was talking about the hotel project in Malaysia.’

      I almost choked on the last of my cornet. ‘I can’t afford the airfare for somewhere like that! I need all my spare cash for Coreen’s Closet.’

      There was a hard edge in Adam’s voice when he replied. ‘I wasn’t asking you to pay,’ he said. ‘I was asking you to come.’ He picked up speed, and I had to scurry after him in my crimson slingbacks. I tugged at his shirtsleeve.

      ‘Okay, I’ll come,’ I said, at once trying to work out how I could talk myself out of flying thousands of miles to look at a few treehouses in the jungle without actually breaking my word. I don’t like jungles. At least I don’t imagine I would. The nearest I’ve been to jungle is the palm house in Kew Gardens, but I got all hot and sticky and my hair started to frizz. Don’t care to repeat the experience unless I really have to.

      Adam stopped walking and gave me a long, searching look. I tried not to squirm. He knew I would try and wriggle out of it, and I knew that he knew. And he knew that I knew that he knew. It was all very tiring. And embarrassing.

      I don’t like letting Adam down, but seriously…a trip to a frizz-inducing jungle in exchange for a weekend at an idyllic country estate? Now who was being unfair?

      Adam started walking again. This time his steps were slow and measured.

      ‘Even if I come, I’m not going to help you snag this Nicholas Chatterton-Jones. I’m not sure I like the sound of him.’

      I huffed. There he was, going all big-brotherish on me again. But I supposed I could put up with a bit of sibling protectiveness if it meant I got what I wanted.

      I lifted my chin. ‘I don’t need you to help me,’ I said airily. That part I could do all by myself. ‘I need you to help keep Izzi sweet. It’s a good business opportunity, and I need this to be a success. If Izzi decides I’m out of favour, I might as well kiss my expansion plans goodbye. She has a very wide circle of influence, and I want that influence working on my behalf, not against me.’

      Adam nodded. ‘Why me? Why not one of the puppies?’

      I rolled my eyes. ‘Because you have the uncanny knack of getting on with everyone and fitting in anywhere, and I need someone who knows, not just thinks, that I’m fabulous.’

      And there it was again. The laugh. Why couldn’t this man ever take me seriously?

      I cleared my throat and gave him a superior look. ‘Will you do it?’

      He turned to look down the hill over the Thames to the odd mix of elegant Georgian buildings and silvery skyscrapers. ‘I’ll think about it,’ he said.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      These Foolish Things

      Coreen’s Confessions

      No. 4—I only ever wear red shoes. It started off as a coincidence, but then became a choice. Now it’s a divine ordinance.

      A WEEK later I found myself standing in a leafy square in Belgravia, outside a tall white house. I took in a breath and held it. I’d e-mailed Adam six times, with gentle little messages asking if he’d meet me here, and whether he’d decided to come to the murder-mystery weekend in a fortnight’s time, but I hadn’t got a reply as yet.

      He had sent me a link to an online video showing a yappy little dog worrying the life out of a bone, though. I didn’t get why. Sometimes Adam’s sense of humour can be a little…strange.

      Anyway, if Adam wasn’t going to come, I was going to have to do this all by myself. No problem. Nan always says that a sense of style and good manners will help a girl fit in anywhere. Okay, Nan only really mentions the good manners, but the rest feels true. I turned my attention back to the house.

      The Chatterton-Joneses had made their money in the early nineteenth century, bringing silks back from India, although none of them worked in the importing business these days. Nicholas could have decided to rest on the well-padded family laurels, but he was the successful and intuitive head of an investment group, wealthy in his own right.

      I looked at the large sash windows, the freshly painted black wrought-iron railings, and swallowed. I’d spent most of my life living in Nan’s tiny terraced house in Catford, the whole floor space of which could probably fit into the entrance hall of this quietly elegant home. No time for nerves, though. I was here to perform a function, and it was time to show Nicholas just how slick and sophisticated I could be. ‘Darling, what are you doing standing in the street? I almost took you for a stalker.’

      I turned to see Izzi coming to a halt beside me, looking effortlessly classy in a cream trouser suit and matching coat. Large sunglasses covered half her face, protecting it from the bright summer morning. Now that Izzi had arrived, the riot of petunias that I’d been admiring only moments before in the square seemed a little brash.

      I’d aimed for ‘classy’ myself, but I was suddenly aware that my dark grey suit, made more than fifty years ago by a competent home seamstress copying a Lilli Ann design, wasn’t quite in the same league. And it wasn’t just clothing that separated us. She exuded the kind of casual elegance that only generations of confidence could breed, whereas I was more a combination of Nan’s Blitz Spirit, my mother’s need for drama, and something that a clipped-voiced character in a black-and-white film would call ‘pluck’.

      But it was all I had to fall back on, so I was just going to have to make it work for me.

      Izzi linked her arm through mine and swept me up the short flight of steps towards Nicholas’s glossy black door. ‘I’m sorry my brother is being pig-headed about getting himself measured for his outfits, and for dragging you all the way over here on your day off to give us all a fitting, but I want this weekend to be a success, and with only a fortnight left I don’t have time to deal with his tantrums.’

      I smiled gently. No one in their right mind could ever imagine Nicholas Chatterton-Jones having a tantrum! He was far too inscrutable for that. Snarling like a panther, maybe…

      ‘I’ve texted him three times!’ Izzi was saying. ‘He just keeps saying he’s too busy to mess around with tape measures, so here you are! If the mountain won’t come to Mohammed… The rest of the gang should be here within the next half-hour, but I thought you’d like to get Nicky done first.’

      I suddenly got a sinking feeling—as if I’d swallowed Nicholas’s big lion-head brass knocker and it was now settling in my stomach. Nicholas did know I was coming, didn’t he? But before I’d had a chance to check Izzi hadn’t sprung a trap on him she’d rapped the ring the lion held in its mouth against the door and turned to me.

      ‘You do have your tape measure, don’t you?’

      I was far too nervous about what was happening behind that big black door to do anything but reach into my alligator handbag and produce it with a flourish.

      Now, I knew some people didn’t like the idea of me carrying real reptile skin around with me, but be fair! I’d had nothing to do with the unfortunate beast’s demise, and the very least a kind soul could do after all it had been through was show it a little love and tenderness, and I certainly gave it plenty of