Garden of Lies(94)

“What of the ambrosia plants?” Ursula asked.

Slater stirred and pushed himself away from the wall. He wandered across the room to contemplate the items on the tea tray.

“As it happens, there was a fire in the Fulbrook conservatory last night. It started in the stillroom, where a number of chemicals were stored. Evidently everything, including the plants in the special chamber reserved for the ambrosia, was destroyed.”

“Huh.” Otford stopped eating and pulled out his notebook.

Ursula watched Slater. “There may be other ambrosia plants out there, somewhere. And packets of seeds, as well.”

Slater shrugged and selected a sandwich. “Perhaps someone will discover something useful to do with the plant. It is not as if we do not need better medicines.”

“Well, there is that, I suppose,” Ursula said. “Now, then, no doubt you are all wondering why I asked you to tea today.”

Everyone looked at her.

Lilly frowned. “There is a reason? Besides tea, that is?”

“Yes, there is a reason.” Ursula picked up the silver card case on the coffee table. “I called you together to announce that Slater is about to embark on a new career.”

Slater coughed and sputtered around a bite of sandwich. “What?”

“This tea is a celebration of his new profession, and I am delighted to make him a present of his first business cards.” She selected one of the crisp white cards and held it up so that everyone could admire the elegant engraving.

“Let me see that.” Slater crossed the room in two long strides and snapped the card out of Ursula’s fingers. “Slater Roxton, Private Inquiries. Discretion Assured.” He looked up. “What the devil?”

There were startled gasps from everyone else in the room. The gasps were followed by murmurs of approval.

“Yes, of course,” Lilly said. She was suddenly radiant with enthusiasm. “It’s the perfect career for you, Slater. I should have thought of it, myself.”

Slater stared at Ursula with the expression of a man who had been shaken to the core. “Business cards?”

“Perhaps I can be of assistance to you in your new line,” Otford suggested eagerly. “You’ll need a man who knows how to dig up information. In exchange for exclusive stories like the Fulbrook murder, I offer my investigative services.”

“People got killed,” Slater said.

Otford cleared his throat. “Right. Murdered. Very unfortunate.”

“The important thing to remember,” Ursula said, “is that additional people would very likely have been murdered and others would have been forced to submit to the misery of blackmail if it had not been for Slater’s inquiries.”

Slater rounded the coffee table, leaned down, wrapped his hands around Ursula’s waist and lifted her off the sofa. He held her so that her satin slippers did not touch the carpet.

“What in blazes do you think you’re doing, woman?” His voice reverberated dangerously around the room. “I’m not going into the private inquiry business.”

“You need a career, Slater,” she said. She braced her hands on his shoulders and looked down at him. “Your days of wandering the world chasing lost artifacts are concluded. You are home now and you must find something new to do with your life. It is time you put your skills to work.”

“What skills?”

“You know how to look for answers. That is a surprisingly uncommon talent. Searching for answers is what private inquiry agents do. Really, it’s what you’ve been doing for years. Now you’ve got the business cards to go with the business, so to speak.”

He set her slowly on her feet. “Never thought of it as a profession.”

“Furthermore, I may be able to assist you from time to time,” she continued. “As a secretary, I can go into a great many places without arousing curiosity or suspicion—business establishments, private homes, almost anywhere, really. Who doesn’t need a secretary from time to time?”

“No.” Slater eyed her with steely determination. “Absolutely not. I forbid it.”

“We can discuss the details later,” she assured him.

“There will be nothing to discuss,” he said.

She sat down quickly and picked up the pot. “More coffee?”

“Damn it, Ursula—”

“Perhaps another sandwich.” She nudged the silver tray across the coffee table.

“Damn it, Ursula—”

“I believe you are repeating yourself. Try the chicken salad sandwiches. They’re excellent. Oh, I do apologize. You’re a vegetarian. The cucumber, perhaps? And by the way, I do love you, you know.”

He looked at her as if he had never seen anything like her in his entire life, as if he was afraid to believe she was real.

“What did you say?” he got out.

“About the chicken salad sandwiches?”

They might as well have been alone in the room, she thought. No one else moved. No one spoke a word.

“About loving me,” Slater said.

“You obviously heard me. You seem surprised. I would have thought that you would have learned that much from your labyrinth.”

“I have been afraid to ask the question. Terrified, as a matter of fact. I was afraid the answer might not be the one I wanted to hear.”