A Date With Death Joanne Phillips excerpt
Chapter 1
N
ervous?’
Flora fixed her gaze on the long gravelled driveway that wound through the woods to
Hanley Manor. She could feel rather than see Marshall’s eyes trained on her face.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Why on earth would I be nervous?’
He shrugged. ‘No reason. Just … you know.’
She did know, but she wasn’t about to engage with him on that topic again. Not so soon
after their last argument, anyway. Celeste’s return from two years’ travelling had thrown old
insecurities wide open, but Flora was sick of hearing Marshall criticize her friend. And he
was way off the mark about her nerves.
Sort of.
‘You’re doing real well,’ Marshall told her. He was referring to her driving. Flora had
passed her test only a week ago; she was prickly about the fact that it had taken her until the
age of thirty to finally cross that threshold of independence. Her next challenge was to
master their pantechnicon removal van, which wasn’t going to be a breeze – not with
Marshall watching her so intently, commenting on each and every crunching gear change,
pulling that wincing face every time she miscalculated and caused the wheels to touch the
kerb just the slightest little itty-bit. It was infuriating. But then Marshall was infuriating –
always had been, always would be.
Flora pressed her foot to the brake, slowing the lorry as they approached the end of the
driveway. She was sitting on two cushions but still had to stretch out her legs to reach the
pedals. The steering wheel felt like the helm of a ship, the van’s sway and constant pull like
the sucking of the ocean. Also it was slick with sweat from her hands, and the sun glaring in
through the windscreen kept making her squint.
‘Park over there,’ Marshall said, pointing to a line of four or five cars.
‘Oh, I think here will be fine,’ Flora countered. She waited a beat for the engine to
shudder to a halt, then reached for the door and jumped down from the cab. She heard
Marshall’s exasperated sigh and tried to suppress a grin.
Infuriating, and easily infuriated. At least they were evenly matched.
Hanley Manor was just as Celeste had described. Flora turned towards the house,
shielding her eyes with her hand. She guessed it to be Georgian, a hulking square of
pinkish brick with two rows of symmetrically placed windows travelling its length and width.
The facade nearest the drive had a porch – if you could call it a mere porch – with six
columns supporting a flat jutting overhang. The roof was squat, balanced by regularly
spaced chimneys and part-hidden behind an ornate parapet. Flora registered that jittery
feeling in her stomach again. It wasn’t nerves, no matter what Marshall said, but it wasn’t
exactly excitement either. Maybe she was simply overwhelmed by all this grandeur, or
maybe it was the thought of meeting an actual real-life film crew – Rojo Productions – who
had travelled over from Spain with her friend to this quintessential English location.
Flora looked up at the house again and let out a long sigh. Okay, perhaps she was a little
anxious about seeing Celeste after all this time. So much had happened. Flora had lost both
her parents, had taken over her father’s removal business, had dealt with the kinds of
problems you couldn’t really write about in emails. Not that Celeste had bothered replying to
emails. But when you were travelling it was hard to keep in touch, as Flora had explained to
A Date With Death Joanne Phillips excerpt
Marshall over and over whenever he criticized her friend for not “being there” for Flora in her
hour of need.
Still. It would be weird seeing her again. Nice, but weird.
Flora heard the pantechnicon’s engine start up behind her. She watched Marshall
manoeuvre it into the parking space he’d indicated to her. Maddening man – he’d do
anything to make a point, to make her look useless. She decided to ignore him and sneak off
for a quick glimpse of the grounds. No harm in putting off going inside the house for a tiny bit
longer. She strolled to the edge of the driveway, then ducked into a small wooded area,
drying her palms on the rear of her denim shorts. Being out of the sun was a joy. After a
quick look around to make sure she was alone, Flora lifted her arms and let the light breeze
cool her sticky armpits. She twirled slowly, closing her eyes. To be able to hear nothing but
birdsong and the rustling of leaves on leaves – what bliss.
‘It’s no use hiding in here, Lively. We’ll have to go inside sooner or later.’
She put a hand to her chest – he’d made her jump, booming into the still air like that. How
had he managed to park the van so quickly? Flora sighed, her shoulders drooping. Finally
getting her licence had only been the first hurdle: to pull her weight she’d need to master the
seven-ton lorry, never mind her second-hand Mini. Shakers Removals was down to only two
employees – her and Marshall – and there was, as he reminded her far too often, no room
for dead weight.
