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Wishin’ and Hopin’

Coreen’s Confessions

No. 6—You know some people say they can’t see the wood for the trees? Sometimes I can’t even find the flipping forest.

I ENDED up being seated between Julian and Marcus at dinner. Nicholas was far, far away at the end of the ridiculously long table, deep in conversation with an enraptured Louisa. After the first two courses I still knew absolutely nothing about Julian, and was more familiar than I could ever wish to be with Marcus’s rugby injuries. I didn’t even have Adam to joke with, because he was being monopolised by Jos further down the table.

I toyed with the last of my lamb. I wasn’t actually hungry, but pushing it around my plate helped distract me from a lengthy and rather too-graphic account of Marcus’s latest shoulder surgery. When I did look up briefly I caught the eye of the party organiser who was playing Lord Southerby. He glanced at Marcus, then gave me a sympathetic smile.

Dinner was so dull I was about to jump up on the polished walnut table and do the Lambeth Walk, just to entertain myself. Thankfully, that rash plan was scuppered before I could make a fool of myself, because the lights suddenly went out and, with no big-city light pollution to provide a warm glow at the windows, the whole room was plunged into utter darkness.

One of the girls screamed. Someone—I could tell it was Izzi—chuckled with barely restrained glee, and the great rubgy-playing oaf next to me started making childish ‘spooky’ noises.

I ignored all of that, too busy working on rash plan number two. I was trying to calculate if, under the cover of darkness, I had enough time to sprint ’round to where Nicholas was sitting, plant a smacker on him, and then make it back to my place before the lights came back on again. Unfortunately, just as I scraped my chair back and hitched up my skirts, the inevitable happened, and we all sat there, blinking at each other and looking around.

And then we saw it. Him.

Lord Southerby, face down in his lamb cutlets, with a dagger sticking out of his back.

We all gasped together, as if we’d shared the same intake of breath. Well, everyone except Louisa, that is. Now I knew who the screamer of the bunch was. I turned to give her a scornful look and found her clutching on to Nicholas, so close she was almost sitting on his lap. Before I looked away in disgust, unable to watch my dream man being all gentlemanly and protective, stoking her back with the flat of his long-fingered hand, I saw a flicker of smug satisfaction pass across her features, just before she burrowed her face in his shoulder and he put his arm round her.

Thinking murderous thoughts, I focused once again on the supposedly deceased Lord Southerby. The drama of the occasion was ruined slightly by the fact that, from my ringside seat, I could tell he was still breathing. The intermittent puffs of air from his half-submerged right nostril were making ripples in the port gravy.

Izzi tried to get an appropriate wobble in her voice as she asked Robert to call the police, but it was obvious she was far from distraught at her fake husband’s death. In fact, she seemed to be enjoying herself immensely.

The actress-slash-party organiser who was playing the housekeeper entered and suggested we contaminate the crime scene as little as possible, then asked if we would like to retire to the drawing room for after-dinner drinks. Once we were all assembled there we were each handed a second white envelope, containing further information and objectives.

I discovered I was supposed to learn if Rupert’s fiancée was just a gold-digger, why Rupert had been out-of-sorts recently, whether Lord Southerby had left me anything in his will, and why Giles…

I looked up and spotted Nicholas standing in the large bay window that led onto the terrace, momentarily separated from Limpet Louisa while Julian quizzed her on whatever list had been in his envelope. I watched as Adam walked over to him and they began talking.

There was a large, brass-horned gramophone nearby and I drifted off into a little fantasy…

An old seventy-eight was playing on the gramophone, a sentimental thirties love song made only more romantic by the rhythmic crackle of needle on vinyl. The French doors at the centre of the bay window were open, giving a tantalising glimpse of a moonlit terrace. Nicholas would come over and ask me to dance, offering his hand, and I would graciously accept. How we’d actually end up on the shadowy terrace was a bit fuzzy, but eventually we would be dancing cheek to cheek in the moonlight. Barely moving. Definitely touching.

The little bubble of magic I’d created inside my head popped as Robert ushered a shabbily dressed man into the room. It was apparent after a few moments that he was another of the murder-mystery team, playing the role of a slightly clueless detective sergeant. I accepted Robert’s offer of a glass of port while the man summed up the case so far and offered a few suggestions about possible motives. We were then left to chat amongst ourselves, supposedly to wheedle more clues out of our fellow suspects, while he investigated the scene of the murder. When he returned he brought with him the murder weapon—an ornate gold letter-opener, which was quickly identified by Lady Southerby as being from her husband’s study.

