Death Wears a Mask (26 page)

“It's not always impossible,” I said softly.

His eyes met mine, but he said no more about it.

Back at the flat, Winnelda was overjoyed to find that I had not been seized by fiendish persons in the course of my pursuits. I think that she refrained from hugging me by only the slimmest of margins.

“I'm ever so relieved that Mr. Ames was there to look after you, madam.”

She must have seen my eyebrows rise, for she added quickly, “Not that you're not very well able to take care of yourself. I'll just see to lunch now, shall I?”

I changed into a dress with a pink and lavender floral print, wiping the remainder of the heavy makeup from my face. Then Milo and I enjoyed a companionable luncheon, our discussion always returning to various aspects of the case.

There was, I sensed, something just below the surface, but neither of us seemed in a hurry to bring that particular conversation to light. I knew, of course, that we couldn't just go on sweeping things under the rug. There were so many things there already that the rug barely touched the floor anymore.

“We didn't really learn anything today,” I said, pushing my plate away. “I will confess that I had hoped we would be able to find the jewelry. I suppose it was ridiculous for me to expect to solve the crime in one morning's work.”

“Patience, darling. It may turn up yet. Besides, you enjoyed it, didn't you?”

“It was rather exciting,” I admitted.

“And Mary is so very fetching.” His eyes moved over me. “I suspect you would look rather alluring in a maid's uniform.”

I frowned at him as Winnelda cleared away our plates, and we rose from the table and went into the sitting room. Milo sat down on the sofa and lit a cigarette.

“What now, my lovely?” he asked. “Shall we infiltrate a smuggling ring or some such thing this afternoon?”

“Oh, I'm afraid I must be getting ready to go soon.” I had suddenly remembered that I was engaged to dine with Lord Dunmore, and I was surprised to find that I very much wished I wasn't. What would have pleased me most, just then, would have been to remain at home with Milo, sharing a quiet dinner and discussing the case. I knew, however, that I could not, for a number of reasons.

“I take it, then, that you're not going to invite me to stay for dinner?” he said lightly, though it seemed that his gaze had grown more intent. I wondered if I was looking suspicious. I was normally very good at hiding my feelings, but Milo had a way of seeing beneath my façades.

I hesitated. “I have a dinner engagement.”

His look was definitely intent now, even as he sat back in his chair, his relaxed posture indicating he hadn't a care in the world. “With whom?” he asked.

I had thought, initially, that I would be pleased to inform him that I had dinner plans with Lord Dunmore. However, after the camaraderie we had shared today, I found myself suddenly reluctant to tell him. Milo had never been jealous, but something told me he would not approve, and I was hesitant to upset the delicate balance.

“Oh, just a friend,” I said lightly.

The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Amory darling, there's something you're not telling me.” It wasn't a question. I found myself irritated by the way he could see past my pretenses so easily when it was always impossible for me to read him.

I sighed. “It's no great secret. If you must know, I'm dining with Lord Dunmore.”

I was surprised at the annoyance that he allowed to cross his face. He was normally so very closed that I hadn't expected him to reveal his true feelings on the subject.

“I'd rather you didn't,” he said calmly, and I was again surprised. Milo seldom took any interest in my affairs. In fact, I could not remember an instance where he had told me he'd “rather I didn't” about anything.

“I don't see any harm in it,” I replied, throwing back at him the words he had used about his drink with Helene Renault.

His eyes came up to mine, and I felt suddenly that we had been standing on the edge of a precipice all day, and we were now leaning precariously close to the edge. This was not going to end well. I could sense it.

“Amory, whatever is going on between us, Dunmore is not the sort of person you should toy with.”

I sighed. “For pity's sake, Milo. I'm not a child.”

“No, you're certainly not. You're a beautiful woman, and Dunmore's taken notice of it. I know he puts up a good front, but he is not what he appears to be, Amory.”

I might have thought his concern touching under other circumstances. As it was, I found it ludicrous that he should lecture me on the company I was keeping.

