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“Oh, no,” he said, closing the book and pushing it aside. I glanced at the title and recognized it as a play. _DIE RATTEN,_ by Gerhart Hauptmann. “I always read when I have nothing better to

do, but I do prefer company at mealtimes.” “I expect the others had their breakfast earlier.” “Yes, I’ve seen most of our party this morning. Rather too much of some of them, in fact.” I

raised a brow at this curious statement, but he didn’t elaborate. I wonder if he had had a falling out with one of the other gentlemen. “I’ll be glad when we can get this all behind us and

go home,” he went on. “Back to our normal lives.” Our normal lives. Though I would be glad to leave the Brightwell and its dark connotations behind, I was not certain that I longed to return

to the normal state of things. But these were thoughts for another time. “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” I said casually, stirring some sugar into my coffee, “if you’ve had any word from

your backer.” Was it my imagination or did something very like confusion cross his features before it was quickly erased? He nodded. “Ah ... yes, in fact, he’s come across a good venue

closer to London. He feels quite certain that he will be able to make a good profit. The show goes on, as they say.” “I’m glad it’s all worked out for you,” I replied. I shifted the

conversation to other things as I ate my breakfast. I was beginning to see that Lionel Blake was a hard man to read. He was always friendly, pleasant in a vacant sort of way. I got the sense

that he did not reveal his true self easily. Perhaps it was the actor in him that always wished to maintain a part. An idea came to me suddenly, and I went ahead with it without pause.

“What time was it you told the inspector that you saw Gil on the balcony the day Mr. Howe was killed?” If I had hoped to throw him off his guard into some sort of confession, I was to be

disappointed. He met my gaze without blinking. “I told the inspector no such thing.” “Oh,” I said, feigning embarrassment. “I’m sorry. ... I must have made the inference. ... You were

sitting on the terrace when we were searching for Rupert, so perhaps I assumed that it was you.” “No, it wasn’t me.” His response was perfectly polite, but I could sense a coolness in his

answer. Be it a desire for privacy or something more sinister, he did not care for my prying. “Good morning! Good morning!” I looked up to see Yvonne Roland sailing into the room. She was

wearing a flowing silk gown in an astounding shade of orange. The hazy brightness of the fabric seemed to billow around her as she walked. Looking at her was very like gazing directly into

the sun. Mr. Blake and I greeted her as she moved to the sideboard and began to pile her plate high with sausages. “So many things happening here lately,” she said. “I am reminded of my

second ... no third honeymoon. We were on a Nile cruise and some fellow fell off the boat. I suppose he was eaten by crocodiles ... and then someone contracted some dreadful disease, and

then the weather turned beastly hot, and ... well, it was one thing after another. I imagine that Gil is rotting away in a dungeon somewhere. And that poor young thing, so in love, cutting

herself all to pieces. It’s all too much for me. I shall be glad to get back to London.” That said, she took her plate of sausages and sailed out as abruptly as she had come. I looked at Mr.

Blake, and he smiled. “She’s like something out of an outlandish comedy,” he said. “A very interesting character, to be sure,” I replied. Though she was a strange creature, I couldn’t help

but like Mrs. Roland. There was something so very alive about her. I expected that vibrancy had translated to allure in her younger days. “Well, Mrs. Ames,” said Mr. Blake, picking up his

book and rising, “I have some letter writing to attend to. I’m sure I shall see you later.” “Yes.” He exited, and I picked at the remainder of my breakfast in silence. His denial did not

prove he had not spoken to the inspector, but I could not really see any reason for him to hide the fact if he had. In fact, I could think of no good reason why anyone should seek to deny

that they had observed Gil on the terrace. My thoughts were recalled to the present as I heard the rise and fall of Mrs. Roland’s exuberant tones in the foyer and the low answering tones of

Milo. My husband managed to extricate himself in a surprisingly quick manner, for he appeared in the doorway a moment later. His eyes sought me out and he smiled, and for some reason I felt

a nervous flutter in my stomach. I smiled in return, though I’m afraid mine lacked warmth. I felt oddly ill at ease. I noticed the attention he attracted as he made his way toward the

sideboard. I had grown accustomed to the way that women’s eyes followed Milo. It was his misfortune, really, that he was so good looking. If he had not been so attractive, he might have

turned out differently, less confident and more considerate. As it was, he took advantage of the fact that he had only to exert a minimum amount of effort to bend people, women especially,

to his will. Myself included, apparently. “Hello, darling,” he said, when he was seated at the table with a cup of coffee and plate of food. “Good morning,” I said somewhat stiffly, fiddling

with my napkin. I was uncertain how this latest turn of events would affect the uneasy alliance that had developed between us. Milo, it seemed, felt no such awkwardness. “It has been a good

morning, hasn’t it?” he replied with a grin. “Though I was disappointed to awaken and find myself bereft of your charming company.” “We’ve better things to do than ... loll about in bed all