‘Hey,’ Marshall said, his voice softer. ‘I was only joking. We can stay out here a while if
you want to.’
Flora pressed her lips into a tight smile. Sometimes he could read her mind, sometimes
not. ‘Will you give it a rest? I’m not nervous.’
‘Sure you’re not.’ Marshall grinned. ‘Let’s go meet us some famous actors.’
They emerged into the searing sunlight and headed towards the oversized porch. A car
door slammed behind them, and Flora turned in time to see a blue coupe spin around in an
arc of pea gravel and race away from the house. The driver was a young woman with wild
black hair. It wasn’t Celeste.
‘Jerk,’ Marshall said, going over to check the paintwork on their van.
Flora reached up to knock on the door of Hanley Manor. It seemed ridiculous for the two
of them to be standing here, banging on the door of a stately home like ordinary – if well-todo – visitors. She felt out of time, like a traveller from another decade. There must be a
trades’ entrance for a house like this, but Flora hadn’t seen any signage to indicate where.
The knocker was as big as her face and shaped like a lion’s head. She banged it twice, then
a third time. The sound was oddly unsatisfying – more of a thunk than an echoing thud. They
waited.
‘Maybe there’s a doorbell,’ Marshall said. He was clearly desperate to get out of the heat.
Flora could see sweat marks on his T-shirt. She was glad he was wearing the one with the
eagle, it was her favourite, although she’d never tell him, of course. But it made her feel
comforted, gave her a sense of familiarity in an unreal-feeling situation.
‘I’m glad you’re here,’ she said. It was an unguarded moment, and she wanted to bite her
lip as soon as she’d spoken. ‘I mean, I’m glad you agreed we should take on this job.’
‘Agreed is putting it strongly.’ He was regarding her through narrowed eyes. Marshall’s
eyes were hazel, but in the strong sunlight they seemed almost golden. Flora looked away.
‘Well,’ she said.
It was true that she’d twisted his arm. Pulled rank. Played the old “This is my business,
my dad left it to me, and you’re just the manager – not even my choice of manager – so do
as I say or else” card. It was a card she didn’t play very often, but it had worked. Besides, it
wasn’t as if they’d had any other work on. The school holidays were a quiet time of year, and
this year was quieter than any that had gone before. ‘Fine,’ Marshall had said, and no more.
But he’d wanted to say more, Flora could tell. He’d been fairly bursting with it.
‘Look.’ Marshall pressed his finger to a small white button that had been stuck onto the
oak door frame. A ringing, like the sound of a telephone, sounded somewhere inside the
A Date With Death Joanne Phillips excerpt
house. Then footsteps. Flora looked up at Marshall and smiled. He grinned back and put on
a mock terrified expression.
‘See you on the other side,’ he said, laughing, then wincing when Flora thumped him on
the arm.
The door swung inwards, opening onto a cavernous square hall with dark wooden
panelling. Flora got a glimpse of row upon row of stags’ heads and gloomy paintings the size
of real people, and then she focused on the man standing in front of them.
‘Good afternoon,’ he said. ‘How may I help you?’
‘We’re from Shakers Removals,’ Marshall replied, his American drawl more pronounced
against the older man’s clipped and formal English. ‘Marshall Goodman and Flora Lively.
We’re here to meet, um, Celeste Shaw.’
‘Ah, yes. Quite. My name is Sidney, and I am the butler here at Hanley Manor. Do step
inside.’
He was so like Flora’s stereotypical idea of an English butler from years gone by, she had
to suppress a giggle. He stepped back, almost bowing, to make room for them to enter the
house. Marshall waved her in first, also giving a little bow. Flora wanted to hit him again.
Typical of him to make fun of good manners.
The drop in temperature was astonishing. It was as though someone had sucked all the
heat out of the day. In her vintage cotton print shirt, with its short sleeves and V neckline,
Flora had been hot and sticky all morning, but now she could see goosebumps lifting on her
tanned arms. She shivered, then stepped to the side. Just in case Marshall decided to put
his arm around her shoulders.
