How to Murder the Man of Your Dreams (32 page)

“No, but as I’ve said, Mrs. Swabucher hasn’t been herself and that would affect Karisma, who seems very fond of her. What’s your point, Ben?”

“That the photography angle was a smokescreen.”
Ben flopped down on the bed, placed his hands behind his head, and crossed his legs at the ankles. “I’m wondering if Karisma’s willingness to do your library benefit has anything to do with Gladstone and his books.”

The obvious question. My moment of truth was at hand, and I wished now that I hadn’t dragged my feet. Excuses! Excuses! I could have made time yesterday to put Ben in the picture had I been ready to deal with the realization that I had been hoodwinked.

“It never crossed my mind”—I sat winding the edge of the bedspread through my fingers—“that there was anything odd in Mrs. Swabucher’s insistence that Karisma could make an appearance at the library only this weekend. I was just grateful that he was willing to come at all, particularly after we had received a refusal over the phone. The short notice did make it impossible to advertise the event in a big way, but in a place as small as Chitterton Fells, word spreads like wildfire.” I paused to draw a shaky breath. “Gullible me! I was touched when Mrs. Swabucher said Karisma would want to go to church. No sirens went off inside my head when he asked if we had any close neighbours. But I realize now he often led the conversation around to Gladstone Spike, hoping you or I would offer to make the introduction. And the reason he came down a day early must have been to allow himself extra time to set up the acquaintance.”

“So why did it have to be this weekend?” Ben shifted closer to the edge of the bed and reached for my hand.

“Because, so Eudora told me, Gladstone’s editor had arranged to visit the vicarage to discuss the book in progress. It’s a sequel to a smash best seller by the late Azalea Twilight and there’s been a lot of speculation, mounting almost to a frenzy in the press, owing to the publisher having refused to say who landed the plum job of writing
A Knight to Remember
. It is also a closely guarded secret that Gladstone is Zinnia Parrish.”

“Then how did Karisma get his information?”

“He was approached about doing the cover.”

“By a woman, may we suppose?” Ben lay back and flickered a glance at me from under his lashes. “One who was so overcome by the fame and fascination of the man that she told him everything he needed to know without
realizing she had even opened her mouth. But what I don’t understand, Ellie, is why if Karisma had the cover assignment for
A Knight to Remember
in his pocket did he go to such lengths to meet Gladstone?”

“There could be all sorts of reasons.” Bouncing off the bed, I marched over to the window and back again.

“Agreed, but what was Eudora’s take on the situation?”

“That Karisma knew that Gladstone was horrified at the prospect of having him do the cover, on the grounds that Karisma bears no physical resemblance to the hero of
A Knight to Remember
and that such a misrepresentation would violate the integrity of the book. Apparently, Gladstone has created a character whose good looks are defined by elegance rather than untamed magnificence. He is of medium height, with dark curly hair cut to a conventional length, and his eyes are by turns emerald green or midnight blue.”

“So”—practical Ben did not bat an emerald-green eye—“have Karisma put on a wig, a three-piece suit, and bend at the knees.”

“Don’t be silly,” I said crossly, “he couldn’t do that to his image, and Gladstone would never have agreed. Eudora said her husband spent hours—no, days—going through his contract with the publisher, hoping to find a loophole. But he couldn’t find any way round the fact that he had no power of veto where the cover was concerned.” Upon taking a well-earned breath, I remembered the documents I had seen on the coffee table in the vicarage sitting room and how, having let my stupid imagination take over, I had thought they were medical consent forms.

“Eudora explained this has all taken a terrible toll on Gladstone,” I continued. “He must have thought there was some sort of curse on him when the Library League decided to invite Karisma to do the benefit. What rotten timing to have all this going on when he has to go into hospital shortly.”

“Anything serious?”

“He has to be circumcised.”

“Ouch,” said Ben.

“Apparently he should have had it done years ago and
Eudora has been feeling extremely frustrated—with the situation, I mean.”

“Are you telling me”—Ben sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed—“that Karisma came hot-footing down here because—being such a sensitive bloke—he’s been losing his beauty sleep over Gladstone’s negative reaction to having him on the cover of a novel?”

