

### FIRST ATTEMPT  
(FLORIA'S STORY)

### (BOOK 1 – THE LEVANTÉ SISTERS SERIES)

BY LOUISE ROSE-INNES

Copyright © Louise Rose-Innes 2017

The right of Louise Rose-Innes to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without prior written permission of the author, except in cases of brief quotations embodied in reviews or articles. It may not be edited, amended, lent, resold, hired out, distributed or otherwise circulated without the publisher's written permission.

Permission can be obtained from louiseroseinnes@gmail.com.

All characters in this book (with the exception of the celebrities mentioned) are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. All references to real people are to add colour and are the product of Louise's imagination and have absolutely no basis in real life.

# CHAPTER ONE

"How do I look?" Floria executed a pirouette in front of her bedroom mirror.

"Beautiful," smiled Daisy, her best friend and hairdresser, who'd been summoned to help Floria get ready for her big date.

"Beautiful enough to be proposed to?" asked Floria, striking a model pose. Tonight was the night her long-term boyfriend, James Nielson-Barnes MP was going to ask her to marry him. She was convinced of it! He'd been hinting for some time that they needed to discuss their future and tonight he'd reserved a table at his favourite restaurant. What else could it be but a proposal?

She'd dressed appropriately in a pale blue off-the-shoulder top and a tailored black skirt, which fell to just below the knee. Given that she had a voluptuous figure, she avoided trousers which made her bottom look big. Her earlobes were adorned with a lovely set of sapphires set in gold, given to her by her father on her sixteenth birthday.

"Absolutely! I can't believe it's really happening. You must be so excited."

"I am. I never thought this day would come. But since James won the Ashdale seat last month and has become an MP, he's suddenly much more serious." She lowered her voice to mimic his. "It's an honour and a privilege to be a member of parliament, you know. One has to be very responsible and sensible." She sighed happily. "Luckily James is both those things."

"You'll make the perfect MP's wife," Daisy said, loyally.

"I know. James is very motivated, so I'll have to behave myself from now on. I might even be Prime Minister's wife one day." She grinned and flicked her wavy, pale blonde hair over her shoulder. "No more dancing on bar counters or falling out of cabs for me."

"I can just picture it," laughed Daisy, packing up the styling tongs. "And I'll be your personal stylist."

"Definitely." Floria hugged her friend. "Thanks so much for your help tonight. I couldn't have done it without you." She gazed at her reflection in the mirror. "I want it to be just perfect."

"I'm sure it will be," replied Daisy as she packed up her bits and bobs. "You'll have to call me tomorrow and tell me how he did it. Do you think he'll get down on one knee?"

"Probably," she mused. "James is very traditional. Everything will be done by the book. His family will insist on it." James came from a very old, established English family; most of the men had been involved in politics to some degree.

"I thought you said you didn't get on with them," remarked Daisy, twisting the cord around her industrial-strength hairdryer.

Floria paused to apply a layer of pink lip gloss to her generous lips. "They're alright, just a bit old fashioned. James is an only child, after all. They're bound to be protective of him. I'm sure they'll warm to me once we're married."

"I can't imagine anyone not warming to you," smiled Daisy. The girls had been friends ever since Floria had flounced into Daisy's hair boutique in the small Surrey village of Edgemead four years ago without an appointment, brandishing a bottle of chardonnay, to get her hair done for Ascot. Daisy, who owned the salon, had polished off the bottle with Floria and promptly taken the rest of the day off to accompany her to the races.

"I'm ready, you know," Floria whispered, her expression sincere. "I realise people think I'm just a socialite but this is what I've always wanted – to settle down and get married. I want a big family, with a messy house and at least two dogs running around the place, and perhaps a couple of hamsters or guinea pigs too. Things I never had when I was growing up." But she mustn't get reflective. She laughed it off. "I think James will make an excellent husband. Don't you?"

"Well, he's very well respected," said Daisy, who was a bit in awe of James. "I'm sure he's more than capable of being a dad. And I can't see him running off to the pub with his mates during the week. He'll be far too busy for that, besides, he'll have his reputation to uphold." Her friend couldn't prevent a shadow of worry from flashing across her face. Daisy was having terrible issues with her boyfriend, Simon, who kept disappearing to the pub after work and coming home drunk.

"Yes. That he is. I know I'll be able to rely on him."

"And you wouldn't have to work," her friend pointed out.

"True, I could quite easily give up my job to raise James's children." What a lovely idea. It was all turning out perfectly. After tonight, she'd be engaged to the wonderful James Neilson-Barnes. Her future was all panning out the way she'd hoped. Floria could hardly suppress the happiness that bubbled up inside of her. All her dreams were about to come true.

The doorbell rang – double chimes. Floria's heart fluttered. "He's here," she whispered.

Daisy jumped up off the bed where she'd spread out with a glass of champagne. "I'll get it, then you can make a grand entrance."

"Perfect." Floria dabbed some perfume on her wrists and picked up her handbag. It was pale blue leather with a delicate chain-metal strap, and she'd bought it specially to go with this outfit.

"Floria!" called Daisy from downstairs.

Her future was waiting.

Posticino's was packed, which wasn't unusual for a Friday night. An Italian waiter in a crisp tuxedo showed them to their table. It was in the corner, near the window, just where James liked it. Floria knew he sat here so he could observe his constituents who came in the door, and determine if he knew them, before they spotted him. James was always looking for opportunities to network. He was ambitious; it was part of what she liked about him.

Floria knew the menu by heart. She ordered a Caesar's salad to start, and then the leg of lamb which was so tender it practically fell off the bone. James ordered the salmon starter and then the seafood pasta, which she also knew to be delicious.

The waiter poured them a glass of wine from a very expensive bottle, also one of James's favourites. While Floria appreciated fine wine, she didn't necessarily need it. If it was wet and came from a grape, she'd probably drink it. Easy to please, she'd told James once.

Floria could hardly sit still. Her heart was hammering away in her chest like the magpie that had been knocking at her window all morning. When would he do it?

She studied him speculatively as she picked at her salad. He didn't look particularly nervous, but then James was used to speaking in front of an audience, so a mere proposal wasn't going to frighten him. He looked confident and self-assured. She wondered where he'd hidden the ring.

After they'd finished their starters and the waiter had cleared the table, James reached over and took her hand. His was surprisingly cool.

"Here we go," thought Floria, scarcely able to contain her excitement.

"Floria," began James, his voice lower than usual. "I brought you here tonight because there's something I need to talk to you about."

"Yes, James?" She made her eyes wide and fluttered her eyelashes attractively.

"Well, this isn't easy for me to say, but..."

"Yes?" She took a deep breath. This was it!

"I don't think we should see each other anymore."

There was a stark silence as his words sunk in. Floria felt like she was suddenly underwater. The thick clunking sounds of the waiter putting their main course down in front of them seemed to be coming from miles away. Everything was muted.

She shook her head to clear it. She couldn't have heard him correctly.

"What?"

James waited patiently for the waiter to clear off, before he said, "I've been thinking very long and hard about our relationship, and I just don't think it's right for me anymore."

Floria leaned forward in her chair and squeaked, "What do you mean it's not right for you? I thought you loved me?" She didn't bother to lower her voice.

James nodded, suddenly looking nervous. His eyes darted around the room hoping no one had overheard them.

"I thought you were going to suggest taking our relationship to the next level," she whispered, her words sounding foolish now. All the signs had been there. They were spending more and more time together. The sex was great. He'd just become an MP. How could she have made such a catastrophic error of judgment?

"The next level?" He looked quizzical. "You mean as in a proposal?" He even had the gall to chuckle. "Why on earth would you think that? Haven't you seen the papers?"

Floria bit her lip. There had been that piece in _The Sun_ with the picture of her frolicking in Bradley Melville's Jacuzzi, but surely that couldn't be what was bothering him?

"Yes, but I don't understand..."

She was confused. What on earth did he mean? They'd been in the papers before. Their set was constantly being photographed at the polo, or the races, or some party or another. What was the big deal?

James sighed. "Floria. I'm an MP now. I can't have my girlfriend creating a scandal. You were photographed naked and drunk in a Jacuzzi. It's not good for my reputation. It makes me look wild and irresponsible. Think of my constituents, the other members of parliament. What must they think of me?"

Floria was silent as she mulled this over. So he was worried about his reputation as an MP. Of course. They must have said something to him. Cautioned him, perhaps? That's what all this was about.

She took a deep breath. "That's easily rectified, James. If we got married and settled down, that sort of thing wouldn't happen anymore. That's what I thought you were going to suggest."

James shook his head. "Darling, I'm nowhere near ready to get married. No offence, but your diva of a mother is constantly in the tabloids, and you seem to be following in her footsteps. Yes, you are fun and vivacious and we have a great time, but you're not the right girl for me. Not anymore. You're not a politician's wife. You're too much of a liability."

The world was spinning. She wasn't the right girl for him? She wasn't a politician's wife? And what did her mother have to do with it?

He patted her hand. "We've had good times together, I don't deny that, but it's time for me to move on. I'm an MP. I need someone with a similar vision to help me get to where I want to go."

Talk about patronising. Floria whipped her hand back and put them both between her legs to stop them shaking.

"I can't believe you," she hissed, not caring that the neighbouring table could overhear every word. Her heart was breaking. "You are such a snob. I thought you loved me. I thought we had a future together."

"Love?" he shrugged, "I've never put much stake in that word."

As her face fell he said more softly, "Look, I'm sorry I have to do this, but I had a meeting with some senior members of parliament yesterday – they seem to have taken me under their wing."

Floria barely resisted rolling her eyes.

"In light of the article in _The Sun_ and your reputation as a... well, as a party-girl, they advised me to terminate our relationship immediately."

Terminate immediately.

It was as if their relationship was a clause in a contract.

"Really? They said that?"

He nodded. "It could be very damaging to my career. Being an MP brings with it a level of scrutiny unlike many other careers. You're a part-time PA, so it doesn't matter what you do in your spare time. For me, however, that kind of behaviour is unacceptable. I can't get pictured stumbling out of a club or drunk in a Jacuzzi. It would be the end of my career."

"It doesn't have to be like that. I'd be a good wife to you." Her voice broke. "Didn't you stand up for me at all?"

"Actually, they were a little blunter than that, but I don't want to hurt your feelings."

Floria squeezed her eyes shut. Obviously he hadn't. This couldn't be happening. She'd been so looking forward to tonight, and now everything was ruined. Her future was ruined. All her hopes and dreams were dashed – and before they'd even had their main course. In fact, the smell of the lamb sitting in its juices in front of her was making her nauseous.

"What exactly did they say?" she rasped. "You may as well tell me."

James hesitated as he picked a prawn out of his pasta. Finally, he looked up and said, "They told me if I wanted a career in politics, then I should get rid of the bimbo."

Floria felt the colour drain from her face. She curled the table cloth in her fist, pulling her plate dangerously close to the edge. How could they be so mean?

"Look, I'm sorry, Floria, it's their words, not mine... But you are a liability. Even you must see that?"

Floria jumped up, letting her chair fall backwards onto the carpet, much to the surprise of her fellow diners. She held up a hand and said in a crystal clear voice, "Save it, James. Don't worry, I get the message loud and clear. I don't think we need to discuss this any further. Now if you'll excuse me..."

And she did her second pirouette of the evening before waltzing out of the restaurant, her head held high, trying desperately to keep it together. It was only in the darkened interior of the black cab that she gave in to her plummeting emotions and wept.

# CHAPTER TWO

Floria pulled the duvet over her head. She couldn't face the day. After what had happened last night she didn't know if she would be able to face anyone ever again. Her heart had shattered into a thousand little pieces, like when she'd dropped her mother's crystal wine glass set at last year's summer party. And like her mother had never forgiven her for that, she'd never be able to forgive James for what he'd done.

Get rid of the bimbo.

Oh, how those words haunted her. Is that really what people thought of her? Yes, she was a busty blonde, but she was far from being an air-head. She might only work mornings, but she ran her boss's professional life with the efficiency of a drill sergeant. As P.A. to one of London's busiest music industry marketing gurus, she spent her mornings arranging meetings, booking travel arrangements, sweet-talking temperamental musicians, organising pre-concert drinks and post-performance dinners, and basically doing anything and everything that was required of her. Just because she knew a lot of people and got invited to loads of parties, didn't mean she was a bimbo.

James was such a hypocrite. He loved going out as much as she did. In fact, he was even more of a party-animal. It was usually her that had to drag him away at the end of an evening. She huffed. _I'll bet he didn't tell his peers that._

A fresh spasm of pain shot through her chest and she curled up into a ball under the covers. She'd had such high hopes, but they'd all been reduced to nothing. She would never be Mrs Neilson-Barnes. She would never wear James's ring on her finger, or bear his children. Her dream of a big house filled with children and pets had disappeared in a puff of smoke, or rather a waft of leg of lamb.

Now she knew how her namesake, Floria Tosca, had felt when she discovered her artist-lover had died and all their carefully laid plans had been destroyed. A once bright future was now just a depressing void. Not that she was going to throw herself off a roof or anything, like in the opera, but she fully planned to spend the next day or two wallowing in self-pity.

Thank goodness it was the weekend. Floria slumped from the bed to the sofa, where she was eating her way through a massive Toblerone and watching back-to-back episodes of _Death in Paradise_. She'd just dozed off in a tear-stained, post-chocolate haze when the phone rang. She glanced at the number hopefully, but it was withheld. Heart sinking, she answered it with a dull, "Hello."

"Good afternoon. Is this Miss Floria Levanté?" The voice sounded official. She sat up on the sofa and fumbled for the remote control. A screaming match on the TV made it hard to hear.

"It is."

"This is Detective Inspector McGuinness. I'm afraid there's been an incident at Brompton Court, Dame Serena Levanté's house."

"What kind of incident?" She managed to find the remote and clicked off the TV. What had her mother done now?

A pause.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Miss Levanté, but your mother's dead. She was found murdered a short time ago."

