He's had to go away on family business. You know there was a death in his family - which is why we had to postpone the wedding. Well, it's led to a lot of legal and financial complications and he's had to go and help sort it all out. It was going to be lonely until he got back and I wanted a break.'

'Why didn't you go with him?'

'I felt I'd be in the way.'

'Lor, you've got sensitive all of a sudden. Anyway, it's nice to have you home, sweetheart. Place seems pretty empty sometimes, without you.'

Gerry looked surprised and pleased. 'Why, thank you Daddy. Anyway, I'm going to have a shower.' She started towards the door, then stopped and turned round. 'Oh, while I remember, I saw Great Aunt Florrie last week. She sent her love to you both.'

'Oh, good. Your mother and I called to see her for a couple of hours back in the spring. How is she?'

'Perky as ever. Apart from my wedding, all she wanted me to talk about was the murders - much to Miss Mackenzie's disapproval. I filled her in on all the undercover stuff that never came out publicly. I think I'll send her a copy of Peepshow. I'm sure she'll enjoy making Mackenzie read it to her.'

'Suppose I ought to read it - just to make quite sure they have got their facts right.'

'Oh, absolutely,' Gerry said.

She went out. The Earl buried his head in Peepshow.


Chapter Four

'Then there's Gregory,' said Florrie. 'He's certain to come when he learns he's in the will. Don't suppose his wife will bother, though. She's never been here.'

'That's Alexandra, isn't it?'

'Yes. Don't think it's much of a marriage. She's very politically ambitious, and I imagine the fact Gregory's not exactly had a dazzling career has been a disappointment to her.'

'But he's very respected as an MP, isn't he?'

'I believe so. I can't trust him, though. Maybe just because he's a politician. I don't believe a word one of them says. Frankly, I'd never be surprised to learn . . .'

She tailed off.

'To learn what, dear?'

'Oh, nothing,' said Florrie.

 

* * *

 

'Greggy, darling, I saw an absolutely too divine dress in Bond Street today.'

Gregory Carstairs, MP, who was pouring himself a gin and tonic at the time, gave a grunt. His companion, a sinuous dark-haired girl with pouting, scarlet lips, who was lounging artistically back on the sofa, displaying very long and shapely legs, clad in black stockings of the purest silk, went on: 'It's chiffon, the palest shade of blue, with these delicious little pleats . .