Read Online Under Suspicion by The Mulgray Twins - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: The Mulgray Twins
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Mansell, listening intently to him, apparently hanging on every word. I had to admit that the emerald green gown fitted her to perfection, emphasising her slender waist and ample curves. Green opals threaded through her piled-up hair complemented an opal choker necklace and a thin gold circlet round her wrist.
Using the crowd as cover I drifted closer, angling my approach so that I’d come up behind them. It would be worth eavesdropping for a couple of minutes. After that, I’d snoop around Vanheusen and see what he was up to…
They were four metres or so ahead of me now, but I didn’t dare close the gap. Their conversation – light conversation, nothing of interest – came in snatches,drowned intermittently by the chatter of passing groups.
They stopped.
Half-turning away, I rummaged in my bag, making a show of glancing impatiently at my watch and staring in the direction of the Casablanca courtyard as if searching for somebody. When I looked again, they’d moved off, and were some distance ahead. I hurried to catch up.
‘…I quite understand your reservations. It’s all a matter of presentation, isn’t it? Exclusive will provide most of the funding, and you provide…’ Monique’s words faded frustratingly.
‘Risky. If it came out…’ Mansell put out a hand to steady her as she teetered close to the sparkling waters on those precariously high heels.
Her elegantly manicured hand rested lightly on his arm. ‘You’re right, it’s absolutely vital that nobody finds out about it…’
If they looked back and saw me… I was taking a risk, a calculated gamble, by moving up so close.
‘…On the plus side, this new venture of Vanheusen’s is a real gold mine. If the deal comes off, I’ll be able to afford another place like this. I’d make a few changes, of course. Back there, for instance—’
I sensed he was about to swing round. I turned on my heel and melted into the strolling crowds.
I took up my stance in the shadows of the Casablanca courtyard sipping a glass of champagne. What I’d just heard was interesting, but I didn’t have time to think it over as I’d just caught sight of Rudyard Scott. Only this morning, he had informed me rather brusquely that he wouldn’t be present at the official opening. The Grand Opening, like the Outing to the Moon, was apparently a frivolity that he didn’t have time for. But now here he was in close conversation with Vanheusen. Like myself, they were standing in the shadows, and I wouldn’t have noticed them if it hadn’t been for a sudden movement. Interesting to see his reaction if I went over to them and called out a breezy greeting on the lines of, ‘So you’ve made it, after all, Mr Scott’.
Nursing my half-full glass against the jutting elbows and suddenly turning shoulders of chatting groups, I weaved past the fountains and the potted orange trees hung with tiny fairy lights. Progress was slow, and I had just wormed my way into reasonable hailing distance, when someone clutched my arm.
‘Great atmosphere, isn’t it?’ Millie Prentice brushed back her tangle of auburn curls. ‘Just a mo.’ She lunged at a passing waiter’s tray of drinks. ‘This is my third glass of champers,’ she giggled, ‘and it won’t be my last. I must hand it to Mr V. He arranged all this, didn’t he? He’s not looking for a lady-love, trouble-and-strife wife, by any chance, is he?’ Another giggle, more inebriated than the last.
‘No, he didn’t, and no, he’s not,’ I said. ‘Jonathan Mansell, who owns the hotel, arranged all this. And as far as I know, Mr Vanheusen’s not looking for a partner, permanent or not.’ I didn’t add, ‘and certainly not an unsophisticated young woman who can’t hold her drink.’
‘Jon-a-than Man-sell,’ she rolled the syllables round her tongue, as if savouring a particularly tasty canapé. ‘No harm in getting acquainted, though.’ She stood on tiptoe to crane over the heads of the surrounding
Using the crowd as cover I drifted closer, angling my approach so that I’d come up behind them. It would be worth eavesdropping for a couple of minutes. After that, I’d snoop around Vanheusen and see what he was up to…
They were four metres or so ahead of me now, but I didn’t dare close the gap. Their conversation – light conversation, nothing of interest – came in snatches,drowned intermittently by the chatter of passing groups.
They stopped.
Half-turning away, I rummaged in my bag, making a show of glancing impatiently at my watch and staring in the direction of the Casablanca courtyard as if searching for somebody. When I looked again, they’d moved off, and were some distance ahead. I hurried to catch up.
‘…I quite understand your reservations. It’s all a matter of presentation, isn’t it? Exclusive will provide most of the funding, and you provide…’ Monique’s words faded frustratingly.
‘Risky. If it came out…’ Mansell put out a hand to steady her as she teetered close to the sparkling waters on those precariously high heels.
Her elegantly manicured hand rested lightly on his arm. ‘You’re right, it’s absolutely vital that nobody finds out about it…’
If they looked back and saw me… I was taking a risk, a calculated gamble, by moving up so close.
‘…On the plus side, this new venture of Vanheusen’s is a real gold mine. If the deal comes off, I’ll be able to afford another place like this. I’d make a few changes, of course. Back there, for instance—’
I sensed he was about to swing round. I turned on my heel and melted into the strolling crowds.
I took up my stance in the shadows of the Casablanca courtyard sipping a glass of champagne. What I’d just heard was interesting, but I didn’t have time to think it over as I’d just caught sight of Rudyard Scott. Only this morning, he had informed me rather brusquely that he wouldn’t be present at the official opening. The Grand Opening, like the Outing to the Moon, was apparently a frivolity that he didn’t have time for. But now here he was in close conversation with Vanheusen. Like myself, they were standing in the shadows, and I wouldn’t have noticed them if it hadn’t been for a sudden movement. Interesting to see his reaction if I went over to them and called out a breezy greeting on the lines of, ‘So you’ve made it, after all, Mr Scott’.
Nursing my half-full glass against the jutting elbows and suddenly turning shoulders of chatting groups, I weaved past the fountains and the potted orange trees hung with tiny fairy lights. Progress was slow, and I had just wormed my way into reasonable hailing distance, when someone clutched my arm.
‘Great atmosphere, isn’t it?’ Millie Prentice brushed back her tangle of auburn curls. ‘Just a mo.’ She lunged at a passing waiter’s tray of drinks. ‘This is my third glass of champers,’ she giggled, ‘and it won’t be my last. I must hand it to Mr V. He arranged all this, didn’t he? He’s not looking for a lady-love, trouble-and-strife wife, by any chance, is he?’ Another giggle, more inebriated than the last.
‘No, he didn’t, and no, he’s not,’ I said. ‘Jonathan Mansell, who owns the hotel, arranged all this. And as far as I know, Mr Vanheusen’s not looking for a partner, permanent or not.’ I didn’t add, ‘and certainly not an unsophisticated young woman who can’t hold her drink.’
‘Jon-a-than Man-sell,’ she rolled the syllables round her tongue, as if savouring a particularly tasty canapé. ‘No harm in getting acquainted, though.’ She stood on tiptoe to crane over the heads of the surrounding
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