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SEVENTEEN

O f course I would be delighted to try to arrange a meeting with the proprietor of the Pavilion of Pleasure.

” Lilly smiled across the table at Ursula.

“I cannot say that Mrs. Wyatt and I are close but years ago we shared some mutual gentlemen acquaintances. That was before I met Slater’s father, of course.

Nan Wyatt was an actress in her day. Rather good, actually.

We appeared in A Twist of Fate together. ”

“Do you think Mrs. Wyatt will be willing to speak with us about her business association with the Olympus Club?” Ursula asked.

“From what I recall about Nan, she is strongly motivated by money.” Lilly looked at Slater, who was seated at the far end of the long table.

“As long as she is well paid for her information and assured of confidentiality, I think that she will be happy to discuss her connections to the Olympus Club. But she will be expensive.”

Dinner with Slater’s mother was proving to be a surprisingly comfortable affair, Ursula thought.

She was not quite certain what she had expected—Lilly was nothing if not unpredictable.

But Lilly’s love of all things theatrical and dramatic was on full display tonight.

She was taking great delight in contributing to the investigation.

The meal offered both fish and chicken. There was also a surprisingly wide variety of mushy, overcooked vegetables and a solid-looking nut loaf that could have served as a doorstop—the cook’s grudging concession to the one guest who was a declared vegetarian.

“I have no objection to paying for information,” Slater said around a bite of nut loaf. “In my experience, that is usually the cheapest way to obtain it. Mrs. Wyatt can be assured that we will keep her secrets. But time is of the essence.”

“I will contact her first thing in the morning,” Lilly said. She paused. “No, I will send a message tonight. The nature of Mrs. Wyatt’s business requires her to work nights. I very much doubt that she rises until noon.”

“Thank you for your assistance,” Ursula said. “I am very grateful.”

“I’m delighted to be able to aid you in your investigation,” Lilly said. She picked up her wineglass. “It is quite the most exciting thing I’ve done in ages. It has inspired me with all sorts of ideas for my next play.”

Slater gave her a repressive look. “I don’t want to see any of this in your next script. We are venturing into some dangerous territory with this inquiry.”

“Don’t fret,” Lilly said airily. “I assure you that you won’t recognize any of the characters or events by the time I have finished writing the play.”

Slater aimed a fork at her. His eyes were a little tight at the corners. “I want your word that you will allow me to read the script before you show it to anyone else.”

“Yes, of course,” Lilly said in soothing tones. “Discretion in all things is my motto.”

“Is that right?” Slater said. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“I’ll dash off a note to Mrs. Wyatt as soon as we finish dinner. Have some more nut loaf, Slater. If you don’t finish it I shall be forced to feed it to the squirrels. No one else in this household eats nut loaf.”

Slater eyed the brick on the platter. “I think I know why. Tell your cook that she need not bother sending the recipe to my housekeeper.”

—

S HE HAD BEEN BOTH ANXIOUS and thrilled about the prospect of being alone with Slater in a darkened cab late at night. But in the end Ursula was chagrined to discover that she had nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.

Absolutely nothing.

Slater barely spoke to her on the way back to her house. He was not unfriendly, she concluded, merely preoccupied. He watched the street through the window for most of the journey and when they finally arrived, he walked her to her front door and saw her safely into the hall with barely a word.

“Good night, Ursula,” he said. “I will speak with you tomorrow.”

“Right,” she said, trying for an equally casual farewell.

She stepped back into the hall and closed the door. It was only then that it dawned on her that Slater had other plans for the evening. Intuition warned her about the nature of those plans.

She drew a sharp breath, whirled around and yanked open the door.

“Slater,” she hissed.

He was at the foot of the steps, heading toward the carriage. He stopped and half turned back.

“What is it?” he asked patiently.

“For heaven’s sake, promise me that you will be careful.”

In the light of the streetlamp she could see that he was smiling. He looked pleased.

“You really are concerned about me,” he said. “But there is no need. I have had some experience in this sort of thing. I have not spent the past few years working on my knitting.”

“Just... be careful. And when it’s over let me know that you are safe.”

“You’ll be in bed.”

“No,” she said. “I will be watching from my bedroom window. I expect you to stop in the street at least long enough to let me know that all is well.”

She closed the door before he could say anything else.