“No, it’s not like that. It’s because a couple of days ago Karisma was notified that he wasn’t getting the job after all.”

“I’m not tracking, Ellie.”

“It’s all quite straightforward,” I said. “Gladstone was so royally upset—he couldn’t knit, he couldn’t bake sponge cakes—that he informed his editor he no longer felt obliged to keep his identity a secret. He threatened to go public with the announcement that he was Zinnia Parrish. And immediately that put a whole new spin on the situation.”

“A clever move on our friend’s part.”

“The editor begged Gladstone to reconsider, saying that sales of
A Knight to Remember
would be drastically reduced were it known to have been written by a man, let alone one who wears grey cardigans and puts out the parish bulletin. But Gladstone stuck to his guns even after his editor sent an enormous bunch of flowers and said he would come down to the vicarage this weekend to discuss a very lucrative deal for the next Zinnia Parrish book. And the day before yesterday Gladstone got word that in return for his agreeing to keep his identity from becoming public knowledge, Karisma would not do the cover.”

“At which time”—Ben stood looking at me from under locked brows—“Mrs. Swabucher got in her car and came buzzing down here to meet you for lunch at Abigail’s. Tell me, sweetheart, don’t you feel that she and her mesmerizing client pulled a pretty dirty stunt?”

“I don’t blame Karisma.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“He couldn’t be expected to tamely walk away from what must have seemed like a professional slap in the face. He’s the most celebrated cover model in the world, and
A Knight to Remember
is a major book. But …” Turning away from Ben, I fiddled with the candlesticks on the mantelpiece.
“I am a little hurt that Mrs. Swabucher used her relationship with us to try and get to Gladstone.”

“You could take some satisfaction,” Ben responded gently, “knowing the plan failed.”

“Lots of things went wrong from the beginning,” I said, “such as his staff being taken ill. And I really do think he wanted a photographer here, because Eudora told me Gladstone modeled the home of the hero in
A Knight to Remember
on Merlin’s Court. So for Karisma to produce photos of himself posing with such authenticity of background would have been a real plus.”

“He was again out of luck when he insisted on knocking at the vicarage yesterday.” Ben did not evince sympathy. “It did strike me he was not nearly so keen on looking in on choir practice last night after you mentioned the Spikes would be gone for the evening.”

“He intends to go to church this morning,” I said, “but Eudora told me Gladstone would be taking a miss this once because the editor is arriving before lunch, and that’s something we have to talk about, Ben.”

“Lunch?”

“No, the editor.” I dropped down in a chair, stretched out my legs, and studied my feet. “Gladstone wants you to meet this man and overwhelm him with your photogenic possibilities. Now why are you looking so blank?” I said as kindly as possible. “Surely you grasp what I’m telling you. The editor in his present conciliatory mood wants to make Gladstone happy. And Gladstone wants you on the cover of
A Knight to Remember
.”

“You’re joking?”

“According to Eudora, you are the hero made flesh.”

“I am?” Ben studied his reflection in the dressing table mirror with a disturbingly self-satisfied smile on his face.

“Gladstone came to this startling revelation when Vanessa fainted in the church and you swept her up in your manly arms.”

“Really?”

“So”—my eyes were closed but I could hear him arching his eyebrows—“do you think you’ll take the job?”

“I’ll have to think about it.” Ben came up behind me and deposited a kiss on the top of my head. “What do you know about the character?”

“At the beginning he is away from Merlin’s Court or whatever it is called in the book, valiantly making the most of being shipwrecked on a coconut island, with no supplies other than a stunningly beautiful woman.”

“Would I have to pose in the nude?”

“No … I’m sure you’d get to wear an eyepatch.”

“This is all very flattering. But I have to consider your feelings, sweetheart. How would you feel knowing that millions of women were ogling my brawny chest and taking me to bed with them at night?”

“I’d be thrilled,” I lied. “You’d probably make a lot of money, and it’s not”—I forced a bright smile—“as though you’d have to make a career out of being a cover model.”

“You’re right”—he drew me to him—“and even if I did, I don’t believe I would give up the restaurant. One has to be realistic, Ellie, and face the fact that the demand for my services would slack off when my youthful vigor begins to wane. Although”—he released me abruptly, turned back towards the mirror, and sucked in his cheeks—“I guess when the time comes I could extend my longevity by colouring my hair and having a face-lift.”

