business, having the name Armstrong-Meyer on your CV looked good to anyone.
Caroline Willner sat next to Brandon Eisenberg and, practised in the social graces, immediately engaged him in quiet and earnest conversation. The rest of us sat down and spread out. Even with Torquil’s own bodyguard, we were still only eight instead of twelve, which gave everybody a bit more elbow room.
I had Dina on one side of me and the security man from the back seat of the limo on the other. He had not developed his conversational skills during the ride in, and I’d privately nicknamed him Lurch as a result, but I was happy to people-watch and keep an eye on the flow through the ballroom as the late arrivals made their entrance. Dina was chatting stiltedly with Torquil. The elaborate table displays made it difficult to hold a conversation with the person sitting opposite.
From our vantage point, I spotted Benedict Benelli looking moody in all black, with his damaged right hand thrust into his pocket as usual. Manda Dempsey was on his arm in a white dress that showed the extent of her all- over tan and was causing many a double take from the male guests. Possibly they were all wondering how she managed to keep anything so skimpy to stay the right side of decent. I reckoned double-sided sticky tape had a lot to do with it.
It wasn’t long before Orlando and Hunt also turned up, in a party that also consisted of several security guys and an older couple who looked to be Orlando’s parents. None of them looked particularly happy to be there. The three former kidnap victims did not, I noticed, make any efforts to sit together, despite their apparent pally behaviour at the birthday party.
Dinner was served and cleared with inconspicuous efficiency and the auction began as soon as the coffee and mints were on the tables, leaving the staff to scurry about between the guests, trying not to be mistaken for bidders.
I was staggered at the lots on offer and the prices they fetched, from trips to the British Virgin Islands on the Eisenberg yacht, to a kiss for a rich man’s daughter from the latest teen sensation heart-throb actor.
The auction took about an hour, after which the dancing started, more ballroom than disco, which at least meant the noise stayed at a comfortable level. The country club had employed live musicians to provide the accompaniment, including a Korean girl in a long red dress who, if I was any judge, played classical guitar to a far higher standard than the gig should have demanded.
Those who didn’t dance took the opportunity to circulate and network, or simply to chat. Manda floated across and exchanged air kisses with Dina.
‘Honey, I heard about what happened at the riding club,’ she said, hand still on Dina’s arm. ‘That must have been horrible. How
‘She’s fine,’ Torquil said, leaning back in his chair to talk around Dina before she had a chance to speak. ‘After all, it wasn’t much of an attempt.’
Dina threw him a sharp look. ‘Well
Manda looked confused. ‘Raleigh?’
‘My horse-riding instructor,’ Dina said. ‘He was walking us to the trailer when these guys appeared out of nowhere and just whaled in on the poor guy.’
Torquil drowned a ‘humph’ into his glass as he took a swig of his drink. Some people just like being argumentative for the sake of it.
Manda frowned at him. ‘Poor guy,’ she repeated. ‘Well, at least you’re OK, honey. That’s something.’ And with a vague smile, she drifted on.
I watched her go, noting that her return to the Benelli table seemed to spark a quiet disagreement between her and Benedict, who was in a worse temper than Torquil and was being stiffly ignored by the rest of his party.
Why, I wondered, amid all this luxury and excess, were all of them so determined not to have a good time tonight?
I turned back and met Caroline Willner’s eye. She gave me a fractional smile as if she’d read my thoughts with accuracy.
‘I should very much like to dance,’ she announced firmly, causing Torquil to bury his nose in his drink again, just in case she had him in mind as a partner.
His father had a more mature way of declining, patting what had seemed to be a perfectly healthy knee and shrugging apologetically. ‘I made it a policy a long time ago to dance in public only with my wife,’ he said with a smile, carefully not looking at his red-headed bodyguard as he spoke. ‘Causes less scandal that way.’
‘In that case,’ Parker said, rising politely and offering his hand. ‘May I?’
Caroline Willner inclined her head, her expression announcing, in a subtle kind of way, that this was the outcome for which she’d been aiming. ‘You may.’
They moved out onto the floor. Dina fidgeted in her chair and stared pointedly at Torquil until he gave an ungracious sigh and pushed his chair back. What was eating him, I wondered?
‘You wanna dance?’
Dina nodded and got to her feet quickly, in case he changed his mind. I glanced across at Parker, saw him pick up Dina’s movement and give me a slight nod, knew he’d have her covered while she and Torquil were out on the floor. Torquil’s bodyguard, Lurch, had been busy folding the silver foil from the coffee mints into mini origami shapes that looked far too delicate for his oversize fingers. Although he didn’t seem to be paying attention, it was deceptive. He was on his feet before Torquil, and was heading for the dance floor.
‘Do me a favour and help him to blend a little, would you?’ Brandon Eisenberg said. For a moment I thought he was speaking to me, but when I looked up, Eisenberg’s eyes were on his own bodyguard, Gleason. When she hesitated, he said, ‘I’m sure Miss Fox will keep me company until you return.’
Gleason didn’t like that at all, but there wasn’t much she could do. She gave a curt nod and stepped onto the floor, holding herself rigidly away from her partner by way of protest, her eyes fixed on Torquil and Dina.
Eisenberg patted Caroline Willner’s empty chair alongside him and, having no good reason to refuse, I moved round, keeping my own eyes on the dance floor as I took my seat.
Parker, I saw, had casually manoeuvred himself close to Dina and Torquil, without it being obvious to anyone, least of all the couple concerned. He was an excellent, fluid dancer. Caroline Willner looked like she was having a good time in his arms.
‘That bother you?’ Eisenberg asked. ‘Mrs Willner dancing with your boss?’
I looked at him in surprise, found him watching me with disconcerting pale-blue eyes.
‘Excuse me?’ I bit out, and remembered belatedly Parker’s warning that Eisenberg was not someone to get on the wrong side of. I swallowed my temper and said in measured tones, ‘Mr Armstrong is my boss. Why does everybody assume there’s more to our relationship than that?’
Eisenberg chuckled. In a flash I knew that Gleason’s duties towards guarding his body went a little further than they should. I stood up again.
‘Sit down, Miss Fox, I’m not done talking with you,’ Eisenberg said, his voice still pleasant even if his eyes had turned cold. ‘I’d heard you were … otherwise attached, shall we say, to Armstrong’s partner, but he got himself shot a few months back and word is his condition may be permanent. That reaction just told me my information is correct, and you haven’t transferred your affections.’
I felt my facial muscles lock in an effort not to scream, or cry, or punch his nasal bone straight up through his frontal lobe. So, he’d had us checked out long before we’d climbed into his limo earlier tonight. No surprises there.
I kept my voice lethally calm. ‘And why would my relationships – imagined or otherwise – be of the slightest interest to you?’
He sat back looking vaguely satisfied, as if he took my trying to find a reason not to deck him as some kind of piqued interest.
‘Because I want to offer you a job.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I stared at Eisenberg for a moment with nothing in my eyes. After ten seconds, even someone with his
