Our Little Secret(28)

“I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“No you haven’t.”

“Little John, listen . . .” His brow was furrowed. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

“Except flirting with that dumb Australian. Her face is half tanned.”

“I’m not flirting. She’s fun, that’s all.” He wiped one hand against the other. “Hey, we never said we weren’t allowed to h—” He stopped then and stared at the steps behind me.

I turned to see Freddy walk down the last of the stairwell, tucking his shirt into the front of his pants and tugging down his waistcoat. Freddy stood still when he saw us and I wheeled back to face HP.

“Wait.” I took a step towards him.

“You were up there with him?”

“It’s not how it looks.” I reached for his arm, while behind me Freddy piped up.

“Excuse me,” he said, like a keynote speaker. “Don’t badger her, please. It’s unbecoming.”

“Get fucked, Professor Plum.” HP pulled his tie off and stuffed it into his pocket. “Nobody’s buying your we’re just friends act. As if you don’t want to get with her.”

Freddy’s face crinkled like there was a smell. “Get with her? Good Lord. What on earth happened to the English language when it traveled across the pond? It’s been nothing but a steady decline. Get with her.” He sighed theatrically.

HP took a stride towards Freddy, who backpedaled, bracing one hand against the thickness of the banister, but instead HP grabbed my arm and turned me a half step. “Wow, LJ, talk about making a guy feel better about things. Were you hooking up?”

“Was I . . . ? No! Were you?” I shouted. “I mean, get all outraged if you like, HP, but let’s just have a think for a minute about where you were. ‘Play it by ear,’ you say, ‘let’s just go with the flow’?”—I knew my face was vicious—“and then you ignore me for the whole of our biggest night in Oxford and wander off with some random fucking Australian who’s clearly hitting on you. How am I supposed to feel?”

HP looked at me like I’d grown a second head. “I was being friendly! Jesus Christ, hang a guy for wanting to have some fun. You know what you are, LJ? Jealous and clingy.” He daggered a look at Freddy. “And shady with friendships.” He stalked away through the mud towards the beer tent.

I watched the back of him until he was gone.

“I’m not shady.”

Freddy readjusted his waistcoat, shaking his head at me. He didn’t reply. A moment later he’d gone, too.





chapter




* * *





11


Novak glances at the clock on the wall. “That was cruel.”

I shrug. “Which part?”

“You toying with Freddy like that. The boy was clearly in love with you.”

I shake my head, sighing. “You’re not very good at spotting villains, are you?”

“You don’t know me well enough to tell.” He’s pleased with that one. “Has it occurred to you that HP might not be your Prince Charming? The way I remember it, Prince Charming stays all night by his true love’s side, enraptured by her, lavishing her with attention, searching high and low for her when she vanishes. Yours didn’t even buy you a drink.”

I shift in my chair. “It was Saskia’s fault. If she hadn’t shown up, the whole evening would have been different.”

“And yet you say you’re not building a motive.” He writes something down.

“Motive for what?”

He pretends he hasn’t heard. “I wonder if Lacy wishes you hadn’t shown up at the grad party.”

I frown. He pulled that one out of nowhere. “That was different.”

“Sure, okay.” Novak looks up. “So, is this where your lifetime of hating Saskia began? Oxford?”

“I never said I hated her. I said she was a thief.”

“Did you see her again before you left town?” He’s like the keen kid in the front row of the movie theater now. Suddenly my story’s top billing.

“No. Ezra called from the airport. I could hear his husky voice dwarfed by beeps and announcements over loudspeakers. HP wouldn’t speak to me.”

“How does that link to Saskia?”

“Take a guess, Detective.”

“She was at the airport, too?”

It’s tiring having to go through this again. It was hard enough the first time. “Wow,” he says. “Talk about crashing the party.”

It’s almost like he finally gets it. I hear something buzz along his belt line. He’s wearing a pager? Who uses those anymore?

Novak stands up and glances at the screen. “We need a break. Can I get you a snack, or coffee? Milk? Sugar?”

“Plain black is good, thanks.”

When he reaches the door, he turns. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Very funny. Novak leaves me alone in this room again, the blink of the video camera the only sign of life. I grab both granola bars Novak brought at the very start and eat one after the other, dropping the wrappers onto the floor.

When he returns, he’s not carrying the promised coffee. He has a bundle of letters that he sets on the table, facedown, so only the cream backs of the envelopes show. He pinches his suit pants up at the thigh before he sits, choosing his normal side of the table.