‘He’s with Sir Kenneth. I said I’d take a tour of the grounds. I saw the lights.’
‘They were on when I came in. What’s this place used for?’
‘It’s not. Nobody comes here.’ His tone was accusatory.
Riley ignored it. ‘I’m not surprised. Not very welcoming, is it?’
‘It used to be for storage and tack,’ he explained. ‘Sir Kenneth had the place done up when he hired some grooms to look after the horses.’ He eyed the room as if they were discussing soft furnishings, a strange contrast to the surly robot Riley had come to expect. ‘When Sir Kenneth sold the horses, he didn’t need the grooms. They left. That was a good while back.’ The bare bulb in the ceiling cast a collection of shadows across his face, highlighting the planes and hollows of his eyes and craggy cheekbones. Riley wondered why she was being treated so freely to this information.
‘Where did they go?’ she asked, edging towards the door. As far as she knew, she had no reason to fear this man, but she would feel a whole lot better once she was out in the open.
He shrugged vaguely and turned to follow her, closing the door behind him and switching off the lights on the outside wall. ‘No idea. Probably to whatever local stables would give them work. There are plenty in the area, always on the lookout for staff.’ He sounded disinterested, and Riley sensed he was keen to get her away from here.
She followed him back towards the house, unconvinced by his explanation. The smell of humans and cigarette smoke don’t usually last very long, which meant the place had been used recently. And although she knew nothing about grooms and their domestic habits, she couldn’t see local lads being into spicy food and Spanish porn.
Behind the house, the party was growing in volume as more guests milled around the entrance to the marquee and the drinks tables. From inside came the mellow sound of music loosening the mood, and a peek through the entrance showed a wall of bodies.
‘You want to check it out?’ Rockface nodded towards the marquee.
She shook her head. ‘Too much noise and too many people. I wouldn’t see anything.’ There was also the danger that if any of them mistook her for an official presence, there might be a stampede as guests with toxic substances charged outside to dispose of the evidence among the rhododendrons and rose bushes.
Rockface nodded and walked away, leaving her to continue her patrol. Seconds later, a drunken male guest spotted Riley and lurched away from his friends in her direction.
‘I say — you there!’ called the drunk, like a character from a bad stage play. ‘That single tottie… to heel, I say! Let’s have some fun!’
His intentions were spoiled as he tripped over his feet and sprawled to the ground in front of her, a few splashes of wine narrowly missing Riley’s legs. He lay there, head rolling, as a gaggle of his friends ambled across in noisy support.
‘Thanks,’ Riley murmured, stepping over him, ‘but I don’t know where you’ve been.’
She completed two tours of the grounds, drifting silently along the edge of the tree line and growing more at ease with the place. She was surprised at how peaceful it was. Somehow it seemed so at odds with the threats Sir Kenneth had received. Or maybe she was growing complacent, allowing the music, the laughter and the balmy evening to get to her.
She passed a few quiet couples here and there, mostly older guests in search of tranquillity away from the noise and pounding music in the marquee. They nodded courteously but kept their distance. Something else to get used to, she reflected: nobody talks to the minders.
She was just approaching the edge of the trees bordering the track which she and Palmer had seen earlier, when the night was blown apart by the sound of a gunshot.
Riley turned and raced back as fast as she could through the trees. Even had she been able to, it was pointless stopping to call Palmer on the radio; he’d have heard the shot, too. It appeared to have come from the direction of the house, and although the sound had been distorted, she was guessing it was a shotgun.
When she finally broke into the open, she saw a crowd milling about in confusion on the lawn between the marquee and the rear of the house. Most of them were looking up at the roof, although apart from one or two shrill demands for an explanation, nobody seemed too bothered by the sound of the shot. She wondered how much of that was down to champagne deadening their instincts for danger.
Riley followed their gaze and saw a gleam of reflected light from what might have been a gun barrel poking out over the balustrade running around the edge of the roof. She felt her stomach tighten with the numb realisation that she and Palmer would now be expected to do something.
Only, with no weapons, what could they do? So much, she thought, for gun control laws. It put all the aces in the hands of the bad guys and left everyone else defenceless.
She was about to call Palmer when she saw Rockface jogging across the lawn from the marquee, a look of consternation on his face when he saw what everyone was looking at. She hurried over to meet him and grabbed his arm.
‘Show me the way up,’ she told him. ‘Then get Sir Kenneth and the girls somewhere safe.’ The cabinet minister and other VIP guests would have to fend for themselves.
‘It’s okay — Palmer’s on it,’ the butler replied, apparently unfazed at receiving orders. He led the way through a side door and up a flight of uncarpeted stairs. They didn’t have the same plush feel as the rest of the house, and Riley guessed it was a service staircase. It echoed with emptiness and felt cold and austere — or maybe that was simply a feeling prompted by the knowledge that somewhere above their heads was a man with a gun. She shivered, her light suit suddenly inappropriate for the drop in temperature.
Their footsteps echoed ahead of them as they rounded the first floor stairs and started up the narrow final section. Riley prayed that whoever was up there didn’t decide to come down this way.
Rockface must have had the same thought, because he reached under his coat and produced an automatic pistol.
Definitely not your average butler, thought Riley. She wondered if Palmer knew the man was armed.
They came to a low door leading to the roof. It was solid, with a large, square lock holding an ornate iron key with a forged handle. Riley tried the handle and felt the door give a fraction. It was unlocked.
They waited, allowing their breathing to return to normal and straining for sounds of movement on the other side. But it was like being in an echo chamber; Riley couldn’t hear a thing above her own heartbeat and Rockface’s panting.
‘Are you any good with that thing?’ she whispered. He was holding the gun in a two-handed grip, the finger alongside the trigger guard. It looked very professional, but she wasn’t automatically reassured. Anyone who’d watched a Bond film knew how to hold a gun like an expert.
He nodded. ‘Among other things, inter-services champion at Bisley. That good enough for you?’
‘Fair enough. But remember — it could be some tanked-up chinless wonder up here who simply found the keys to the gun cabinet.’
Rockface sneered. ‘That’s his lookout, then, isn’t it?’
‘True. But assuming he doesn’t kill us both by accident, what if you shoot him and he turns out to be the son and heir of Lord Doohickey? You fancy doing time for it?’
He appeared to consider the idea, then gestured at Riley to stand by the door. She realised that he wanted her to open it, so he could go through first. She was happy to let him. Hopefully, he wouldn’t get his head blown off.
She leaned over and grasped the handle again. It turned with a faint squeak and the door opened, letting in a cool gust of evening air and the reflected glare of lights from the festivities below. Further across the roof she caught a glimpse of the skeletal framework of scaffolding poking into the sky. The sound of music, although muted up here, was still ongoing as though nothing had happened, and it made Riley wonder what it would have taken to bring the proceedings to a halt.