A Date With Death: Cozy Private Investigator Series (Flora Lively Mysteries Book 2) (8 page)

‘But if Nick is the producer, if he holds the purse strings like Celeste says, then isn’t he the one in control?’

‘Purse strings?’ Eduardo looked confused.

‘Never mind.’ Flora watched Raquel approach her husband and whisper something in his ear. The director threw back his head and laughed; Raquel gave him a disgusted look and walked away.

‘He control her too,’ Eduardo said. ‘With his fists.’

Flora’s face must have registered her surprise and doubt. Alberto looked no match for the pneumatic Raquel.

‘So they say.’ Eduardo shrugged, like he didn’t much care either way.

Flora watched the director’s wife strut over to Vincenzo, who was sitting astride a throbbing motorcycle, a spare helmet dangling from one arm. Her movements exaggerated, yet still enviously graceful, Raquel shimmied her pencil skirt up to her thighs, then lifted one leg over the back of the bike. She took the helmet from Vincenzo and shook back her hair, then she put the helmet on and wrapped her hands around Vincenzo’s waist. Her legs were long and lean, the muscles tensed as her escort revved the engine and roared away down the medieval street.

‘She get her revenge,’ Eduardo said, his eyes also trained on the motorbike. ‘One way or the other.’

Chapter 5

Eduardo’s interruption of the filming schedule had only succeeded in pushing things back into the evening. By five o’clock, Flora and Marshall had loaded the equipment back onto the van, but still their day wasn’t over. Alberto wanted to nail down a scene at Hanley Manor, so the cameras and lights were unloaded once again on their return and set out on the lawn, along with floodlights and Alberto’s ever-present director’s chair.

‘Which scene is this again?’ Flora asked Celeste. She was struggling to get any sense of the story behind the film – scenes were shot out of order, then shot again multiple times from different angles. It was, in fact, quite boring. Maybe acting was just like any other job. It was certainly repetitive enough.

‘Okay, so this is the scene where Carlos – Eduardo’s character – finally realises that the woman who brought him back to England doesn’t really care about him, she only wants him for her love slave.’ Celeste’s lip curled. They were walking across the lawn, lugging a brown leather trunk between them. If Celeste minded assisting the hired help, she didn’t show it. She said, ‘Raquel will be milking this scene as much as she can to make Alberto jealous, but it won’t work. After all, Alberto cast her – his own wife – to have the most love scenes with Eduardo. Doesn’t that just say it all?’

‘Love scenes?’ Flora observed her friend out of the corner of her eye. ‘I’m guessing you would have rather played Raquel’s part – Imelda, is it?’

‘Damn right I would. And I’d have been better at it too. I could have done the seducing far more convincingly than her. Who’s going to believe those two together – a forty-five-year-old woman and a twenty-six-year-old man?’

‘Eduardo’s only twenty-six?’ Flora was surprised – not just because he looked so much older, but also that Celeste had fallen so hard for a younger man. ‘So your part – Nina – who is she again?’

‘A young maid who works in Imelda’s household. She falls in love with Carlos against all the odds.’

‘Young woman who gets the guy sounds better than older woman he’s disillusioned with,’ Flora said. ‘As far as parts go, and in real life.’

They reached the centre of the lawn and dumped the trunk next to Gabriella’s stool. Their temporary gaffer, a tall bald man with a beard and a pony tail, smiled salaciously, showing them yellow teeth. Celeste ignored him and pulled Flora over to a picnic rug. She stretched out her long legs, then checked her nails for chips.

‘This isn’t real life, Flora. And Raquel – Imelda – gets all the best lines. I’m like “Mistress, let me brush your beautiful hair”, and “Oh, sir, how brave you must be.” We only have one major scene together, Eduardo and me, and that’s the one we were filming today. God knows how that will turn out now.’

‘So,’ Flora said, frowning, ‘let me get this straight – it’s a historical romance set in England at the start of the Napoleonic Wars. These two women, Imelda and Nina, are rivals for the love of a wounded war hero who is being hidden in the English countryside to avoid capture by the British army. Imelda rescued Carlos and brought him back to England – as some kind of love slave – and you are the maid who falls in love with the brave soldier and finally gets the guy at the end. And Vincenzo, what’s his role?’

‘He’s an Italian spy, reporting back to Napoleon’s army on the location of deserters.’ Celeste’s shoulders drooped. ‘It’s not a very good film.’

Flora said nothing.

‘Flora Lively?
Traje
.’