Sidney instructed them to follow him to what he called the drawing room, then off he
strode, leaving Flora free to take in more of her surroundings as they trailed behind. She’d
been dragged around plenty of stately homes as a child, and this one was no different to the
standard fare. Double-height ceilings adorned with decorative plasterwork and painted
panels; rooms leading into rooms, stacked against each other like building blocks; faded
fabric hanging from walls and against windows, blocking out the light, covering cracks and
stains and possibly secret doors to underground tunnels. She gave a little smile and shook
her head. Neither Marshall nor the butler noticed.
Nice to see that her overactive imagination hadn’t been entirely obliterated by adulthood.
They walked through a room containing a dusty piano and a worn-looking gilded harp,
then through another that contained an enormous refectory-style table and two long
benches. Then into a further room where Sidney stopped abruptly and nodded.
‘Please wait here and I will tell the rest of your party you have arrived.’
He was a stocky man, probably around sixty or maybe older, with whiteish hair that ran
threadbare over the top of his head. Flora watched him leave, then let out an exaggerated
sigh.
‘What the hell? This place is like a morgue.’
‘Be careful what you wish for, Lively.’
‘Excuse me?’ Flora gave Marshall a challenging stare. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Nothing. Oh, you know,’ he said when Flora persisted. ‘Just don’t go imagining spooky
goings on just because it’s an old house. Don’t do that thing you do, getting involved and all.’
Flora put on a blank expression and shook her head. ‘Like what, for example?’
‘Like, all that business at the Maples last year? Finding dead bodies and poking your
nose in. And now all these weirdo people who email you, asking for help. It’s getting
ridiculous.’
Flora smiled to herself, then hid it behind a pretend yawn. ‘Well, I think you’re jealous. I
mean, I’m practically a local celebrity now.’
‘Ha! Celebrity? Crank, more like. Or at least, the people who contact you are cranks. All
those missing persons and unfaithful husbands. Grim or what?’ He shuddered.
Flora shook her head again, dismissing him, then turned away as though bored. She’d
never let him know it, but she didn’t disagree with the last of what he said. It was pretty grim.
A Date With Death Joanne Phillips excerpt
Ever since the newspapers had run a story on her role in exposing the charity scam and
murders at the Maples Retirement Village last year, Flora had been receiving emails and
phone calls from people begging for help. With the mistaken idea that she was some kind of
private detective, she’d had calls to “investigate” two missing teenagers, an absent husband,
a strange smell outside someone’s flat, and three robberies. She had declined them all, of
course – she was certainly no kind of investigator – but it had been unsettling. Especially the
teenagers. They preyed on Flora’s mind whenever she saw missing persons posters, or
noticed the students from the technical college hanging around outside McDonald’s at
lunchtime. What must it be like, to bring up your child for all those years, only to have them
turn on you, reject you, when they reached that hormone-spiked age?
It was too close to home, that was the problem – it brought back memories of Flora’s own
teenage rebellion. She only had to glance at her tattoos – the skull and hearts on her upper
arm; the dragon on her right thigh – to remember the heartache she’d caused Peter and Kitty
Lively.
Flora fixed her eyes on a painting of a woman cuddling up to a spaniel and blinked three
or four times.
‘Anyway,’ Marshall said, filling the silence, ‘I wonder where our butler’s gone.’
‘Goodness knows.’ Flora turned to face him, then stared beyond his shoulder, out through
the multi-paned French windows to the lawn beyond. ‘What’s going on out there?’
Two people were standing on the lawn, leaning menacingly towards each other. One was
a short, bald-headed man with his fist raised. He had the paunch of a drinker, his back
curved with the effort of holding the belly up and out. The other was a willowy woman with
golden blonde hair. She towered over the man, her cotton skirt flapping around her bare
knees. Her face was long and almost haughty, and she was shouting, shaking her hair
around her shoulders. As they watched, the man flattened out his palm, reached up, then
tapped the woman’s cheek with the flat of it. Not hitting her exactly, but …
‘Marshall.’ Flora put her hand to her mouth. ‘Marshall, that woman … that’s Celeste.’
***
‘Celeste, are you okay?’
As soon as Marshall managed to force open the French windows, Flora raced out. The
woman didn’t respond or even look Flora’s way. She pushed the short man hard on the
chest and he fell, landing on his rear on the manicured lawn.