Unlike a proper investigation, in which suspects would be interviewed privately, Detective Sergeant Moffat questioned us in front of the group, and soon a picture of the late Lord Southerby began to emerge.

He’d been a strict parent, fickle with his attention, favouring his elder son Rupert over Giles, the younger brother. He’d also been an inveterate womaniser and there were hints of dodgy financial dealings in the past. The detective made a one-sided phone call to an imaginary family lawyer and then revealed that Lord Southerby had visited the lawyer only a fortnight earlier to discuss changing his will.

We did a good job of keeping in character for a while, but once the sergeant had left and we were allowed to question each other the masks slipped and we started chatting informally, dropping our aliases and talking about last week’s football results, next season’s fashion and generally getting to know each other. All except Izzi, who remained stiff-backed and fierce-looking in her winged armchair, and refused to answer to anything but ‘Lady Southerby’ or ‘Evangeline’.

I slid my horrendous glasses off and hid them behind a photograph of Nicholas as a serious-looking toddler on the mantelpiece. Then I subtly worked my way around the room, asking carefully worded questions of the different ‘suspects’ until I was close to the group in the bay window and waited for a gap in the conversation.

Remembering what Adam had said about less is more, I did a rather demure version of my eyelash sweep and tilted my head fetchingly to one side. Much less obvious, I thought.

‘Cousin Rupert, let me offer my condolences on your loss.’

I placed my fingers lightly on his arm and left them there.

Nicholas turned and looked at me. I hoped he was just very good at acting, because his eyes were alarmingly blank. ‘Thank you.’

I inhaled gently. Gently, because I was trying to make sure the top button on my jacket, which rested right at the fullest part of my bust, didn’t pop off and give me a black eye.

‘But I’m curious about something. Lord Southerby—I mean, Uncle Edward—always had a soft spot for me. You wouldn’t happen to know why that was?’

Marcus let out a huge guffaw. ‘It’s obvious that the old rogue was a complete scoundrel with the ladies…’ He looked me up and down, and suddenly my tweed suit felt as transparent as muslin. ‘I can think of a couple of good reasons why,’ he added, fixing his gaze on my straining button.

Nicholas, however, didn’t even try to stare at my chest. ‘I believe my father had some other reason for favouring you,’ he said cryptically, ‘but beyond that I’m not prepared to say.’

Adam looked at Nicholas, then across to me and back again. ‘I don’t suppose it had anything to do with the meeting your father had with his solicitor, did it? I don’t like anyone suggesting my…sister…would do anything improper.’

Nicholas blinked slowly, and smiled a little, but it wasn’t the kind of smile where the corners of the mouth turned up. His lips merely stretched wider and flattened. ‘Possibly…’ He looked down at me—at least it felt that way. I seemed a lot shorter to myself without my heels. At last I could see something other than complete uninterest in Nicholas’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry if I said anything untoward, cousin. I didn’t mean to imply you were that kind of girl.’

I sucked a breath in through my nostrils and held it, only letting it out again as a wide smile blossomed on my face. I totally forget to do my normal Marlilyn-esque, parted lips thing, and just gave him the biggest, cheesiest grin in my repertoire. It’s not often that people assume I’m not That Kind Of Girl, and I liked the idea that Nicholas was being careful of my honour.

He seemed taken aback by my wide-toothed display of gratitude for a second, but then he smiled back at me—properly smiled—and I saw a glimmer of something banish the greyness from his gaze.

‘Bah. I’ve had enough of this foraging for clues nonsense,’ Marcus bellowed suddenly. ‘I think it’s high time we all went off duty!’

Much to my displeasure, the rest of the guests seemed to agree, and our small group peeled apart and headed back to the sofas, where Robert was serving brandy. The rest of the group caught up with each other’s news, chatting about friends I’d never heard of and relatives I’d rather not have heard of. After a long while the conversation dried up, and they remembered that Adam and I were sitting in the room and turned their attention to us.

Louisa fixed her gaze on Adam, who was lounging comfortably in the corner of one of the sofas, a goldfish bowl of a brandy glass held loosely in his fingers. ‘What is it you do, Adam? And please don’t tell me you work in an office like the rest of these poor chaps.’

Adam smiled at Louisa and shook his head. ‘It didn’t start out that way, but I’m finding myself office-bound more and more. I own my own company and we build outdoor structures.’