"What?" For the second time in as many days Floria felt like she was floundering underwater. She closed her eyes hoping it would allow her to concentrate on what the detective was saying, but her brain refused to function. "Dead, you say?"

"I'm afraid so. Could you...?"

"I'll be right there." Floria leapt off the sofa so fast the blood drained from her head. She dropped the phone, dimly aware that the policeman was still talking, and rushed into her bedroom to look for something to wear. Her eyes fell on her discarded outfit from last night. It would have to do. She pulled on the skirt, shimmied into the blouse and pulled her hair back into a mussed-up pony-tail.

Your mother's dead.

The detective's words were only just sinking in. Floria couldn't believe it. Her mother, so glamorous, so full of life, so dramatic, was no more. How could it be possible? Who would want to murder Dame Serena Levanté? The public adored her – for her exquisite voice which could raise the roof at the Royal Albert Hall, and her diva-like antics that filled the pages of the tabloids.

"Taxi!" yelled Floria, rushing out onto the street. Her phone buzzed again, it was Daisy. She ignored it. Not now.

A black cab stopped and she dived in, almost tumbling onto the floor in her haste. She gave the driver the address and sat back on the seat to catch her breath. It was at least a forty-minute drive from Chelsea to Cobham in Surrey, where her mother lived but the train would take twice as long, with a ten-minute walk on the other side. The cabbie obviously couldn't believe his luck, and immediately struck up a merry conversation. After Floria failed to answer, he lapsed into silence, casting furtive glances at her pale, tear-stained face in the rear view mirror.

Floria leant back and shut her eyes. She wished the act of doing so would block out the reality of what was happening, of this sudden downward rollercoaster she seemed to be on. Instead, a vision appeared... of the last time she'd seen her mother. It was the summer garden party, an annual event in Serena's social calendar. Everyone was there, including the vicar, who had a soft spot for Serena, even though she was a tortured soul. "Her voice is a gift from above," he was fond of saying, as if he was in some way responsible – by association – for her angelic talent.

As with all Serena's garden parties, it had been a long, boozy afternoon. Most of the guests had gone, and the ones that were left had either disappeared into the woods at the bottom of the garden, or were dozing off to the last few songs of the band, who wanted to pack up, but were being paid by the hour.

Floria was helping Serena's housekeeper clear glasses and cake plates off the tables in the marquee that had been erected on the lawn opposite the rose garden. Serena had had too much to drink – as usual – and was dancing with the attractive, but much younger, Russian composer, Vladimir Kustov to a tired Viennese waltz. She was visibly unsteady on her feet, but undeterred, the besotted Vladimir held her close to his lithe, sinewy body. Too close for Floria's liking. She glanced around for Collin, her mother's fourth husband, who was currently in residence, wondering what he'd have to say about such an assignation.

"Your mother's behaviour is out of control," Ranulph, Husband Number One and Floria's father pointed out, appearing next to her with his walking stick. His face was sad, and Floria wondered if he was remembering happier days with Serena, when drink didn't dictate her every move. At seventy-four, he was slowing down and spent most of the year at his villa in the South of France.

"Shall I have a word?" Floria asked wearily. "Although, you know she never listens to me."

"Too late," whispered Ranulph as Collin marched into the marquee, brushing the plastic flap out of his face in irritation. His gaze settled on Serena, and hardened.

"Serena, what are you playing at?" he hissed, his face contorted with anger. It was already pink from too many G&Ts in the sun, but now changed to a mottled purple.

"Oh dear," whispered Floria, pulling out a chair for her father who looked like he might fall over.

Vladimir took one look at the incensed Collin and abruptly released Serena, sending her stumbling backwards. Collin put out an arm to steady her. "Dammit, can't you control yourself? You're making a fool of yourself... and me."

"That's the idea," mocked Serena, her mouth curled in an ugly smirk. Vladimir, remembering his agent's warning not to get into any trouble, slunk away, along with the last few guests who knew Serena's volatile nature and wanted to avoid a show-down. Floria waved a reluctant goodbye to the stragglers, as they hastily went outside to call taxis to take them home.

Collin gripped Serena's arm.

"Let go of me!" she shrieked. "You've ignored me all afternoon, why stop now?"

"Here we go," murmured Ranulph. "I have to say I don't miss the fireworks."

Floria grimaced. "Neither do I. Shall I intervene?"

"Might be a good idea," her father replied, his once bright blue eyes, the same colour as Floria's, subdued and a bit rheumy with age. Serena looked like she might erupt, and Collin was barely in control of his temper.

"Mother, you'd better come outside and say goodbye to your guests," Floria called, getting up. Serena ignored her. Floria glanced at her father before walking over to them. "Mother, please, you're wanted outside."

"Your mother's drunk, Floria. It might be best if she comes inside now."

Serena flicked off his arm and turned to Ranulph, who was still sitting at a nearby table. "Can't you take your daughter home." Her voice was loaded with malice. "I don't need her butting into my business. Can't you see I'm trying to have an argument with my soon to be ex-husband."

Collin simmered. Floria stood rooted to the spot. Her mother's spite never ceased to amaze her. You'd think she'd be used to her sharp tongue after all these years, but it still stung, albeit not as much as it used to. She was used to her mother treating her like a second-class citizen.

Ranulph struggled to his feet and said in a rare show of anger, "That was uncalled for, Serena. You should be thanking Floria for what she's done here today, not ostracising her. You'd better be careful or you'll have no one to organise next year's party."

Serena turned away, tight lipped. Ranulph was probably the only person who could put her in her place without getting his head bitten off.

Floria blinked back tears. Serena would never change, and her drinking only made her insults worse. "Never mind, Dad. I don't know why I bother." She sighed and shook her head, admitting defeat. "I'm going home."

He nodded, taking her arm. "So am I, darling girl. We're not wanted here."

Together they made their way outside. Behind them Collin could be heard saying, "I can't take much more of this, Serena. You need to get some help. Your drinking is out of hand."

Her reply was lost as a cab pulled up onto the gravel in front of the house. "That's going to go down well," Floria remarked, sarcasm covering up the hurt she felt. "I can't see mother in group therapy, can you?"

Ranulph managed a grim smile. "It's the others I feel sorry for." He patted her hand in the back seat. "Don't let your mother upset you, dear. It's the drink talking."

But Floria knew different. "It's as if she hates the sight of me. She completely ignores me – always has done. I don't know why she bothered to have me in the first place, if I'm that much of a nuisance to her."

Ranulph squeezed her hand. "I'm so sorry, darling," he whispered. "You're a saint to put up with her."

Floria sniffed and shrugged. "At least I've got you, Dad." She leant over and gave him a hug. When she released him, she could have sworn there were tears running down his cheeks.

Now, on her way to Brompton Court, Floria felt a heaviness in her heart that she supposed was grief, but she didn't cry. It was almost as if she'd used up all her tears in the last twenty-four hours and now there were no more left to fall.

"I'll have to drop you here, luv," the cabbie said, as he was prevented from entering the long drive at Serena Levanté's Surrey mansion. Police had cordoned off the driveway with bright yellow tape, which only served to make passers-by slow down to try and catch a glimpse of what was going on.

Floria paid him and got out into the usually quiet country lane, which was now milling with people.

"I'm Serena Levanté's daughter, Floria," she told the policeman on duty. He nodded and lifted the tape so she could duck underneath. She sprinted up the drive, across the immaculately landscaped lawn and passed the stone fountain where the graceful water carrier sprinkled water from her bucket with a serene smile on her face, oblivious to the horror that had occurred here. There were two blue-and-white police cars, lights still flashing, a van and an ambulance parked outside the front entrance. Her family home was a crime scene.

Tatiana, her mother's pretty Russian cleaner, was sobbing on the bench by the pond. A WPC sat beside her, an arm around her shoulder. Men in blue overalls carrying medical boxes marched in and out of the house, grim expressions on their faces. Floria stared at the ambulance, wondering if her mother was inside.

"You're the daughter, I take it?" A man in his early forties approached her. He had a weathered, pleasant face with lively, intelligent eyes and a serious expression. He wasn't in uniform.

Floria nodded. "Floria Levanté." She held out a shaking hand.

The man shook her hand, his kind eyes crinkling at the corners. "Detective Inspector McGuinness, we spoke on the phone." He held up a badge which she didn't bother to look at.

"Is my mother inside?" she asked, her voice quivering with the strain.

"No, her body's in the ambulance now," he said gently. "They're going to do a post-mortem to determine the cause of death."

"You said... murdered." The word sounded hollow and unfamiliar. It was a word reserved for TV serials and movies. Not real life.

"She had a bad blow to the head, which we think was the cause of death, although until the post mortem we won't know for sure."

"Was it intruders?" How awful. She pictured her mother, groggy with sleep and probably still inebriated, trying to fend off an attack.

"It looks that way," the inspector said vaguely.

"Can I go inside?" She'd always loved Brompton Court. The grand old Georgian building stood proudly at the top of a vast plot, spanning acres of countryside. Its cream façade with gold trimming on the roof gave it an ethereal glow, especially at dusk, when the sun set over the rolling hills directly in front of it, as it was doing now. It never failed to take her breath away.

Her father loved it too. He still spoke about the magic of the place. It left a lasting impression. Although the music producer's marriage to Serena hadn't lasted long, Floria still remembered her father pottering in the garden, or sitting on the bench beside the pond in summer reading his beloved _Sunday Times_.

"Yes, but please stay behind the tape. It is an active crime scene."

"Of course."

Floria entered her family home, suddenly feeling as if she were a stranger. Forensics buzzed around like flies, bagging random items and dusting for fingerprints. Policemen wandered around, gawking at the paintings and statues as if they were at a gallery exhibit.

"On second thoughts, I think I'll wait outside," she said, turning abruptly and making for the door. The detective followed.

"Do you mind if I ask you some questions?" His face was kindly, but his voice earnest. She got the impression that he didn't beat around the bush.

"Of course," she said, turning to face him so her back was towards the house. They stood on the lawn, which was turning a luminous green in the setting sun.

"Were you and your mother close?"

The first question caught her off-guard. She glanced at the detective who was studying her closely. Obviously he knew of their tumultuous relationship.

"No, not particularly," she said with a sigh.

"Any reason why?" he asked.

"Where should I begin?" she said sardonically. Then seeing his serious expression, she elaborated, "My mother wasn't around much when I was growing up, Inspector. As you can imagine, she was on tour a lot of the time. I went to boarding school and didn't spend much time at home. So no, we weren't close."

"When last did you see your mother?"

Floria bit her lip. "At her annual summer party last year. June."

"That's quite a long time ago. You haven't been back since?"

"No." She shook her head. "We didn't part on good terms."

"I see," DI McGuinness studied her face. "Care to elaborate?"

Floria sighed. "She'd had a bit to drink and was having an argument with her fourth husband, Collin. I tried to intervene but she bit my head off." Nothing unusual there. Floria took a deep breath. "Let's just say I didn't feel inclined to visit her after that. We've never had that sort of cosy mother-daughter relationship anyway."

If DI McGuinness saw the hurt in her eyes, he didn't remark on it. "And can you tell me where you were last night between ten p.m. and two a.m.?"

Being dumped by my boyfriend.

"Is that when she died?" Her voice cracked. The detective nodded. "That's our best guess at the moment."

She cleared her throat. "I was out with my boyfriend... ex-boyfriend, at a restaurant in Pimlico called Posticino."

"You'll have to give us your boyfriend's name and contact details. We'll need to verify your whereabouts."

"Okay," she muttered. Wouldn't James just love that? More drama to smear his good name.

He'll be thanking his lucky stars he broke up with me now.

Tears prickled her eyes and she swiped at them angrily. DI McGuinness mistook them for tears of grief and patted her on the arm. "We're nearly done," he said, glancing down at his notebook. "Just a few more. Do you know where your mother's husband is, a Mr Harrison?"

"Collin? No, I don't know. Isn't he here?"

The detective shook his head. "According to the housekeeper, Mr Harrison moved out last week. It seems him and your mother had recently separated."

"Really?" Floria wasn't particularly surprised. In fact, the only astonishing thing was that it had lasted this long.

"Well, I suppose he could be in the Bahamas. He has a house there. In Nassau." It was the only place she could think of where he might go. They did spend a fair bit of time there during the winter months.

"Thank you. If you could give us the address...?"

"Sure."

She dug her phone out of her pocket and scrolled through it. "Here it is." She gave it to him and watched as he scribbled it down in his worn notepad. The sun chose that moment to dip below the horizon casting the valley in shadow. A chill descended on them. Floria shivered and pulled her jacket tighter around her waist.

"I wonder if you could do something for me, Miss Levanté? I know Mr Harrison was an art collector and had many fine pieces on display in the house. Would you mind taking a look around and letting me know if anything is missing?"

"Of course. Do you want me to do that now?"

"In a minute, if you would?"

Floria nodded. Collin had a knack at unearthing long-forgotten artworks, often extremely valuable. No one knew quite where or how he found them, but he'd built a reputation for himself as a formidable art dealer. His gallery in South Kensington was highly regarded and Floria had often gazed in awe at the pieces he brought home for them to view.

Then the inspector asked her about her own father, Ranulph Haines, and she dutifully gave him the retired record producer's address in the South of France. Her father had been quite a bit older than Serena when they married, twenty-five years ago; and he was now in his early seventies.

"Last question," the inspector said kindly as Floria rubbed her eyes. "Then I'll let you go."

Floria watched the ambulance drive slowly down the drive on its way to the morgue. It was hard to picture her mother cold and lifeless inside. For all her faults, Serena had been a passionate, vivacious woman. Always the centre of attention – the quintessential diva. Why would anyone want to kill her?

The inspector was saying, "We found four birth certificates amongst your mother's papers. Were you aware that your mother had four children, including you?"

# CHAPTER THREE

Floria stared at the detective inspector, her mouth open. Had she heard him right? She shook her head. "I'm sorry, did you say _four_ children?"

He nodded, watching her carefully. "Yes, four birth certificates were found in a file on her desk. Two – twins it seems – were given up for adoption at birth, the third was born in Spain."