‘Celeste!’ Flora called out again. The woman looked at her and stared for a moment, then
glanced down at the man on the ground.
‘Get up,’ she hissed at him, just as Flora reached her side.
‘I saw you through the window. Are you alright?’
Celeste laughed and turned away from the man, who was being helped to his feet by
Marshall. ‘Flora! I can’t believe it, look at you. And you’re here already, early of course. You
always were the early bird.’
Flora’s heart was pounding. ‘Are you okay? What’s going on?’
Celeste didn’t answer. She looked Flora up and down, then nodded. ‘Well, don’t you look
just so cute. Cute as a button with your red hair and that pixie crop. Gamine, is that the look
you were going for?’ She flicked back her long hair so it fell behind her shoulders, then she
turned to the man, who was brushing grass off his backside. ‘Alberto, this is Flora Lively. My
great friend from England. Flora, this is Alberto Caro, the director of Rojo Producciones.’
Flora smiled automatically, widening her eyes at her friend’s impressive Spanish
pronunciation. Alberto Caro didn’t seem at all embarrassed by the awkward situation – he
bent low from the waist to kiss Flora’s hand, beaming all the while.
‘Is lovely to meet you, Flora Lively,’ he said. He pronounced her surname Live-eh-lay, and
his English was clearly very good. The sun glinted off his head, and his eyes were
mischievous, crinkled at the corners. He wore a grey waistcoat over a white T-shirt – the
A Date With Death Joanne Phillips excerpt
bottom two or three buttons undone to make room for that stomach – and low-slung black
trousers. A tomato-coloured handkerchief poked out of his waistcoat pocket. He was shorter
even than Flora.
Flora said hello, then turned back to Celeste, a question on her lips. But Celeste was
looking at Marshall, whose expression, Flora was dismayed to see, remained typically
unimpressed.
It was time to make the introductions she had been dreading.
‘Celeste, this is Marshall Goodman. Marshall, Celeste.’
Her friend held out her hand, palm down, perhaps expecting Marshall to kiss it the way
Alberto had kissed Flora’s. But Marshall was no Spanish charmer; he gave Celeste’s hand a
cursory shake then came to stand behind Flora’s back. Flora sighed. This job was going to
be just as difficult as she’d expected, that was pretty clear.
‘Ah, you found each other.’
Sidney joined them on the lawn, now wearing spotless white gloves and carrying a
starched white cloth over his suited arm. He announced that lunch would be served in the
dining room in fifteen minutes, bowed a little, then backed away. Flora tipped her head and
smiled at Marshall. He would be getting a real kick out of this English butler thing, she just
knew it.
‘That’s perfect,’ Celeste said, linking arms with Flora. She began to lead her back towards
the house. ‘Gives us girls time for a quick catch up. Sidney, would you show Morgan where
he’ll be staying? I’m sure he wants to freshen up before lunch.’
‘It’s Marshall,’ Flora corrected quickly.
‘Whatever. Wait till you see my room, Flora. The view from the balcony is to die for.’
Flora threw Marshall a helpless look over her shoulder, but his darkening expression
didn’t register a response. Oh well, perhaps he would be in a better mood after he’d
unpacked and had a bit of time to himself. And he did need to freshen up, as Celeste had
put it, although it hadn’t been very tactful of her to say so. She watched Marshall and Sidney
cross the lawn. They were walking away from the house, not towards it.
‘Where is he taking Marshall?’ she said. ‘Is there an accommodation block over there?’
‘Kind of. Now, let me look at you again.’ Celeste stood back, holding Flora at arm’s
length, her fingers gripping her shoulders. ‘Well, you don’t look too bad. A little thin, as usual,
and still the same old Flora when it comes to personal grooming, right? Still a stranger to a
bit of make-up and the odd manicure. Still preferring these hobo clothes to proper designer
gear.’
Flora laughed. ‘Right. And you’re still milking the long blonde hair and blue eyes vibe.
Looks like it’s not doing too badly for you.’
‘You mean the acting job?’ Celeste held a door open and waved Flora into the manor
house. They were in a sort of boot room, with high-backed wooden benches lining the walls
and racks for hats and coats and wellingtons. Celeste strode across the flagstones and Flora
trotted to keep up. ‘I’ve landed on my feet, no denying it. Although Alberto … Well, he’s a
pig. You saw what happened just then.’