Before he could carry on I piped up on his behalf. I blame it on the fact I’d been left out of the conversation for so long, because the words left my mouth like a jack out of a box. ‘It all started when he was fifteen and built himself a treehouse to hide away from his three sisters in the back garden.’

‘Oh.’ Louisa didn’t seem quite as impressed by the non-office job now. She smiled at Adam, but her eyes were flat and dull. ‘How nice for you…to make a living out of something that used to be a hobby.’

‘If only I could do that,’ moaned Jos, who, despite still being in her maid’s uniform, had flopped down in a comfy armchair and joined the rest of us. ‘I’ve dreamed all my life that someone would pay me to lie in bed until noon and then shop all afternoon!’

I think the topic might have been dropped then if not for Julian. He lifted his gaze off his shoes and asked Adam, quite earnestly, ‘And what kind of outdoor structures do you build now, Adam?’

All of them swivelled their heads to look at him, as if he’d broken some unspoken rule.

Julian flushed, but held his ground. ‘Mother’s been talking about replacing the old summerhouse.’ He took a big swig of his sherry, then cemented his gaze back on his brogues.

Adam, however, wasn’t gazing anywhere but straight back into the eyes of those judging him, not perturbed in the least about the lack of enthusiasm for his chosen profession.

‘Actually,’ he said, shooting a meaningful glance at me, ‘it would be more accurate to say that my company specialises in custom-built wooden structures—lodges, garden buildings. Our most popular range is luxury treehouses.’

‘Treehouses?’ Louisa’s immaculately plucked eyebrows almost disappeared under her hairline. ‘How quaint! For children, I presume…?’

All eyes now turned to Adam.

‘Some,’ he replied, with the trademark twinkle in his eye. ‘But you wouldn’t believe how many grown-ups harbour fantasies about having a treehouse all of their own, somewhere to escape when life gets too hectic.’

There was a general murmur of agreement and nodding of heads.

‘But surely you don’t mean luxury luxury?’ Louisa said.

Honestly, I didn’t know what her problem was. Couldn’t she just let it drop and admit she’d been a wee bit patronising about Adam’s ‘hobby’?

Like you’ve been, a needly little voice in the back of my head whispered. You don’t really take much interest any more, do you? Too full of your own business, your own enterprises.

I silenced the voice with a swig of vintage port.

Adam’s twinkling eyes turned steely. ‘That’s what luxury usually means, doesn’t it?’

Louisa gave a fake little laugh. ‘But a treehouse is always going to be a bit…basic, isn’t it?’

‘Hang on a second…’ Izzi said, forgetting to stay in character for the first time that evening. ‘Do you mean the kind of thing Michael Dove has just had built? There was a feature on his new mansion in one of the Sunday magazines the other week.’

Jos leaned forward. ‘Michael Dove? The rock star?’ she asked in a breathy, hallowed kind of voice.

Adam nodded. ‘That was one of mine. And it was great fun to build—two rooms, complete with bathroom, kitchenette, home cinema system and audio gear that will wake the neighbours three miles away. He said he wanted a guest house with a difference.’

‘Up a tree?’ Louisa said, still not quite getting it.

Adam helped her out. ‘Up several trees, actually. We set it between three large pine trees at the bottom of his lawn.’

‘Bloody hell,’ Marcus rumbled. ‘How much would a pad like that set you back?’

Izzi, with the extensive knowledge gleaned from the magazine article, mentioned a price that rivalled the cost of my one-bedroomed broom cupboard in Lewisham.

I took a sip of my port to steady myself, and ended up inhaling rather than swallowing. The choking fit that followed was in no way ladylike. Adam gently led me outside into the hall, so I could hack my guts up without an audience, and motioned for Robert to fetch me a glass of water quick-smart.

When I could finally breathe again, I straightened and looked at the man I’d thought I knew everything about. ‘Why didn’t you tell me business was going so well?’ I croaked.

Adam gave me a look that was half-sad, half-affectionate. ‘Coreen, I’m always telling you about my work.’

‘But you’ve never boiled it down to a hard figure like that before. If you’d done that I would have paid a bit more attention!’

He pursed his lips slightly. ‘You’ve never asked… Anyway, if you actually listened, instead of nodding and pretending you were, you’d have worked it out for yourself.’

My insides slumped like a fallen soufflé. With great effort I looked my Best Bud in the eye. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I should have listened. I should have known you’d take something ordinary like a garden shed and do something wonderful with it. And I should have paid attention—I’m supposed to be your friend.’

Robert chose that moment to return with my glass of water, and I took it from him, all the while looking at Adam, who was regarding me with a very un-Adam like expression.

