Page 46 of The Bridesmaid
We reach the far side of the volcano, and the jungle view falls away to a spectacular beach and sea. Down on the shore, enormous blue-gray stones look to have fallen from the sky, forming crevasses and tunnels, like a giant’s teeth sinking into the sugar sand. The sun bleeds a deep crimson lake into the lapping waves.
Hanging on the side of the volcano are a set of square-sided pools, built Aztec style, with hand-cut intersecting gray stones, and filled with smoky blue steaming water.
I stare for a moment. ‘This is incredible.’
Fitzwilliam gives a small smile. ‘First time you’ve seen hot springs?’
‘Isn’t it yours?’
‘I’ve seen one or two. These are very well landscaped though,’ he adds generously, gesturing to the giant blocks of granite interspersed with exotic-looking plants which make it look like there’s been a spa here for a thousand years.
Each milky pool is marked with a rustic wooden sign, announcing a temperature in centigrade. Cooler toward the bottom, hotter at the top. Joining them together is a series of maze-like suspension walkways, painted deep red.
‘This is just about the worst environment for gathering forensic information,’ I say. ‘Outdoors, open to the elements. Multiple bodies of water, accessed by multiple people. Maybe … we got it wrong,’ I say. ‘If Simone wanted me to find something, why would she have left it somewhere so hard for me to find?’
‘If she found something worth killing for, she might not havehad a lot of time to hide it,’ Fitzwilliam points out. ‘Just had to hope you’d figure a way out here. And you did.’
I rub my forehead. ‘I was never anygoodat the stuff Simone wanted me to learn. Like … that thing with not chinking glasses, when we landed. I don’t get it. Why pretend to be these super polite people?’
Fitzwilliam considers this. ‘I think it’s more like signalling you’re on the same team.’
I shield my eyes from the setting sun. On the far side of the clutch of pools is a huge reception area, with a floor of jet-black polished volcanic rock, and an entrance bordered by a fan of tree branches.
‘If I was leaving clues for forensics,’ I decide, ‘I’d pick somewhere not so exposed. Less chance of degradation. Let’s check out the reception area.’
Chapter Thirty-Five
ADRIANNA
Passing through the thick studded door of Fortune House brought a wave of emotions. I manage to get five minutes alone to call Mark, before we all need to reconvene.
As the call connects, it’s such a relief to see his handsome face.
‘Adrianna.’ At the sound of his voice my whole body relaxes. He’s my rock in a sea of illusions. ‘How is security out on the island?’
‘It’s good,’ I assure him, checking the little thumbnail image of myself in the phone, to be sure my face matches the words.
‘Not strange to be back?’
‘Ophelia has changed all the design,’ I say, opting for a half answer. ‘Did she speak to you about the table arrangements?’
He nods. ‘She also let slip that the bridesmaids had a fight, the night Simone died,’ he says pointedly. ‘You never told me that.’
‘Oh,’ I let out a ringing little laugh. ‘Ophelia can be a little dramatic. I wouldn’t have called it a fight. All girls together in a hotel, on the night of a wedding demo. It can get a little catty.’ I curl a strand of hair around my finger, wondering what to tell him.
‘Particularly when Georgia decides to make the unveiling ofyour bridesmaids a big staged occasion, and none of them knew who the others would be,’ says Mark.
‘Yeah,’ I examine a pink fingernail. ‘Maximum drama, right? It made for good pictures.’
‘That’s what the fight was about?’ he suggests. ‘Some of the girls weren’t happy to share space with the others?’
‘Itoldyou, it wasn’t a fight. And we’re all Kensington Manor girls. We keep our jealousies hidden.’ I sigh. ‘Simone was talking about her latest show, is all. She wanted to shoot some scenes forWrongfully Accusedout on Elysium. Petra and Georgia didn’t like the idea.’
‘They didn’t?’
‘Of course not. Georgia doesn’t want all that old crime stuff raked over. Not unless she’s executive producer. And Petra … she’s always the one the conspiracy theorists accuse, isn’t she?’ I hesitate. Flashes of paranoia grip me. Mark can be trusted, can’t he? Every last one of my boyfriends sold stories about me to the newspapers.
‘I have to go,’ I tell him. ‘Cake tasting.’
