Sadie beams at Nazleen, and Nazleen shoots her a grateful smile in response.
“Well,” Everett booms. “This is all very jolly.”
The young waiter appears in the doorway with a loaded catering trolley, and the photographer helps him to wheel it in, while the guests shake out their pleasingly heavy napkins and gaze wide-eyed around the room. Sadie is seated directly opposite Joe, and she watches him watching the others for a few seconds, until suddenly their eyes meet. She finds it amusing and smiles, but he seems rather disconcerted, and he turns to Mrs. Shrew and murmurs to her, asking if she needs anything. Mrs. Shrew shakes her head. Sadie wants to start questioning everyone, but she can’t decide which guest to start with, and she’s distracted by the plate of food being set in front of her.
The first course is sea bass, served whole, with a light lemon-dressed salad. Sadie blinks down at the entire fish on her plate, and its blank pupil stares back up at her. Her appetite shrivels, and she glances enviously at Genevieve’s vegetarian alternative. On her left, Everett is already devouring his fish, while the waiter moves around the table, pouring wine.
On the other side of her, Zach nudges her elbow. “Free food. Don’t knock it.”
“The chef has an impressive CV . . . ,” Nazleen says, poking her fork into her own fish with an uncertain expression.
Everett strikes up a loud conversation about local fishing sites with Joe, and Sadie is tempted to interrupt him and steer him back to the game they’re supposed to be playing. But she’s curious about the white-haired man in the portrait, so she takes the opportunity to ask a quiet question of Zach.
“Is he the real owner, do you think?” She lifts a tiny portion of sea bass to her mouth and is pleasantly surprised by how tasty it is. “Lord Nightingale, or whatever his name is.”
“I’m sure the name’s made up, and I’ve never heard of a lord around here,” Zach says. “But yeah, I guess the portrait looks real enough. Dad’ll probably know—ask him.”
But Sadie’s reluctant to interrupt Everett’s rambling anecdote. She catches Genevieve’s eye, and they exchange a brief raised-eyebrow grimace as Everett cracks a bad-taste joke. Sadie sips her wine, and before she can stop him, Zach grabs the bottle and tops her up again.
“Shouldn’t we be asking each other questions?” she says to Zach. And then, “So, what were you doing, leading up to three o’clock today?”
He grins. “I was still in bed with a hangover.” But he takes pity on her and raises his voice. “Okay, I was in the library with Miss Mouse all afternoon. I heard loud talking in Lord Nightingale’s study at half past two.”
The other guests rapidly switch their attention to Zach, except for Everett, who concentrates once more on clearing his plate.
“Is that right, Miss Mouse?” Sadie asks Genevieve.
Genevieve pats around her crimson lips with her napkin, and Sadie guesses she’s buying time while she recalls the details on her alibi card.
“Yes,” Genevieve says, “except I went to use the bathroom just after two. I was only gone five minutes, but . . .” She widens her eyes at Zach in mock horror. “It would have given you time to . . .”
Zach thumps the table enthusiastically. “I didn’t deliver any envelope. I deny everything. I’m innocent, I tell you.”
Sadie leans forward and tries to catch Joe’s eye. “And where were you leading up to three o’clock, Colonel Otter?”
But Joe is already shoving back his chair, and he looks only at Nazleen, with an apologetic expression. “Please excuse me a moment. I need to use your phone.”
The room sits silent in his wake, like a deflated balloon. Everett, the only one of them who seems oblivious, spears something onto his fork and lifts it halfway to his lips before gazing around.
“Fish eyes,” he says. “Very good for you. Omega-threes, you know.” He pops the morsel into his mouth, and Sadie’s not the only guest to turn her head away.
Sadie takes a large swallow of her wine, and once again Zach tops up her glass immediately; it’s irritating. The only person who hasn’t said a word since they took their seats is Mrs. Shrew, and Sadie studies her, still unsure whether she’s playing a role or she’s genuinely unhappy about being here.
“So, Mrs. Shrew,” Sadie says brightly, “do you live locally too?”
The woman’s lips pucker as if Sadie’s insulted her, and for several seconds, Sadie thinks she’s not going to answer. But eventually she gives a sharp shake of her head.
“No, I traveled a long way for this.” Her gaze rests on the pearls around Sadie’s neck, and her expression tightens even further. “Believe me, I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t bothered.”
Zach snorts into his wineglass, and Sadie’s mood dips. She feels out of place suddenly—the way Mrs. Shrew looks at her . . . Can the woman tell that Sadie’s never been inside such a huge mansion before, never eaten such a lavish meal or worn such beautiful clothes and jewelry? But as soon as she recognizes her reaction as embarrassment, she shakes it off. Sadie’s just as good as anyone here, and she won’t let them make her feel inferior.
The waiter clears their plates deftly, and as he leaves the room, Joe comes back in.
“The phone line’s dead.” Joe’s voice is tight with annoyance.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Nazleen says. “They were supposed to reconnect it last week. I’ll chase it up on Monday morning.”
“But”—Genevieve half stands in alarm—“I haven’t got a mobile signal either.”
“That’s something you have to expect,” Everett says complacently, “out here in the Fens.” He grins wolfishly at Genevieve as she sinks back onto her seat. “Don’t worry, my dear. I’ll look after you.”
Sadie smooths the tablecloth in front of her. She’s tempted to blurt out, Did you cut the telephone wire, Colonel Otter? but she senses the feeble joke would worsen Joe’s mood, and she’s keen to get the game back on track so they can all start enjoying themselves. The waiter returns with the freshly restocked trolley, and Sadie excuses herself from the table and walks to the window. She parts the thick curtains and peers out at the faintly lit gravel. The chauffeur-driven cars have all gone, unsurprisingly, but two ordinary-looking cars sit over in the shadows by the stable block.
We can drive to the village for help if we need to, she thinks, and then she smiles at herself for letting Joe’s discovery unsettle her. Of course, they won’t need to go for help—she’s being ridiculous. It must be the fish eyes that have made her jumpy. She lets the curtains fall back and returns to the table.