day,” I said in a low voice, hoping to avoid being overheard. “More worthy, perhaps,” he said over his cup, “but certainly not better.” “I’ve just spoken to Mr. Blake,” I said, ignoring

him. “Besides, I wouldn’t exactly call it lolling.” “Milo, do pay attention.” “You’re making it difficult,” he said, setting down his cup and leaning toward me, arms on the table. “When you

talk, it only calls attention to your lovely mouth.” “I thought flattery came before seduction,” I replied tartly. “Not after.” He sat back in his chair, an exasperated sigh escaping his

lips. “Very well. I’m listening. You’ve spoken with Mr. Blake.” He picked up his fork and began to eat as I talked. “Yes, I tried to get him to admit that it was he who told Inspector Jones

that Gil was on the terrace.” “And did he?” “No. If he did, he wouldn’t own up to it.” “Why should it be a great secret, do you think?” Milo asked, echoing my own question, though he didn’t

sound particularly interested. “There must be some reason the inspector wishes to keep it quiet.” “My thoughts, exactly,” I said. “I only wish Inspector Jones would be a bit more

cooperative. In fact, I think I shall pay him a visit this morning,” I said. I also intended to speak with Gil, but I kept that fact to myself. “And what assignments have you for me today?”

he asked. “Continue to glean what information you can,” I said. “Particularly from the ladies. Perhaps you can discover from Mrs. Hamilton what her husband was doing creeping about on the

beach last night. There must be some reason he chose that particular time to investigate.” Milo shrugged. “Perhaps he found a convenient moment and took advantage of it.” “Perhaps, but I

can’t help feeling that there is something we are overlooking.” Milo listened indulgently to my conjectures as he finished his breakfast. Then we rose from the table and walked together out

of the breakfast room and into the lobby. The morning sun shone brightly through the windows, lighting up the walls and giving the room a cheerful countenance. I felt suddenly lighter than I

had in days. Perhaps everything would be all right, after all. Perhaps, with Milo’s help, I could find who had killed Rupert Howe and see that Gil was set free. I was about to turn toward

the front door when Milo stopped me, hand on my arm. “Oh, Amory ...” “Yes?” “One more thing.” His hand slid to my waist. He leaned and gave me a lingering kiss that I couldn’t bring myself

to break away from, despite the very public place in which we stood. At last, he released me and gave me a smile. “I’ll see you at lunch.” I nodded and watched him enter the lift. Then I

sighed. As much as I attempted to steel myself against his charms, I was finding it very difficult to maintain my barriers. Against my better judgment, I found myself enjoying his company

and pleased by his attentions. It was not at all wise, but I was the first to admit that wisdom and matters of the heart seldom go hand in hand. Doing my best to banish such dismal thoughts,

I turned to leave the hotel and found myself very surprised indeed to see that Gil was standing in the entryway. *** "Gil," I exclaimed. The initial paralysis of surprise wore off

quickly, and I hurried toward him. Though he tried to hide it, his expression indicated that he had seen the exchange between Milo and me. With a heavy sort of certainty, I realized just

why Milo had chosen that particular moment to lavish me with affection. I felt a strange mix of anger and sadness that settled into a cold lump in my chest. Milo, ever aware of what he was

doing, had timed that triumphant display perfectly. “They’ve released you,” I said, stating the obvious as I reached Gil’s side. I could feel the flush on my cheeks. For some unaccountable

reason, I felt as though I had been caught in an indiscretion. “For the time being.” He smiled a very tired smile that didn’t warm his eyes. “My barrister is top-notch, it seems.” He gave a

laugh that was completely devoid of humor. “My barrister. How odd that sounds. I’m to be tried for murder, Amory. It doesn’t seem real.” I noticed suddenly that he was pale and had dark

circles about his eyes, and he looked older than he had two days ago. I felt a stab of compassion and more than a little guilt. I reached out and took his hand. “It’s going to be all right,

Gil. I’m so glad you’ve been released. I tried to come and see you, but Inspector Jones wouldn’t let me.” “I’m glad. It wasn’t a very nice place. I shouldn’t have liked you to visit.” His

hand dropped from mine. “ Do you want to eat something?” I asked, at a loss for anything more to say. There was little I could say to comfort him, especially now that I could sense a

distance between us. In the midst of everything else, neither of us was willing to address the fact that Milo seemed to have come between us once again. Though, in theory, I had done nothing

wrong, it must have been a very unwelcome surprise for Gil, fresh from prison, to arrive back and find me wrapped in Milo’s arms. “Thank you, no. I’m very tired. I didn’t sleep well. I

think I shall go see Emmeline and then rest for a while.” “Of course. She’ll be glad to see you. Everything has been so hard on her.” “Yes. I’ll see you later then.” He started to walk away,

and I felt unaccountably miserable as he turned his back to me. I couldn’t keep myself from stopping him. “Gil, wait.” He turned, and I was no longer sure what I wanted to say. This was

neither the time nor the place for an intimate discussion. Nevertheless, there was one thing, at least, for which I could attempt to make amends. “I never meant for Inspector Jones to

misconstrue what I had told him,” I said. “I should have spoken with you about your conversation with Rupert before I mentioned it; I never thought it would cause you any harm. I’m very

sorry.” “Please don’t apologize,” he said. “You mustn’t feel it’s your fault that I was arrested.” “But it was my fault, wasn’t it,” I stated flatly. He stepped toward me, his expression

gentle, and this time it was he who took my hand in his. “It was I who dragged you into this mess. I’m the one who should apologize. I don’t know what I was thinking, asking you to ...