Floria's legs wobbled and she clutched the detective's forearm. "I'm sorry, I think I need to sit down." This was too much. Her brain refused to take it in.

DI McGuinness led her over to the bench that the cleaner had been sitting on only moments before and she sunk down, grateful for its support. She stared into the pond, the surface of which was slick and black like oil. She fought the urge to propel herself forward into its dark depths to put an end to this madness.

"Miss Levanté?" the inspector prodded her. "I take it you were unaware of their existence."

You could say that.

"Well, yes. I had no idea about any other children." She turned to face him and with an unsteady voice said, "I thought I was an only child."

He grimaced and his eyes crinkled sympathetically. "I understand. It must have come as a shock. I'm sorry. I assumed you knew."

"No," she shook her head slowly. "I had no idea." The detective waited for her to continue. "Are they all girls?"

Suddenly she wanted to know everything about them. Who they were? Where they lived? What they did? Did they know about her?

"Yes, they are." He paused to scratch the stubble on his chin. "We will, of course, have to inform them of their mother's death. I believe there's a will too, but I'll leave that up to the solicitors, who will be in touch in due course."

"Can I see the file?" asked Floria, her eyes wide.

"After we're finished with it. It's evidence, I'm afraid. It appears that your mother was looking at it before she went to bed. It might be relevant."

Floria didn't think to ask why it was relevant.

Having got all the information he needed for the time being, DI McGuinness thanked Floria and went back into the house, but not before reminding her to be so kind as to inspect the artworks to make sure nothing had been stolen. They hadn't ruled out a robbery, yet.

Floria sat on the bench shivering for a long time before she could bring herself to move. Serena had given birth to four daughters. She had three sisters! Why had her mother hidden the fact?

Floria thought of her own lonely childhood, packed off to boarding school at the age of eleven, ignored and neglected. It seemed insane that Serena had had three other children before her. What had become of them? Where were they living? Would she meet them at the ?

Her head spinning, she finally stumbled into the house, frigid with cold. Violeta, Serena's motherly housekeeper, ushered her into the kitchen and put on the kettle.

"Sit down. You need a cup of coffee," she said, in her soft Italian accent. She pulled out a chair at the rustic wooden kitchen table into which Floria sank gratefully. She remembered having her meals here as a child. It struck her that Violeta had been more of a mother to her than Serena ever had.

"Oh, Violeta. I've got three sisters. How is that possible?" She gripped the housekeeper's hand. "It feels so surreal."

"What? I don't understand." Violeta looked as confused as Floria felt.

"That's what the police detective just said." And she went on to tell Violeta about the four birth certificates.

"How is it possible?" Violeta asked, her Italian accent more pronounced due to her surprise. "I know nothing of this and I work for your mother for over ten years."

"No one did. It seems mother kept this secret all to herself." She shook her head. "I don't think even my father knew."

"Mio Dio," whispered the housekeeper, patting her hand. The kettle clicked off.

Floria nodded in agreement. "I wonder where they are?"

Violeta released her to make the coffee. "I suppose you will find out now that she is dead."

"Yes, I suppose so..." It was all so surreal. Floria felt like she was floating in a dream. Three sisters. Incredible.

Violeta put the cup down in front of Floria. Her hands were shaking.

"Are you okay, Violeta?" The housekeeper's normal olive complexion was pale and pinched around the eyes.

"Oh, I don't want to worry you even more, tesoro." She made a dismissive gesture with her hand and turned around.

"Violeta. I want you to tell me what's wrong." Now Floria was worried. In all the years she'd known Violeta, she'd never turned her back on her before.

Slowly, the housekeeper faced her. She was wringing her hands in her apron. "What will become of us now, Floria? Now that your mother is dead."

"What do you mean?"

"Pepe and me...We will have to move. Mr Harrison won't want us to stay here."

"Of course he will," snapped Floria. There was no way Violeta – or Pepe who looked after the grounds – would be let go. It was unconscionable. "You don't have to worry. I promise everything will be okay. We're not selling Brompton Court. I couldn't bear to part with it."

That much was true, but if Collin inherited the house would she have any say in the matter? Exhaustion drained her as she realised what lay ahead. She squeezed her eyes shut. It was all so overwhelming.

_One thing at a time,_ she chanted silently, wrapping both her hands around the coffee mug, drawing on its warmth. On Monday she'd get in touch with Greg, her mother's solicitor. He'd advise her on what to do. Greg was an old friend. He'd have her best interests at heart, which is more than one could say for most solicitors. She mustn't panic. Everything was going to be all right.

Fortified by the coffee, Floria eased her fatigued body out of the chair. "That police detective wants me to take a look around the house to make sure nothing has been stolen," she told Violeta. "Thanks for the cuppa and please don't worry. It's all going to be fine." She wished she felt as confident as she sounded.

In the entrance hall, the position at the foot of the staircase where her mother's body had been found was still cordoned off. Five garish orange cones marked out the place where she had died, like when someone spilled something in a supermarket and they were waiting for the cleaning lady to mop it up. Floria recalled sliding down the banister as a child and landing in that exact spot, squealing with laughter. Now it was a murder scene. Suppressing a shiver, she stepped around the cones, careful not to touch anything.

The grand old staircase curved up towards the landing. At the top, hanging on the wall – impossible to miss – was a large portrait of Serena by a very well-known local painter called Alexander Hobbs. It had been commissioned over a decade ago, when Serena had been in her prime. Young, beautiful, at the height of her stardom.

"Oh, Mother," sighed Floria, hanging onto the banister and gazing at the image of the woman who'd given birth to her. "What happened to you?"

Serena, her dark hair falling in an exotic wave over her shoulder, was draped in a scarlet cloak that displayed an inordinate amount of cleavage. She smiled alluringly at the artist but her eyes stared past him onto the hall below. Only she knew what had happened _that_ night and she wasn't telling.

Dragging her gaze away, Floria walked into her mother's bedroom. It was the most elaborate room in the house, decked out with pink satin curtains that lifted gently with the breeze, plush cream carpets that your toes sunk into, and a king-size four-poster bed adorned with pale pink sheets and fluffy scatter cushions. It was a boudoir appropriate for an opera star.

On the wall in front of the bed so that Serena could lie and gaze at it, hung a magnificent Turner in an ornate gold frame. The view of the Thames, painted from Richmond Hill, glistened with a golden hue as it snaked through the meadowed landscape. The sweeping vista symbolised peace and tranquillity, so different from the constant drama that surrounded Serena. Perhaps that's why her mother had loved it so much.

The antique dresser had a Harrods' make-up bag, various bottles of perfume and an open jewellery box on it. Floria walked over to it and ran a finger along the top. Her mother's scent still lingered in the air like a ghostly reminder that this was _her_ room, _her_ things.

The jewellery box contained necklaces and rings Serena must have taken off before she went to bed the night she was killed. There was the silver chain with the diamond snowflake pendant that she often wore, and those were the matching earrings.

Her eyes fell on a sparkly yellow ring beneath the necklace. That was strange... what was Serena's engagement ring from Collin doing in here? She never took it off. Could their problems be so bad that they'd finally split up?

It can't be a burglary, Floria mused, picking up the oval cut, yellow-diamond engagement ring mounted in platinum and yellow gold surrounded by a halo of delicate diamonds. This alone would fetch enough for a nice deposit on a house for a hard-done-by burglar. The yellow gold wedding band lay next to it, partially buried by a string of pearls which was why she hadn't noticed it before.

Floria put the engagement ring back into the jewellery box, exactly where she'd found it. This was still an active crime scene and the police would want to see nothing had been stolen.

The adjoining room which Serena used as a dressing room seemed undisturbed. There were no paintings in here, only mirrors and built-in cupboards that housed an impressive array of ball gowns and other outfits worthy of a world-famous opera star. Floria fingered some of them as she walked past, memories of all the opening nights she'd attended as a girl when she was still in awe of her mother, popping back into her mind. Nope, nothing amiss in here.

The same went for Serena's personal bathroom. It was sparklingly clean, as if Tatiana had recently seen to it. Floria knew nothing of value was kept in there, unless you counted the deep Victorian-style bath with golden taps.

The next level up housed Collin's bedroom, bathroom and study. One of Serena's quirks was she didn't like to actually sleep with her husbands, or lovers for that matter. She said it ruined her beauty sleep. So after she'd 'entertained' them in her own room, she'd kick them out so she could sleep in peace.

Collin's bedroom had been completely redecorated after flamboyant Husband Number Three had left. Against the wall stood a mahogany bed covered in fine bedding with soft pillows. There was not a crease on it. Even Collin's slippers were perfectly positioned on the floor at the right side of the bed. His dresser was clean and polished to a high shine, and there was no jacket or shirt hanging over the walnut veneer Queen Anne chair in the corner either. It was clear Serena's husband hadn't been at home in a while.

Above the bed, dominating the room, was an abstract acrylic with intense shapes and colours, and a distinctly African flavour, done by an up-and-coming Afro-American artist called Gerald Monk. Collin had bought quite a few of his pieces, the others of which were in his gallery in Kensington.

On the wall opposite the window, hanging side by side, were two beautiful oil paintings by Kandinsky. The geometric shapes and pure simple forms seemed to compliment Collin's detached and seemingly rational personality. According to her stepfather, they were part of the artist's post-war period and very valuable.

So, Floria rationalised, if anything was missing, this is where it would be missing from. Collin certainly had an enviable collection of private art in the house, something that Serena always said was an undue risk. Perhaps she'd been right.

Collin's bathroom was like his bedroom, unused, so Floria walked along the passage to his study. She tried the handle, expecting it to be locked. It wasn't.

How strange! Collin _always_ locked the door to his study, plus, inside all the windows had wrought-iron burglar bars on them to prevent intruders from entering that way. He was paranoid about security. The art dealer often worked from home and there were many days when expensive masterpieces covered in bubble wrap were lined up against the wall waiting for their documents before they could be safely hung in his gallery.

Floria opened the door. Inside the curtains were drawn and the room was dark. She felt for the light switch and flicked it on. The room was flooded with a florescent glow. She didn't notice at first, since it was behind the door. But when she walked in and looked around to check all the paintings were in their place, she saw it... the gaping space where Collin's prize and joy, the Modigliani had hung.

Heavens, someone had stolen it. This _was_ a robbery after all. Her mother, Dame Serena Levanté had been killed over a missing Modigliani.

Floria stared, horrified, at the vacant space on the wall. Without the Modigliani to grace it, the room felt barren and empty. Her blood ran cold. Then she opened her mouth and yelled, "Inspector!"

DI McGuinness bounded up the stairs two at a time. He was breathing heavily by the time he entered Collin's study. "What is it?" he asked, without pausing to catch his breath.

"The Modigliani, it's gone." She pointed to the space behind the door.

The detective inspector stared at the wall. "I thought there may have been something hanging there, but I wasn't sure. Thank you for confirming."

"So this _was_ a robbery," breathed Floria, collapsing into Collin's leather swivel chair. It squeaked in protest. "The Modigliani was worth a small fortune."

"And you're sure Mr Harrison didn't sell it?" asked the inspector sensibly. "Perhaps he needed the money?"

Floria shook her head so hard she made herself dizzy. "There is no way Collin would sell that painting. He was obsessed with it. I remember him telling us about it at the summer party. He'd bought it off a little old lady in Dusseldorf who had no idea of its value. It had been gathering dust in her loft for fifty years."

The detective inspector tapped his pencil on his notepad. "That's a lucky find."

Floria arched an eyebrow. "Well, it is his job. He's an art dealer and a pretty good one too, as far as I can tell. His gallery is full of works that were previously thought lost or destroyed."

"His gallery?"

"Yes, in South Kensington. Didn't you know?" DI McGuinness shook his head and made another note in his book.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you. The study was unlocked. It might be significant."

DI McGuinness narrowed his eyes. "Where is the key kept?"

Floria shrugged. "I don't know. I presume Collin has it. He'll be demented that the Modigliani is gone."

Another note.

"I wonder why they didn't take these," he said, turning his gaze towards the opposite wall.

"Those are Kandinsky's," Floria pointed out as he peered at the scrawled signature in the bottom right corner. "He's known for his distinctive pallet and simple, bright colours. They're lovely pieces but aren't worth nearly as much as the Modigliani."

"Perhaps the burglar was interrupted?" the inspector said, frowning. "I don't know much about art, but why take one when you can have them all?"

Floria didn't reply. The technicalities of the case were beyond her.

"The robber must have known his art," he mused. "Or had a particular affinity for the Modigliani."

Waves of fatigue swept over Floria and she leant back in the chair feeling the cool leather against her neck. She could hardly keep her eyes open. The trauma of the last twenty-four hours had caught up with her. "I'm sorry, Detective Inspector, but I think I need to go home."

He nodded distractedly, so she excused herself and left him standing in the study staring at the Kandinskys, a puzzled expression on his face.

At least it wasn't her job to figure out who'd done this to her mother. She suppressed a shiver. It seemed Serena had disrupted a burglary and died as a result.

Poor Serena. She was, quite frankly, a terrible parent, but Floria wouldn't have wished this violent death on her. No one deserved to die with their head bashed in during the middle of the night. No one.

# CHAPTER FOUR

The day of the funeral dawned bright and clear with not a cloud in the cornflower blue sky. It was almost as if the elements had conspired to give Serena Levanté a glorious send-off.

The funeral could only take place once the police had released Serena's body, so Floria had had two weeks to plan it. The autopsy had confirmed what everyone suspected, that Serena had died from a brain haemorrhage as a result of the head wound. There had also been a great deal of alcohol in her system, but Floria had begged the police to withhold that information from the press. The world didn't need to know about her mother's out-of-control drinking. Floria may not have loved her mother, but she didn't want to see her reputation destroyed. Her music had delighted and entranced so many. Let the world remember her for her glorious voice, rather than her drunken ending.