“Why stop there?” I pressed my hands to my hips to stop them from shaking. “You could go all out—have liposuction and a tummy tuck. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves; you still have to meet Gladstone’s editor, even though from what Eudora said, that sounds like a formality. You’re to be at the vicarage for lunch at one and—”

“That’s not going to work out.” Ben stopped making love to the mirror and swung around to face me. “I’d be late getting to the library benefit—if I managed to put in an appearance at all.”

“You don’t have to come.” I held up my hand as he started to speak. “Really, I wouldn’t mind a bit. Gladstone is under more of an obligation to be there than you; but it’s understandable he would wish to avoid Karisma, even if he did not have a more pressing obligation. Eudora’s going to fill in for him, and this way I’ll be able to keep her company. The only problem is the twins. I had thought of asking Vanessa to watch them, but that won’t work out.”

“Why not?”

“Because”—I somehow managed to speak cheerily—“Eudora said Gladstone would like Vanessa to accompany
you on the interview. That way the two of you can recreate the pose that won you this golden opportunity. She’s a professional model and, who knows, perhaps she will be offered the job of the heroine. I’m sure my lovely cousin would find a book-cover assignment infinitely more glamorous than doing stints for George Malloy’s exercise equipment.”

Before Ben could answer, the bedroom door opened and, talk of the devil, Vanessa glided into the room—a vision to restore breath to a shipwrecked hero if ever I saw one.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she purred, “I was hoping I might be interrupting a truly decadent moment.”

“You are”—I smiled at her—“we were talking about you.”

“Now, I do
hate
to break things up”—Vanessa gave a sigh that set her silky apricot skirts fluttering—“but there’s a phone call for you, Ellie. A Brigadier Lester-Smith. And he sounded quite upset, so you’d better run along and calm him down while Ben tells me how I came to be the fascinating topic of conversation. Don’t worry about the kiddies”—she held the door open for me and executed a mock curtsy—“they’ve got plenty of people fussing over them. George just arrived with his mother, and Karisma came downstairs ten minutes ago.”

“Ellie, I think we need to continue our talk,” said Ben.

“And I think”—I looked back over my shoulder at him—“that you need to discuss matters with Vanessa. I’m sure she’ll make you see that it would be wrong to disappoint Gladstone.”

How thoroughly noble of me, I thought as I went along the gallery to the phone at the top of the stairs. The trouble was, I wasn’t at all sure why I got to feel noble. Ben had been offered the opportunity of a lifetime. There was no reason in the world to hope—let alone expect—him to turn it down. And I wasn’t even entitled, damn it, to take mental jabs at Vanessa. If she did end up on the cover of
A Knight to Remember
, it wouldn’t be because she had gone after the job. Dear, sweet Nessie couldn’t help it if she fainted extremely well and looked sublime in my husband’s arms. Telling myself that if they were practicing their parts in the bedroom right this minute I would
be a beast not to applaud their work ethic, I picked up the receiver.

“Hello,” I chirped, ever the noble, self-sacrificing wife.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Haskell, if I took you away from something important. A man on his own tends to forget that other people have real lives.”

Brigadier Lester-Smith sounded utterly despondent and I wished I could have cheered him up by going into exciting detail about plaid sofa cushions for the house he had inherited from Miss Bunch. Instead, I told him I would get busy on the project in the next few days.

“I’m not phoning about the house, Mrs. Haskell.”

“No, I didn’t think you were.”

“It was a bit of a facer seeing Evangeline after all these years. I’m glad that she went on to have a full life. She’s done very well for herself. Marriage to a decent chap, by the sound of it. And now managing the career of a world-famous celebrity. She’s obviously extremely fond of him.”

“Yes,” I said.

“I shouldn’t have been surprised.”

“About Karisma?”

“That Evangeline looked at me”—the break in the brigadier’s voice tore at my heart—“as if she didn’t know who I was. Of course we were married for only a very short time. And the marriage wasn’t a proper one at that—it ended with a whimper in annulment, not even the bang of divorce.”