Finally he bent down a little and kissed me softly on the forehead. ‘It’s time you ripped those polka-dot blinkers off. You’d be surprised what you’d see.’

And then he walked back into the drawing room, leaving me clutching the cold glass against my stomach.

I was right about there being a lake at the Chatterton-Joneses’ estate. It lay beyond the formal gardens in artfully landscaped parkland. To the unobservant eye the small body of water might have seemed like a natural feature, but the diminutive island in the centre was almost painfully picturesque, and the weeping willows on the undulating banks were grouped together a little too harmoniously.

The blissful summer’s afternoon only intensified the sense of perfection. The breeze was just right: cool enough to take the edge off the bright sun, but only just strong enough to whisper through the reeds and willows. Dragonflies flitted happily around us, tiny iridescent flashes above the water’s surface.

I didn’t care if all that beauty was man-made and planned. Primped and preened a little. Mother Nature is a woman too, and us girls know we need to emphasise our best assets. I didn’t care if it was too perfect, either. Perfect was what I was here for, after all, and after the disastrous morning I’d had perfect was what I was determined to have.

After breakfast Izzi had frogmarched us through the woods on what was supposed to have been a restful country walk. There had been no mist—the clean sunshine had cut through the summer morning too well. There had been no bluebells—too late in the year, I discovered. No convenient rabbit hole. No being scooped into Nicholas’s arms as if I weighed nothing more than a feather.

Instead Limpet Louisa had monopolised him the whole time.

I had to give her credit, though. She was good.

If I could have been objective, I might have applauded her strategy—one scheming woman saluting another. But I wasn’t in the mood for being objective about that. Not in the slightest.

Izzi, meanwhile, had complained about all the ‘out of character’ chatter and behaviour the entire morning, and had moaned at us periodically for not having uncovered any significant clues yet. After lunch she’d announced her solution: a spot of boating, pairing us up with people we hadn’t talked to much yet, so we could interrogate each other further. And that was how I came to be sitting in the stern of one of a row of beautifully varnished little rowing boats tied to a short wooden jetty.

As the boat bobbed up and down I could barely contain my excitement. Perfection was within my grasp. Izzi had finally done something right! She’d paired me up with Nicholas, and in a few moments he would step into our little craft and row us off into Happily Ever After.

The setting couldn’t have been more romantic if it had tried. There was warm sun, a cloudless forget-me-not sky, and all this achingly perfect scenery. There was even a pair of devoted swans orbiting each other at the edge of the dark green water. Surely this was a sign? Surely the scales would fall from Nicholas’s eyes after this?

He walked along the jetty towards me, his long legs easily covering the distance in a matter of seconds, and then it was happening, just as I’d dreamed it would. Nicholas stepped into the boat and cast off, sat down, grasped the oars and rowed away from the jetty, leaving the others behind.

Nicholas and I were finally alone together.

I fixed my gaze on his strong arms and waited for that delicious tingle to skip from the base of my spine to the nape of my neck. Any moment now…

Okay, in a few seconds, maybe. Once we were away from the bank and he could build up speed, really pull on the oars…

I frowned and concentrated harder on his hands and wrists, since the rest of his arms were covered by his shirt and an off-white linen jacket, and I thought I felt a flicker of something. Unfortunately, after another few minutes, that flicker began to itch. The something turned out to be a mosquito bite.

Flickers and tingles don’t mean anything, I told myself. They weren’t what I was there for. I was there to make Nicholas realise how irresistible I was, remember? The only one who should be tingling was Nicholas, and I needed to focus on that objective without getting distracted.

I decided my next step was to engage Nicholas in conversation, to show him I had brains as well as beauty. In fact, since the ‘beauty’ bit of me was still well hidden underneath Constance’s tweed suit and specs, this was probably the perfect time.

We’d been told by the murder-mystery weekend organisers that we could reveal a piece of confidential information about our characters now, and I decided to set the ball rolling. I gave Nicholas a particularly enticing look and lowered my voice. ‘I can tell you one of Constance’s deep, dark secrets, if you like?’

For the first time since we’d left the jetty Nicholas took his focus off the oars and looked at me. ‘Okay.’

I scanned the small lake, keeping an eye on the other couples in their boats. I suppose it might have looked as if I was being careful who overheard us, but actually I wanted to make sure the other couples were at a safe distance and that I still had Nicholas all to myself.