The village church was adorned with lilies, Serena's favourite flower, and at the end of each pew Floria had positioned an enormous, vanilla-scented candle. Songs from Serena's 'Best of' album played on repeat in the background, her angelic voice soaring over the congregation. A stunning picture of Serena performing at the New York Met had been hung above the altar, seemingly floating in space. But the pièce de résistance had to be the magnificent flower arrangement done by a local florist who had supplied Brompton Court with endless bouquets over the years. Green and yellow anastacia mums, pink and white mums, white anthuriums, pink gerberas, and white liliums exploded from a crystal vase on the altar. The whole effect was subdued, sophisticated and breath-taking.

Floria clutched her handbag as she stepped out of the black Bentley with darkened windows that had transported her, her father and Daisy to the church.

She'd changed her outfit four times, delaying their departure by twenty minutes. The first had been too tarty, the second too frumpy, the third gave her a muffin-top around the waste, and the fourth, an elegant navy skirt-suit, was a tad on the tight side. She'd been about to change yet again when Daisy had put her foot down and dragged her out the door.

Today was the day she'd meet her sisters for the first time. Greg Edwards, the solicitor in charge of her mother's estate, had informed her they'd all arrived yesterday and were staying in different hotels in the surrounding area. None of them had met before, so it was a first time for all of them. Floria wondered if the other girls were as nervous as she was.

Being the youngest, Floria was desperate to make a good impression. "I hope they like me," she whispered to Daisy for the hundredth time.

"Of course they will," her best friend replied, squeezing her freezing cold hand. "Just relax. It will all be fine."

After hearing that one of her older twin sisters, Donna, played the violin in an orchestra in Austria, Floria had instructed Greg to ask her to play during the service. It would add an intimate touch.

Carmen, next youngest after her, was apparently a classical singer too, so Greg had taken the initiative and asked her to sing an aria in honour of their mother. At first Carmen had refused, but then relented, thanks to Greg's powers of persuasion.

The turnout was much larger than expected. Relatives, friends, ex-husbands and countless music professionals filed soberly into the church. Many of them were as eager to clap eyes on Serena's secret offspring as they were to offer their condolences.

The police had to be called for crowd control as hundreds of adoring members of the public arrived to pay their respects. Journalists snapped photos of famous classical musicians and probably the most glamorous congregation the county parish had ever seen. "Dame Serena Levanté was not just a talented opera singer, she was a national treasure," wrote the reporter from _The Mail_ the following day.

Floria took her place in the front row reserved for immediate family. She sat next to her father Ranulph, Serena's first and it was argued only true love, and Collin, Serena's fourth husband, who had just arrived back from the Bahamas sporting an enviable tan. Daisy sat in the pew behind Floria, next to Michael Bublé – much to her delight – who looked to-die-for in a slate-grey suit and an equally impressive tan.

She peered across the church where three beautiful women sat very erect, staring straight ahead, each fiddling with the service handout, their hat or handbag.

Her sisters.

"I can't believe they're related to you," Daisy whispered from behind her. "They look completely different."

"They look like _her_ ," Floria whispered back.

The tallest, with sleek black hair, pouty lips and a naturally olive complexion must be Carmen. She had that smouldering Spanish sensuality found in actresses like Salma Hayek or Penélope Cruz. She was so striking she could be a model.

The woman next to her was shorter, more petite, with wild, dark hair under an elegant hat adorned with black lace. She had a serious expression but when she smiled at the vicar, who almost tripped over his flowing robes in his excitement to introduce himself, Floria saw the flash of dimples. There was a violin case at her feet. That must be Donna.

At the end of the pew and farthest away, was Mimi, who Floria had been told lived in Australia and was a backing singer in a rock band. She looked the part with dark hair, shot through with silver, cut in a jagged, modern style and a piercing through her eyebrow. Her features, however, were exquisite with high cheekbones, a delectate sloping nose and long, luscious eyelashes that couldn't possibly be real.

Compared to them, Floria felt frumpy and fat. Since James had dumped her she'd managed to put on a stone, thanks to all the comfort eating, except her already voluptuous figure couldn't afford the extra weight. The navy blue suit she'd chosen to wear, which normally accentuated her curves, bit into the skin around her waist, squeezing the air out of her. She'd probably have press-stud marks permanently engrained on her fat rolls. To make matters worse, the tight skirt rode up displaying dimpled thighs. She really must go on a diet. The only part she was happy with was her blonde hair, styled to perfection by Daisy, which fell in thick waves down her back. At a jaunty angle sat a feathered, flowered fascinator similar to the one the Duchess of Cambridge had worn to the polo last week.

It seemed musically she wasn't as gifted as her sisters either. Two of them sang, the third played an instrument. What did she do? Her voice was nothing to write home about and her piano-playing was mediocre at best. The problem was she'd never had much of an interest in learning to play it any better.

Floria sighed, the weight of the last few weeks pressing down on her. Perhaps James was right. All she was good for was organising parties. Daisy, sensing her emotional turmoil, squeezed her shoulder. "It's going to be okay, don't worry."

Floria fingered the print-out of the eulogy which she'd bought with her lest she get emotional and forget her words. She didn't even resemble Serena. Her hair was blonde and she had big boobs and a curvy figure, while the others all sported their mother's dark, lush hair and effortless sexiness.

The vicar entered the church from the vestry. He looked resplendent in his purple robes with a gold trim, that he'd had made specially for this occasion. His body fit and sturdy, thanks to all the gardening he'd been doing in the vicarage allotment.

The service began. The vicar welcomed everybody and after a brief talk on how death isn't the end – which nobody believed – called for the soloist.

Carmen got to her feet. Everyone waited with breathless anticipation while she sauntered to the front of the church. Her figure-hugging deep indigo gown showed off an enviable figure with legs that went on for ever. Over her shoulders and barely concealing her perfect cleavage, was a black shawl dotted with pink carnations and tassels in the Spanish style. It made her seem sultry and exotic. There wasn't a man in the congregation who didn't stare at her with undisguised appreciation, including the vicar.

But all envious or lustful thoughts were banished when Carmen opened her mouth. _Amazing Grace_ had never sounded more beautiful or heartfelt. The sheer clarity of her soprano voice filled the air with longing and Floria bet she wasn't the only one in the audience whose skin prickled with goose bumps. Her voice had an incandescent sparkle to it; her manner, by contrast, was relaxed, yet commanding. It was clear that she was supremely gifted. Floria had a weird sensation that she was watching a younger version of Serena perform, and glancing at her father's face, eyes filled with tears, she suspected he was experiencing the same thing. She squeezed his hand. No one else quite understood the love-hate relationship they'd had with Serena. While she had loved nothing but her music, her passion and flair had drawn people to her like a flame. The problem was, those who got too close had ended up getting burned.

As Carmen sang the final note, the crowd hesitated for a moment, letting the silence afterwards exemplify the vocal brilliance, before breaking into a rapturous applause. Even the reporters stopped scribbling and clapped madly.

The vicar, who could hardly speak he was in such raptures, praised Carmen's performance and said how proud Serena would have been, to which there were many nods of agreement from the congregation.

Next was the eulogy and Floria bit her lip as she made her way to the podium. Not normally shy in front of people, she definitely felt her nerves playing up as she took a deep breath and began to speak. What to say had been difficult as she didn't have a lot of good memories about her mother. She couldn't exactly talk about how selfish the woman was, or how she had ignored her daughter, breaking her heart over and over again whilst not attending even one of her school plays. So Floria had asked around and finally consolidated the best comments from the people who had known and loved her. At the end, the applause was more polite than rapturous, but she hadn't messed up her words or got into a muddle, which was the main thing.

The remaining hymns were sung with rare gusto, no doubt inspired by Carmen's exquisite performance and Donna, violin positioned neatly under her chin, accompanied them. As her slender fingers gripped the bow, her body moved with a fluid, forceful motion that was quite mesmerising. Another musical talent, thought Floria miserably.

Then it was over. Everybody filed out and congregated on the lawn in the churchyard. Floria took a deep steadying breath and prepared herself to meet her sisters. This was it. The moment she'd been anticipating since she'd found out about their existence.

# CHAPTER FIVE

Floria crossed the lawn with a smile on her lips. Like Daisy had said, it was all going to be fine. They were her flesh and blood, after all.

"Hi, I'm Floria. I'm so pleased to meet you," she gushed, holding out her hand. Donna, the violinist, and Mimi, who were standing awkwardly together, turned to face her. For a split second they seemed taken aback by her enthusiasm but then Mimi smiled and took her hand.

"I'm Mimi. It's great to meet you." She had a soft Australian twang that suited her. Up close she was even more attractive than Floria had first thought. Her skin was almost incandescent and she had delicate features with catlike eyes that slanted up at the sides and were a lovely emerald green. The eyebrow piercing only served to enhance their vividness. Floria blinked. She'd stared into those eyes many times before, on Serena. It was like dejá vu.

"You have mother's eyes," Floria said softly, which caused Mimi to raise a perfectly arched eyebrow.

"I'm Donna," said the violinist shyly. She held out a very pale hand with long fingers and perfectly manicured nails. Her dimples were on display as she smiled tentatively at Floria.

Encouraged, Floria smiled back and shook her hand warmly. She'd much rather have hugged them, but that level of intimacy seemed too much for a first meeting, but then she was like that, all or nothing where emotions were concerned. That was probably why she was still so cut up over James.

He'd rung earlier in the week to offer his condolences. Not very heartfelt, mind you, but the gesture was appreciated. Typical James, doing the right thing even though his heart wasn't in it. Floria could sense the relief in his voice as he'd said goodbye. He was probably congratulating himself on his lucky escape. She shook her head to banish the thought. No, she would not let him ruin this day, as he had so many others over the last few weeks. There were more important things to focus on now, like her family. She gazed in wonder at her two sisters, still incredulous that they were here, and felt happier than she had since James had dumped her.

"You don't look anything alike," she said, looking from one to the other. These were the twins, separated at birth and adopted by two different families, one Austrian, the other who went to live in Australia.

"No, we're obviously not identical," Mimi said, looking at Donna speculatively. "I wonder who was born first."

"Greg will be able to tell us," Donna remarked, turning to look at the solicitor who was talking to Serena's first husband, Floria's father, a short distance away. He cut a fine figure in his black suit and tie with his hair cut short, military-style. "Perhaps I'll ask him later."

Floria didn't miss the sparkle in Donna's eye as she gazed at Greg. "Yes, why don't you do that?" She smiled. "He has all mother's documents."

"We were told to come to Serena's house this evening for the reading of the will," Mimi remarked. Floria found it interesting that she didn't say 'our mother's house', but then who could blame her? Serena may have ignored Floria for most of her life, but at least she hadn't given her away at birth. She could only imagine the conflicting emotions her sisters must be feeling right now.

"Yes, that's right," Floria confirmed. "It's after the reception I'm hosting in Serena's honour. You were told about that, weren't you? I do hope you're coming."

"Of course," said both her sisters together.

Then Donna added with a shy smile, "It'll also give us more chance to catch up."

Floria decided she liked her very much. She liked Mimi too, but she was more sceptical than Donna, as if she were holding back, not wanting to get too close. Donna seemed eager to get to know her sisters. Perhaps she'd also been lonely as a child. This ready-made family would take some getting used to – for all of them, but it was a blessing. Of that, Floria was certain.

Daisy stood a respectful distance away, not wanting to interrupt. Floria beckoned her over. "This is my friend, Daisy," she told her sisters.

Daisy's eyes danced with excitement. "It's amazing to meet you both. I couldn't believe it when Floria told me she had three sisters."

Floria left them to chat and moved over to Carmen, who stood alone, her eyes on her phone. The tall, willowy girl seemed sulky and unwilling to talk. Unperturbed, Floria said, "I thought your singing was incredible."

Carmen shrugged, as if that was a given.

Floria tried again. "Your voice reminds me so much of mother's, I mean, Serena's. It's uncanny. It was like watching her perform all over again. It was quite surreal."

The eyes narrowed. " _That_ woman is not my mother."

"What do you mean?" stammered Floria, shocked by Carmen's reaction.

"She rejected me when I was born. She didn't want me and I don't want anything to do with her." She threw her hair over her shoulder. "Or you."

And with that, she turned on her two-inch stilettos and stalked off, across the lawn to a waiting taxi. Floored, Floria stared after her.

"What was all that about?" Daisy came up to her.

"She wants nothing to do with us," Floria said, her voice hoarse.

"I'm sure she'll come round. It's probably been quite a shock. Give her time."

Daisy was right. It was all very sudden. Once things had settled down a bit, she was sure Carmen would thaw a bit.

"Hello, Miss Levanté."

Floria turned, recognising the voice. "Hello, Detective Inspector. It's nice of you to come. Please, call me Floria."

"Floria." He smiled, then his gaze drifted over to Daisy. "And you are...?"

"Daisy Thorne," Daisy said, holding out her gloved hand. "I'm a friend of Floria's."

He nodded politely.

"Sibling rivalry?" he asked Floria, nodding at the departing taxi.

"Carmen's very hostile." Floria frowned. "She said Serena didn't want her and so she wants nothing to do with us."

"Hmm..." The inspector looked thoughtful. "I believe the reading of the will is scheduled for tonight?"

"It is. Are you coming?" Floria was surprised. What did her mother's will have to do with the police?

"He wants to see who benefits from Serena's will, of course," cut in Daisy, her olive-green eyes dancing. Floria thought how pretty she looked in her black dress, with her lovely auburn hair floating around her shoulders.

"Indeed." The detective inspector obviously thought so too as he broke into a rare smile. He turned back to Floria. "It's an important line of enquiry for the case. It often establishes motive."

"I thought she was killed by a burglar?" Floria frowned, her eyes darting around the elegant congregation. "It's unlikely anyone we know murdered her, surely?"

DI McGuinness pursed his lips. "Nothing has been ruled out at this stage."

"It's how it's done, Floria," Daisy said knowingly, patting her friend on the arm.

"How do you know?" This was a side to her friend she hadn't seen before.

"My father was in the CID," Daisy said with a shrug. "I grew up with this type of thing. Although we were never allowed to discuss father's work at home, of course."

