burst into activity, but a huge black fish, ten times their size, suddenly swam to the surface, ravenous mouth not only devouring the pellets but ready to swallow anything alive that got in its way.
‘Just like Rannaldini,’ shivered Flora. ‘Don’t ever kid yourself he was a victim. We only met up, after he chucked me, because I sang in
‘“Let us forget the universe, life and heaven itself!”’ A ravishing voice floated across the hot, muggy air. ‘“What matters the past? What matters the future? I love you.”’
‘It’s Baby,’ sighed Flora, collapsing on a stone bench in ecstasy. ‘Doesn’t he make even the hair on your legs stand on end?’
‘Was George jealous of Baby?’ asked Gablecross idly.
‘Oh, no,’ stammered Flora. ‘Baby’s just a friend.’
‘Are you sure you didn’t go to the watch-tower to get these back? They were in Rannaldini’s dressing-gown pocket when he was murdered.’ Gablecross splayed out the photographs on the bench like a poker hand. Next moment the ground was covered in fish pellets and Trevor had rushed forward to hoover them up.
‘Oh, God,’ whimpered Flora. ‘Baby comforted me after George and I had our screaming match.’
‘So you took him home?’ Gablecross pointed to a shadowy angel in the background.
‘I thought he was gay. By the time I realized he wasn’t, it was too late.’
‘Seem to be enjoying yourself.’
‘Oh, I was, hugely.’
‘Was Rannaldini blackmailing you?’
‘He threatened to give them to George or the
‘Did you burn down Rannaldini’s watch-tower?’
‘No, no,’ protested Flora. Huddled on the stone bench, she burst into tears again. ‘I love George so much. I keep seeing Rannaldini in the wood, sneering even in death. What’ll they be doing to him now?’
‘Cutting him up, weighing every organ.’
‘They won’t find a heart.’
‘Did you kill him?’
‘No, but I wanted to. I must get a taxi.’
They were interrupted by retching. Trevor had thrown up all the pellets back into the mere. Instantly, the great black fish swarmed up to the surface and swallowed the lot.
‘Yuk!’ screamed Flora. Snatching Trevor and Foxie, she fled towards the house.
‘Poor Flora,’ said Karen indignantly, as she and Gablecross made their way through the twilight towards the maze. ‘I’m sure she didn’t do it.’
‘In the right place, at the right time, with the right motive.’
‘She’s terrified, isn’t she? Mind you, I’d be terrified of losing a lovely rich bloke like that.’
‘Not so lovely,’ said Gablecross grimly. ‘What’s carving up our Flora is panic that George has done it.’
45
Night brought terror. The famous Valhalla Maze, planted in the eighteenth century, towered twenty feet high and extended more than a hundred yards in diameter. Even in daylight, people got lost for hours but now round every twist and turn of the ebony ramparts the murderer might be lurking.
While Carlos sang of his ecstasy that at last his beloved Elisabetta had summoned him by a letter signed ‘E’ to a midnight tryst, Chloe as Eboli, the real writer of the letter, was being tracked through the maze by Tristan and Valentin on the crane. Racing to meet the man she believed loved her, Chloe paused to spray on scent and rearrange her breasts in the low-cut taffeta.
Like all newcomers, Gablecross and Karen Needham were drawn to the fascination of film-making. From the terrace, they could see not only the singers, almost sanctified by their wonderful costumes — Chloe in her crimson ball dress, Mikhail and Baby in dinner jackets — but also the great paraphernalia of crew, cables and lights, with Bernard barking out instructions and Tristan completely absorbed, despite the tragedy that had broken over his head, encouraging, bullying, shouting ‘Cut!’ over and over again.
Now he was patiently explaining the plot to Mikhail.
‘This is turning point of play. Once Eboli realize Carlos loves the Queen, she will shop them to the King. Posa realize that not only will his beloved friend Carlos be burnt at the stake for cuckolding the King, but all his plans for liberating Flanders will go up in smoke so he moves in to silence Eboli.’
‘I won’t need to act at all.’ Fingering his flick-knife Mikhail glowered at Chloe.
The crew glanced round nervously. Their instinct was to huddle together, but in doing so, could they be standing next to the killer?
As Tristan filmed an apprehensive, excited Baby in the centre of the maze, Gablecross and Karen buttonholed Chloe in her caravan. Her beauty was heightened by Lucy’s make-up and the crimson dress, which matched her sly, smiling mouth and showed off her smooth golden shoulders. One eye was hidden by a black patch. The other glittered like a yellow tourmaline.
‘Traditionally Princess Eboli was blind in one eye,’ explained Chloe. ‘Baby strokes my face in wonder then realizes, as he reaches the eye patch, he’s declared passionate love to the wrong woman.’
As Chloe snuggled into a blue-checked armchair, sipping bottled water, and rotating a slender ankle to prove her long skirt wasn’t concealing tree-trunks, she seemed to glow with inner happiness, not entirely induced by a long lunch with Eulalia Harrison.
She was devastated by Rannaldini’s death, she told Gablecross. He had been wonderful to her. She had spent Sunday afternoon at Harvey Nichols’ sale trying on hundreds of things but not buying anything. She had been furious to be knocked out of the tournament. Mikhail simply hadn’t tried.
‘Afterwards I dragged him into the maze, hoping to sober him up enough to rehearse tonight’s big scene, but we rowed because I wouldn’t go back to Valhalla and sleep with him. Like all men, he was incensed that Lara, his wife, had rumbled us, but still wanted to carry on the
‘How did Lara rumble you?’ asked Karen.
‘Rannaldini was Lord of Misrule on Friday night. He dragged Lara all the way from Moscow, then deliberately arranged for her to catch her husband kissing off my lipstick. Even worse, he relayed over the speakers a tape of Tristan and Meredith bitching about everyone, particularly Hermione. Tristan went berserk and tried to strangle Rannaldini.’
As she talked, Chloe kept stretching like a cat, hollowing her belly in ecstasy. As she looked up under her eyelashes at Gablecross, he found himself squaring his shoulders.
‘A crow with a sore throat has better intonation than Dame Hermione,’ went on Chloe, ‘but she didn’t deserve that humiliation. And by playing the tape Rannaldini completely destroyed Tristan’s street cred as a nice guy.’
‘D’you think he killed him?’
‘Possibly. Rannaldini was a deal-maker, Tristan a dream-maker. It was inevitable they’d fall out if they worked together. According to Simone, Tristan cut his aunt’s eighty-sixth birthday party in Paris so he could have got back. I always suspected he was one of Rannaldini’s illegits. Rannaldini was far nicer to him than to Wolfie. On the other hand, Tristan could be gay, and in love with Rannaldini. Only that could explain how their relationship survived such fearful rows.’
‘You reckon?’ Gablecross tried to hide his interest.
Karen’s eyes were on stalks as she scribbled frantically to keep up.
‘Well, Tristan’s incredibly buddy-buddy with his foppish French crew. And he’s taken all the attractive women in the cast out to dinner but never lifted a finger. Serena Westwood, who’s beautiful, had a next-door room to him in