I looked into his deep blue eyes and my voice became even more husky. ‘Well, this doesn’t seem like anything much, but here goes… I have—or I should say, Constance has—a travel book about India hidden in her luggage. Apparently, she wants to go there to help the poor and needy, but her brother, Harry, has refused to help her raise cash for her passage or give a reference to the missionary society on her behalf, so she’s planning it all in secret.’

Nicholas frowned. ‘I presume she needs significant funds?’

I nodded. ‘The missionary society will sort her out when she gets there, but she needs money for the boat—which I’m guessing must have been an arm and a leg in those days.’

He paused briefly, before taking another stroke with the oars. ‘Could be a motive, I suppose…’ He glanced over at Adam and Izzi’s boat, which was gaining on us a little. Adam had taken his jacket off and rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows, and their little boat was zipping through the water. I could tell just by looking at Adam’s back, just by the smooth grace of his oar-stroke, that he wasn’t even rowing at full capacity.

Suddenly I felt all hot and unnecessary. I dabbed at my forehead with Constance’s lace-edged hanky.

‘Is the sun getting to you? You’re quite fair-skinned, despite being a brunette,’ Nicholas said, looking deliciously concerned. ‘I can row into the shade near the bank, if you’d prefer?’

I smiled demurely back at him. ‘That would be marvellous,’ I replied. Not only would I avoid looking all pink and sweaty, but it would take us away from the other boats—especially Marcus and Louisa, who had also started to head our direction.

Nicholas and I chatted about the murder-mystery weekend as he guided the boat into the shadows cast by the willows. I liked listening to him. He had a very analytical way of thinking. Not like me at all. My brain seems to flit from one subject to the next with worrying frequency—although I suppose the compensation is that I have the odd flash of right-brained brilliance now and then.

Nicholas frowned. ‘So, why won’t Harry hear of you going to India? And what has all of that got to do with Lord Southerby’s murder?’ he asked as he lifted the oars out of the water and let us drift further into the shade.

‘I don’t know.’

I tried to drape, but it just wasn’t working. No matter what position I got myself in, it just wasn’t comfortable. I glanced across at Izzi and Adam’s boat. They were closer now. It wouldn’t be long before they swept past us, making a circuit of the lake.

‘I tried to get it out of Adam—I mean, Harry—last night, but he was annoyingly evasive.’

Nicholas nodded. ‘Yes, I couldn’t get any of the information I wanted out of him either. Very cagey. If he’s hiding something, it’s big.’

My eyes grew large and round. ‘You think it might be him?’ I whispered.

Nicholas turned to look at Adam. ‘Maybe. Who would suspect a vicar? But why? What possible motive could he have?’

I balanced my elbows on my knees and looked at Nicholas. I liked him even better when he stopped looking bored and was actually engaged in something. That carved-in-stone expression he always wore had cracked a little and it made him look more alive.

I tried really hard to think about Constance and Harry, and why my fake brother might have killed his rich uncle, but I kept being dragged back to the here and now by a rather annoying detail.

The conditions were perfect. Nicholas and I were alone together, and he was even leaning forward, looking right into my eyes. I’d dreamed about a moment like this ever since Adam and I had gone rowing in Greenwich Park, but now I was living the actual fantasy something was missing.

Still no tingle.

I trailed a hand in the water and gave Nicholas a sideways look. ‘I don’t suppose you could you roll your sleeves up, could you?’

He stopped mulling over suspects and motives and looked at me in clear astonishment. ‘I beg your pardon?’

I closed my eyes and shook my head a little. Even I didn’t know how I was going to explain my way out of that outburst. I did my best.

‘You must be getting awfully hot in that suit,’ I said, sitting up straight again and doing my best to look concerned.

A microscopic frown pulled his brows together and stayed there while he carefully removed his jacket, folded it, and placed it on the wooden seat behind him. Adam wouldn’t have done that. Adam would have shrugged out of his jacket in a jiffy and thrown it into a crumpled ball, leaving it wherever it fell. For some reason the neatly folded pale linen bothered me.

I became aware of other voices around us and looked round to see all three of the other rowing boats in our vicinity. Typical. Just as Nicholas started to roll up his sleeves, as well. How was I supposed to get my tingle going now, with all these onlookers?

‘Ahoy, there!’ Marcus yelled as his boat lurched in our direction.

I couldn’t see his face, as his back was to us, but Louisa was looking very beady-eyed indeed down at her end of the boat. It didn’t take much guessing to work out whose idea it had been to take a gentle row under the willows.

‘Watch out, Marcus!’

