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  ‘No, I didn’t call you, darling,’ Jennifer told her. ‘I was just talking about you and what a good girl you are. Not like some humans I could mention.’

  ‘We’ve spoiled you, Jennifer,’ Freddie said. ‘The rest of us are so civilized we wouldn’t dream of behaving like that.’

  ‘Well, why should you? You have no reason to. You all write different books with your own separate characters.’

  ‘And they don’t? Wait a minute …’ A distant memory was flickering at the edge of Lorinda’s consciousness. Somewhere in the depths of her unexplored souvenirs of the trip was a stack of business cards she had accumulated in her travels. ‘What name did you say?’

  ‘Adèle Desparta – and she’s in direct competition with Opal Duquette. They’re both doing a history-mystery series with Bess of Hardwick as their character!’

  ‘You’re right!’ Freddie whistled softly. ‘Competition doesn’t come any more direct than that.’

  ‘I knew I’d met the author of the Bess of Hardwick mysteries in New York!’ Lorinda felt vindicated. ‘I’ve even got her business card in my collection. But Gemma said I couldn’t have because Opal had never been to New York.’

  ‘That explains why you didn’t want them both in the shop at the same time.’ Freddie got down to practicalities. ‘But what did you think we could do about it? And how long do you think you can keep them apart? They’re bound to meet sooner or later, the village isn’t that big.’

  ‘I don’t know – I thought you could be a buffer zone, or something. I told you I panicked. And I don’t care where they meet, so long as it’s not here!’ Jennifer seemed to be feeling better. ‘You should hear the way they talked about each other! I wouldn’t like to see them in the butcher’s shop, either. The hatchet, the cleaver – and all those long sharp knives lying around …’ She shuddered.

  ‘Trust Dorian to get us into a situation like this,’ Freddie said.

  ‘Dorian couldn’t have known that Gemma would have her cousin to visit at the same time.’ Lorinda defended him, although she wasn’t sure he deserved it.

  ‘Couldn’t he?’ Freddie quirked an eyebrow. ‘I wouldn’t put it past him.’

  ‘Anyway …’ Neither would Lorinda. ‘He said she’ll be going all over the country doing her research. She may not be here very much.’

  ‘We can but hope.’ Freddie did not sound very hopeful. ‘We have enough on our hands right now. All we need is another complication.’

  Chapter Eight

  The rest of the week passed quietly – and without the expected summons from Dorian to any sort of soirée to introduce his guest. In fact, Dorian appeared to be lying low – and there was no further sighting of Adele Desparta, either.

  ‘Just as well,’ Freddie said. ‘We can use a quiet interlude before the fur starts flying.’

  Prreoh? Had-I appeared to take the comment personally.

  ‘No, not yours.’ Freddie offered her a small prawn and then, to preserve the peace, gave one to But-Known. She reached automatically for a third, then sighed. ‘Poor Roscoe, it’s brutal to keep him under house arrest all the time. I don’t suppose you’ve seen him recently?’

  ‘Not since that nasty trick Cressie played. And I haven’t seen Macho, either.’

  ‘I’m not wasting sympathy there, he brought it on himself.’

  ‘Actually, I haven’t seen anyone lately.’ Lorinda wasn’t going to go over that one again. ‘I’ve finally finished all my unpacking and I’ve been getting some work done.’

  ‘Good for you.’ Freddie turned to poke moodily at a saucepan on the electric ring. ‘Are there supposed to be lumps in this curry before I tip the prawns in?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so.’ Lorinda went over to look. It was not only lumpy, it was a peculiar colour, too. And the smell … ‘Where did you find this recipe?’

  ‘In a very Olde Englishe cookery book. So old I didn’t even know what some of the ingredients were, so I took a guess and improvised.’ She gave the evil-looking mixture another stir and admitted, ‘It may have lost something in the translation.’

  ‘Mmm …’ Lorinda hesitated, trying to find a delicate way to phrase her suggestion. ‘I, uh, think my stomach is still a bit jetlagged. Why don’t we just pop over to The Chipper and get some fish and chips?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Freddie said reluctantly. ‘It seems like giving up.’ She picked up the bowl of prawns and held it over the saucepan of alleged curry.

  Both cats immediately yowled a horrified protest. Lorinda caught her arm and pulled it back.

