Niles leaned close to Gabriel. “Do tell.”
“Sarah’s husband once had a brief but passionate affair with the lovely Miss Watson.”
“You’ll pay for that,” breathed Sarah.
“Is there anything else I should know?” asked Niles.
It was Chiara who answered. “Sarah was once madly in love with my husband.”
“Well, well,” said Niles. “The plot thickens.”
They joined the procession from the terrace into the cavernous great hall. A dozen large paintings adorned its walls, mainly French baroque and neoclassical. The place cards were arranged in alphabetical order along a lengthy rectangular table. Gabriel and Chiara were seated at table one, Sarah at table two. Olivia Watson, after locating her place card, headed for the nether regions of the vast chamber.
“Crisis averted,” said Chiara.
“For now,” replied Gabriel.
Table one had nine place settings instead of ten. Gabriel was seated between the heiress of a brewing dynasty and a well-preserved countess from Kent. The countess, while grasping Gabriel’s hand, appraised him with no small amount of surprise.
“I thought you would be taller,” she announced.
“I hope you’re not disappointed.”
“I’m sure you’re the one who’s disappointed, Mr. Allon. After all, you have to sit next to a septuagenarian noblewoman instead of the marvelous Alice Winter.”
“Have you seen her?”
“Not yet. Apparently she’s running late for her own party.”
Gabriel glanced across the candlelit table toward the empty chair next to Chiara. “So is her husband, it seems.”
“Know him?” asked the countess.
“Can’t say I do.”
“He’s terribly rich.” She lowered her voice. “Much richer than the heiress to your left.”
“What does he do, exactly?”
“I believe he buys and sells property.”
“Sounds fascinating.”
“Evidently he owns most of Sussex.”
“I never realized Sussex was for sale.”
“Everything is for sale in Britain these days, Mr. Allon.”
The waitstaff appeared with the first course, and a plate was laid in front of Edward Knight’s empty chair. He appeared a moment later, a tall, lean figure of perhaps sixty with a handsome sun-bronzed face and a shock of gray hair that hung over the collar of his costly but carelessly worn suit. Unlike every other man in the room he was tieless, neckwear being optional for those of limitless resources. With apologies for his lateness, he sat down and introduced himself to Chiara. They exchanged a few words, then Edward Knight met Gabriel’s gaze across the table and nodded once in greeting.
“Good of him to finally grace us with his presence,” said the countess beneath her breath. “But he seems to have misplaced his wife.”
“I wonder where she could be.”
The countess tucked into her smoked salmon. “Don’t worry, Mr. Allon. I’m sure Alice will turn up sooner or later.”
Not five minutes after taking his seat, Edward Knight drew a mobile phone from the breast pocket of his suit jacket and raised the device to his ear, eliciting a quiettut-tutof rebuke from the countess. The conversation was brief and, in Gabriel’s opinion, unpleasant,for it cast a shadow that lingered on Knight’s face for some time after. As the waitstaff were clearing away the first course, an underling appeared at his elbow, a sleek and slender creature, late thirties, perhaps, with fashion-model features and a head of coiffed and gelled blond hair. He whispered something into Knight’s ear, and the wealthy businessman was suddenly on his feet. “Forgive me,” he said to no one in particular, “but I’m afraid my wife has taken ill.” And with that he was gone again.
