A Killer Wedding by Kate P Adams

Author:Kate P Adams [Adams, Kate P]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-04-29T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Charleton House could be divided into three parts. A third was open to the public, a third formed the business operation and had been turned into offices and storerooms, and the final third was the private quarters of the Fitzwilliam-Scott family. I was fortunate enough to have reason to make regular visits to those private quarters for meetings with the Duke and Duchess, or to help prepare for private events.

Today was one of those days as the Duchess was hosting a private lunch for the Mayor of Sheffield, a nearby city with a history embedded in the industrial revolution. The Mayor, Kathleen Carsdale, was one of only three female mayors in the whole of the UK, and she and the Duchess had become firm friends.

The two of them were framed by a window as I entered the dining room. Their backs were towards me and I paused briefly. Even though the light meant I was looking at two silhouettes, it was impossible not to see the strong, confident postures and perfectly fitting clothes. They were both the kind of women that I admired, but far from being imposing characters who could intimidate, they were warm and friendly and made me feel like the most important person in the room when they spoke to me.

‘Sophie, you’ve met Kathleen, haven’t you?’ Together the women crossed the room and I could make out their faces and the detail of their outfits. The Duchess, casually dressed in jeans and a navy polo neck, was only missing riding boots and a wax jacket and she’d look like the off-duty country lady she was. The Mayor, who I assumed was here between engagements, was much more smartly dressed in a pale blue skirt suit and a simple set of pearls round her neck, her neat blonde hair in a perfect bun. She reminded me a lot of Joyce, if Joyce had ever been inclined to wear pastels and refrain from applying an inch of makeup and an entire can of hairspray.

‘Lovely to see you, Sophie, I do hope this weather isn’t stopping people heading to your cafés.’

‘It is a lot quieter than usual,’ I acknowledged, ‘but no more so than we’d expect at this time of year. Our figures are still healthy.’

‘I’m very glad to hear it.’

Behind me, Gregg was pouring two glasses of white wine, having laid out two plates of salad. The ingredients were all beautiful autumnal colours, many of them from our own kitchen gardens. There was butternut squash and beets, figs that I knew were perfectly soft and juicy, because I’d stolen one as Gregg had worked earlier, and freshly made bread, brought up straight from the oven and served with butter from a farm on the estate. I knew there was a warm cardamom and apple tart to follow. The thinly sliced apple, laid out like tightly packed rose petals, created a stunning effect that you almost didn’t want to spoil by slicing into it. I had helped Gregg bring everything up.

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