  ‘All right, all right, I get the message.’ Freddie set the bowl down on the floor instead and stepped back as the cats dived in. ‘I suppose you shouldn’t waste good food. And —’ she scraped the contents of the saucepan into the waste disposal unit, ‘you can’t win ’em all.’

  The Chipper Haddock lurked at the bottom of a turning just off the High Street, masquerading as an Olde Worlde tavern. The spotlighted inn sign swinging above the entrance portrayed a large fish, standing upright on his tail, sporting a bow tie, holding a walking stick in one elongated fin and tipping a straw boater to the advancing customer with the other. Rumour had it that the proprietor had originally intended that the whole should be in neon lights, with the boater being tipped in animation – until the village had risen up in outraged protest. They wanted no neon signs polluting the village atmosphere. An uneasy compromise had been reached with the spotlight, and some villagers still held a grudge against the proprietor for his temerity. It didn’t stop them from patronizing the restaurant though: he fried a very good fish.

  They paused outside the divided entrance for a brief debate as to whether they wished to turn left for the counter service and order a takeaway to bring home, or to turn right into the low-beamed, dark-panelled dining room and take their meal there.

  ‘Aaah, well met by moonlight, dear ladies!’ a voice boomed from behind them. ‘Or it would be, if there were any moonlight. How delightful to see you again. Since we obviously have the same aim in mind, may I join you?’

  ‘Please do.’ As one and without a consulting glance, they turned right and preceded Professor Borley into the dining room. It was a lot easier to leave a restaurant when one chose, than to try to dislodge a dinner guest at home who was able to ignore any number of hints.

  ‘This is most fortuitous,’ Professor Borley said, after they had settled themselves at their table and ordered. ‘I had intended to get in touch with you in the next few days, if our paths hadn’t crossed before then.’ He was looking straight at Lorinda.

  ‘Mmm …’ she said absently. No doubt about it, this village was too small. Even if it succeeded in expanding into full Town size, it would still be too constricted for its inhabitants to avoid each other.

  ‘Damn!’ Freddie said under her breath. Lorinda followed the direction of her gaze to find that Cressie had appeared in the entrance and was looking around, thus proving her point. She averted her gaze hastily, but it was too late. Cressie had spotted them.

  ‘I haven’t seen you lately …’ She came over and hovered pointedly behind the remaining chair. ‘Are you expecting anyone else?’

  ‘No, no, please join us.’ Professor Borley responded to the hint. ‘Is Macho with you? We can always pull up another —’

  ‘He won’t be coming.’ Cressie’s face was grim as she sat down. ‘He’s too busy working – or so he says!’

  ‘We’re all working,’ Lorinda said smoothly. ‘We have a lot of catching up to do.’

  ‘That’s because you’ve been away’ Cressie said. ‘He doesn’t have any such excuse.’

  ‘Perhaps he just likes to meet his deadlines.’ Freddie’s voice was innocent, but everyone knew that there had been rumours about the length of time it had taken before Cressie’s last book had been published.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Cressie counter-attacked. ‘I thought you did all your own cooking.’

  ‘Every cook is allowed a night off,’ Lorin
da said, before Freddie had to confess that tonight’s recipe had been a disaster.

  The waitress appeared, distracting Cressie’s attention. While she was ordering, the door opened again and two more customers came into the restaurant.

  ‘We should have eaten the curry,’ Freddie muttered. ‘Or at least scrambled a couple of eggs.’

  ‘Lorinda! Freddie!’ Dorian greeted them with such enthusiasm that it was apparent that he had been having a difficult time with his house guest. ‘And a vacant table for two right beside yours! We are in luck!’

  Actually, there was a vacant table for two on each side of their table for four. Dorian took the one on the farther side.

  ‘We don’t want to sit right next to the door,’ he said. ‘It keeps opening and the night air is getting a bit chill. We wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.’

  ‘You’re right, I have far too much to do in the next few weeks to risk a cold,’ Adèle Desparta agreed. She smiled vaguely at the others, then frowned. ‘Don’t I know you? Forgive me, but I meet so many fans.’

  ‘We met at a Mystery Writers of America meeting in New York,’ Lorinda said.

  ‘You two may know each other, but the others have not yet had the pleasure.’ Dorian performed the introductions, adding, ‘Adèle does the popular series starring Bess of Hardwick Hall.’