"Ah," DI McGuinness nodded. "What was your father's name?"

"Detective Inspector Edward Thorne." Daisy's eyes clouded over. "We lost him five years ago. Heart attack."

"I'm sorry to hear that," McGuinness remarked.

"Me too," said Floria, who hadn't heard Daisy mention her father before. She glanced curiously at her friend, then back at the inspector. Was it her imagination or did she detect a mutual flicker of interest there?

"I'll see you tonight," McGuinness said to Floria, drawing her back to the topic at hand. He nodded to Daisy. "It was lovely meeting you, Miss Thorne."

"Please, Daisy."

Another rare smile. "Daisy."

When the inspector moved away, Floria nudged her friend. "He seems very nice," she said, a teasing-smile on her face.

Daisy shrugged, but Floria knew her friend too well. "Don't tell me you didn't think so too," she said.

"Stop it," Daisy whispered as they walked towards Ranulph, who sat on a wooden bench under a big oak tree. "This is hardly the time." But her eyes hadn't lost their sparkle.

"I can't imagine it's murder," muttered Floria, as they strolled across the church yard.

"They always say that the murderer is usually someone the victim knows. So it could be someone from your mother's group of friends, or family."

Floria shook her head so violently her curls flew across her face. "No, it's impossible. Who would want to kill Mother? Granted, she wasn't the nicest person in the world... but murder? No, I just can't believe it."

They let the subject drop as they reached Ranulph. Floria's father looked rather tired. The morning's proceedings had taken their toll on him.

"We'd best get you home, Dad," Floria said, clocking his pale face and haunted expression. She sometimes forgot that Serena had been the love of his life. Although their marriage hadn't worked out, Ranulph had truly loved Serena and had never remarried. Even though Serena had gone on to have three more husbands, and countless lovers, after him.

Floria hailed their driver, who'd been waiting to take them to the reception.

"We'll drop you on the way, Dad," she told him as they climbed in. Her father nodded wearily. It had been an emotional morning for all of them.

Brompton Court had never looked more splendid. The golden façade of the Georgian country house sparkled in the pale afternoon sunshine, her welcoming glow evident as you drove up the driveway to the front of the house. Guests 'oohed' and 'aahed' as they clambered out of their chauffeur-driven Jaguars, BMWs and Mercedes.

Floria stood proudly at the front door to welcome everyone. It felt good being lady of the manor. Like her father, she'd always loved Brompton Court. It had become slightly run-down in recent years, since Serena was more occupied with drinking than décor, but the shabbiness was enchanting and it hadn't lost any of its grandeur. Floria had glorious childhood memories of balls and parties held here in the summer. Peeking through the banisters at the top of the ornate curved staircase, she'd been gob-smacked by the glorious gowns, glittering hairpieces and sparkling jewels of the many guests who'd attended Serena's parties.

With a sinking heart she wondered if Collin would inherit her childhood home. Then she put the thought out of her head. All would be revealed later, and she wouldn't worry about things that were out of her control.

"You've outdone yourself, as usual," Daisy gushed, as she embraced her friend and gazed around the entrance hall. It was awash with flowers. Enormous vases of lilies, carnations and roses filled every available crevice. Their summer fragrance wafted over the guests as they entered, competing for space with Yves Saint Laurent, Dior and Chanel.

The majestic wooden banisters shone with polish, thanks to Tatiana's expert touch, and the large crystal chandelier, that had taken a team of four to polish, glittered above their heads, twinkling cheekily as the rays of late afternoon sun snuck in through the front door and hit it. Above the staircase, a gilt-framed Serena smiled down benevolently on her guests.

Only invited guests were at the reception to honour her mother, but even then the drawing room was filled to capacity.

Floria had hired one of the caterers from her work contact list (her Little Black Book as Daisy called it) to supply the canapés which everyone was surreptitiously popping into their mouths. Floria had baked a scrumptious Victoria sponge and a lemon-drizzle cheesecake, both of which were disappearing like lightning. "I had to fight Collin's gay brother for the last piece," moaned Daisy. "It's getting ugly out there."

Violeta fanatically poured endless cups of tea and coffee from two large silver urns on a side table while Tatiana ran back and forth refilling them with boiling water.

"Is there any gin?" asked Claire Rutherford, Serena's favourite dress designer. Disappointed to be told no – Floria didn't want the guests getting pissed – she sloped off to chat up Fernando, an ex-lover of Serena's who, even at fifty, still had it.

Tatiana had roped in her sulky Slavic boyfriend, Nikita, to lend a hand. He was creating quite a stir with the female guests, dressed from head to toe in black with smooth olive skin over high cheekbones and generous, kissable lips. He slunk around like an undercover operative collecting dirty cups and saucers.

"He's just too good looking to be inconspicuous," sighed Floria, when Violeta complained about how slow he was. "He keeps getting accosted by the guests."

What a wonderful eclectic mix of people, Floria thought, as she mingled with Serena's string of friends and family members. Her mother, for all her faults, had certainly led a grand life. Full of travel, adventure and glamour.

Ranulph had decided to forego the reception and would be back later for the reading of the will. He didn't like crowds, or idle gossip for that matter, and this was both of those things.

Serena's second husband, a charismatic Irish horse breeder called Niall, was clearly enjoying himself, chatting up a distant cousin, who looked a bit horsey with a long face, fake lashes and an overbite. He winked at Floria from across the room. Even in his sixties those twinkling blue eyes and naughty grin attracted women half his age. Floria smiled back, unable to help herself. She'd been fond of Niall. Full of Irish charm he was, but given his reputation with women, it was a miracle their marriage had lasted the four years it did. But then Serena had that effect on men. She was captivating, intoxicating and all-consuming. Floria had seen her mother work her magic on the many hapless lovers who had traipsed in and out of the house between marriages. All her affairs were explosive – passionate at first, but fizzled out fast.

Husband Number Three, who Floria could barely remember so brief was their marriage, flitted around in a purple suit, completely inappropriate for a wake, preening like a peacock and making a general nuisance of himself. How Serena hadn't clocked he was gay when she married him was a complete mystery. "Fabulous do, duckie," he crooned, as he waltzed past. "You really are quite gifted."

Collin, Husband Number Four and the not-so-grieving widower, was deep in conversation with a rugged, stocky man who Floria hadn't met and who she was sure wasn't on the guest list. Probably a prospective client. It would be just like Collin to use this as an excuse to conduct a little business.

"I don't believe we've met?" Floria sidled up to him, a bright smile plastered on her face.

Collin introduced her. "Floria, this is Avron Drefus."

"How do you do, Mr Drefus?" Floria scrutinised him as they shook hands. He was a short, stocky man with a thick blond comb-over that looked distinctly out of place on his small head.

"Avron's in vacuum cleaners," Collin explained.

"I'm fresh off the boat, I'm afraid," he drawled, in a broad American accent. "We're branching out into Europe."

"From Texas originally?" That twang was unmistakable.

"Very good," laughed Avron, clapping his hands together. "I must say, it's a fantastic property you've got here". His beady eyes took in the height of the ceilings, the vista from the huge bay windows across the landscaped gardens, the pond, the gently sloping lawn into the woods beyond. "It has a lot of potential."

"Potential for what?" Floria snapped her gaze to Collin. What was he up to now?

"Avron's interested in the Pissarro," Collin said, avoiding eye contact. Floria didn't believe him for a second. The sleazy bastard was going to sell Brompton Court. Her mother was barely cold in her grave and he was using her wake as an opportunity to show the property to a prospective buyer.

Avron looked confused, but sensing the tension, kept his mouth shut. Wise move, as Floria was in no mood to be trifled with. "Counting your chickens, aren't you, Collin?" She narrowed her hard gaze on him. It took a lot to make her lose her sense of humour, but Collin had just succeeded.

"I don't know what you mean," he stammered, looking like he'd eaten an unpleasant vol-au-vent. Then taking Avron's arm he said, "Let me show you the Stubbs in the hallway."

Floria let him lead Avron away before she said something she'd regret. Horrible man. God, she hoped he wouldn't inherit the house.

"You okay?" Daisy asked, touching her arm. "You look like you need a cup of tea."

"Collin's planning on selling Brompton Court," she said dismally, letting Daisy lead her over to the table where Violeta handed her a cup of tea.

"It's not his to sell, is it?" Daisy asked, her big brown eyes filled with concern. She knew how much Floria loved the family house.

"Not yet, but he is mother's widower, so it stands to reason he'd get it."

"You never know," Daisy said reasonably. "Let's wait until this evening and see where the chips fall. He may not have a claim to it at all."

Floria squeezed her friend's hand. "I hope you're right, Daisy. I really do. I couldn't bear to lose this place."

"I know. Look, why don't you go and rescue Mimi and I'll talk to you later."

Floria nodded and made her way over to Mimi who'd been cornered by Colonel Snodgrass, an old family friend who still thought he was in the military even though he'd been retired for twenty years.

Carmen was noticeably absent, but that wasn't too much of a surprise given her earlier hostility. Floria was upset Carmen hadn't made the effort, but she understood. There would be time later to get to know her better, perhaps when things had settled down and the situation wasn't so raw.

Donna was deep in conversation with Greg, the solicitor, whose company had represented Serena for most of her career. "I'm glad they're getting on so well," Floria murmured to Mimi, who smiled in relief. "Hello, Colonel. How's the leg?"

Floria had never figured out whether her mother and the once-dashing colonel had been lovers, but she assumed so. Serena didn't have male friends.

"Oh, it's holding up, dear. You know how it is? I was just telling your lovely sister here that she has your mother's eyes."

Floria met Mimi's gaze. Her sister had probably heard that said a hundred times today.

"She certainly does," agreed Floria, turning the colonel around and pointing him in the direction of Lady McFadden. "I think you're wanted by the cake stand," she said, giving him a little push. The lady in question chose that moment to look up and wave. Although thoroughly grey, she still had that stately charm that made her one of the most elegant women Floria had ever met. She also knew the colonel was smitten with her. True to form, he snapped his shiny shoes together and marched off, forgetting to say goodbye.

"Thank you," Mimi whispered, gratefully. "He's sweet but I got the distinct impression he was sizing me up for dessert."

"Probably wants to pick up where he left off with Serena," muttered Floria under her breath. Mimi laughed then turned it into a cough when she realised her sister wasn't joking.

"Really?"

"Oh, Serena had a very colourful past."

They watched as Donna threw back her head and laughed at something the young solicitor had said. Her eyes crinkled and her dimples flashed becomingly. Greg was clearly smitten, judging by the look on his face. "Greg is a lovely guy," Floria remarked. "I've known him for years. I couldn't be happier for them."

"He _is_ cute, in a corporate sort of way." Mimi checked him out, her right eyebrow lifted speculatively. "How do you know him?"

"We went to school together." Then she added, "Well, he was at the boys' boarding school next to mine. We hung out a lot when we were younger. Neither of us had parents who gave a damn, so we spent most of our time causing havoc at school."

"He doesn't look the type to cause havoc." Mimi studied him, her head to one side.

"He's grown up a bit now. He went to Oxford to study law and we lost touch for a while."

"So he's the solicitor?"

"Yes, he's the executor of the will," Floria explained. "Apparently he knew of your existence all along." She shook her head. "I can't believe he didn't tell me. I don't think I'll ever forgive him for that."

"I suppose they're sworn to secrecy," Mimi said reasonably, but her flashing eyes told Floria that she found it anything but reasonable.

"Bloody client confidentiality. I keep thinking how different my life would have been, had I known..." Floria faded off.

"I hear you, sister," murmured Mimi and they both laughed. Floria felt a surge of happiness. This was what had been missing in her life. A sister to share things with, to laugh at life's little ups and downs. Now she had three.

Serena's cousin, a loud woman who Floria had nicknamed Dahling Joyce, since she managed to say it in almost every sentence, came over and left bright pink lipstick marks on both Floria's cheeks. "Floria, dahling. How are you? Lovely do. My condolences for your dahling mother." Fighting the urge to rub her cheeks, Floria thanked her and then introduced her to Mimi, who very quickly became dahling Mimi. "I spent my honeymoon in Australia," she said, recognising Mimi's accent. "Such a dahling place."

Floria rolled her eyes and excused herself. Detective Inspector McGuinness had arrived, and with him was a young sergeant who stood very erect in his suit and tie, gazing around the room, his eyes out on stalks.

"Hello, Detective Inspector. It's nice to see you again."

He looked around the packed drawing room. "You've had quite a turn-out," he remarked. Then he introduced his side-kick. "This is Sergeant Buckley."

"Pleased to meet you, Sergeant," said Floria.

"Ma'am," the Sergeant replied with a curt nod.

"Buckley was in the army," his boss explained. "He did two tours in Afghanistan." That accounted for the military bearing.

Daisy sashayed over, cup of tea in one hand and a vol-au-vent in the other. "Detective Inspector, how lovey to see you. How's the investigation going?"

She popped the canapé in her mouth as she waited for his reply. The Detective Inspector, reserved by nature, nodded politely. It was clear he didn't quite know what to make of this auburn-haired beauty with an appetite for investigation.

"Miss Daisy, it's very nice to see you again too." Then he introduced Buckley who studied Daisy with interest, but gave the obligatory, "Ma'am."

Floria got the impression the young sergeant was more astute than he appeared.

"Please, just Daisy. Now, have you got any suspects yet?"

"Not yet, but we're working on it," DI McGuinness replied, a small smile on his lips. "That's why we're here."

"Feel free to mingle," Floria said, waving her hand across the room. "If you need any introductions let me know. Everybody here is a close friend or family."

DI McGuinness thanked her and moved off, flanked by his sergeant who, judging by his stiff shoulders and deadpan expression, didn't look like he knew the meaning of the word mingle. "I keep expecting him to salute," Floria whispered to Daisy, who gave a chuckle.

"Do you mind if I help the detective inspector with his questioning?"

Floria turned to her in surprise. "Of course not, but why would you want to do that? I'm sure he's more than capable."

