“Ah, I’m not sure what you’re referring to?” Hallie felt her spine stiffen. She wasn’t sure of the protocol, but she was fairly certain she wasn’t supposed to discuss investigator business at an evening reception.
“You and Girard were sent after a dangerous fugitive,” Hoel said, blue eyes sharp on her face. “As I recall, you had an unblemished record of success. May we assume that it is still unblemished?”
“The job is not done yet,” Hallie said, feeling an unwelcome surge of heat up her neck. It was true. She and Girard were not done yet. She remembered telling Lamorat Lucas that she’d had ten years of tracking down fugitives and no failures. She wondered where Hoel was getting his information from. And then remembered the calls that the director had been getting. Perhaps Hoel was one of the Conclave members demanding regular, personal updates from Peredur.
“Does that count as a failure in your eyes?” Hoel asked, as if he was interested in the answer.
“Not yet,” Hallie answered, trying for a lighter tone. She took a sip from her drink, which she’d almost forgotten about, and cast about in her mind for a change of topic.
“If you want information on any current investigations, sir, then I believe the director will be here later,” Girard said in his normal, calm tone.
“Or we can wait for the daily, written updates,” Lamorat put in, frowning slightly at Hoel. “I assume you get the same copies as the rest of us.” Hallie tried to control her expression, not sure why she was surprised that the director, or someone on his behalf, was giving the Conclave daily updates on the investigation. Not only did the investigation concern the Conclave’s security, but the whole unit of investigators, with all its resources, had been established by the Conclave. Hallie found she was curious to see the updates Peredur was providing, and then had to hide a grimace, remembering the phone calls. She’d assumed that the calls were the only updates that the Conclave were getting day-to-day. But, no, they were getting daily reports and still many of them felt the need to call Peredur. No wonder he was looking tired.
“I prefer going to the source,” Hoel said, favouring Lamorat with a sideways glance. There was no warmth between the two men. That was hardly surprising given how different they were.
There was a brief, awkward pause and Hallie cast about in her mind for something else to say. She was rescued by, of all people, Lamorat.
“Miss Talbot, my wife is here and has expressed her wish to meet you. Would you be so kind?” Lamorat asked.
Hallie was sure her jaw dropped open. Of all the things he might have said, she would never have guessed that.
“I’d be honoured, sir,” she said. The only possible thing she could say.
“And I’ve just seen my parents arrive,” Girard said. “If you’ll excuse me, I should speak with them.”
“Of course,” Lamorat said. “One must never neglect one’s family. Miss Talbot, this way.”
“We should mingle as well, Hoel,” Royns suggested in his genial manner, steering the younger man away. Not wanting to be left alone with Hoel, would be Hallie’s guess.
Wondering just what lay ahead of her, Hallie walked with Lamorat across the room to one of the corners where a few ladies were sitting in the chairs that had been gathered there, leaning slightly towards each other as they talked, clearly having a lovely time to themselves. Lamorat paused a few paces away and waited for one to look around.
The woman who turned her head was nothing like what Hallie would have pictured for Lamorat’s wife. He’d suggested that she enjoyed a lively social life in their home city and would have found Vertiger insufferably boring, so Hallie had formed a hazy idea of a richly-dressed socialite. Instead, the woman who rose to her feet and came towards Lamorat was a fraction shorter than her husband, with glossy dark hair in heavy curls across one shoulder, her outfit a modest and beautifully made two-piece of wide-legged dark chocolate trousers and a knee-length over-tunic in the same colour, with splits up to her hip revealing a milk-white lining. She wore a single diamond suspended from a chain around her neck and more diamonds in her ears. Her face bore faint laughter lines and her eyes, large and pale brown, were full of humour and life as she looked from Lamorat to Hallie.
“Is this her?”
“It is. My love, may I present Miss Hallie Talbot. Miss Talbot, my wife, Yselda.”
“I am pleased to meet you, Lady Lucas,” Hallie said. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to curtsey or offer her hand, so did neither and hoped that was not rude.
“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Talbot. But you must call me Yselda, and do come, sit. Lamorat, do be a dear and see if there might be some more of Cotovatre’s delicious lemonade for us?”
“As you wish,” Lamorat said, the faintest hint of a smile on his face. A man who knew when he was being dismissed. And also one happy to fulfil his wife’s request.
Without quite knowing how it happened, Hallie found herself settled on a chair next to Yselda, facing two otherhochlenwomen who were looking at her with open curiosity.
“So, this is Cotovatre’s mysterious heir?” The woman who spoke was far more in the vein of what Hallie had expected from a socialite. She had exaggerated her brows and lips with make-up and wore a tight satin dress in a colour that Hallie thought probably had a very fancy name but which looked like rust to Hallie. She also had platinum blonde hair piled high, giving her extra height. More hair, Hallie thought, than one person should be capable of growing out of their head. There were rings on her fingers and large, glittering earrings hanging below the pile of hair. She had a striking bone structure underneath the make-up, and Hallie couldn’t help but feel that her face would be more interesting without the extra enhancements.
“Don’t mind Reggie,” Yselda said, leaning forward slightly, towards Hallie. “She prides herself on being the first to know everything, and your appearance took everyone by surprise.”
“But then, I suspect it took you by surprise too, yes?” the other woman asked. With the exception of Cotovatre, she was the onlyhochlenwoman Hallie had met with hair cut above her shoulders. Hers was a mass of reddish-brown curls, framing a warm, pale face scattered with freckles that she had not tried to conceal with make up. She had bright green eyes that were full of fun as she looked back at Hallie.
“This is Olwyn,” Yselda said to Hallie. “One of my dearest friends.”
“Yes, I was surprised,” Hallie said, answering Olwyn’s question. “But it was not a bad surprise.”
“I should think not,” Reggie said, voice and eyes sharp as she looked Hallie up and down. “You should be more than grateful to Lady Cotovatre for dragging you out of the slums.”
Hallie found herself gripping her glass tightly and forced her fingers to relax. It was hardly the first time she’d been insulted by one of the elite and it would not be the last, she was quite sure.