  ‘But that’s —’ Cressie broke off, with the sharp intake of breath and the widened eyes of the suddenly-kicked. Freddie smiled innocently.

  ‘An honour and a pleasure, ma’am.’ Professor Borley bowed, unaware of sudden undercurrents. Obviously, he had not yet encountered Gemma’s Cousin Opal.

  They had reached the restaurant just in time: the dining room was filling up and, beyond the mullioned window panes, Lorinda could see a queue forming for the takeaway. Yes, The Chipper Haddock was a small goldmine, flashing neon sign or not.

  ‘I believe the Specials of the Day are chalked on the blackboard.’ As Dorian twisted round in his chair to read them, he had a clear view of the doorway.

  Fascinated, Lorinda watched the colour drain out of his face before she, too, turned to see what he was looking at.

  Gemma and Opal Duquette had just entered and were peering about for a table. The only vacant table for two was right beside theirs. Raising her hand in happy greeting, Gemma led the way to it.

  ‘Isn’t this nice?’ She took the seat against the wall and Opal sat with her back to the room, but facing Adèle Desparta if she looked beyond Professor Borley and Cressie. Neither of them had noticed the other yet.

  ‘Why didn’t we take the wall seats?’ Freddie mourned. ‘Then our backs would be protected when the knives start flying.’

  ‘Be thankful it’s a traditional fish restaurant,’ Lorinda murmured back. ‘Fish knives are too blunt to do much damage.’

  ‘Want to bet? They’d manage to scoop each other’s hearts out with a soup spoon, if they got the chance.’

  ‘Just one big happy family,’ Professor Borley declared to Gemma in happy obliviousness. ‘That’s the best part of living in a small place like this, we’re all friends and neighbours.’

  Cressie looked from one face to another. Freddie shot her a warning glance and, for a wonder, she recognized it and kept her mouth shut. Her eyes were avid, though.

  The waitress bustled about with menus and order pad. Everyone smiled vaguely and politely at each other. Dorian engaged Adele in conversation. Gemma pointed out antiques scattered around the dining room to Opal. Professor Borley ordered more wine and saw that everyone was served. Cressie remained watchful but, thankfully, silent.

  ‘I can’t stand it,’ Freddie muttered. ‘It’s like waiting for the other shoe to drop.’

  ‘The first one hasn’t dropped yet,’ Lorinda said. ‘Do you suppose …’ The idea was coming to her gradually. ‘Is it possible they don’t recognize each other?’

  ‘Could be …’ Freddie risked a look at both unconcerned faces. ‘If they’ve never met before. And you know what authors are for using twenty-year-old photos on their jackets.’

  ‘And lots of paperbacks don’t have the author’s photo at all,’ Lorinda said. ‘So, if no one introduces them …’

  ‘Thank God the English are so bad at introductions. We may just get away with it.’

  ‘Oh, good!’ The waitress had reappeared with a large tray and began dealing out the heaped plates of fish and chips. ‘I suggest we eat and run.’

  ‘Especially run!’ Freddie squeezed her quarter of a lemon with force. ‘Oops, sorry!’ Juice had squirted across the table at Cressie.

  ‘Quite all right!’ Cressie’s eyes narrowed as she wiped them. Clearly, she did not believe it was an accident. Freddie would pay for this later.

  Just one big happy family. Dorian was simultaneously bolting his food and trying to keep Adele too engaged in conversation to speak to anyone at adjoining tables. He’d have indigestion tonight – and serve him right!

  ‘Oh, no!’ She’d be lucky if she didn’t have indigestion herself! Jennifer Lane had just walked in and was heading towards their tables.

  Lorinda tried to catch her eye, making little shooing-away gestures. Unfortunately, Jennifer mistook them for a welcoming wave.

  ‘Room for one more?’ she asked cheerfully before she looked at the end tables and her smile faded. ‘No, perhaps not.’ She began backing away.

  Too late. ‘Plenty of room!’ Professor Borley assured her happily. ‘Pull up a chair at the end. In fact, we ought to push these tables together and make things more sociable.’

  ‘That does it!’ Freddie said. ‘I’m leaving!’ But it was too late for her, too.