‘I saw you push him over, yeah.’
‘Only after he hit me! You did see that, didn’t you? Don’t be coy – I can tell when you’re
freaked out. Okay, it’s complicated, but I’ll explain later. First of all, tell me your news.’
In the time it took them to mount the curving staircase, Flora did as instructed, filling
Celeste in on the sale of her parents’ bungalow, the purchase of her flat in Shrewsbury’s
town centre, and her failure to extricate herself from Shakers Removals just yet.
‘I’m sorry I wasn’t around when your folks died, Flora. I got your letter, it caught up with
me eventually in Australia, but it was impossible for me to get back to England. You do
understand, don’t you?’
Flora said she did. Celeste stopped outside a white panelled door and rested her hand on
the ornate handle. She regarded Flora for a moment, then said, ‘You ever think about
tracking down your real parents? You know, now your adopted ones are gone.’
A Date With Death Joanne Phillips excerpt
It wasn’t that Flora was shocked exactly – Celeste had never been what you’d call tactful,
or even sensitive – but for a moment or two she couldn’t respond. She felt dislocated, as
though the long carpeted corridor was carrying Celeste away on some kind of conveyor belt.
Then she felt her friend’s hand on her arm.
‘Sorry. I did it again, didn’t I? Oh, Lord, will I ever learn?’ Celeste opened the door to her
room and shepherded Flora inside. ‘It’s just like when we were at university – I open my big
mouth and upset you, and then you go all quiet and sad and I feel like a complete cow.’
‘Really,’ Flora said, with effort, ‘it’s fine. And no, actually, I’ve never thought about tracking
down my birth parents.’ She made sure to correct Celeste’s terminology, but was doubtful
that her friend would pick up on it.
‘Okay, gotcha. Will never mention it again. Drink? There’s a minibar.’
Flora glanced at the clock on the mantel. ‘It’s ten to one. Bit early.’
‘Not in the film industry. You’ll see – they’ll just be getting started.’
‘I’m looking forward to meeting everyone.’ Flora sat on the end of a bed at least as wide
as it was long.
‘Ha! They’re a motley crew. Well, all but one of them …’ Celeste’s eyes narrowed just a
fraction and she smiled. Flora jumped to her feet.
‘I recognise that look,’ she said with a grin. ‘This will be the hunky new boyfriend you
mentioned on the phone, right? What’s his name again?’
‘Eduardo,’ Celeste said, rolling her lips over each syllable.
‘And? Come on, don’t hold out on me. How did you meet him?’
Celeste walked over to the dresser and regarded herself in the mirror. ‘He’s an actor,
natch. We met in Mexico. He’s Spanish, was already working with Alberto, told me there was
a part going in their new production. That was it, pretty much.’
‘Wow. After all that extras work you did, I knew you’d hit the big time one day.’
‘Those were crap roles,’ Celeste said. She tilted her head and met Flora’s reflected eyes.
‘This is the real thing. An actual film. Okay, it’s only small fry, but Alberto has pedigree. Of a
kind,’ she added, back to looking at herself. She picked up a lipstick and applied it, finishing
off by putting her index finger in her mouth and sucking. ‘Gets any stray lippy off your teeth,’
she explained to Flora. ‘An old modelling trick.’
‘Tell me more about the film,’ Flora said, bouncing back down onto the bed. She
smoothed out the grey satin bedspread, admiring its quilted design. It looked vintage, the
kind of fabric you couldn’t buy anymore. ‘Hey, I hope my room looks like this one. This house
is really cool.’
‘If you like faded grandeur,’ Celeste said with a grimace. Flora smiled. She loved faded
grandeur, but knew Celeste couldn’t see the charm. Her friend poured herself a gin and tonic
from the minibar, then sat on the bed and crossed her long legs.
‘So you want to hear all about Una Cita con la Muerte?’
‘Come again?’
‘It’s the name of the film we’re shooting. In Spanish, of course. A Date With Death. Nick
says it’s going to be a big hit in Cannes next year.’
‘Nick?’