"Oh, I'm sure he is," she replied, a cheeky grin on her face. "But I know the family and I'm sure many of the staff and family members would feel more comfortable talking to me, than to the police."

"Well, yes..." Floria faded out. This was a completely new side to Daisy. Her normal bubbly companion had a look of excited determination on her face. "If you really want to."

"Great," she grinned, and gave Floria a quick hug. "I'll be discreet, I promise."

Floria chuckled. "I'm sure you'll find almost everyone in my family has at least one skeleton in the closet."

"It should make for an interesting case then," Daisy smiled, obviously enjoying this. If Daisy wanted to get involved, she was okay with it. Although she did suspect it had more to do with the hunky detective inspector than actually solving the murder.

"And with four husbands, countless lovers and a house full of servants, you won't be short of suspects."

Daisy breathed out. "Best I get started then. This is the perfect opportunity to find out where everyone was the night of the murd... Oh, sorry, Floria, I didn't mean to be insensitive."

Floria shrugged. "I don't mind, really. It is what it is." She smiled at her friend. "Let me know if I can help."

With that, Daisy breezed off to interrogate her first suspect. Floria could see DI McGuinness and his side-kick also working the room. This wasn't quite what she had in mind for her mother's wake, but considering the circumstances...

The thought that a killer could be lurking among her friends and family sent shivers down her spine. No, it couldn't be. It was a robbery, clear as day. The perpetrator wasn't part of this group, of that she was almost certain. The sooner the police confirmed as much, the better.

# CHAPTER SIX

The vast mahogany dining-room table shone with foreboding. Floria had never felt comfortable sitting at it, mostly because it meant awkward meals with her mother who never had anything to say to her. Today was no exception.

The last of the guests had gone home, and Floria had served sherry in the dining room whilst they waited for the reading of the will to take place. Even Violeta, who never drank, allowed herself a small glass to "take the edge off".

"I don't know why I'm here," she muttered with a shake of her head. Her eyes had dark circles underneath. It had been a long day for everyone.

Mimi, Donna, Carmen and Floria sat along one side of the table, while Greg, the handsome solicitor, stood at the head. Opposite them were the other family members who'd been instructed to attend. Amongst them was her father, Ranulph Haines, who'd had a nap and was back to his usual self, Violeta, Serena's housekeeper of twenty years and Collin, who'd insisted on being present.

Floria noticed how pretty Donna looked tonight. Her make-up was perfectly applied and her ears sparkled with tiny diamante earrings which made her wild hair look even darker. Greg couldn't keep his eyes off her.

After ten minutes of shuffling papers and clearing his throat, Greg was ready to begin. Everyone sat to attention as he went through the obligatory introduction. Floria noticed how Carmen kept glancing towards the window, as if she wanted to bolt out of it and escape. Poor thing really didn't want to be here.

Serena, it appeared, had been more considerate in death than she ever was in life. She'd written that she "hoped all four of her girls would be there for each other, as she had never been for them."

Floria frowned. That didn't sound at all like the Serena she knew, however, perhaps in her more reflective moments the opera diva had regretted what she'd done. Who knew? The sentiment was a good one, however, and Floria fervently hoped the same thing.

Serena had been far wealthier than most people realised. Her savvy accountant, who had more than earned his exorbitant fees, had taken excellent care of her finances. She left her vast fortune to all four girls equally, much to Collin's indignation. He sat scowling at them as if it was their fault he'd been excluded. Floria ignored him. She had yet to see one iota of grief on his tanned face.

She didn't miss the surprise on Donna, Mimi and Carmen's faces though. It seemed her siblings had no idea to what extent they were to be included in Serena's legacy. They all glanced at Floria to see if she minded, but she grinned back at them, happy they were all taken care of. There was more than enough to go around. Individually, they would be very wealthy women.

The only shock of the evening was when Ranulph was awarded Brompton Court. The expression on her father's face was a sight to behold. He took out his handkerchief and dabbed his eyes, which had filled with grateful tears. Floria was taken back. She'd expected Collin to get it, but she couldn't have been happier for her father. And the best part was now she could come here whenever she liked. She reached across the table and squeezed his hand.

At this point Collin, who obviously felt very hard done by, got up and stormed out. Floria suppressed a giggle. It served him right, the conceited idiot. So much for his property deal.

Donna met Greg's eye and Carmen and Mimi both raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

Greg then told an ecstatic Violeta she was getting a substantial sum for loyal and honest service. Another surprise. Floria hadn't thought her mother capable of considering the staff in her will. Not that Violeta didn't deserve it, quite the contrary. The poor woman had had to put up with Serena's tantrums and histrionics for the last decade. She wondered if this would make a difference to her staying on at Brompton Court. It would be lovely if she did, for her father's sake.

Throughout the proceedings, DI McGuinness and Sergeant Buckley lurked at the back like silent predators, waiting for their moment to attack. The young sergeant took notes while his boss just stood quietly and observed. Daisy, much to her frustration, hadn't been allowed to attend, since she wasn't a member of the family. Greg had been apologetic but firm on that front. Floria had promised to fill her in.

"Note everyone's reactions," Daisy had instructed her before they went in. "Not only those that benefit, but also those that don't."

Looking around, Floria couldn't detect anything untoward. Violeta was surprised. She wasn't expecting anything so it was ludicrous that she should be a suspect. Collin had had his nose put out of joint, but he was wealthy in his own right, so had no motive either. Clearly he'd expected to inherit.

It was herself and her sisters who'd benefited the most from Serena's death. That must make us chief suspects, she mused, the thought sending a shiver down her back.

As predicted, DI McGuinness asked the sisters if he could have a "quiet word" with each of them after the proceedings. He waved Floria away, however, saying he'd already checked out her alibi for the night Serena died. She was in the clear.

Not needed, Floria went downstairs and, aching for solitude, entered the library. It had always been her favourite room in the house. The mahogany bookcases housed many first editions, musical scripts and works of fiction. As a child she's spent many a happy hour in here, reading the magical tales of Hans Christian Andersen and Roald Dahl and pretending she was like Matilda, an unhappy, but gifted child who was adopted by a kind, loving woman who would love her and take care of her. Except that was just a fantasy. Real life didn't work that way.

Floria went to the bureau and fixed herself a very large drink. It had been a long day and she was shattered. So James had confirmed her alibi. She wondered if he'd told DI McGuinness that he'd ended their relationship because she was a bimbo. The inspector was bound to ask. He didn't miss a trick.

Floria stared into her drink, suddenly feeling very emotional. Perhaps it was grief from her mother's death finally kicking in, or meeting her sisters, or even James' callousness, but whatever it was, the urge to cry was overwhelming. It was a perfect storm of emotional upheavals and she no longer had the strength to fight it. Tears streamed down her face and dripped into her wine glass. The more they fell, the harder it was to stop. How long she sat there and bawled, Floria had no idea, but when she finally pulled herself together, the grandfather clock in the hall chimed ten o'clock. With a sniff, she wiped her eyes and at that moment the door opened and in strolled Mimi, also looking shattered.

"At least I'm in the clear," she said collapsing into an armchair. "I was ten thousand miles away when Serena was murdered and I have the jetlag to prove it. Mind if I join you?"

"Please." Floria gave a wobbly smile. "I'll be glad of the company. Help yourself to a drink. There's a decent Chardonnay on the bureau."

Mimi helped herself, filling her glass almost to the brim just as Floria had. Then she sunk into one of the comfy armchairs and tucked her legs beneath her. "What a day, huh?"

Floria sniffed. Her eyes were raw from crying.

Mimi stared at her. "You okay?"

"Not really," she admitted. "I was just having a little cry as you can probably tell. My mascara must be half way down my cheeks. It all got a bit too much."

"It's been an emotional day." Mimi cradled the glass in her hand. Floria noticed she had bright blue nail polish on her bitten fingernails. "I think we're all feeling it. Carmen looks like she's about to punch that nice policeman and Donna's dead on her feet. Greg is going to give her a lift back to the hotel."

"Emotional few weeks," added Floria with a sniff.

"Yes, you've had to deal with the brunt of it, you poor thing. Did you organise the funeral and the reception?"

Floria nodded.

"It was very well done," Mimi said, eyeing her curiously. "I thought the church in particular was lovely."

"Thanks. It's what I do for a living, so I suppose I have a knack for it."

"What do you do?" asked Mimi.

"I'm in public relations. I work for a marketing company that deals with classical musicians, and part of my job is to organise events. It's just only part-time, but it keeps me busy."

"Sounds like fun," commented Mimi, her eyes roaming over the gold-framed paintings that adorned the lilac walls. "Are you going to go back to it?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?" asked Floria without thinking. Then she twigged. The inheritance.

Mimi rolled her eyes.

"Sorry, I'm in such a state I didn't even consider not going back to work, but now that you mention it, I suppose there's no need." She paused to take a sip of her wine. She couldn't taste the tears. "I haven't been back since James dumped me, and that was two weeks ago."

"Who's James?" Mimi asked, fixing her witchy gaze on her sister.

"Only my ex and the man I thought I was going to marry." She sighed; it felt good to blab to someone other than Daisy, who was probably sick of listening to her. "I thought he was going to propose, but instead he broke up with me. Apparently I'm not wife material." She couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice.

Mimi frowned. "Men are idiots," she said savagely. "You're better off without him. Trust me."

Floria looked up, surprised by her viciousness. Obviously, her sister had been burned before too.

"He did turn out to be a monumental idiot," she agreed. Then she told Mimi what his peers had said.

Mimi was livid. Her green eyes flashed and her cheeks flushed with colour. "What a dick!" She leant forward in her chair. "Let me tell you something... You couldn't be further from a bimbo. I watched you work that crowd at the reception today, you were brilliant, and under very stressful circumstances. Look at how you pulled the funeral and reception together. You made Donna and me feel very welcome, and from what I can gather from talking to people, everybody loves you. James is an idiot for dumping you, and his boss is an even bigger idiot for making him." She punctuated the last sentence with a stiff nod of her head, then lent back in her chair.

Floria was so moved by her sister's rant that she jumped up and gave her a hug. "Thank you. That's so nice of you to say."

Mimi laughed sheepishly. "Sorry, I tend to get carried away. I recently had a big showdown with my ex, a scumbag called Kyle. I used to sing in his band."

"Yes, I'd heard you were a backing singer," Floria said, then added with a half-smile. "I'm sure you're very good. Musical talent seems to run in the family."

"Thanks. I really want to be a singer in my own right. Kyle was just a stepping stone for me, but it got out of hand. The press had a field day."

"They usually do," she said sympathetically. "It was an article in the papers that ruined my relationship. I still don't know how they got that photo of us in the Jacuzzi. Bloody paparazzi."

Mimi laughed. "Good to know it's not just me. I got filmed screaming at Kyle during a concert and then storming off stage. I looked like a complete brat. The press dined off it for a fortnight in Australia. It was beyond humiliating." She turned contemplative. "If it wasn't for Serena's inheritance, my career would probably be over right now."

"Oh dear, that's bad. What made you do it?"

"The bastard was cheating on me."

Floria gritted her teeth. "Then I think it's completely justified."

"Thanks." Mimi's eyes twinkled as she sipped her wine. "I thought so too."

They sat in companionable silence for a few moments, and then Mimi blurted out, "Hey, I've got a great idea. Why don't you start your own business?"

"What?" Floria stared at her. "What would I do?"

"Oh come on... really? You're so good at organising things. You should start a party-planning company. It's a no-brainer. You could plan functions for businesses, restaurants, bars, even individuals. I'm sure you know heaps of people."

"Oh, I couldn't. I wouldn't know where to begin."

"Why not? You said yourself you're a party-girl. And it wouldn't be any different from what you've done here today. You're just turning your skill-set into a business."

Floria pursed her lips as she thought about it. "You know, that's not a bad idea. I've never thought of it as an option before."

"You should think about it now. You're a natural." She smiled at her encouragingly and took an enormous gulp of wine.

"I know, why don't you come out with me tomorrow night? We can talk more about it then. I'm meeting some friends in Leicester Square. I was at school with them. They're a great crowd. It'll be fun."

Floria thought for a moment. It would do her good to get out and meet some new people, especially her sister's friends, and it would be a good opportunity to get to know Mimi better.

"Sounds great," she said, making up her mind. "I'll look forward to it."

Perhaps the tide was changing. Floria felt a surge of adrenalin. Her own company. Now that would be something. She would show that prat James that she was anything but a bimbo. With her own company she could be her own boss, call all the shots and use her contacts to make it into a roaring success. Yes, things were certainly looking up!

# CHAPTER SEVEN

#

Floria walked into All Bar One in Leicester Square at precisely eight o'clock. Tonight she'd chosen a flowery patterned blouse to wear with a pair of well-fitting jeans. Most jeans were well-fitting on her size fourteen thighs but while she'd love to shed a few pounds, she still knew how to look good. Her hair was wispy from blow-drying and floated over her shoulders in blonde waves. Men turned as she entered, which was always a good sign, so she smiled and scanned the high tables around the bar for her sister.

Mimi stood up and waved. The singer was holding court at a table near the big bay windows that looked out onto the famous square which was still bustling with activity. Floria waved back and made her way across the bar.

"Hello!" She embraced Mimi, fashionably dressed in leopard print leggings, a long, black, sleeveless t-shirt with a silver skull on the front, and two-inch heels. Her hair was mussed up in true rock-star style. "You look fantastic!"

Mimi grinned. "Thanks, so do you. Here let me introduce you to my boys."

Her boys, as she put it, were three men she'd gone to school with who had moved to London from Australia to gain work experience and never left. They studied her with a mixture of curiosity and appreciation.

"This is Josh." Mimi pointed to a very big, very tall man slouching in his chair. He had a rugged complexion, a strong jawbone and heavy-lidded eyes that turned down at the corners. Floria thought he was rather intimidating, and the least good-looking of the three. "He may look like a thug but he's a big softie at heart," Mimi laughed, as if reading her mind.

