Beau Death

29

Find Paloma first.

Diamond’s planning was meant to avoid violence, but every plan is imperfect. He couldn’t predict what would happen at the end. Faced with exposure, any criminal is a wounded tiger.

So his self-imposed duty as the guests streamed out of the house was to persuade Paloma to leave the party at once. If she remained, there was a real danger she would get caught up in the serious events to come. They hadn’t spoken all afternoon, but she must have spotted him and she’d think it inexcusable to ignore him. It was sod’s law that she would innocently pick the moment he was poised to make the arrest.

Find Paloma.

Before him was a civilised scene played out by decent people used to the conventions of the English garden party. Most were strolling towards the infinity pool and the view across the valley. A group was forming around a barbecue trolley in the marquee. Some were laying claim to the patio tables. A few more had found the circular tree seat surrounding a huge oak. All in a country garden on a perfect summer afternoon innocent of anything more dangerous than a few flying insects.

Or so it appeared.

Detached from it all, Diamond was increasingly concerned.

He shaded his eyes from the glare and scanned the entire panorama.

Mistakenly he’d assumed she would be with her friend, but Estella was at the foot of the steps surrounded by members of the society and Paloma wasn’t among them. He trotted down the steps himself.

‘Hi,’ Estella said.

When he asked, she shook her head.

‘She wouldn’t have left?’

She smiled at the possibility. ‘Better not. I’ll need a lift home if she has.’

‘She was with you earlier.’

‘When I was given the flowers, yes.’

‘Was she at the presentation just now?’

‘I didn’t notice, but I wasn’t looking for her. Is she still in the house, do you think?’

This was fast becoming one of those classic nightmares we have all experienced where you know of an imminent threat and need to warn people but can’t make them understand. Typically the brain conjures up a social occasion like this where the guests, zombie-like, are unresponsive, intent only on interacting among themselves. Try as you might to communicate, everyone behaves as if you don’t exist. You are the outsider.

He left Estella with her group and dashed up the steps to the house.

Inside the room where the presentation had taken place, Sir Edward Paris was still standing in front of his portrait, admiring it in conversation with the spindly clergyman.

From Diamond’s angle all that was visible of the hologram was the gloating screw-you gaze of Beau Nash — the one-time King of Bath materialising once again to mock him. At each low point Nash found a way to show his malign presence.

He wouldn’t allow it to mess with his brain.

‘I’m looking for Paloma Kean.’

‘Come again,’ Ed said.

Diamond repeated the name and Ed said, ‘Can’t say I know her. Do you?’ he asked the cleric.

A shake of the head.

The hologram was grinning.

Merciless.

‘She was with Estella,’ he told them, ‘but she isn’t now.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Blue dress and wearing a boater.’

‘I never notice what women are wearing,’ Ed said. ‘It all passes me by.’

‘I can’t see her outside. Is anyone else in the house?’

‘Only my wife. She went upstairs with someone.’

‘Which way?’

‘Hold on, matey. It’s Sally’s private apartment. I don’t go in there myself without knocking.’

But Diamond was already through the door and mounting two stairs at a time.

He came to a short corridor with several doors. Another of those stock nightmare situations. He couldn’t waste time. He thought voices were coming from behind one so he thrust it open.

Paloma was in there — but finding her was no comfort to Diamond, for she was held captive. The lady of the house, the charming Sally Paris, had grabbed her from behind, one hand around her chest and the other holding a pair of dressmaking scissors to her throat.

‘Stand back, or she gets it.’