‘Gibson. He’s our producer and money man. You’ll meet him later. He and Alberto hate
each other, but then everyone hates Alberto, even his wife.’ Celeste roared with laughter,
spilling her gin and tonic on the quilt. Flora jumped up to get a cloth, but Celeste waved her
down. ‘Leave it, the staff will clear it up. I’m sure they’ve seen far worse. This place has been
used as a location for tons of films. Even Bollywood stuff, apparently.’
Flora ignored her and fetched a wet flannel from the en suite bathroom. She mopped up
the stain as best she could, then looked again at the clock. ‘Shall we go down to eat now?
It’s after one.’
Until that point, Celeste had been jiggling her foot, or tapping her fingernails on the side of
her glass, or fluffing out her hair. Now she became quite still. She looked at her drink, then
said, in a tone that struck Flora as falsely bright, ‘Hey, let’s us girls have lunch up here.
A Date With Death Joanne Phillips excerpt
Doesn’t that sound like fun?’
‘Well, yes, but –’
‘I’ll ring for Sidney and tell him to bring up a plate of something. Hold on.’
‘But what about Marshall? He’ll be expecting me to go in for lunch with him. He doesn’t
know anyone here.’
‘Sure he does. He’s met Alberto, and he seems the type to fit right in wherever he goes.’
Flora tipped her head to meet her friend’s eyes. ‘Are you being funny, Celeste? Because
if you are –’
‘No! Of course not. I just meant, he’s American. And Americans are really friendly, aren’t
they? Nice people. Warm.’
‘Yes,’ Flora said. She looked across the room to the door that led out onto the balcony.
From her position on the bed all she could see was the relentless blue sky. ‘He is friendly,’
she said. ‘But even so, I’m not sure he’d appreciate being left on his own.’ But Celeste
wasn’t listening – she was talking on the phone, ordering smoked salmon sandwiches and a
bottle of Champagne and ‘Some of those little egg things we had yesterday.’
‘Champagne?’ Flora asked when Celeste had finished putting in her order.
‘Well, I’m celebrating, even if you’re not. Best friends, reunited after two years apart – isn’t
that a cause for celebration?’
‘Of course it is.’ Flora got up and held out her arms for a hug. ‘I’m sure I’ve missed you
more than you’ve missed me. After all, I’ve been here in boring old England. You’re the one
who’s been travelling the world.’
Celeste allowed herself to be held, patting Flora on the back with one hand, then she sat
on the dressing table stool, this time facing Flora.
‘So, what’s going on with you and this Martin bloke?’
‘Are you doing that on purpose?’
‘Okay, sorry. Marshall. What kind of a name is that, anyway?’
Flora shrugged. ‘An American one, I guess.’
‘“I guess”,’ Celeste mimicked. ‘You’re even picking up the accent. Do you spend a lot of
time with him? I thought he was the hired help.’
‘He is. I mean, he’s Shakers’ manager. You know all this, I explained it on the phone.’
‘Right. But you told me last year – you said in that letter I got – that you didn’t like him and
you were going to get rid of him.’ Celeste’s eyes narrowed. ‘Doesn’t look so much that way
now.’
Flora said nothing. In fact, she was surprised Celeste had picked up so much from such a
short exchange. She decided to change the subject.
‘Tell me more about Eduardo. Is he gorgeous?’
Celeste shook her head. ‘Not falling for that old one. Marshall first, then Eduardo. Are you
sleeping with him?’
‘No!’ Flora felt her face grow warm. ‘No, I’m not. I’m his boss, for goodness sake.’
‘Sorry, Mrs Prim. He’s hot, though. In a rough, downbeat way. And he clearly likes you.’
‘You think so?’
‘Okay, so you just blushed when you said “you think so”, so I know you like him. You
always were crap at keeping your feelings to yourself.’
Flora laughed, relieved to hear a knock on the door. Sidney wheeled in a covered trolley,
then went back out for the Champagne bucket and stand. He set them both by the window,
and arranged a straight-backed chair on either side.
‘The gentleman you arrived with said he would meet you in an hour at the Nook,’ Sidney
told Flora.
Flora nodded and gave him a solemn smile. She found the older man’s formality a little
uncomfortable. As soon as the butler had gone, she turned to Celeste. ‘The Nook?’