Adam, who was maybe twenty feet away in his boat, had stopped rowing and yelled out. It was too late, though. People like Marcus ought to have rear-view mirrors on their dinghies. He didn’t bother looking over his shoulder to see who was in his way; he just kept on rowing until he hit something.

And that something happened to be us. Our boat rocked and I had to grab onto the sides to stop myself from going head first into the murky green water. ‘Oi!’ I shouted, and then instantly regretted my obviously low-class outburst. I clapped my hand over my mouth.

Marcus was conveniently deaf to any criticism, though. ‘Listen here, Nick,’ he said, grabbing the edge of our boat with his puffy fingers. ‘My iffy shoulder is playing me up, and Louisa here is refusing to take the oars.’

I wasn’t surprised. Marcus’s rugby days were obviously over. What might have once been lean, hard bulk was now looking a bit flabby and squidgy. He must have weighed a ton.

‘We’ll have to give up on this rowing nonsense,’ he added, looking none too crestfallen.

Izzi and Adam’s boat had drifted closer now, and she must have heard his dissent. ‘Rubbish, Marcus. Surely you can keep going?’

Marcus shook his head, then rubbed his right shoulder and moved his elbow backwards and forwards, as if that was supposed to prove a point of some kind. ‘We’ll have to swap around.’

‘But that means one of the girls will have to row, and that’s not really on, is it?’ Nicholas said.

We all sat and looked at each other, our three boats haphazardly parked about twenty feet from the shore.

‘I don’t know how,’ Louisa said, and did a good job of hiding a smile.

Nicholas looked across at his sister. ‘You do, Izz.’

Izzi let out a hard laugh. ‘In this get up?’ she said, indicating the stiff black dress. ‘It’d rip in a second.’

She was right, as well. As Lady Southerby’s clothes were supposed to be old-fashioned even for the thirties, that particular piece had to be about ninety years old, made of crêpe de chine, and wouldn’t take much stress on its seams.

‘That’s okay,’ Adam piped up. ‘Coreen’s excellent at rowing. I’ve seen her myself. Strong as an ox.’

I very nearly stood up in the boat to call Adam out on that one! Apart from the fact he’d just compared me to a rather unattractive, hefty-looking farm animal in public, he knew I wanted to spend time with Nicholas. What on earth was he playing at?

I glared at him, but he just gave me that annoyingly serene smile he’d adopted in return.

Just then he was pretty lucky he was a couple of boat lengths away, because I would have wrung his neck if it hadn’t meant immersing myself in a freezing cold lake.

Then I became aware that no one was talking, and five pairs of eyes were on me. Nicholas was regarding me carefully.

‘You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,’ he said, just as carefully.

I knew he was waiting for me to make a decision; I just didn’t know which way he wanted me to choose. I looked round at the other faces—Louisa’s triumphant smile, Izzi’s pleading eyes, Adam’s warm, brown gaze.

I shrugged and looked over at Marcus and Louisa’s boat. ‘All right, then. I’ll swap.’ If I swapped with Marcus I might not be with Nicholas, but I could make sure Louisa and I rowed to the other side of the lake and kept right out of his way.

Marcus and Nicholas worked to bring the boats side-by-side, but before I could argue Louisa nimbly stepped across from one boat to the other. ‘You’re such a star,’ she said thinly. ‘I don’t think any of us wanted to go back indoors just yet. It’s such a beautiful day.’ And then she bestowed a glowing smile on Nicholas, who, as luck would have it, didn’t smile back—he was looking at me instead.

‘Sure about this, Coreen?’

‘Yes,’ I said, spurred on by something I saw in his expression. I don’t know how, but I knew that he was impressed with me.

He gave me a brief nod, his expression warming further. ‘Hold the boat steady, then, Marcus.’

I stood up, for once stupidly glad about Constance’s sensible lace-ups, and prepared to plant one foot and then the other in Marcus’s boat. Slow and steady was the plan. When the first part was done, and I was straddling both boats as elegantly as I could, I took a few moments to steady myself, aware of the growing silence as they all watched me. Even Adam and Izzi, who had drifted closer, weren’t moving.

However, just as I lifted the second foot, and was balancing one-legged in the other boat, Marcus decided to ease his shoulder with another set of arm rotations. He missed me, but hit one of the oars, the end of which made jarring contact with Nicholas’s boat. It also acted as a lever, pushing the sterns of both boats away from each other in a swinging arc.

The jolt from the oar and the sideways motion of the boat meant only one thing—I went from having one foot planted securely in each boat to not having any feet planted anywhere at all.