Amberlough(47)

“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?” Cyril tempered the insult with a crooked smile.

“I’d hope we could exchange a few civil words, outside all that,” said Müller, “if it came to it. Did you enjoy Miss Sin’s performance?”

“I’m afraid we missed it. My companion had a prior engagement, and it made us late.” He nodded in Cordelia’s direction. She leaned in close to Maxine, and as Cyril watched, both women burst into laughter.

“Fetching,” said Müller. “That’s … quite a head of hair. She looks familiar.”

“I can’t think why,” said Cyril. “Surely the deputy commissioner of the ACPD doesn’t frequent Temple Street nightclubs.”

Müller’s eyes drew into a squint, then widened. “Lady’s name, she’s the stripper at the Bee.”

“Yes. Lovely woman. Actually, I’m meant to be fetching her a drink.”

“Well, then I won’t keep you,” said Müller, stepping aside. Relief was plain on his face.

Cyril took his card case from his pocket and flipped it open, sliding one card free with his thumb. “Ring me up sometime. This is no place to talk business, but I’ve got a few things I’d like to chat about.”

“I’ve got your office line,” said Müller.

“Maybe I want to exchange a few civil words,” said Cyril. “Outside all that.”

“This isn’t about what happened last week on the wharves, is it?” An edge of apprehension came into Müller’s voice. “Chief Sturinopoli’s barely out of the academy. Taormino seemed confident enough about her promotion, but…” His pause meant several things. He doubted Taormino’s faith, or perhaps her ethics. Maybe he even suspected Sturinopoli and Taormino of purposefully skewering their own raid. Cyril had caught the tail end of it in the papers, after his return from Nuesklend. Acting on an anonymous tip, the police went looking for smugglers docking at the southern wharves in the early hours. They’d ended up scaring the piss out of the crew of a fishing vessel. One woman fell overboard and drowned.

“Oh no,” said Cyril. “It’s nothing to do with that, believe me. In fact, it might be welcome news. Call when you get a chance.”

Müller scanned Cyril’s card and put it away. “I very well may.” They shook hands again. “But for now, I think I’ll collect Maxine and go home to bed.”

“Goodnight, then. Safe travels.”

From behind the long spread of paté and ice sculptures, Cyril watched Müller approach his wife. She looked up at him, then around at the party. Her shoulders slumped, but she rose and took his arm. Together, they disappeared out the door.

*

When Cyril returned to the sofa where he’d left Cordelia, bearing two glasses of champagne, he was concentrating hard to keep from spilling. “I’m sorry it took me so long,” he said, watching his feet on the steps. “I was waylaid—”

“Well, this is a surprise. Hello, Mr. DePaul.”

Aristide’s hauteur froze Cyril in place. He looked up from the precarious coupes and met umber eyes, ringed in kohl. Aristide was sitting straight now, but that long-boned man on I Fa’s lap … Cyril should have recognized him earlier, even with his sumptuous hair drawn into a tightly plaited coronet, and his relatively sober evening dress.

His paint was limited to lipstick the color of dewy mulberries, and the thin, dark stripe around his eyes. The satin facings of his lapels shone under the low-hanging chandelier.

“Mr. Makricosta.” Cyril tried to keep his greeting bright, surprised, but even he could hear how sharp it landed. A decorative letter opener used as a knife. “I didn’t realize you were going to be here.”

“Likewise.” Aristide turned to Baroness Fa. “D-D-Dumpling, I didn’t know you and Mr. DePaul were acquainted.”

The baroness looked Cyril up and down, and suddenly he wondered just how Van der Joost had wrangled this invitation.

Cordelia saved him. “He’s here with me.”

“Ah, that explains it.” I Fa patted Cordelia’s knee. “An orchid needs an elegant stem to lift it toward the sun. And you are a shrewd little orchid, darling. You picked a very nice one.”

Well, Cordelia had obviously charmed her way into their hostess’s good graces far faster than Cyril had managed to squirm into Müller’s. Which meant he could leave her here while he dealt with Aristide.

“Madam, Ms. Lehane,” said Cyril, nodding to them each in turn. “May I borrow Mr. Makricosta for a moment?”

“Oh, but won’t you sit with us instead?” I Fa gestured to an empty space on the sofa. “You would make a lovely addition to the general tableau.”

“I’m afraid we would bore you,” said Cyril. “It’s just business.”

“Darling,” said Aristide to their hostess, “I p-p-promise I’ll be simply celeritous. You’ll hardly even notice I’m g-g-gone.”

She pursed her lips. “Incorrigible little liar. Do not lay the blame at my slippers when you return and all the sweets are eaten.”

Bestowing an indulgent smile on her disapproval, he rose and straightened his jacket. Cyril transferred both glasses to one hand and put the other in the center of Aristide’s back, maneuvering him out of the crowd.