‘Sure, it’s where you and Marshall are staying. It’s cute – real cute, as your American
would no doubt say. You’ll love it.’
‘Hold on.’ There were so many things wrong with this, Flora didn’t know where to start.
A Date With Death Joanne Phillips excerpt
‘Marshall and I are staying in the same room?’
‘Well, it’s not a room, exactly …’
‘And it’s not in the main house? What is it, some kind of annexe?’
Celeste gave her shoulders a tiny, uninterested shrug. ‘Hanley Manor isn’t a proper hotel.
They do weddings, and they put up film crews, natch. But there are only a few guest rooms
in the main house because it’s still used as a family home for some of the year. Vinny’s
staying in the grounds too.’
‘In the grounds?’ Flora was standing now, holding a limp sandwich in her hand. ‘And who
the hell is Vinny? Is he sleeping with Marshall and me as well?’
‘You wish.’ Celeste threw herself back on the bed, laughing delightedly. ‘Vinny is pretty
hot, but I think you’d have competition from Alberto’s wife.’
‘Alberto’s wife …?’ Flora put down her sandwich. ‘Celeste, I’m not sure it’s a good idea for
me and Marshall to stay in the same room. I can commute from Shrewsbury, you know. It’s
under an hour. I told you on the phone, there’s really no reason for us to stay here.’
Celeste stopped laughing. She wound her fingers in her hair and looked up at Flora with a
hurt expression. ‘But you promised,’ she said. For a moment or two she looked much
younger than her thirty years. Her eyes were pink in the corners, her skin was pale, and
there was a slight rash under her jaw line that the heavy make-up couldn’t quite conceal.
Flora thought back to the scene in the garden. Celeste still hadn’t explained what had been
going on out there between her and the director.
‘Look,’ she said, her tone mollifying but firm. ‘I can still be here early every morning. You
know I won’t let you down. And it won’t hold up the filming if I’m not on site twenty-four hours
a day, will it?’
It had been a sticking point with Marshall, staying away for an entire week. But Celeste
had made it a condition, and as Flora had pointed out repeatedly, they really, desperately
needed the work. Not that moving a film crew around the south Shropshire countryside,
ferrying them from location to location and erecting scenery, was in Shakers’ usual remit. It
would be a new direction, Flora had asserted. It might even lead to other contracts. Marshall
had remained non-committal, but at least he’d agreed to give it a go.
Celeste got up and walked over to the window, rubbing her hair distractedly. Then she
swirled around and faced Flora, planting her hands on her hips. ‘You promised, Flora. You
said you’d stay here with me so that’s what you should do. I need you to be here, all the
time.’
‘Why? I don’t understand what difference it makes.’
‘I just do!’ Celeste’s voice had progressed from whiny to irritated in a matter of seconds.
In a minute, Flora thought, she’ll be stamping her foot. ‘Okay, look, it’s Alberto. He’s … he’s
been making a nuisance of himself. That’s what you saw earlier. In the gardens.’
‘You mean, coming on to you?’
Celeste nodded.
‘Yuk.’ Flora made a disgusted face.
‘Right. So, I need you around to watch my back. And, in case you’ve forgotten, you did
agree – it’s part of your contract to be here twenty-four-seven.’
‘I haven’t forgotten.’
‘So you’ll stay?’
‘Doesn’t look like I have much choice, does it?’ Flora picked up her holdall. ‘Won’t you tell
me what this Nook is like? Just so I’m prepared?’
Celeste laughed, clearly more relaxed now she’d got her own way. ‘Oh, you’ll soon see.
And don’t worry – it’s cute.’ She eyed Flora speculatively. ‘It’s very “you”, actually.’
There was a knock at the door. Celeste skipped across the thick carpet, smiling.
‘Eduardo!’ she said, throwing her arms around a tall, broad-shouldered man and dragging
him into the room. ‘Come and meet Flora.’
Celeste’s boyfriend had wide brown eyes and white, even teeth. His hair was light brown,
thick and curly but cut fairly short, and he wore a denim shirt over striped Bermuda shorts.
A Date With Death Joanne Phillips excerpt
The shirt was unbuttoned to the middle of his smooth brown chest. He looked exactly as
Flora had expected.