Floria grinned and shook his hand. It engulfed hers. "Pleasure to meet you, Josh."

"Likewise. It's a pleasure to meet one of Mimi's long-lost sisters." His voice was deep and gravelly, the Australian accent not as noticeable as Mimi's. Then he broke into a broad grin. "I hope you're not as much trouble as she is. I don't think I could cope with two of you."

That smiled transformed his face. Cobalt blue eyes, the colour of the sea on a hot summer's day, sparkled becomingly and his mouth widened into a lopsided grin. Floria decided he wasn't scary at all.

"Josh got me out of many scrapes when we were at school," Mimi explained, rolling her eyes. "Big brother syndrome."

"I dread to think what might have become of you if it wasn't for me." He winked at Floria and she found herself smiling back. He was really nice. "Remind me to tell you some stories, sometime."

"This is Rob." Mimi introduced the guy with the hat, tight jeans and an open shirt over a tight fitting t-shirt. He was attractive in a lean, Mick Jagger kind of way. "He plays the bass guitar in a blues band." She grinned. "You won't have heard of them."

Rob poked her in the ribs before offering his hand to Floria. "Ignore her, we're very well known in jazz circles."

"Pleasure to meet you." Floria shook his hand noticing his long, tapered musician's fingers. "I work with a lot of musicians, classical mostly."

Before Rob could reply, Mimi moved on to Phil, who was the best looking and smoothest of the group. His hair was a dark blond and fell in just exactly the right style to be modern, yet still professional. He dressed well, like a banker or city trader, and everything about him screamed confidence and success. "This is Phil, and before we go any further I should caution you, he's lethal with women."

Floria laughed. "Thanks for the warning. Pleased to meet you Phil." He was good looking for sure, but no sooner were they introduced, his eyes flickered in the direction of two giggling females in tight mini-skirts at a nearby table.

"See what I mean," whispered Mimi, earning herself another poke in the ribs, this time from Phil. It was clear they all adored her.

They made quite a strange group. The pop singer, the guitarist, the womanising banker and ... she glanced at Josh, who stood a head taller than the others. What did he do? Bouncer, policeman, journalist? It was hard to tell. He wore work attire, but wasn't as smartly dressed as Phil. His massive hands cradled a pint glass making it look small.

"Can I get you a drink?" he asked from across the table. Floria flushed. He must have caught her staring.

"Yes, please. White wine, if you don't mind." Josh nodded and strode off to the bar. Floria watched, fascinated, as the crowd parted before him.

"He has that effect on people," Mimi whispered in her ear. "No one wants to mess with him, but he's a really decent bloke. Clever too. You wouldn't think it by looking at him, would you?"

"What does he do?" asked Floria.

Josh had managed to get served within ten seconds of arriving at the bar. It would have taken most people ten minutes to get the barman's attention given how busy it was tonight.

"He's a finance geek."

At Floria's surprised look she nodded. "I know. He looks more like a security guard, doesn't he? But he's got a great head for numbers and earns far more than Phil here, who likes to pretend he's the wolf of Wall Street."

Rob snickered and buried his nose in his Guinness.

"I heard that," Phil murmured, good-naturedly, not turning his attention away from his new friends.

Josh retuned with her drink. "So what does the prodigal sister do?" he asked, leaning against the table. Floria got a waft of his aftershave. He smelled good.

"I work for a PR firm, mostly musicians and singers."

"She's a genius at organising events," cut in Mimi. "You should have seen the church at Serena's funeral. It was superb. And the reception was like something out of _House and Garden_."

Josh raised a bushy eyebrow. "I suppose you had good practice growing up with Dame Serena?"

"Josh," hissed Mimi, casting a worried glance at Floria, but he ignored her. "I'd heard she was a handful."

Floria forced a smile. Most people were curious about Serena. The publicity surrounding her of late had not been good. "That's okay, I don't mind. Yes, she was... high maintenance. A real diva." She took a sip of her drink and then said dryly, "It was part of her charm."

"Couldn't have been much fun for her nearest and dearest, though. Ouch." Mimi had kicked him on the shin.

"No, it wasn't." She twisted the wine glass round and round on the table. Josh had a way of cutting to the chase.

"Josh talks from experience." Mimi peered wickedly at him over the rim of her glass. "Wait till you meet Paloma."

"Who's Paloma?" Floria glanced up as Josh turned to stare out of the window.

"My girlfriend," he sighed. Floria could have sworn she saw those massive shoulders sag. She glanced at Mimi, who shrugged.

"Trouble in paradise?"

Josh pulled his gaze back to the table and smiled. "Always. You know Paloma." It didn't reach his eyes.

"A handful?" Floria enquired, softly.

Josh leaned forwards so his face was inches from hers. "You have no idea."

In that moment as she looked into Josh's eyes, Floria knew they were going to be firm friends.

The mood needed lightening and after half her spritzer, Floria's natural exuberance exerted itself. Before long they were all engaging in the wittiest of banter and killing themselves laughing. So contagious was their mood that nearby tables joined in their frivolity. This suited Phil down to the ground as he was making great in-roads with the girl in the shortest mini-skirt.

Two bottles of wine and several beers later, they were just contemplating going to find somewhere to eat when the most stunning girl Floria had ever seen sauntered over. She had soft, brown hair shot through with gold and parted in the middle; clear, translucent skin and high cheekbones that shimmered with carefully applied highlighter. Her full lips were smothered in a glossy coral sheen and her wide, slanting eyes, the colour of African violets, shot daggers at Josh, whose arm was draped over Floria's shoulder.

He was discussing the current presidential campaign with an American tourist who had joined their party and hadn't seen her yet. Floria stiffened. He looked up.

"Hello, Josh," said the stunner, in a voice straight off the polar ice-caps.

"Well, well. Look who decided to show up," drawled Josh, in no apparent rush to remove his arm. "You remember Mimi, my darling?"

_Darling?_ This must be Josh's girlfriend. Gosh, she was a beauty.

Paloma glared at Floria. Slowly, Josh removed his arm. The temperature round the table dropped by several degrees. Mimi broke the awkward silence. "Hello, Paloma. It's nice to see you again."

Paloma nodded in her direction. "Likewise," she said, her shoulders back, head held high and at an angle, almost like she was posing for a magazine shoot. "Have I missed anything?"

"Nothing important to you, obviously." Josh's voice was steely. The two stared daggers at each other for a few seconds before Paloma gave in and sighed. "I'd kill for a Bloody Mary."

Josh got to his feet and took her arm. She tried to shake it off, but he held on and steered her firmly to the bar. Mimi blew a strand of hair out of her face. "So that is Paloma. What do you think?"

"She's exquisite," Floria said, her heart sinking. How would Josh ever fancy her when his girlfriend looked like that? "Is she a model?"

"Yes, and she won't hesitate to tell you all about it," Mimi said, scrunching up her nose. "I don't know her that well. Josh had just met her when I was last here, five years ago. They were all loved up then."

Oh dear, thought Floria. Five years with someone like that. "He must really love her."

Mimi gave her a skewed look. "Yes, I think he does, although from what I hear she's a real bitch. Josh seems to be drawn to difficult women. He took me under his wing at school. I was always causing trouble."

"Did you two ever date?"

"Oh no, it was never like that. Josh was an older brother to me. He likes to play the role of protector. He's a bit of a saviour of waifs and strays, I'm afraid."

Floria watched Josh talk to Paloma at the bar. She was almost as tall as him, and with their heads bent together, they made a striking pair. They had a heated discussion and then Josh leant forward and kissed her very hard on the lips. Floria looked away.

Paloma was in a much better mood when they returned to the table. "So I hear you're Mimi's sister," she said, studying Floria over her Bloody Mary. "It must be such a surprise to discover you have a sister, at your age."

There couldn't be more than a few years between them. Floria ignored the jibe and replied, "Actually, I found out I had three sisters when my mother died, not just one. It was a bit of a shock at first, but a lovely one, nonetheless." She smiled at Mimi.

"Do you have any siblings?" Mimi asked Paloma. Floria got the impression her sister already knew the answer to that.

"No, I'm an only child." Paloma snaked an arm through Josh's. "That's why I'm so grateful I've got Josh. He was an only child too so he understands what it's like."

"Except Josh had me to look after," Mimi said, her lips drawn back in a smile.

"You say that like it's a good thing," grumbled Josh. The two of them did the inevitable "do you remember when" thing, and while Paloma looked bored and studied her reflection in window, Floria sucked it all in. She was content to let them do the talking and find out more about the life her sister had led in Australia.

Eventually the bar started to empty. Phil, with a self-satisfied grin on his face, pulled on his jacket. The girl in the mini-skirt was hanging off his arm and whispering loudly to her friend that she'd call her tomorrow.

"Remember to practise safe sex, Phil," called Josh. "We don't want a repeat of last time." Phil ignored him, giving him the finger behind his back. Mimi laughed, while Paloma just shook her head.

"God, you'd think he'd get tired of sleeping with a different girl every weekend." She stirred her drink with a straw. "It's a wonder he remembers any of their names."

Floria stifled a yawn. Josh was talking to the American again, but his hand rested possessively on Paloma's thigh. Floria was filled with longing. She missed James and seeing Josh with Paloma only made it worse.

"I think I'll head home," she said, giving Mimi a hug. "Thanks for inviting me. It was a lovely evening." And it had been, up until Paloma arrived.

"I'll come with you," Mimi said. "We can share a cab."

They said goodbye and walked out into Leicester Square. It was almost midnight. Music from London's late-night bars floated on the air and the people mingling in the square had changed from the after-work crowd to the night owls.

"I want you to think about starting your own business," Mimi told Floria as they walked to the road to hail a cab. "I've got a good feeling about this. Promise me you will?"

Floria promised, linking her arm with her sister. "I'm so glad you're here," she said feeling emotional. It was probably just the wine talking.

Mimi gave her arm a squeeze. "So am I. Isn't it funny how something so good can come out of something so bad?"

"It is funny," she agreed. "I feel so lucky to have found you guys."

"With the inheritance we are all free to start over," Mimi said, her voice ringing with hope. "I'm going to launch my solo singing career and become a big star."

"I know you will," smiled Floria. She hadn't heard her sister sing yet, but she must have the talent, just like the other two.

"And you're going to start your own events business, Floria. It'll be a new beginning."

Floria smiled into the darkness. Yes, she must put all thoughts of James (and other unavailable men) behind her now and focus on the future. A new beginning sounded very good indeed.

# CHAPTER EIGHT

Floria took Mimi's advice and started to set up her very own party-planning company. She called it Prima Donna Productions. Appropriate, she thought, considering her own less-than-stellar reputation, and her late-mother's illustrious career.

At first she was nervous, but the more she thought about it, the more she realised it was the perfect business model for her. Thanks to Serena and her father, Ranulph, she had an enormous contact list of musicians, producers, managers, basically everyone connected to the classical music scene – and she planned to use it. Unlike Carmen, Floria felt nothing for riding on her mother's fame.

"It's the least she can do," she confided to Daisy, as they opened the box of business cards which had just arrived from the printers. A half-empty bottle of Prosecco and two glasses sat on the table between them.

"I can't believe we didn't think of this earlier," Daisy said, holding one up and admiring the artwork. "These are great. You look very professional."

"That's the idea." Floria inspected them, then nodded her head in approval. "Yes, if it wasn't for Mimi, I'd never have thought of it. Silly, really. It just shows what a state I must have been in after James' departure and mother's death."

"I wouldn't be too hard on yourself. It was all a bit of a shock."

"True. Although in retrospect, James dumping me was a blessing in disguise. I'd never be in this position now if it wasn't for that."

"And it suits you down to the ground. Every party I've been to that you've hosted has been outstanding. You're a natural. I know you'll be a roaring success." She held up her glass to toast.

"Thanks, Daisy. I plan to be." Floria grinned at her friend as they clinked glasses. She took a sip then narrowed her eyes. "I'm determined to show that hypercritical bastard that there's more to this 'bimbo' than meets the eye. How dare he call me a liability!"

"Those snobby politicians will have to eat their words."

"Absolutely. I'll drink to that." And she polished off what was left in her glass.

"I made some preliminary calls," she told Mimi excitedly the next day, "and everyone I spoke to said they would definitely use me. In fact, Sir Elton John wants me to plan a quiet soirée for his birthday next month. How exciting is that?"

Mimi's lyrical voice tinkled over the phone. "Oh, I'm so happy for you, honey. See, I knew it was a good idea."

Thank goodness for Mimi. A lovely, warm feeling flowed over her. How nice to have a sister with which to talk things through. Mimi was amazing. She'd miss her when she went back to Australia in a few weeks. Donna seemed sweet too, but Floria had yet to really bond with her, and no one had heard of Carmen since the reading of the will. In all likelihood, she'd gone back to Spain.

It was with great delight that Floria called her boss to resign, effective immediately. He wasn't surprised, he said, after he'd read about the inheritance in the papers. He even wished her luck in her new endeavour.

So it was on a high that Floria waltzed down the busy Kings Road with its designer shops and sidewalk cafes, to meet an estate agent who said he'd found the ideal business premises for her. The block was centrally located and a short bus ride from where she lived near Chelsea harbour. It was situated next to an art gallery with a small park whose borders were bursting with hydrangeas on the other side.

She loved it immediately. Inside was more than adequate, with a decent-sized reception room off the main entrance and an administrative office behind with a small kitchenette. Upstairs, the agent told her, was an architect's firm with a separate entrance so she wouldn't be disturbed. Big sash windows overlooked the quaint, square park with its stone fountain in the middle and pigeons fluttering about pecking crumbs off the manicured lawn.

Floria loved the effect of the late afternoon sun which streamed into the street-facing reception room, glinting off the chandelier and bouncing off the walls.

She sighed happily. It was perfect.

Before she signed on the dotted line though, she called Mimi. "I'd really appreciate a second set of eyes. I'm not very good with contracts and things."

"I have just the man for you," Mimi replied. "Don't sign anything yet."

