Fatal Masquerade. Vivian Conroy

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СКАЧАТЬ here for a reason and, since we work together, you should tell me what it is.’

      ‘I don’t understand what you’re referring to,’ Jake said with a sweet smile. ‘Excuse me, I don’t want to keep my hostess waiting.’

      And he walked into the drawing room where Hargrove was standing beside his wife, lighting a small cigar with a silver lighter. Mrs Hargrove hitched a brow at Jake and reached out a hesitant hand, glancing at her husband with an ‘I’ll get back to you about this later’ look.

      Alkmene suppressed a grin and came in as well, making sure she was standing close enough to overhear how Hargrove introduced Jake. ‘Met at the club,’ Hargrove was saying, ‘and we got to talking about Eton.’

      Jake blanched, and Alkmene stepped closer. ‘Eton?’ she asked with an innocent smile. ‘How interesting.’

      Jake shot her a warning glance, but Mrs Hargrove was already distracted because the Mephistopheles bearded man had stepped forward, apparently waiting to be introduced. Not to Jake, but to Alkmene, as the straight stare of his intense blue eyes implied.

      ‘This is Theobald Zeilovsky,’ Mrs Hargrove purred. ‘A famous psychiatrist. He has written extensively on compulsive patterns of behaviour.’

      ‘Recurrent patterns of compulsive behaviour,’ Zeilovsky corrected her with a superior smile.

      ‘Yes,’ Mrs Hargrove said without flinching, ‘very interesting indeed. And Mrs Zeilovsky here is herself an expert in the field of, uh…’

      ‘Experimental psychology,’ Zeilovsky said. ‘She is a great help to me.’

      ‘I’m honoured,’ Mrs Hargrove said, ‘to receive both of them here for our masked ball. Now we must all have a drink before we go to dinner.’ She gestured at a man in black and white who had waited a few paces away with a tray full of tall glasses with a sparkly liquid in it. Alkmene recognized his smug expression at once. He was the man who had passed her in the corridor upstairs. The servant whose presence there had puzzled her. If he’d been hired to assist with serving at dinner and other kitchen-related chores, he had no business upstairs near the guest rooms.

      He apparently noticed her attention as he held the tray out to her so she could pick up a glass. He winked.

      Alkmene felt a sharp flush rise in her cheeks. It wasn’t the wink itself – for, despite Jake Dubois’ ideas about her, she wasn’t as class-conscious as others of her rank – but the complete confidence with which it was bestowed. Like he was winking at someone who should be happy he had acknowledged her. The superiority of it, even a strange sort of disdain, like he was mocking her, made her feel awkward.

      He had already moved on, was serving drinks to the other guests pouring into the room: a middle-aged lady with her husband and, right behind them, Denise. Her mood seemed to have improved again and she came for Alkmene at once. Gesturing at the middle-aged lady, she said, ‘That’s my Aunt Felicia. I must have mentioned her before.’

      Alkmene nodded. Felicia was the only sister of Denise’s deceased mother. Denise had mentioned the two had always looked alike, so that when they were children, they had been mistaken for twins. Right now, as she surveyed Felicia, she wondered if there was still a strong likeness with the late Mrs Hargrove. If so, it had to be awkward for both Hargrove and his new wife to have her around.

      But apparently Felicia was still a part of the family circle, invited here to spend the highlight of the season with them.

      Holding her glass, Alkmene moved over smoothly and smiled. ‘So nice to meet you. And your husband.’

      At that moment another man came in, a bored expression on his handsome face. He ignored the servant who offered him a drink and went straight for the window, folding his hands at his back and staring out as though he was immensely bored with the proceedings.

      Denise whispered in Alkmene’s ear. ‘I wish Cecily hadn’t invited him. Keegan is so tiresome. Simply refuses to be sociable. He made this trip lately, to the lake of Lugano, but he won’t tell a thing about it. I bet he considers it too frivolous. His mind is always on some legal thing, you know. Always contemplating some new change to the law he wants to get through parliament. Can’t talk about plays or operas or the latest work in the galleries.’

      Alkmene studied the brooding figure, concluding it had probably been him who had watched her arrival from the library window. His tight back screamed that he wanted to be left alone.

      ‘If he’s not exactly sociable,’ she said to Denise, ‘I wonder why he came here in the first place. He could have made up some excuse to decline your stepmother’s invitation.’

      Denise smiled. ‘He’s still in love with me.’

      She met Alkmene’s startled look with a grin. ‘Oh yes, he asked Papa if he could court me. I think he felt he should ask because his firm works for my father and it would be awkward if we’d stepped out together and Papa had not approved. Indeed, he did not. Papa had the same idea about it as I do. Keegan is the last person in the world I could ever like, let alone love. But he sticks to this foolish notion that we’re meant to be together. He’s here to pine for me from a distance.’

      ‘I doubt,’ Alkmene said, ‘that someone with the dry legal mind you just described to me would spend one moment on such romantic notions of unrequited love.’

      Denise’s eyes sparked. ‘You probably think he will like you, because you’re so smart and can discuss the law with him on his own level. But let me assure you, he still cares for me and won’t even dance with you once. I will make sure he doesn’t.’

      Alkmene shrank under the spiteful tone. She knew Denise could flare in an instant when she felt denied or snubbed. She wanted to clarify that she didn’t have any interest in discussing the law with the taciturn lawyer or indeed in dancing with him tonight, but before she could do so, a shadow fell over them.

      It was the psychiatrist with the diabolical beard.

      He studied them with a knowing smile. ‘Ah, girls who are close friends, the inevitable and eternal struggle, first for the affection of the mother, then for the attention of men. It often leads to complexes. To very deep, twisted emotions that can lead to… irreparable damage.’

      Irreparable damage to the night of masked fun, Alkmene wondered, if she stepped on Denise’s petite foot to get even with her for these spiteful remarks? What did Zeilovsky expect them to do? They were not four any longer, and retaliation had no place in polite social discourse. Alkmene smiled at Zeilovsky. ‘An interesting theory.’

      Zeilovsky’s blue eyes lit. ‘I can tell you much more about it over dinner. It seems our hostess decided I’m to be seated beside you.’

      Alkmene kept a tight rein on her facial expression. ‘Really? How thoughtful of her. She knows how I enjoy psychology.’ She doubted Mrs Hargrove did know as much, but she had to say something to explain her hostess’s decision. Perhaps Mrs Hargrove had simply wanted to make sure Zeilovsky wouldn’t be engaging her with talk of twisted theories and dark experiments?

      He reminded her of her father’s many friends from the fields of zoology and botany who could spend hours expounding on their favourite topics, be it rabies or mould, to the despair of their hostesses, who saw their dinner parties invariably ruined.

      Alkmene wondered if Zeilovsky СКАЧАТЬ