Page 22 of Highland Getaway
I look up at him, wondering if he’ll show any sign of guilt at this, but he just shrugs in that hard-to-read way of his.
‘It would’ve been easier for one of this lot to change the itinerary you were given, though,’ he points out, indicating the influencer group with a slight nod. ‘So, if I had to guess, I’d say it was most likely Professor Plum, in the billiard room, with the lead pipe.’
‘You’re infuriating, you know that?’ I begin, but before I can go any further, the library door opens, and hotel staff start filing through it, all carrying trays laden with food and drinks.
‘Right, well, I’ll leave you to it,’ says Hunter, looking relieved at the interruption. ‘I only came in because I thought you lot would be in the dining room again and I’d have the place to myself. Apparently not, though.’
He turns to leave, and then hesitates, looking back over his shoulder at me as if he’s trying to make up his mind about something.
‘You look very nice, by the way,’ he says at last, his voice a little hoarse. ‘So whatever that dress is saying about you, I .?.?. well, I agree with it.’
Then he ducks quickly out through the open door of the library, looking like he’s surprised even himself with his words, and is now trying to get away from them as fast as possible.
He’s definitely surprisedme, that’s for sure.
‘I .?.?. thanks,’ I say to the door as it closes behind him, my cheeks reddening at the unexpected compliment.
But Hunter’s already gone, leaving me alone with my tormentors.
I really wish he’d stayed, though; and not just because of how adorably awkward he looked when he told me he liked my dress, but because I don’t care what he says, I’m still convinced someone in this room is messing with me.
And I guess now is as good a time as any to put my theory to the test.
Chapter 9
After dinner, which is served tapas style, with lots of little grazing plates which only Luna and I eat (the influencers are all too busy taking photos, and I’m not sure Sabrina knowshowto eat – I’ve certainly never seen her do it .?.?.), we all sit down to compare notes on our day’s work; at which point it emerges that the other influencers have racked up over 150,000 ‘likes’ between them on their Chrysalis-themed content, and I’ve lost ten followers – although therearea few comments about how ‘cosy’ my jumper looks, so at least that’s something.
Take that, Bex Foster: my sweaterismagic, after all .?.?.
Zara and Millie’s photos all feature them posing in bikinis around the pool and spa; the ones they took at the gates all having been ruined by me being in the background, apparently. Yasmin, meanwhile, has gone for a stunning black-and-white shot in which she reclines gracefully in the bathtub in her room, which has been filled to overflowing with bubbles. Her hair is piled up on top of her head in a way that would look messy on anyone else, but which is effortlessly sophisticated on Yasmin, and she’s holding up a glass of champagne while looking dreamily out of the window behind the tub, which has been thrown open, the white gauze curtains framing the view through the window as if it’s an oil painting.
It’s Bex’s photo, however, that gets the most attention, and, it has to be said, it deserves it. Daniel has somehow managed to capture his wife mid-leap, at a moment when both of her feet are off the ground, making her appear to be floating through the air, her hair fanning out around her, and the hotel rising up in the background like a paid actor in the Bex Foster show.
‘Oh, I didn’t really do anything,’ she says modestly as Sabrina fusses around her, wondering aloud if the hotel should use the photo in its advertising campaign. ‘It’s Daniel who does all the hard work.’
She simpers up at him, and he takes her hand, harmony apparently well and truly restored between them. Either that or they’re just very good actors.
I swallow hard, thinking about my ex, who didn’t ever look at me the way Daniel Foster looks at Bex. I don’t think anyone’s ever looked at me like that.
‘Well, I have an excellent model to work with,’ Daniel replies, confirming that he really is the perfect husband. ‘Oh, if you do want to use the shot commercially, Sabrina, we’ll have to chat about licensing, obviously,’ he adds, snapping abruptly back into business mode. ‘Let’s get something in the diary, shall we?’
‘Of course, Mr Bex. Let’s set it up now,’ Sabrina says eagerly. ‘I think we’re done here, aren’t we? Luna, come over here, would you?’ she calls out sharply to her assistant. ‘I need you to check my calendar.’
She goes striding over to join the Fosters on their sofa, signalling that the meeting is adjourned, and everyone else drifts over to the back of the room, where a tray of champagne has been set up on a table by the window, along with some crisps and other nibbles. The wine I had with dinner has already started to go to my head a little, so champagne’s the last thing I need right now, but I get up and follow them anyway. Well, wouldn’t now be the perfect time to do a bit of detective work, and see if I can figure out whether any of them might be the clothing criminal? Or the sauna sealer?
Actually, on second thoughts, maybe this isn’t such a great idea after all, if the champagne’s going to make me start behaving like I’m in an episode ofScooby Doo.
Nevertheless, I wander casually over to the window where Zara and Millie are still comparing the various photos from today, and Yasmin’s still pretending she’s not actually a part of this group at all.
All I have to do is find out where they all were when the incidents in question happened. And maybe also try to establish whether any of them are evil enough to want to lock someone in a sauna and leave them to their fate.
That should be easy enough, shouldn’t it?
‘Bex’s photo isah-may-zing,’ sighs Millie enviously as I select a glass of champagne and attempt to insert myself into the group without attracting too much attention to myself; which is tricky, really, on account of me looking like a giant disco ball.
‘It really is,’ says Zara, selecting the image from the Fosters’ Instagram grid and tapping to open it. ‘I guess that’s what happens when you marry a professional photographer, though.’
‘It’s gorgeous,’ I agree, sidling up to them, emboldened by the large gulp of champagne I’ve just had. ‘Slightly sinister, though, don’t you think?’
