A Thrust to the Vitals by Geraldine Evans Read Free Book Online Page B

of the estate agents’ profession and had used him as both sounding board and potential sucker, Nigel’s life-philosophy was entirely pro-active — it had had to be. ‘Dear’ Nigel would certainly have used his oily charm on the wives and partners of those present – women responded to Nigel, whereas men tended to regard his sharp suit and even sharper, calculating brain and over-active libido as a threat to them, their wallets and their wives.
    However he’d managed it, ‘dear’ Nigel had wangled the invitation to Sir Rufus Seward’s swish reception in order to mingle with rich, potential house-buyers.
    Rafferty stared across the table at his cousin. Untroubled on the surface at least, his cousin gazed back with his usual annoying confidence. Rafferty even thought he could trace the hint of a sneer in the angle of his cousin’s lips. He immediately felt the familiar desire to remove it with his fist.
    Instead, he acerbically enquired, ‘And Sir Rufus was so charmed by your business methods that he felt his civic reception wouldn’t be complete without your presence, is that it?’
    ‘Exactly so, my dear cousin.’ Nigel smirked and directed his sharp gaze around the vast, echoing ballroom and its assorted party detritus, as if concerned that eavesdroppers might be concealed in the wainscoting and be taking notes about his business methods.
    His eye must, just then, have alighted on one of the celebratory banners at the end of the ballroom, for he froze, shuddered, and went quite pale. For a few revealing seconds, his accustomed confidence vanished to be replaced by an expression of dread.
    Rafferty barely managed to suppress the grin this response drew in return. Finally divorced after an unhappy first marriage, Nigel had resolved to play the field and never again allow himself to be tied down. It was as if, in discovering that some married pair had manacled themselves to each other for half a century, Nigel had at last found something about this interview that did intimidate him. But he covered it well once he regained his poise.
    ‘Oops,’ he said, as he put a languid, well-manicured hand to his lips and hastily averted his gaze from the life-sentence banner. ‘I suppose, in the circumstances, that should be dear “Inspector” — shouldn’t it?’ Nigel crossed one expensively tailored leg over the other, admired the sheen from his Italian loafers, and remarked, ‘How very astute of you to realize that Sir Rufus valued me and my professional skills.’
    Rafferty’s lips tightened to prevent the escape of an unwise response. He glanced briefly at Llewellyn, but his sergeant was wearing his poker face, so he couldn’t hazard a guess as to his colleague’s thoughts.
    ‘Sir Rufus was interested in backing me in some property deals I had previously spoken to him about,’ Nigel elaborated as he removed his hand from his mouth and studied his beautifully manicured fingernails. ‘Very smart businessman, Sir Rufus. He’s a sad loss. A sad loss.’ Nigel’s smoothly handsome face, beneath its equally smooth and sleekly-styled hair, fell into suitably mournful lines at this.
    A sad loss, certainly, to Nigel’s ambitious aspirations, Rafferty guessed — if such they were, rather than the usual pack of ready lies that his cousin was so adept at pouring forth when cornered in an awkward spot.
    ‘You’re an observant fellow,’ Rafferty remarked tonelessly. ‘I imagine. it must go with the profession.’ He put such a lip-curling spin on the last word that he made it sound like he was talking about the oldest profession rather than merely one of the slickest and most treacherous for the innocent to negotiate.
    Nigel’s top lip did some curling of its own at this, but he volunteered no rancorous observations in response and Rafferty was forced to prompt him.
    ‘So, tell me, Mr Blythe — Nigel — did you see anyone enter Seward’s bedroom late on the evening of the party?’ Rafferty found himself