Nikki nodded. In the uncomfortable brightness of the day after, she recalled there had been something about Teddy—a certain slippery sleight of hand that reminded her of her brother.
“This is very helpful,” she said. “Were you able to find any connection with Jayston Lake?”
Ethan shook his head. “None whatsoever, I’m afraid. They move in entirely different spheres. Sexton did present MindCapsule to Lake’s investment firm, but didn’t clear the initial gatekeepers.”
“What did you find out about Jayston Lake?”
Ethan blinked.
“Are you quite serious?” He let out a delighted laugh, then looked rapidly chastened. “Oh, you are!”
He composed himself. “Darling,” he said. “You hardly need a clandestine investigation to uncover the affairs of Jayston and Fiona Lake. A glance at the tabloids should suffice.”
“Even if I did read all the gossip columns,” Nikki encouraged, “I couldn’t see everything you see.”
Ethan looked pleased.
“Very well, since you ask nicely, I’ll spoon-feed you.” He settled back. “Jayston’s a media darling. Has been for ages. Simply gorgeous man, and shrouded in tragedy. Parents died in a plane crash when he was young—very sad, but it left him comfortably provided for. He ignored the lawyers and rapacious investment sharks, and charted his own course. Rode the dot-com boom to the top. Billionaire now, I understand.”
“What do you think about him, personally?”
“I suppose I could tolerate his presence until breakfast.”
“You think he’s a good man?”
He smiled lasciviously. “Well, I wouldn’t find him remotely intriguing if there weren’t a whiff of naughty.”
“Tell me about his wife,” Nikki said.
“Ah, Fiona Cecil,” he said. “The second Mrs. Lake. Jayston’s first wife perished in a car accident—another tragedy for our ill-fatedJayston. Fiona’s old money. Always been rather…colorful, shall we say? Parties. Drugs. She did attempt to straighten up, but then tragedy struck again. Their son, Matthew. Drowned last year. There was an inquiry, and the press eviscerated her. Turned out that she’d been indulging in a tipple or two. Dreadful business, though officially ruled an accident.”
He raised an eyebrow. “So, now that I’ve been a good little boy and given you everything you asked for, you must feed my insatiable appetite. Pray tell: What is your interest in Jayston Lake?”
Nikki considered for a long moment. If Claire’s murder and her connection to the Lakes had already reached the tabloids, she would want Ethan’s take. But there had been no press. This meant the Lakes—and the police—were keeping it quiet.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t talk about it.”
He looked crestfallen.
“As soon as I’m able to discuss it,” she promised, “you’ll be the first to know.”
Twenty
Valerio stood beside his motorbike at the Capodichino airport pickup curb, his usual calm displaced by a restless energy and rare scowl. He greeted Nikki and kissed her cheeks. His whiskers scratched her, and she caught the sour waft of old wine.
“Ciao, bella,” he said. “How’s your uncle?”
“Better. What’s up? What didn’t you want to tell me on the phone?”
He handed her a helmet.
“Not here.”
—
The air was warmer and more humid than in London, an intermittent drizzle flicking against them as Valerio navigated through the chaotic roar of morning traffic, down the steep streets into the city below. Nikki gripped onto him, rucksack slamming against her back as they jostled over paving stones, dodging vehicles and pedestrians. Valerio was one of the few people whose driving Nikki could tolerate. He was just as enterprising as every other Neapolitan motorist, but he handled the bike capably, and Nikki relaxed into the movement.
—
