Read Online Under Suspicion by The Mulgray Twins - Free Book Online

ceremony. No problema . My main objective was to seek out Vanheusen, see who his chums were tonight and engage in a little ferreting… I hurried across the marble floor of the foyer with its soaring arches, pillars, and jungle of greenery. An expanse of blue water shimmered in the rectangle formed at the meeting point of four interior courtyards. Other establishments might have their swim-up bars. The Alhambra’s pool went one step further. It was dotted with tiny ‘islands’, each with its clump of palm trees,fringe of sand and a ‘feature’ such as a hammock or a driftwood shack.
    If I found Mansell, I might find Vanheusen. No sign of either of them in the Casablanca courtyard, a place of plashing fountains, cascades spilling smoothly over mosaic ledges, and potted orange trees hung with tiny fairy lights. A few guests were conversing, wineglasses in hand, and a small orchestra was busily unpacking its instruments.
    I collared a waiter in kaftan and fez who was arranging forks in precision lines on the buffet tables. ‘Excuse me. I’m looking for Señor Mansell.’
    He repositioned a fork by a couple of millimetres. ‘Try the Marrakesh courtyard, señora.’
    The Marrakesh was set out with open-sided tent pavilions. In each hung a pierced and fretted pottery oil lamp casting flickering shadows on little round tables and spindly chairs.
    Ha ha ha haaaah . A woman’s laugh, honed and practised, the tinkle of ice cubes in a crystal glass. Above the sounds of the orchestra tuning up in the adjoining courtyard, the musical notes of the designer laugh soared, hung for a moment, and fell to earth. It was elegant, stylish and totally artificial. I’d heard it before. Monique.
    Like a retriever on the grouse moors, I homed in. Monique, Mansell and Vanheusen were seated, heads together in one of the tent pavilions, little oases of light in the encircling shadows. The links on Vanheusen’sexpensive wristwatch gleamed in the dim light of the oil lamps as he reached into his dinner jacket and drew out a folded sheaf of papers. What Gerry wanted was the exact nature of the connection between Mansell and Vanheusen, so a bit of casual eavesdropping might be very informative. They seemed pretty much engrossed. It should be safe enough for me to stroll by.
    The pavilions nearest the group were as yet unoccupied by any of the couples drifting in from the Casablanca. A discreet flanking movement, tagging along behind a small group of new arrivals, and a couple of minutes later I was sitting in an adjacent pavilion, back turned, sipping a drink. On the way I’d seized a couple of champagne flutes from a passing waiter’s tray. An extra glass on the table would suggest an absent companion. Mission accomplished, I toasted the Alhambra in its own rather fine champagne and tuned in to the conversation going on next door.
    Vanheusen was saying decisively, ‘…well, that’s agreed then.’
    ‘…need…we don’t want…’ Because of the background murmur, few words of Mansell’s reply were audible.
    ‘Yes, yes, I’ll see to it. Don’t worry. Monique will…’ The scrape of chairs being pushed back drowned out the rest.
    Well, I hadn’t learnt much there, except that they were definitely discussing some kind of business deal.Allowing them time to move away, I took a leisurely sip of my champagne. Couples wandered by, the men in dinner jackets or white tuxedos, the women in long gowns, the more daring in fashionable see-through dresses or diaphanous harem pants. I placed myself in the not-so-daring pants category, mazarine-blue silk with matching long-sleeved chemise.
    Where was Vanheusen now? I stood up and caught a glimpse of him forging through the crowd in the direction of the Casablanca courtyard, but the other two were no longer with him. I scanned the shadowy figures promenading round the lake/pool to admire the ingenious islands with their sandy shores. Opposite the island with the shack, I could see Monique talking to