I catch Cordelia smiling into her drink.
“I hope Tom gets here soon.” Jonathan sighs, craning his neck to scan the room. “I need to ask his opinion on the ushers’ waistcoats.”
“Jonathan wants them to wear patterned ones,” Cordelia explains to me. “But he’s worried that it won’t be traditional enough for my parents.”
“I think you should have your ushers wearing whatever waistcoats you like,” I say firmly, not that he’s asked me. “It’s your wedding.”
“That’s what I said,” Cordelia says, looking up at him.
It’s weird having such a normal conversation with Cordelia.She hasn’t said anything snarky or rude, or turned her back on me or anything. She’s acting… strangely. Nice, almost.
“I’ll ask Tom,” Jonathan tells us. “Since he’ll have to wear one, it’ll be handy to know his thoughts.”
“He said he’d be here by now,” Cordelia comments.
“He is, I think,” I say casually, as though I’ve only just remembered. “I saw him come in with… uh… someone.”
Cordelia raises her eyebrows in surprise. “He came with someone?”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “I think so. Not sure. His girlfriend maybe?”
“He doesn’t have a girlfriend.”
“Well, they looked friendly. Very friendly.” I sip my drink, looking around the room, wanting to change the subject. “So, what else is going on with you two?”
“Actually,” Cordelia says suddenly, “Emily, would you mind coming for a chat? I wanted to talk to you about something, but”—she smiles sweetly up at Jonathan—“you can’t hear it.”
“Oh! Is this about the dress? How exciting!” he replies, kissing her head. “No worries! I’ll go and find Tom and this mystery woman.”
“Come on,” she says to me, as Jonathan disappears into the next room.
I follow her warily through the house, dodging the busy caterers buzzing around the kitchen, and out through the patio doors to the garden at the back. I’m grateful that a couple of people are smoking and chatting out here, as you can never be too sure with Cordelia. She might have been leading me here to murder me, then heading back inside, and my body would be found and it would be like an amazing whodunit story with all the high-society, champagne-guzzling guests as suspects.
But she can’t murder me in front of these witnesses, so I’m probably safe.
“Do you want one?”
She’s offering me a cigarette. “No, thanks.”
She takes one out of the packet for herself and lights up, hovering around a garden table where ashtrays have been laid out. It’s cold outside and I’m rubbing my arms, waiting for her to strike up the conversation. I wish she’d told me we were coming here so I could have grabbed my coat, but hopefully this won’t take long.
“Thanks for coming today,” she says, looking out at the garden. There’s a huge, out-of-place fountain with a Greek goddess statue slap-bang in the middle of it.
“No problem,” I say neutrally. “It’s my job.”
She nods, taking a drag. “It was my idea to invite you.”
“Really?”
“Yep. I asked Mum to call you.”
“Oh. OK.”
There’s a long pause.
“You’ve done some good work for the wedding the last few weeks. The brooch and everything. And the photographer and Beth. It’s all good.”
“Great.”
