That Would Be a Fairy Tale - By Amanda Grange Page 0,68

that no one will be left with any suspicions about her honesty.’

‘A very satisfying evening,’ said Mrs Lessing, relaxing now that it had come to a close.

The servants came in to remove the tray and Alex rose.

‘Very satisfying,’ he agreed. ‘But now, it’s late. I must be getting back to Karlsbad.’

‘Must you go so soon?’ asked Sophie.

He gave her a tolerant smile. ‘It is almost two o’clock. Good night,’ he said to Mrs Lessing. He turned to Cicely. His eyes lingered on hers. ‘Good night,’ he said softly.

‘Good night,’ she returned.

And then he was gone.

Alone in her room some half an hour later, Cicely began to tidy away her things. She had dropped her aunt’s black coat and hat on the bed when she had returned from the Kurhaus and, as the maid had not been into her room since then, she knew she must put them away before she could settle down to sleep. She arranged her aunt’s coat over the back of the chair that stood in front of the dressing table and then picked up the matching hat.

She remembered the moment when he veil had caught on her hat pin outside the Kurhaus and the way in which Alex’s hand had brushed hers as they had both tried to free it. The memory of it was so strong that she could almost feel the touch of his fingers even now.

She longed for things to be different; for Alex to believe in her as she believed in him; and Eugenie to be nothing to him. But it would not be wise to encourage such wishful thinking.

She brought her thoughts back to the present and carried the hat over to the wardrobe - and then stopped suddenly, her heart pounding in her chest. For there, in the corner, almost hidden by the shadows next to the wardrobe, was a dark figure, unfolding itself from its hiding place. She stood still, frozen, and then backed away, even as her eyes widened in fear. For there, pushing himself out of the shadows was . . . Martin Goss.

‘No,’ she gasped. ‘It can’t be.’

‘Can’t be what?’ he asked menacingly, stepping forward into the candlelight.

His appearance was immaculate. His double-breasted jacket with its long tails, wing-collared shirt, tailored trousers and flat pumps, were the hallmark of a civilised gentleman. But his blue eyes held an evil gleam.

Cicely’s eyes dropped to his hands. He was holding something between them. It was the sash from one of her evening dresses. As she watched, he stretched it between his hands, wrapping one end round each hand in a menacing manner before snapping it in the most alarming way.

There was no doubting his purpose. He was no longer content with theft. He meant to strangle her. But how had he known she was involved? And how had he known where to find her? And how had he escaped from the detectives? She wanted to know the answers to those questions, but even more she wanted to make him talk to her so that she would have time to try and think of a way out of the terrible situation.

‘How did you find me?’ she asked.

He gave a crooked smile. ‘Find you? I didn’t find you - that was just a lucky chance. I found - or wanted to find - Miss Lessing.’ His voice became hard. ‘Because the charming Miss Lessing set a trap for me.’

‘How . . . ’ Cicely’s voice was quavering. ‘How did you know?’ she asked, wondering where their plan had gone wrong.

‘As soon as the detectives revealed themselves I knew I’d been had, and it didn’t take me long to work out who’d had me. The oh-so-charming Miss Lessing, who just happened to bump into me on the promenade and just happened to invite me to her mother’s dinner party, before inducing me to take her outside, where she conveniently lost her tiara whilst appearing to swoon. It was a good set-up. It’s just a pity - for you - the detectives weren’t up to the job. They thought they’d got me, but once outside I gave them the slip. And then I wanted revenge.’

‘But how did you find the villa?’ demanded Cicely. ‘You had no way of knowing where Miss Lessing lived.’

‘Hadn’t I, though? I had already made it my business to find out - although I must admit, it was originally for different purposes. I’m in low water, and Miss Lessing is a pretty young heiress; moreover, a pretty young