Gabriella stood over Flora with a purple dress draped across both arms. She kept her eyes on a point in the far distance. Her body language said bored, but also wary. ‘
Traje
,’ she repeated. Flora got to her feet and looked to Celeste for translation.

‘Costume,’ explained Celeste. ‘She seems to think you need a costume.’ Celeste lowered her voice and whispered in Flora’s ear. ‘I don’t think she’s very bright. She’s got you mixed up with one of us.’

‘Actually, I think it might be for me. That is, I am going to be … Well, the thing is …’ Flora swallowed. Celeste’s eyes were boring into her. ‘The thing is, Alberto offered me a small part in the film. It’s nothing, just a guest at dinner, or something. I’m sure I’ll be rubbish at it.’

‘Yes. I’m sure you will be.’

Her friend’s expression was unreadable. Gabriella shoved the gown under Flora’s nose.

‘Flora Lively,
sí
?’

‘Thank you. Erm,
gracias
.’ Flora smiled at the younger woman. It was the first time she’d heard her speak, but even to Flora’s amateur ear, Gabriella’s accent sounded different to that of the rest of the crew. Gabriella didn’t return her smile. She practically threw the gown into Flora’s arms and retreated back to her station.

‘What’s this?’ said a voice at her side. ‘You following in our Celeste’s footsteps now?’

Flora smiled up at Jack. ‘Hardly. I’m an extra, nothing more.’

‘Jack, what a lovely surprise.’ Celeste slipped her arm through his and hugged him close. ‘Did Alberto invite you to dinner?’

‘Sure did. I think he wants me around after what happened today. Your boyfriend is a bit of a liability.’

‘He’s a pussycat. Alberto just winds him up, is all. Speak of the devil,’ she muttered.

The director was strutting across the lawn towards them. Flora could see Marshall putting the finishing touches to the slightly fuzzy backdrop of painted English countryside he’d just erected. The backdrop had been lit to mimic the sun dipping on the horizon, and the effect in the twilit garden was unsettling but also kind of beautiful. Flora gave an involuntary sigh.

‘Miss Lively, have you learned your lines?’ Alberto inquired, giving one of his trademark winks.

‘Line, more like,’ Flora said, catching Celeste’s furious expression.

‘You’ll be brilliant,’ Jack told her. ‘Break a leg!’

‘Oh, please.’ Celeste yawned. ‘I think it’s time for a cocktail.’

***

‘What are you wearing?’

Flora froze, her hand flying up to her chest. She’d been hoping to avoid Marshall, but no such luck. Here he was, his face flushed and his hazel eyes glaring, his voice cutting across the gardens like a hunting horn. He was not going to be happy about this.

Not that she could blame him. She’d had her own misgivings, looking in the mirror back at the house. Flora didn’t kid herself that she could carry off a dress like this one – she was too short, for one thing, and too narrow in the hips. The cap sleeves covered her tattoo, thank goodness, but the low-cut purple gown gaped across her chest. At least the bodice fit snugly at her waist. Too snugly, if Marshall’s expression was any indication.

She told him about her new role in the film, striding ahead towards the set where Alberto and the others were waiting.

‘You are not doing it, and that’s final.’ Marshall’s tone was firm. He was wearing the baseball cap he saved for bad-hair days, or just for days when he felt like making a statement. It was blue and white with a union flag embroidered on the top. He said his gran had embroidered it, but Flora wasn’t sure whether he’d made that up. He could just as easily have bought it in a charity shop.

‘Well, I am,’ she said, just as firmly. ‘I want to do it. It’ll be fun.’ She kept walking, looking straight ahead, trying to stick out her chest so it filled the scalloped edge of the gown’s bodice.

Marshall grabbed her arm and whirled her around to face him. She staggered a little, steadying herself with a hand on his stomach. She could feel the tension there, could sense it coming off him in waves.

‘Flora, don’t do this. Please.’

‘Give me one good reason why not.’ It was ridiculous. He was acting like a child.

‘I have a very good reason,’ he said, but Flora held up her hand.

‘Hold on. What’s that?’

Someone was shouting, and the sound was coming from the set in the middle of the lawn. Men’s voices, arguing, and a woman squealing something in Spanish.

‘Oh, what now?’ Flora groaned. ‘You’d think they’d save the drama for in front of the camera. Don’t they ever get tired of this?’

‘He deserves all he gets,’ Marshall said, letting go of her arm.