“You don't think I know that?” I answered lightly. “His charm is much more transparent than yours, Milo. I can tell when he is in earnest and when he's not. In any event, I don't think you're in much position to quibble about my choice of dinner companions, do you?” There was no malice in the words, only simple fact, but I knew as soon as I said them that they might not have been the right thing to say.

I saw his jaw clench, and then he mastered himself, the familiar look of indifference falling over his handsome features. “You're certainly entitled to do as you please, darling. By all means, dine with Lord Dunmore. I hope you enjoy yourself.”

He went out of the room before I could reply, and a moment later I heard the front door close behind him.

I dropped into a chair and rubbed a hand across my face. I felt that somehow I had lost the bit of ground we might have made up this morning. It seemed that no matter what I did, things only got worse.

*   *   *

LORD DUNMORE ARRIVED
punctually to collect me for dinner. I wore a gown of aubergine satin, and he was all smiles and profuse compliments, looking as dashing as ever in his evening clothes.

“I must confess, I was a bit afraid you'd cancel our engagement this evening,” he said, as he helped me into my coat.

“Why should I do that?”

“I've heard that you've been keeping company with your husband. I thought he might have dissuaded you.”

“Milo doesn't dictate my social schedule,” I said lightly.

I turned to tell Winnelda that I should not be home too late. She was nowhere to be seen, however. She had made a very concentrated effort to stay out of the way, and I found myself wondering what she was thinking. I had no doubt that she disapproved. She was my staunchest supporter, but I rather suspected she was also very much a devotee of my husband. In general, Milo's good looks made it difficult for women to hold things against him for long. Unfortunately, I knew this from personal experience.

“Shall we?” Lord Dunmore asked, offering me his arm.

We went down the lift and out to his long, shining car.

“Where are we dining?” I asked.

“It's a little place called French's,” he said. “Not very well known, but it's a favorite of mine.”

“It sounds delightful.”

“It is. Add to that the charming company, and I think we're going to have a wonderful evening.”

I tried to fight my misgivings. Despite the fact I was dining with Lord Dunmore as a means to an end, I felt, somehow, that it was poor behavior on my part to do so. After all, Milo had obviously been making an attempt to patch things up between us, and I couldn't help but feel that this dinner would only make things worse.

Then again, it was not as though there was anything wrong in it. I had made my feelings very clear to Lord Dunmore. It would be rude of me to cry off, and if I had done so, it was very likely he would not agree to using the Dunmore Diamond as bait.

Besides, I thought Milo had worried for naught. I could sense nothing in Lord Dunmore's behavior that was inappropriate. I had intimated to him that I wanted only to be friends, and he seemed to have accepted it. The distance between us on the seat was proper, and the conversation never strayed into uncomfortable territory.

I had never heard of French's. It was located on a quiet street in Covent Garden, and I was somehow glad that there would be less chance of us being spotted together by people that I knew. Despite my assertions to Milo that I should be free to do as I chose, I didn't want to cause any more waves than I already had.

The restaurant was, despite its name, done in the rustic Italian style with dark wood, beamed ceilings, and brick arches creating little alcoves for more intimate dining. It was to one of these alcoves that we were ushered by the enthusiastic maître d' upon our arrival. “Ah, Lord Dunmore,” he said, “I am so pleased to see you again.”

“It's good to see you again, Antoine.”

“We have been waiting for you to visit us again. And you have brought a friend with you this time,” he said, turning to me with a bright smile. “
Enchanté, mademoiselle
.”

“Good evening,” I said. So Lord Dunmore has brought a woman “this time.” It was all very smoothly done. Lord Dunmore must have taken many women here for Antoine to be so very well versed in the script.

“Well,” I said, when we had placed our orders from an extensive menu, “have you thought any more about using the Dunmore Diamond to catch the thief?”

“Straight to business, aren't you, Amory?” he said with a smile. “I admire forthrightness in a woman.”

