a beautiful set of white teeth.
Everyone seemed to enjoy his company and go out of their way to speak to him. Everyone except Jocelyn Abbot, that is. It seemed to me that the two of them were ignoring each other while trying very hard to pretend that they weren’t.
I had the strong impression that there was some sort of unfinished business between them. What had their relationship been, and when had Barnaby Ellhurst come into it? I remembered suddenly the article I had read, a broken engagement with an eligible bachelor. But surely that hadn’t been Major Ramsey? I had a lot of questions to ask him when this evening was over.
The major paid me very little attention as I conversed with the other guests, so I was surprised when he suddenly appeared at my side, put a hand on my back, and leaned in close, his warm breath whispering across my neck. “Don’t look now, but Matthew Winthrop’s just come in. The dark fellow in the gray suit.”
I nodded and smiled as though he had said something very amusing. Then I turned my head to look up at him. He was still leaning toward me, and I found that his face was much closer than I had expected it to be. There was an odd little jolt of surprise in my stomach as our eyes met. He held my gaze for a moment before his hand dropped from my back and he turned away.
When I looked away from him, I saw that Jocelyn Abbot was watching us.
I glanced toward the door to see the man the major had indicated. Matthew Winthrop was a surly young man with dark hair and eyes. He skulked into the room looking so obviously suspicious that I wondered if he could possibly be guilty of anything. Surely the Nazis would recruit better spies than that?
It was just then that I noticed, for the first time, a rather large, hulking gentleman standing alone in one corner of the room, his eyes playing over the gathering. Jerome Curtis, Sir Nigel’s henchman, I presumed. His watchful face was characterized by several scars and a misshapen nose, and, from where I stood, his dark eyes looked like shining black holes in his face.
He looked just the sort of man who would slit a throat. Good lord, did these people recruit directly from the villain warehouse?
Well, anyway, I now had all five of our quarries in sight.
Let the games begin.
* * *
Things got rather boring after that. The next hour or so was a mind-numbing blur of introductions, small talk, and speculation about the pottery we would be viewing later in the evening. I could mingle in society well enough, but I found it awfully tedious to make conversation with strangers about things that were of little interest to me. And, despite the newspapers I had skimmed on the topic the night before, I didn’t have much interest in Chinese porcelain. Clearly Major Ramsey had misrepresented things a bit when he had called this a party.
At least the food, which was served on a long table buffet-style, was good.
The major and I, by design, moved about different sides of the room, keeping an eye on the five suspects. I tried not to think about the silly physical reaction I’d had to the major. Just because he was attractive did not mean I was attracted to him. The two things were entirely different.
I pushed the thoughts away and attempted to focus on the conversation I was having with an elderly gentleman about whether London would fall to the Germans. I offered my opinion that, as Churchill had said, we would fight in the street before that happened, as my gaze followed Sir Nigel.
He moved with ease through the room, chatting with his guests, laughing with the men and flirting with the women, the consummate host. I distrusted him instinctively. There was something off-putting about that kind of superficial charm.
Of course, just because he was egotistical didn’t mean the man was a Nazi spy.
As though sensing that I was watching him, Sir Nigel moved away from a group of guests and came up to me, handing me a champagne glass.
“Enjoying yourself, Miss Donaldson?”
“Very much,” I said brightly. I accepted the glass but didn’t drink from it. I wasn’t entirely sure I trusted the man, and, even if I had, I needed a completely clear head tonight.
“I’m afraid things might get dull once we get around to discussing the porcelain,” Sir Nigel