Perhaps I wasn’t thinking. If I hadn’t asked you, you would have been spared all of this.” “No, I was happy to help, and I still am.” I squeezed his hand. It was, as ever, warm and dry, his

grip firm and reassuring. “I know it will come out all right in the end.” He smiled but did not look assured. “Thank you.” “I’m going to find who did it, Gil. I know you didn’t want me to,

but I’ve been asking questions and ...” A shadow crossed his eyes, and his grip on my hand tightened. “Please, Amory. I meant it, what I said before. You mustn’t do that. You can’t put

yourself in danger.” He glanced around, as though he feared being overheard, but we were speaking quietly, and there was no one within earshot. “I don’t want you to involve yourself. Do you

understand? Keep back and let the police take care of it.” “I can’t stand by and let you take the blame for something you didn’t do.” His eyes met mine, and there was an intensity in them

that had not been there a moment ago, a spark that warmed the weary coolness of his gaze. “Do you really believe I am innocent?” “With all my heart.” He smiled, a real smile, and I felt my

chest constrict with that familiar affection. “That means a great deal, Amory.” “Did you honestly believe I could think you capable of such a thing?” “I ...” His gaze flickered away before

returning. “I wasn’t sure. It’s been a long time, Amory. We’ve both of us changed.” I knew that he was thinking of how we had been happy and content before Milo had appeared to alter both

our lives. “Things are different, yes,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t believe the best of you.” “Thank you.” His gaze was searching for a moment. “There’s more to be said, isn’t

there? But I expect it will keep.” “Yes,” I said, relieved both that he had brought up the conversation that loomed before us and that it was to be postponed for the time being. “It will

keep.” “Promise me you’ll leave this murder business be, Amory.” “I can’t do that,” I said, meeting his gaze. “You know I can’t.” “Then at least promise me you’ll be careful. If something

happened to you ...” “I’ll be careful, Gil. I promise.” He nodded and released my hand. “I had better see to Emmeline.” Gil departed, and I decided to walk for a moment on the terrace to

clear my thoughts. My emotions were in a greater state of turmoil than ever. I was no longer sure what was true of anyone; worse, I was no longer sure what was true of myself. For that one

sunny moment this morning as Milo kissed me, I had allowed myself to believe that, perhaps, we could make a go of it. Perhaps my leaving for the seaside without him had been enough to

inspire some semblance of connubial devotion, to make him realize that he really did care for me, after all. And then, when I looked up to find Gil there, watching my husband’s cleverly

staged scene, I had realized, not for the first time, that Milo was always playing the game. It had left me oddly sick to my stomach. And what of Gil? Milo had asked if I loved Gil, and

though my first impulse had been to deny it, I could not pretend, even with myself, that there was not some link between us. Whether it was the bond of an old and comfortable friendship or

something more, I couldn’t be certain. I only knew that I saw in Gil something that Milo lacked. One thing I could be very sure of, however. The emotional tumult I found myself in was not

going to provide any assistance in finding Rupert Howe’s killer. Breathing deeply of the fresh, salty air, I forced myself to focus on the task at hand. I walked to the edge of the terrace

and looked down. The seaside terrace sat empty below, the white tabletops gleaming brightly in the morning sun. The terrace had been cleaned and reopened once the police had done their part,

but there was no one sitting there. I could not blame the guests for staying clear of it. It seemed ghastly to take tea on the spot where a man’s life had spilled out. My gaze dropped from

the terrace to the bottom of the cliff . What had Mr. Hamilton been searching for last night? It seemed he had found it, what ever it was. My conjecture that it had been the weapon had

seemed logical, but now I frowned as a thought came to me. It seemed clear to me that, if it had been the weapon that struck the fatal blow to Rupert, he would want to dispose of it. Why

then, if Mr. Hamilton had discovered it among the debris at the base of the cliff , had he not flung it into the sea? That is most certainly what I would have done; yet he had put the object

in his pocket. There was only one reasonable explanation for such a thing. It was something he wished to keep. It followed, then, that the object would still be in his possession. There was

one logical place to look and only one way to look there. I was going to have to find a way to sneak into Mr. Hamilton’s room. NEXT: CHAPTERS 19 & 20 RETURN TO 'MURDER AT THE

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