Page 67 of A Very Happy Easter

“What’s happening? Did they catch the guy yet?”

“Not yet, but Max and Bry are going to work your first security shift, so you can go home and get some proper rest.”

“How can I rest when there’s a lunatic trying to kill you?”

“If you can’t rest, don’t you have a bunch of planning to do? A hen do, an Easter egg hunt, an outfit for an engagement party?”

All of that seemed so trivial right now. Well, maybe not the Easter egg hunt on bank holiday Monday—hundreds of children were looking forward to that.

“I’m not sure I can focus on any of those things at the moment.”

“We’ll get the problem solved as fast as we can.”

I hated this. Hated it. “How will the security arrangements work?”

“Two-man, eight-hour shifts to start off with. We can refine the logistics so they suit everyone.”

“Will they be in the house?”

“Not if that makes you uncomfortable.”

“Do you trust them?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then I think I’d be okay with it. I’ll speak with my housekeeper and make sure there’s enough food for everyone.”

“If you feed them, they’ll love you as much as I do.”

“Of course I’ll feed them.” Wait a second, did Heath use the L-word? That was just a figure of speech, right? “And they can use the staff suite on the lower ground floor if they need somewhere to base themselves—it has its own entrance.”

That earned me a hug, and Heath kissed my hair. Honestly, I’d feed the entire population of inner London if it made him happy.

“I appreciate you being so understanding about this,” he said.

“You’re the king of understanding. Promise you’ll tell me when there’s news?”

“You’ll be the first to know.”

“That’s an awfully big truck.” I winced as it reversed through my gates with three inches of clearance on each side. “I hope he knows what he’s doing.”

Salma glanced up from her phone. “Relax, I bet he does this twenty times a day.”

A year and a half ago, Polly, who’d spent the past decade cultivating a reasonably successful career as an Instagram party girl, had joined the family business and discovered a whole new level of fame as a chocolate influencer. A hundred thousand followers had grown to a million, and she’d become the public face of Crabtree Confections.

She’d also agreed to send me five hundred Easter eggs, enough for the regular users of the community centre, plus any friends and siblings who might come along to this year’s Easter egg hunt.

“Where d’ya want the boxes, lady?” the driver asked. Max had greeted the guy and given him a once-over, so he probably wasn’t a knife-wielding maniac.

“Uh, perhaps you could just put them here?” I motioned to the space behind the truck. “We can take them inside.”

“You might need to move that car back a bit,” he said, nodding at the Blackwood SUV.

“Really?”

Last year, I’d stacked ten boxes of Creme Eggs in the corner of my dining room, plus a dozen full-size eggs to use as prizes. We ran contests for the most creative costume and the best-decorated Easter bonnet, plus an egg-and-spoon race, pin the tail on the bunny, that kind of thing.

“If you’re shifting them out of the way while I’m unloading, we might be all right. Good thing you have a big house, love.”