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Authors: Tanya Landman
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dead. Did you notice the key was in the door?”
“So?”
“Well, it was on the inside when we went to have our wigs done this morning – I snagged my fig leaf on it, remember? But when we left just now, it was on the
outside
. So someone might have locked him in there with a wasp, knowing he’d flap around and get panicky and that the thing would sting him and finish him off. And Josie was the last person to have her hair styled…”
“True. But she had to have her make-up done afterwards in a different part of the villa. Anyone could have done it then.”
“Except that no one else has a motive.”
“Apart from Angelica.”
The more we talked, the more puzzled we became. We decided it was Josie. Then we decided it was Angelica. Then we went back to Josie again. We were literally pedalling around in ever-decreasing circles and there was no one we could consult for an opinion. The idea of telling Bill that his bride might have killed someone was laughable. Sally was elbow-deep in preparations for the evening and Tessa – well, she wasn’t exactly approachable. Plus there was something odd about the way she behaved. I didn’t trust her.
It seemed like there was nothing we could do.
That evening at the beach party, Sally roasted a whole ox – it looked like something out of a Greek myth and I half expected Zeus to turn up and strike a few people down with thunderbolts. Two more of the staff had succumbed to the dreaded bug during the course of the afternoon so Graham and I finally came in useful, handing out plates and cutlery to the wedding guests and collecting up empty glasses.
Bill didn’t perform live in the end – he said he wasn’t feeling up to it, which was understandable. Instead, the DJ played a never-ending stream of Bill’s greatest hits, from early ones such as “ My One, My Only ” (the song that launched him on the road to superstardom, according to Graham) and “ All Time and For Ever” (the first of his hits to top the charts simultaneously in Britain and the United States) to “ You Won’t Never Need No One But Me” (which sold a record-breaking number of copies in the first week), “ I’m Yours, You’re Mine, End of Story” (fifteen weeks at number one) and last year’s Christmas smash hit, “ He Ain’t the One for You” . Then the DJ put on “ Ain’t No Escaping My Love” and Josie and Bill danced, arms wrapped around each other, in their own little world. When the song finished, Bill got the DJ to put it on again, and then again. After the fifth time I was pretty sick of hearing it and we were both bored by the sight of grown-ups behaving like kids who’d drunk too much fizzy pop.
When Kelly suggested a skinny dip to one of the satyrs, Sally decided the beach was no longer a Suitable Place for Children and we were despatched to the villa. Bill’s music followed us all the way back and we could still hear it when we were inside, throbbing through the walls. We climbed the stairs, passing Angelica’s room. The music was loud, but not loud enough to drown out her pitiful, despairing sobs. I’d never heard anything quite so lonely. It reminded me of Mum and Becca and all those heart-to-hearts around the kitchen table. Maybe they were what had kept Becca afloat.
“It’s odd,” I said to Graham when we reached our rooms. “Why hasn’t Angelica got a shoulder to cry on? Where are all those ‘close friends’ of hers that were mentioned in the papers?”
“Maybe she drove them away,” replied Graham, yawning. “I gather that mental instability can have an alienating effect on people.”
Perhaps he was right. There was something scary about Angelica: I could see how her deep misery would put you off. But it still felt strange. I mean, when anyone at school’s upset, they’re like a magnet – the first sniff of a tear and girls flock around like pigeons, cooing soothing words. So why didn’t someone as famous and popular as Angelica have anyone?
As I got
“So?”
“Well, it was on the inside when we went to have our wigs done this morning – I snagged my fig leaf on it, remember? But when we left just now, it was on the
outside
. So someone might have locked him in there with a wasp, knowing he’d flap around and get panicky and that the thing would sting him and finish him off. And Josie was the last person to have her hair styled…”
“True. But she had to have her make-up done afterwards in a different part of the villa. Anyone could have done it then.”
“Except that no one else has a motive.”
“Apart from Angelica.”
The more we talked, the more puzzled we became. We decided it was Josie. Then we decided it was Angelica. Then we went back to Josie again. We were literally pedalling around in ever-decreasing circles and there was no one we could consult for an opinion. The idea of telling Bill that his bride might have killed someone was laughable. Sally was elbow-deep in preparations for the evening and Tessa – well, she wasn’t exactly approachable. Plus there was something odd about the way she behaved. I didn’t trust her.
It seemed like there was nothing we could do.
That evening at the beach party, Sally roasted a whole ox – it looked like something out of a Greek myth and I half expected Zeus to turn up and strike a few people down with thunderbolts. Two more of the staff had succumbed to the dreaded bug during the course of the afternoon so Graham and I finally came in useful, handing out plates and cutlery to the wedding guests and collecting up empty glasses.
Bill didn’t perform live in the end – he said he wasn’t feeling up to it, which was understandable. Instead, the DJ played a never-ending stream of Bill’s greatest hits, from early ones such as “ My One, My Only ” (the song that launched him on the road to superstardom, according to Graham) and “ All Time and For Ever” (the first of his hits to top the charts simultaneously in Britain and the United States) to “ You Won’t Never Need No One But Me” (which sold a record-breaking number of copies in the first week), “ I’m Yours, You’re Mine, End of Story” (fifteen weeks at number one) and last year’s Christmas smash hit, “ He Ain’t the One for You” . Then the DJ put on “ Ain’t No Escaping My Love” and Josie and Bill danced, arms wrapped around each other, in their own little world. When the song finished, Bill got the DJ to put it on again, and then again. After the fifth time I was pretty sick of hearing it and we were both bored by the sight of grown-ups behaving like kids who’d drunk too much fizzy pop.
When Kelly suggested a skinny dip to one of the satyrs, Sally decided the beach was no longer a Suitable Place for Children and we were despatched to the villa. Bill’s music followed us all the way back and we could still hear it when we were inside, throbbing through the walls. We climbed the stairs, passing Angelica’s room. The music was loud, but not loud enough to drown out her pitiful, despairing sobs. I’d never heard anything quite so lonely. It reminded me of Mum and Becca and all those heart-to-hearts around the kitchen table. Maybe they were what had kept Becca afloat.
“It’s odd,” I said to Graham when we reached our rooms. “Why hasn’t Angelica got a shoulder to cry on? Where are all those ‘close friends’ of hers that were mentioned in the papers?”
“Maybe she drove them away,” replied Graham, yawning. “I gather that mental instability can have an alienating effect on people.”
Perhaps he was right. There was something scary about Angelica: I could see how her deep misery would put you off. But it still felt strange. I mean, when anyone at school’s upset, they’re like a magnet – the first sniff of a tear and girls flock around like pigeons, cooing soothing words. So why didn’t someone as famous and popular as Angelica have anyone?
As I got
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