“But, Lord Cleath-Stuart, you must be quite a shot yourself!” says Corey, looking flushed in the face. “What with your grouse moors and so forth.”
“Absolutely,” says Tarquin. “Perhaps you’ll see for yourself one day.”
“Well!” Corey reddens still further. “Now, that would be an honor, your lordship.”
“And your wife?” inquires Tarquin mildly. “Would she like to visit England?”
“She would go nuts,” says Corey. “And, Mrs. Sherman, I must say…” He turns to Elinor. “Your invitation to the Hamptons is very kind.”
“Perhaps your wife would like an invitation to the Met Ball?” Elinor gives him a chilly smile. “I’m always happy to introduce my investment partners into society.”
“Now that…” Corey seems momentarily speechless. “That would make Cyndi’s year.”
I catch Luke’s eye and he gives me a tiny wink. OK. So far, so good.
I retreat from the room and pause for a moment, breathing hard. Right. Next stage. I must say, it would be a lot easier if we had video cameras, like in the real Ocean’s Eleven. But we don’t.
I hurry back to the little room, knock five times, which is our signal, and let myself in.
“It’s all going fine,” I say breathlessly. “Janice, you’re up.”
I pick up the vase of flowers that we ordered earlier and place it on a room-service trolley. (Luke found it on another corridor, and we just turned the tablecloth over.) My job was to establish that the conversation was going in the correct direction in each room. Which it is. Now Janice’s job is to give the signaclass="underline" Move to the next level.
As she takes hold of the trolley, I see that her hands are shaking, and I turn to her in surprise.
“Janice, are you OK?”
“Oh, Becky,” she says desperately. “I wasn’t cut out for this.”
“For what?”
“For this!” Her voice rises in agitation. “High-level criminal hijinks!”
My heart sinks. We should never have shown Ocean’s Eleven to Janice. I think in her head she honestly believes she’s robbing the casino vault.
“Janice, this isn’t high-level criminal hijinks!” I say.
“It’s only a little heist, love,” says Mum soothingly.
“It’s not a heist.” I knock a fist to my head. Honestly. Does Mum even know what a heist is? “Janice, you’ll be fine.” I try to sound reassuring. “Just take the flowers into the room, put them down, and leave. OK?” I clasp her hand, but she flinches. “Look, I’ll come with you. It’s fine. It’s all good.”
I open the door for her, and she pushes the room-service trolley out. We start slowly progressing along the corridor, Janice trembling all the while. I had no idea she’d be so nervous. I should never have put her in the eleven. But I can’t change the plan now.
“Look, you see?” I say as we turn the corner. “Easy-peasy, we’re nearly there….”
“Where’s that going?” A nasal voice hits the back of my head.
What?
I wheel round to see a woman in the same braid-trimmed jacket as Mum. She has badly dyed black hair and is coming out of a room on the other side of the corridor. As she nears, she eyes the vase narrowly. “Which flower arrangement is that?” she demands. “I don’t recognize it.”
Oh for God’s sake.
“Er…not sure,” I say, as Janice seems incapable of speech.
“Who are you?” The woman squints at my badge.
“I’m Marigold,” I say confidently.
“Marigold?” Her eyes narrow further. “I thought she left.”
Honestly, what’s wrong with this woman? Why does she have to be so suspicious the whole time? I’m sure it’s not good for her health.
“Well.” I give a shrug, and the woman whips round to Janice.
“What’s your name?”
Oh no. Poor Janice. I turn to give her some moral support—and blink in shock. Janice is transfixed. I’ve never seen such terror on a face. Before I can even open my mouth, she’s collapsed on the floor.
Oh my God.
“Janice!” I cry in horror, and kneel down beside her. “What happened? Are you OK?”
She’s not even moving. This is bad.
“Janice!” I tug at her clothes and try to listen to her heartbeat.
“Is she breathing?” demands the black-haired woman.
“I don’t know!” I say furiously. “Let me listen!”
I put my ear to her chest, but I can’t tell if I’m hearing her heartbeat or my own pulse, so I rest my face against her mouth. I’ll be able to feel her breath, surely?
And the next moment I hear a watery whisper in my ear: “I’m acting, love. Like in the film.”
She’s…
What?
I don’t believe it.
This was not in the plan. I am so going to tell Janice off. But for now I’ll have to go with it.
“She’s unconscious!” I say dramatically, sitting back on my heels. “I think you should call a doctor. So, um…you stay with her and I’ll just quickly deliver this.”
I get up and grab the trolley. I need to get into the room with these wretched flowers. Danny and Suze need the signal. They’ll be wondering and not knowing what to do—
“Wait,” says the black-haired woman.
“Call the doctor!” I repeat urgently, and the woman glares back but gets out her phone and dials. “Juliana?” she says. “It’s Lori. Can you put me through to the health center?”
“Hey, Becky!” A cheery male voice hails me. “Becky, is that you? Over here!”
Argh. What now? My head turns instinctively before I can stop it—and it’s Mike, the guy from the roulette table at the Venetian. The one who didn’t want me to leave. He’s waiting for the lift about twenty yards down the corridor, wearing a blue suit and waving with a huge beam on his face. “How’s the winning streak?” he calls. “Hey, you really work here?”
I feel prickly all over. Please shut up, I think silently. Please shut up.
“Becky?” Lori gives me an evil look. Thankfully the lift doors close before she can question Mike.
“Isn’t that weird?” I give a shrill laugh. “Who was that man? He must have me confused with…I have no idea….Oh my God! Is she still breathing?”
As Lori glances down again at Janice, I practically gallop away with the trolley. I knock on the door of Jerry’s and enter without waiting for a reply. By now, Cyndi is wearing a full-length coat and turning this way and that in front of the mirror.
“He’s just naturally generous,” she’s saying earnestly. “You know? Generous. Like, he took my whole family on vacation last year, no expense spared. My mom, dad, my sister Sherilee…”
“He sounds amazing,” Suze murmurs.
“Flowers,” I say unnecessarily, and put them onto a side table. As I do so, I catch Suze’s eye and give her a tiny wink. She winks back, then addresses Cyndi.
“You know, Cyndi, I once heard about your husband’s generosity from someone else,” she says casually. “Have you ever heard of a man called…Brent Lewis?”
There’s silence in the room. I’m completely still, waiting for her answer.
“Brent Lewis?” Cyndi says at last, her brow wrinkling. “No, I don’t believe I have.”
“Oh, it’s a great story,” enthuses Suze. “A wonderful story. And the best thing is, Corey comes so well out of it. I can’t believe he hasn’t told you what happened!”
“Too modest, I’m sure,” puts in Danny.
“He is too modest!” Cyndi nods fervently. “I always tell him that. I say, ‘Corey, hon, shine your light!’ So what’s the story?”