“I wanted to ask for extra towels for my room.”
Lillith glances in Roshaan’s direction. She watches the concierge for a moment, then says, “I meant to ask you earlier—I heard you mention to Roshaan that you’d worked abroad with the British Foreign Office. I didn’t notice that on your résumé.”
Heat floods Poppy’s cheeks. She has no idea why she blurted that out. Perhaps in an effort to impress the younger, more attractive woman—it’s a problem she has. Spontaneous lying. She knows it comes from her own insecurities. She hadn’t realized Lillith had been within earshot.
She clears her throat. “I don’t tend to list it—Secrets Act and all. I was an assistant and nursing companion to a client in the service. I traveled with him briefly.”
“Where were you stationed?” Lillith asks.
“Um—Dakar, Senegal.”
Lillith is about to prod further when the server sets down the cocktails.
“Oh, you ordered drinks already,” Poppy says brightly.
“No.” Lillith frowns. “This isn’t ours. We—”
“They’re courtesy of the gentleman at the bar,” the server says as he places the second drink in front of Poppy.
They both glance over to the bar. It’s empty, save for two women and another server picking up an order.
“Two Bangkok Slings,” the waiter says with a little bow.
Lillith freezes. Fear flickers through her eye. It startles Poppy.
“There’s no gentleman at the bar,” says Poppy.
The server glances over his shoulder. “Oh, he’s gone now. He said you’d appreciate this particular cocktail.”
Lillith’s hand goes to her throat. “Thank you.”
Poppy presses: “This gentleman—he couldn’t have tampered with the drinks, could he?”
“Of course not,” the server says. “The order comes straight from the bartender. But if you’d prefer not—”
“It’s fine,” Lillith cuts in. She reaches for her glass and lifts it with a boldness that fails to hide the tremor in her hand. She looks alarmingly pale.
“What’s in a Bangkok Sling?” Poppy asks the server.
“It’s a riff off the Singapore Sling—Mekhong, gin, triple sec, fresh lime and pineapple, bitters, a dash of muddled chili, and topped with ginger ale. Refreshing, tropical, citrusy.”
“Not very Greek,” Poppy says.
He laughs. “Definitely not. But the gentleman thought the ladies would enjoy it.”
“We do, thank you.” Lillith’s voice is clipped. “Can we have some menus now, please?”
“Of course.”
As he leaves, Poppy samples the cocktail. “It is rather refreshing.”
“Hmm.” Lillith pushes her glass to the side. She really does look rattled. Poppy scans the crowd, searching for the gentleman now. Perhaps he’s A.G.—the secret admirer. Or lover. But why is Lillith so shaken by the cocktail? A movement near the entrance snares her attention.
Arrabella and Patrick.
She splutters into her drink, sets it down.
Lillith, with her back to the doors, hasn’t seen them yet.