Flora followed his bleak stare and saw Nick Gibson grappling with Alberto. The director’s waistcoat and shirt had fallen open, exposing a round hairy belly that wobbled from side to side as Nick shook him by his collar. Nick had the upper hand, but Alberto wasn’t giving in so easily – he kept aiming jabbing little punches at Nick’s red face, and at least one of the punches made contact. Nick didn’t react – he just went on shouting and shoving and pulling, his hands full of Albert’s clothing and his head jerking up and down to dodge the badly aimed punches. If it wasn’t so ridiculous, so juvenile, it would almost be funny. As Flora watched, Nick pushed against the older man hard on the chest, bellowing at the top of his voice, and they both toppled into the painted backdrop, which creaked in protest, leaned back alarmingly, then finally broke into two, spilling the two men onto the ground.

Flora raced towards them, with Marshall close behind. Jack was leaning against a nearby tree, watching with a bored expression.

‘What’s going on?’ Flora said. Nick was on top of Alberto now, his hands around his throat. The scenery lay in pieces around them, and Raquel stood over them, shouting a warning to Nick. Or perhaps she was shouting encouragement. It was hard to tell.

Jack suppressed a yawn. ‘From what I can gather, Alberto was complaining about Gabriella, saying she’s rubbish and is only here because Nick’s having a thing with her. Nick took umbrage – he thinks Alberto is incompetent and impossible to work with, which is why his original wardrobe girl walked off the set before they left for England. Nick says he’d never met Gabriella before this week, but Alberto took it too far, as usual. Started making personal comments about Nick’s, erm, about his manhood.’ Jack grinned and cleared his throat. ‘Or something like that.’

‘Your Spanish is really good,’ Flora said, shaking her head. ‘But aren’t you going to do something? Look – Alberto’s practically turning blue. Shouldn’t you, you know – intervene? In an official capacity, at least?’

Jack laughed. His eyes slipped from Flora to Marshall, then back again. ‘I am off duty, you know. But for you, Flora …’ He pushed himself away from the tree and strolled over to Nick and Alberto.

‘Come on, chaps. You know what they say – violence is never the answer.’ Jack pulled Nick off the older man by his belt, then coolly stepped out of the way.

Nick glared down at Alberto, his bullish face twisted into a sneer. ‘I’d say it depends on the question. I’ve had just about enough of you.’ He thrust his head towards the trembling director. ‘Next time, PC Plod might not be around to save you.’

Marshall and Flora watched Nick stomp away towards the house. Darkness had taken over the gardens; the floodlights that had been trained on Marshall’s carefully constructed backdrop now illuminated nothing but the vacant trees. Marshall glanced at Jack, who was helping Alberto to his feet. ‘Harsh, but fair, he said, smirking. ‘The PC Plod bit, I mean.’

‘Marshall, he’ll hear you,’ Flora hissed.

‘And that would bother you, would it?’ Marshall gave her a searching look, then he shrugged and headed over to the devastated scenery. He picked up a board that was almost as tall as the nearest tree and flung it to one side. Flora realised she was shivering in the ridiculous dress, and she felt Jack’s arm around her shoulders before she saw him approach.

‘Your friend doesn’t think much of me, does he?’ Jack said.

‘He doesn’t think much of anyone at the moment.’ She laughed, but it was only to hide her embarrassment. Coming out here in period costume had seemed like such a fun idea, a chance to experience life on the other side of the lens, but now she felt foolish. Small and gauche and foolish. Alberto glanced over at her, looked her up and down from her chest to her feet, then gave a salacious thumbs up.

‘
Siento
,’ he called, plucking grass from his belly button. ‘Sorry, my little flower. No filming tonight after all.
Mañana, sí
?’

Perhaps Marshall had been right to be protective after all.

‘So, is Gabriella rubbish?’ Flora asked, changing the subject and turning her body to block out Alberto’s eager face. ‘She seemed to do a good job with Eduardo’s sling.’

‘Maybe Alberto doesn’t like women who don’t respond to his obvious charms.’ Jack looked at Flora speculatively. ‘Does he have charms?’

‘How would I know?’

‘You’re a woman, aren’t you?’

Flora sighed. ‘I don’t see his charms at all, but I can imagine Gabriella might rub him up the wrong way. She’s a bit brusque.’

‘Is she? I get on with her okay. She doesn’t speak English as well as the others, so maybe she’s feeling a bit out of the loop. You mentioned that sling of Eduardo’s – I had to explain to her what a sling was the other day. No, really, I did. It took a while for her to get her head round it. But we got there in the end.’