  ‘Yes, do join us,’ Gemma cooed. ‘If I move over, there may even be enough room on the settee.’

  ‘Come over here, Jennifer!’ Adèle ordered. ‘Dorian, get her a chair!’

  ‘No, really, it will be much too crowded,’ Jennifer protested. ‘I’ll just go next door to the takeaway. I was planning to, anyway, only I saw you through the window … some of you …’ She was floundering. ‘That is, I saw Lorinda and Freddie … and Dorian …’ She darted nervous glances at the rivals, who had been sitting with their backs to the windows. She hadn’t seen them.

  ‘I don’t see any chairs.’ Dorian had not turned round to look. ‘In any case, I have to get home, I’m expecting an overseas call. She can have my chair.’

  ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’ Freddie murmured.

  ‘Nonsense!’ Adèle wasn’t going to let Dorian get away. ‘They can call back. I’m not ready to leave yet. I want to have a nice chat with Jennifer. I’ve thought of several things she can do to improve her shop.’

  ‘I don’t think – ’ Jennifer began.

  ‘That’s quite obvious,’ Adele cut in. ‘Your layout is much too cluttered. It looks as though you just dumped the books in a pile wherever they happened to be when you unpacked them. Furthermore, you’ve given far too much display space to general fiction. With so many mystery writers in this area, you should devote more space to them.’

  ‘I’ve enlarged that section three times since everyone began moving here,’ Jennifer defended. ‘And —’

  ‘And you’re wasting a great deal of space with that non-fiction section. If people want to read non-fiction, they can go to a library’

  ‘It’s a very popular category —’ Jennifer began.

  ‘Don’t just stand there and take it!’ Freddie lost patience. ‘Start telling her what’s wrong with her books and how she should be writing them.’

  ‘There is nothing wrong with my books!’ Adèle turned to face this unexpected attacker, training her guns on Freddie. ‘I might, however, be able to tell you what’s wrong with yours – if I had ever heard of you!’

  ‘Actually, Freddie outsells you in my shop!’ Pushed too far, Jennifer struck back with a note of triumph in her voice. ‘So does Opal!’

  ‘Opal?’ Adèle quivered, her voice dripping with distaste. ‘Opal who?’

  ‘Opal Duquette.’ Revenge
was sweet and Jennifer was briefly savouring it. ‘You know. She does that splendid Bess of Hardwick series. The other one – where Bess is the heroine and not the villainess.’

  ‘My Bess is not a villainess!’ Adele snapped. ‘She might be a scheming, occasionally vindictive, bitch – but what choice did she have? She is the prototype of an ambitious modern woman, struggling in a man’s world.’

  ‘Elizabeth I was Queen,’ Opal said icily. ‘So it wasn’t that much of a man’s world. And Bess of Hardwick, kindly and understanding, was one of her closest friends.’

  ‘Hah!’ Adele spat. ‘Elizabeth I was the arch-schemer of them all! No wonder they were cronies – or all crones together! They were both cut from the same cloth!’

  ‘Who is that stupid woman?’ Opal rose out of her chair to glare across the intervening tables. ‘And what does she imagine she knows about history?’

  ‘I don’t believe you two have met.’ Gleefully, Cressie leaped in to make matters worse. ‘Adèle Desparta – Opal Duquette. I’m sure you’re delighted to meet each other at last. You have so much in common – like the same leading character.’

  ‘I’ll bet this is the only time in her life Cressie has ever bothered to introduce anyone,’ Freddie noted quietly. ‘And she’s only done it out of spite!’

  ‘Common is one word!’ Opal snarled. ‘Ignorant is another! I don’t believe that woman has ever opened a history book in her life, far less gone to any source material. Every word she’s ever written has been wrong. Worse, an outright lie!’

  ‘I have a degree in history!’ Adele flared back. ‘Furthermore, I know how to interpret it correctly. Unlike some little whitewash merchant, who even tries to gloss over murder! Or don’t you consider it rather suspicious that three husbands died off so conveniently, allowing her to finally marry the richest and most titled of all?’

  ‘People died earlier then. That first childhood marriage was to a sickly young boy whose illness was already terminal. Her second marriage was very happy and she bore Sir William Cavendish eight children, six of whom survived. He was a lot older and there was never any question but that his death was natural and she mourned him deeply!’