Page 370 of Double or Nothing

“They aren’t going to give you confidential information. No chance.”

“You haven’t spoken to Julian, he’s extremely professional and under a watertight deadline. I’m going to enjoy this.”

There he is.

The old me.

Not gone. Not erased beneath a mountain of reports and sensible breakfast choices. Only repositioned.

The joker isn’t driving anymore, I just decide when to let him out to play.

It’s only eight thirty-one in the morning when I make the first call. I make sure my caller ID is set to private.

“Good morning. I’m calling on behalf of the Parker family regarding the wedding of Alice Parker and Christopher Otley. It’s Julian Edgeworth here, and I have an urgent issue to resolve.”

My voice changes instantly. Polite. Confident. Just harassed enough to sound like a trusted family representative resolving someone else’s administrative error.

Claridge’s has no record of an active booking. Neither does The Halston Rooms.

Westbridge Hall recognises the Parker name but can’t locate the event, only a viewing several weeks ago.

I thank each person warmly, apologise for the confusion and move on to the next number.

Dunbar House keeps me talking longer. I invent a disagreement over the bridal party. A concern from Mrs Parker about the dining arrangements. A request from Mr Otley that every change be processed through one point of contact.

The receptionist searches twice before confirming there is no Parker wedding on their schedule.

I end the call.

Willstone Castle’s line opens at nine.

A man answers on the dot. He’s actually called Harry, and I have to stop myself from laughing.

“Yes, hello, Harry. I’m calling on behalf of the Parker family regarding their upcoming wedding.”

He sounds confused.

“William Parker,” I say. “His daughter, Alice. She’s marrying Christopher Otley…”

Harry knows the wedding, but not because it’s booked there. They were on the shortlist before another venue received the final reservation.

I tell him I feared there had been some confusion.

“Would you happen to know which venue they selected?”

He doesn’t.

I try two more angles.

Both fail.

I end the call.

Damnit, it’s none of the original suspects. I search some more. Bigger venues within a wider radius, and there are so many, it’s going to be like finding a needle in a haystack. Still, I don’t give up. I won’t give up.

Charnley Manor is the sixteenth venue I try. Orchestral music plays from my phone while I drum my fingers against the table.

Patience is bloody exhausting.