“It would mean so much to Mrs. Barrington. Even if she's wrong in her suspicions, at least we will have tried.”

“You don't think this is a matter best left to the police?”

I hesitated, unwilling to let him know how closely associated with the police I was. “I'm sure they are doing what they can,” I answered. “But the thief won't be as wary of us.”

He leaned forward a bit, his arms resting on the table. “Would it mean a lot to you?”

“Yes,” I said. “It would.”

“Then we'll do it.”

I smiled, surprised at how quickly he had capitulated. “Now we've only to determine how we shall work it.”

“Let's not talk about that now,” he said with a wave of his hand. “There'll be plenty of time for business later. For now, I'm interested in pleasure.”

“Very well,” I replied, a bit warily. “What shall we talk about?”

He shrugged. “Whatever you like.”

In that case, I might as well steer the conversation along the lines of the mystery.

“May I ask you something?”

He smiled. “Of course.”

“Who do you think might've had reason to murder Mr. Harker?”

I had hoped to see some sign of guilt or secret knowledge, but what I saw was something very like boredom. “I haven't the faintest idea.”

I was a bit surprised at the apparent carelessness in his answer. After all, the man had been killed in Lord Dunmore's house. I would have thought the problem would present a bit more interest to him. Besides, Mrs. Garmond had told me that he seemed very upset about the matter. Why should he feign complete indifference with me?

“Surely you must have some idea,” I said.

He regarded me from across the table, trying to determine, I suppose, why I should suddenly appear so interested.

“I had forgotten that business you were involved in at the seashore,” he said suddenly, comprehension dawning. “So you fancy yourself a detective, do you?”

I wasn't certain I cared for the condescension in his tone, but I was determined not to let him see my annoyance. Instead, I affected a bit of embarrassment. “I'm afraid you've found me out, my lord. I do love a good mystery, and I thought, perhaps with a bit of pondering, I might be able to figure out why someone would have wished to kill him.”

My ploy seemed to have worked, for he smiled indulgently. “I must say you're very charming when you've set your mind to something.”

“I'm just curious.” I returned his smile, not wanting to give him the impression of how involved I truly was.

He sat back in his seat and appeared to consider it. “I really couldn't say why anyone would want to kill James Harker. He was a bore, perhaps, but a harmless enough fellow. If I had to choose who might have done it, however, I suppose I would pick one of the Echols girls.”

He said this in a casual way as he picked up his wineglass, and my brows shot up in surprise. “Really? What makes you say so?”

“Who knows? Jealousy, perhaps. I believe they were all mad about each other and didn't quite know how to work it out.”

This was an interesting perspective indeed. “I saw Mr. Foster with Marjorie Echols when I dined with the Douglas-Hugheses last night. I thought perhaps they were a couple.”

“I wouldn't think so. Foster prefers a different type of woman. Marjorie Echols is a … well, I shouldn't say such things…” He smiled, as though to disarm the harshness of his words. I wondered briefly if there was more to his comment than he let on.

“I confess I don't know the Echols sisters very well,” I told him.

Again, a smile I could not quite interpret. “Felicity is a lovely girl,” he said. “Very unlike her sister. There's something vague and slightly eerie about her, though, isn't there? She seems the type that would kill over unrequited love or some such rot.”

“It has been very exciting meeting Mr. Foster. One doesn't often encounter such celebrity.” It seemed that, just for an instant, something like irritation flashed across his eyes, but it was gone so swiftly that I could not be entirely sure it had even been there at all.

“Were you at Wimbledon the year he lost?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered, thinking it was somewhat petty of him to mention one crushing loss among a sea of victories. “That was unfortunate.”

He smiled. “Misfortune for some is fortune for others.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” I replied.

The waiter arrived then with our food, and I had a moment to contemplate what Lord Dunmore had told me. Was it possible that he was right? Had one—or even both—of the Echols sisters been involved in the murder? I hadn't placed them high on my list of suspects, but they couldn't be ruled out. I would need to find a way to talk to them again as soon as possible.