Page 21 of A Sky Painted Gold

I make more of an effort with Patricia as plate after plate of delicious food is produced (all of it white, of course, from the delicate white soup to the snowy meringues with champagne syllabub), and I am pleased to find a fellow Agatha Christie fan. We get into quite a heated discussion about murder weapons, which ends when Simon finally tears himself away from Caitlin’s face just in time to hear my theory that there are nine different ways I could kill the people sitting at this table without getting caught. Simon’s face registers his distinct disapproval, and I’ll admit that taken out of context it doesn’t look good. Still, I decide, Simon is as dull as a stick.

I glance up to the other end of the table then and see that Robert has his eyes on me. “Only nine?” he says, his voice carrying down the table. “I can think of ten.”

I look at him in surprise. “I don’t believe you.”

He shrugs. “It’s not your fault,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I have the advantage in knowing that this table contains a hidden compartment.”

“Does it really?” I ask, intrigued despite myself.

He nods. “Just the right size for a murder weapon.”

“I say,” Simon puts in here, looking a bit affronted. “Steady on, Cardew, young ladies present.”

“Ah, quite right,” Robert says smoothly. “Forgive me, Lou, I didn’t mean to upset your delicate sensibilities.”

I snort at that. His face might be a mask of politeness, but I know perfectly well what he thinks of my sensibilities. I resume my conversation with Patricia, although I can’t help running my fingers along the edge of the table in search of the hidden compartment.

To Robert’s right, Laurie is in full force, telling an anecdote that has everyone around her shrieking with laughter. I watch for a moment, admiring the way she keeps them all hanging on her every word with seemingly very little effort. Unlike her brother, she doesn’t rattle on. She speaks slowly, and the smallest action, the raising of an eyebrow or the quirk of her lips, is devastating. People look at her with an admiration that is almost blinding.

All except her fiancé, that is. For most of the meal he sips his wine and answers questions politely. He has withdrawn, and his face is hard again, his mouth firm, his eyes cold. I see him drum his fingers on the white tablecloth, fiddle with his cutlery when he thinks no one is looking.

Dinner lasts a long time. It seems that no one is in any great hurry, and I am enjoying myself enormously. Outside the long windows it grows dark, and the candles are lit. I feel much more relaxed, almost sophisticated. It is as if the whole evening is happening to someone else, it’s so unbelievable that I am here, almost like I am watching it from the outside. Except this time, I remind myself gleefully, I’m not reading about it in a magazine or sitting in a tree, watching the action take place; I am here, I am a part of it. The night seems suddenly to stretch ahead of me, like a dream I can’t bear to wake up from, full of possibility.

Finally, our conversation is interrupted by the deep clanging of a bell.

“OK, everyone!” Caitlin exclaims, and she jumps to her feet. “Now it’s time for the evening to begin!”

A thrill pulses through me. All of this excitement and apparently the evening hasn’t even begun. Caitlin is by my side then, pulling me to my feet and tucking her arm into mine.

“Come on,” she says. “The real party is in the orchard.”

“I can’t believe this isn’t the real party,” I reply, giddy and excited. “I’m having such a wonderful time.”

Caitlin looks at my face, which I’m sure is positively glowing. “You really are, aren’t you, you darling?” she murmurs. “How nice to see someone enjoying themselves so much.”

“But you all enjoy yourselves all the time!” I exclaim. “All the parties, the costumes, the people. How could anyone be unhappy with all of this?”

Caitlin smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Oh, it’s my experience that people can be unhappy anywhere,” she says, and I hear something in her voice that makes me think for a second that she really means it, but then she gives a little shimmy of her shoulders, almost as if to shake off the gloom, and she’s back to the bright, glittering creature of earlier. “Anyway,” she continues, “if you’ve enjoyed the evening so far I absolutely cannot wait to see what you think of the next part. If I do say so myself, it is some of my finest work.”

We’re outside now and there are lots of cars pulled up on the drive. People must have been arriving for hours and hours. How curious to throw a party that can start without you. I say as much to Caitlin.

“But you wouldn’t want to arrive until things have warmed up, would you?” she asks. “There’s nothing worse than being early and standing around waiting for people. This way we get to enjoy the full effect.” We round the corner of the house and walk through the arched entrance to the orchard, cut into the white stone wall that hems it in.

Then I see exactly what Caitlin means.

CHAPTER

NINE

Underneath the inky velvet sky, the orchard glows like a luminous pearl. A white dance floor has been erected in the front, and white ribbons are tied to the trees, which have also been hung with delicate silver apples and pears. Lights twinkle up and down the rows of fruit trees, and it’s as if we have stumbled across a fairy grove. In the pale, silvery moonlight throngs of guests drift across the lawn and up and down the tree-lined avenues in their white outfits. Laughter and music fill the air.

“Oh, Caitlin!” I breathe.

“I know!” she says eagerly, tugging me forward. “Let’s go!” and we make our way into the crowd. “You see, the orchard is perfect for a bit of privacy,” Caitlin explains. “All sorts of secluded corners for wicked behaviour.” Her eyes twinkle. “Perhaps you and Charlie should go for a little walk.”

“I-I don’t know what you mean,” I splutter.

“Ohhhh, yes, you do.” Caitlin wags her finger at me.