Celeste and he spoke for a minute in Spanish, then he turned to Flora and smiled.
‘Flora, encantado de conocerte.’ Eduardo lifted Flora’s hand to his lips, never taking his
eyes from her face. She blushed, then shrugged and looked at Celeste.
‘I’m going to have to learn some Spanish, aren’t I? Otherwise I’m going to look very
stupid.’
‘Oh, Eduardo speaks English quite well. He’s just trying to charm you.’
‘And you speak Spanish really well,’ Flora said. ‘Did you learn in the few months you were
there? You weren’t this good at languages at uni.’
‘God, no. I’ve been having lessons since we got back to the UK. Jack’s been helping me.’
‘Jack?’
‘Jack Harding, of course. He’s our very own language consultant.’ Celeste paused as
Eduardo spoke in Spanish again. She said, ‘Well, yes. He hasn’t only been helping with the
language barrier. But you’ll find out about all that later,’ she told Flora. ‘At the gala dinner.’
Flora was still processing this new information. ‘Jack Harding is here? At Hanley Manor?’
‘He’s not staying here, he lives just down the road. You look stunned. Didn’t I mention it
on the phone?’
She hadn’t, and she knew perfectly well she hadn’t. And Flora knew why. Celeste had
wanted to retain the element of surprise.
She’d certainly managed that.
***
Flora said goodbye to Celeste and Eduardo, then headed back down the main staircase, her
hand trailing along the polished curved banister, enjoying the feel of the old wood under her
fingers and imagining the countless hands that had done the same over the last two hundred
or so years. She figured she’d retrace her steps to get back out to the garden, then head across
the lawn and go into the trees at the same point Sidney and Marshall had disappeared from
view. This Nook place couldn’t be that difficult to find.
At the bottom of the stairs she saw Sidney heading towards her. He was carrying a large
silver tray piled with dirty dishes and muttering to himself. Flora, on an impulse she didn’t
understand or analyse, ducked into a recessed doorway next to a huge Chinese-patterned
urn. Sidney strode past, still muttering. He stopped across the hall in front of a closed door,
then reached into a deep pocket with his free hand, pulling out an enormous ring of keys. He
rattled it like a jailer, then grabbed a key and jabbed it into the keyhole. As he swung the
door open and hoisted the tray through it, Flora caught sight of another long corridor, dimly lit
and narrow. Then the butler kicked the door closed with his heel, and Flora heard it being
locked again from the other side. She frowned. Odd to keep a service door locked like that.
Wouldn’t it make life difficult for him and the other staff? Every one of them would have to
have a key, for a start, and locking and re-locking doors all the time didn’t seem very safe
from a fire safety point of view. Wouldn’t it be simpler to put a No Entry sign up and leave it
at that?
She stepped out of the doorway. Weird. Maybe the family who owned Hanley Manor
insisted on keeping doors locked, to stop prying eyes. A shuffling sound to her left caught
Flora’s attention, and she turned to see a young woman step out of an alcove only five or six
feet from where Flora herself had been hiding. The woman’s eyes flashed in alarm when she
saw Flora; she whirled around in a mass of wild, dark hair and fled into the music room.
Flora followed, but there was no sign of the woman in either the music room or the next
room along.
‘Hello,’ Flora said. Her voice sounded hollow and too loud in the vast space. Every wall
was crammed with ancient paintings, some so dark and discoloured it was impossible to
A Date With Death Joanne Phillips excerpt
discern colours or features. She turned in a circle, wondering if the woman was hiding in
here. Which would be ridiculous, of course. The faces on the closest paintings stared back at
her, their expressions either bleak or sneering. The silence felt so absolute it was almost a
noise in itself.
Flora retraced her steps, and found her way back to the small lobby area with the
benches and the coat racks. She stepped out of the dark house into the sunlit gardens with a
sense of pure relief. And there was Marshall, slouching on the lawn, kicking at something in
the grass, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his cargo shorts, familiar and
incongruous as hell. Flora smiled, then headed over to greet him.
‘Hey, Lively,’ he said, looking up and shielding his eyes from the sun. ‘You are gonna love
where we’re sleeping.’
Flora pulled a face. ‘As bad as that?’
‘Worse. Brace yourself, boss. Your so-called friend has really done a number on you this
time.’