Murder and the Golden Goblet by Amy Myers

Author:Amy Myers [Myers, Amy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Endeavour Media
Published: 2018-07-05T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Questions span round Georgia’s head until it felt like a washing machine, and she longed to hurl them at Peter immediately she returned. Not a good idea, though. They needed to be thoroughly rinsed before she could present them coherently. Moreover Luke would be waiting too, and this time her account of Paris could, thank goodness, be less edited than her previous one. One purpose this had served was to relegate Zac to a compartment of his own in her mind, rather than have him obstinately keep popping up in the Benizi story. Although over that, she was uncomfortably aware, there was still a question mark over his role.

It was therefore not until the following morning that she went to find Peter. Conversation with Luke had been confined to a straight account of the day. He had had supper waiting for her, and once back home Zac had tiptoed out of her thoughts with only the faintest acknowledgement from her.

When she arrived at nine o’clock Peter was not in his office, and there was no sign of Margaret. For a moment she feared that he had had one of his ‘turns’. These were becoming less frequent now that the years were passing since Rick’s disappearance but nevertheless when they did occur they were violent and terrifying, leaving him shivering at horrors she could not share, but could well imagine. She hurried into the bedroom and was relieved to find it empty. Instead she tracked him down to the garden where she saw him already installed at his working table under the fig tree, Margaret doing her best to persuade him that breakfast was a good idea. It lay on a tray on a trolley at his side.

She shrugged when she saw Georgia. ‘You have a go.’

‘Ah,’ Peter glanced over his shoulder, ‘perfect happiness, Georgia. That’s what they say.’

‘And that’s breakfast?’ she enquired amicably.

‘Sitting under one’s own fig tree.’

She agreed there was something in the shape of the fig-tree leaves that seemed to make it a peaceful tree, as well as – in a good summer here – a fruitful one. The pile of books already before Peter, however, suggested that he had a mission in mind rather than a browse.

‘No Internet today?’ she asked, dropping a kiss on his head.

He waved a hand at the pile. ‘Books. What news from afar?’

She scented an opportunity. ‘Have your breakfast, and I’ll tell you.’

Margaret disappeared inside the house, and Peter actually took Georgia at her word, listening avidly throughout a bowl of muesli and a croissant.

He continued munching for a few minutes after she had finished, and then sighed. ‘So let’s sum up. The painting has almost certainly got to be a fake. This so-called evidence is far too tenuous.’

‘Agreed.’

‘Or, of course, the Benizis could be kidding you; they know the painting to be genuine and want to make a killing now that the King Arthur story is getting big again. His cup coming back to meet the saucer, so to speak.’

‘Very cute,’ she said disapprovingly.

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