Half an hour later, Floria was sipping a cappuccino at her favourite café in the Kings Road and reading the newspaper when her phone rang. It was Josh.

"Hello," she said, her pulse quickening ever so slightly.

"I hear you need my specialised skillset." His gravelly voice was exactly how she remembered, just a little more formal which was to be expected considering he was at work.

"Indeed I do. I've got a contract to sign and I'd appreciate a second opinion."

"Give me your address. I'll pop round after work."

Floria thanked him and then dashed home to freshen up and clean her apartment. She lived in a neat double-storey Victorian terraced house in Chelsea, close to the harbour. Big terracotta flowerpots out the front overflowed with camellias and rhododendrons in an explosion of pinks and reds.

Floria's flat was on the second floor, above an eccentric writer and his ancient Labrador, Bolshoi. As far as she could make out, Leonard did more reading than writing. His flat was filled with piles of dusty books, notepads and pots of pens and paintbrushes. He was passionate about opera though, and often played it loudly from his vintage record player. Today was no exception. _La Traviata_ blared from his windows and seeped up through the floorboards. Floria didn't mind too much, having grown up with it, and she hurriedly vacuumed, made the bed and washed the dishes to Verdi's faultless score.

I ought to offer Josh a snack, she thought and opened the fridge. He'll be hungry after a long day at the office. To her dismay, all she had was a bottle of Prosecco, eggs, milk and a rock of parmesan cheese that had long since passed its best-before date. Drat, there wasn't time to nip to the shops.

The doorbell rang. Floria glanced at herself in the gilt-framed mirror that hung over the fireplace. Oh God, she looked awfully flushed and sweaty. That'll teach her not to keep her flat clean!

Frantically fanning herself, she picked up the intercom. "Hi. Come on up," she called, pressing the entry button. Shortly after, she heard Josh's heavy footsteps on the stairs. Leonard still hadn't let up.

"Great acoustics," he commented, kissing her on both cheeks. He carried a plastic bag from the Co-op in one hand, but the other touched her gently on the waist.

"Yes, that's Leonard downstairs. As you might have guessed, he was a big fan of my mother's."

Josh gave a nice, deep cackle. "Lucky you. Now, what do you have for me to look at? Mimi said you were renting premises?"

"Yes, I've taken her advice and started my own business." She paused, a shiver of excitement slid down her spine. "I still can't believe I've done it."

"Congrats." He grinned. "Mimi filled me in. This is a big deal. We should celebrate." He waved the plastic packet in the air. "Why don't you grab us some glasses and I'll take a peek at your contract."

After they'd toasted her new venture, Josh sat back on her couch, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

"I'm afraid I know embarrassingly little about the financial side of things," she admitted, flopping down opposite him in a big, comfy armchair.

"Luckily for you, I'm here." Josh smiled, his heavy-lidded eyes crinkling. Then they flickered down to the document and narrowed as he scrutinised it. Floria sipped her wine, not wanting to interrupt. He read fast, his eyes darting from one line to the next. The concentration never wavered.

"Everything in order?" she asked, once he'd put the contract down on the side table and picked up his glass.

"Seems to be fine." He took a great slug. "You know it's over-priced, don't you? Even for that neck of the woods. But then they probably saw you coming – it's been all over the papers."

"I could try and get them down a bit," she said hesitantly. "I don't mind paying but I don't want to get taken for a ride."

"See what you can do. I doubt they'll get anyone else at this price." He tapped the contract with a long finger. "You probably have some room to negotiate."

"Okay, thanks. I'll speak to them tomorrow."

He nodded, then studied her slowly, leisurely. "You know, if you need financial help you only have to ask."

"Really?"

"Of course. You're Mimi's little sister. I'd be delighted to help you set up your business. Have you registered as a limited company yet?"

Floria shook her head. "It's on my to-do list." The truth was she'd been putting it off until she could find someone to advise her. She'd thought of Greg but he was always so busy. "I was going to hire an accountant."

"No, don't do that. At least not at first. I'll help you with all the preliminary stuff, then you can hire someone to take over when it's up and running."

"That's so kind of you. I don't know what to say."

"Say yes."

He laughed as she jumped up and shouted a resounding, "Yes!"

They talked as they polished off the wine. Josh told her a little about growing up in Sydney and how he'd met Mimi. "She was always this quiet, sulky child," he began, a faraway look in his eyes. "I remember she used to sit by herself or skulk around under the grandstands, never mixing with the other kids." He grimaced. "She used to get bullied by the bigger kids."

Poor Mimi. The person he described didn't sound at all like the confident young woman she was getting to know.

"Then one day I guess she'd had enough." He smiled at the memory. "She punched this bully in the stomach, really winding him, then kicked him in the shins and took off across the playground with most of his posse on her heels. God knows what they would have done to her if they'd caught her."

"They didn't?" Floria's eyes widened.

"Luckily, I witnessed the whole thing. I got between them and her, and... well, let's just say that was the end of that."

"Thank goodness." Floria exhaled. How nice to have someone like Josh looking out for you.

"Mimi, to give her credit, walked straight up to me and stared at me with those big green eyes of hers as if she couldn't understand why I'd helped her. Then she thanked me. We were best mates after that. She was like the little sister I never had."

Floria remembered Paloma saying he was an only child. "I'll bet no one bullied her after that."

He shrugged. "People stay out of my way because of my size, but I'll tell you a secret." He leant forward conspiratorially. "I don't even know how to fight. If someone came at me, I'd be toast."

She laughed, not entirely convinced. "Let's hope that never happens."

Downstairs, Leonard put on Dame Serena's 'Best Of' arias and Floria giggled, the wine having gone to her head. "It's her, back from the grave to haunt me."

Josh put his feet up on the coffee table. Floria liked the fact that he made himself at home. There was nothing awkward about him at all. He was confident and relaxed in his own skin. What a contrast to James who was always so proper. In all the time they'd been together, she didn't think he'd once put his feet up.

"Was it hell growing up with her?"

The question didn't offend her. Josh, she decided, was very intuitive, and she didn't mind talking about her past with him. He wouldn't judge her – at least, she didn't think he would. "The early years were awful," Floria admitted. "Mother was never home. It was the height of her career and she was always away on tour. My father, who was her manager back then, went everywhere with her, so I was raised by a series of au pairs."

She took a deep, steadying breath. It was only Daisy who knew the extent of her mother's neglect. "When she was home, she never spoke to me, in fact, she hardly acknowledged me at all. It was as if I didn't exist." She paused, Josh didn't say anything, just watched her, a neutral expression on his face. No pity. She liked that.

She continued. "I didn't understand. For years, I thought it was something I'd done, but then I realised she didn't have time for anything else other than her music. That was her one and only love. I was a hindrance; a distraction she didn't need."

"Poor tyke," he muttered, shaking his head. "What about your father?"

"My father tried to make up for her behaviour by showering me with gifts. He basically gave me anything I wanted. The problem was, he was away as much as she was."

She shrugged, her eyes dry. The tears had long since dried up. Now there was nothing but an empty space where her mother was concerned. No grief, not even now she was gone. She'd done all her grieving as a child.

"So that's the sad story of my youth as Dame Serena Levanté's daughter. People think I had this glamorous upbringing..." She faded off, the rest self-evident.

"The price of fame," he muttered.

She acknowledged the truth of those words with a little nod of her head.

"And you had no idea you had three sisters on the other side of the world?"

"Heavens, no. Mother didn't say a word. I still can't understand why she kept it a secret all these years. Not even my father knew."

"She obviously had her reasons, although God knows what they could have been."

"She probably didn't want the negative publicity. Can you imagine the headlines? The great Serena Levanté, with four daughters from three different men." She raised an eyebrow. "Not great PR. Then there's the inconvenience of actually having to meet and forge relationships with them," she mused. "If she couldn't do it with me, an only child, three more would have been out of the question."

Josh laughed. "I get your point."

Just then Floria's stomach gave a great rumble.

Josh perked up. "I couldn't agree more. I'm starving too. Is there anywhere good to eat around here?"

Floria bit her lip, feeling her cheeks colour. He was nice not to embarrass her. "Sure. There's a great little Italian around the corner."

He raised an eyebrow. "Shall we?"

I mustn't get my hopes up, Floria reprimanded herself sternly. This isn't a date, it's just supper. A little bite to eat between friends, nothing more. He's in love with Paloma.

"Give me a minute." She dashed to the bathroom. Glancing in the mirror, she cringed. Her appearance was positively bohemian. Her cheeks were even pinker than before, if that was possible. Her normally kept curls had separated and turned frizzy – it must be about to rain – and her eyes were unusually bright. That was the wine.

This should help, she thought, applying a decent dollop of foundation to her cheeks and blending it in. There, that was much better. Then she ran a comb through her curls, which didn't really help but made her feel better, and smeared on a good helping of lip gloss. She was ready.

"Right, let's go."

"After you." Josh gave her a friendly grin and stood back so she could exit before him. Together they strolled around the corner to the restaurant.

He's so easy to be with, she thought as they chatted amicably. Josh told her he played for Richmond Rugby Club, who were based in West London. He'd got into it at secondary school on account of his size, but he'd grown to love the game. He'd been playing for them for eight years, since he'd arrived in England.

"It's how I let off steam," he said, as they came to a stop outside an olive green awning with tables and chairs on the pavement. "We play matches most weekends. You should come and watch sometime."

"I'd love to." She had friends who'd played rugby at school, but none to this level. It would be fun to go and watch Josh, and he probably looked really good in a pair of rugby shorts!

"Buonasera, Floria!" A waiter greeted her warmly as they pushed open the door.

It was warm inside the small Italian restaurant and diners sat close together at small square tables covered in white tablecloths with blue napkins. The buzz of their conversations permeated the air, along with the familiar clanking of plates and glasses, and shouts from the chef in the kitchen.

"Buonasera, Luigi," she answered back. This was her favourite haunt when she didn't feel like cooking – which was far too often.

Luigi gave Josh the once over, smiled at her approvingly and then led them to a vacant table.

"What's that about?" enquired Josh, who didn't miss a trick.

"Oh, nothing." Floria flushed. Luigi obviously thought Josh was her new beaux. Wouldn't that be nice? The more she got to know him, the more she liked him. "It's just the last time I was here was with James, my boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend now. We broke up the week my mother died."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Josh pulled out her chair for her.

"I'm not." She sat down. "He wasn't a very nice man. Not at all the person I thought he was."

"In that case, I'm not sorry." Josh took a seat. "Shall we have another bottle and you can tell me all about it?"

Floria laughed. She was enjoying herself. They called for Luigi, who was only too happy to bring them wine and garlic bread and anything else the señorita wanted. She told Josh the _bimbo_ story and how James had ditched her after that photograph appeared in _The Sun_. He thought it hilarious. "I can see you're more like Mimi than you let on."

It was a relief to laugh about it. Somehow that made it seem less significant, like a bad dream that one woke up from the next morning and couldn't remember what all the fuss was about.

"Here's to your new venture," Josh raised his glass. "I'm sure you're going to be hugely successful."

"I plan to be." Now she'd committed to her new business, nothing would stop her. She'd show that snobby James she was no bimbo. She had a sneaky feeling that not marrying him was going to turn out to be one of the best decisions of her life.

"I can't see much of Serena in myself," Floria remarked, once they'd finished dinner. "Carmen sounds exactly like her, and Donna is obviously hugely talented. I haven't heard Mimi sing but I imagine she's the same. And they all have Serena's lovely thick, dark hair and sexy figure." She fingered her own blonde curls and peered ruefully at her ample cleavage. "I'm the opposite."

"There's nothing wrong with you," Josh said, his eyes flickering appreciatively over her breasts. Floria quivered, pleased that he'd noticed, but then he blinked and said, "Mimi can sing. I remember, even as a girl, she had a hell of a voice on her. She used to belt out all the latest pop songs hanging upside down from the jungle gym. It drove our teacher mad."

That sounded just like something Mimi would do. "You don't want to hear me sing," Floria said, grimacing.

Josh chuckled. "I'll take your word for it."

Luigi brought the bill over. Floria tried to pay, but Josh wasn't having it. "Don't be silly," he said, pushing her hand away. "It was my idea."

"But it's to say thank you for helping me," pleaded Floria. "You've done so much."

"You can thank me another time." Without waiting for an answer, Josh handed over his card.

The best part of the evening was when he put his hand on the small of her back and steered her out of the restaurant. He didn't remove it until they were in the street.

It was a warm, clear night and they strolled home through pools of shimmering light cast onto the pavement by the street lamps. The pungent odour of magnolia blossoms filled the air.

At her front door he lingered. Floria felt quite breathless. She knew it was just the wine talking, but she had a terrible urge to kiss him. He'd been so nice to her, and she felt drawn to him... But she mustn't be silly. Firstly, he wasn't available. Paloma had her hooks firmly into him. And unlike her, he was perfectly in control of his emotions.

"I'll be in touch about the limited company," he said, a line appearing on his forehead. "We should get that sorted for you as soon as possible."

_That's_ what he was thinking about? Her business? That was the last thing on her mind right now.

"Er... okay. Thanks. Let me know when you're free."

"I'll give you a call tomorrow and get some details from you." He smiled and leant forward to kiss her on the cheek. "Thanks for a great evening. Now I must love and leave you. Paloma will be wondering what I'm up to."

"Thanks for the reminder," Floria grumbled under her breath as she waved him goodbye. What a lovely evening. Paloma didn't deserve a man like him.

# CHAPTER NINE

The next week flew by so quickly that it was only at the end of it that Floria realised she'd completely forgotten to mope about James, or dwell on her mother's death. Business plans, contracts, lease agreements and financial documents had been filled in, signed and delivered (or filed away in her new Ikea filing cabinet) and she'd even hired an office assistant to start the following Monday.

Josh, true to his word, had called to discuss what needed to be done to register her business. Then he'd emailed her the appropriate forms, and she'd duly filled them in (only calling him once for his advice) before sending them back. It was strange seeing the email come into her inbox from Josh Graham, Financial Director. He must be a lot more important than he let on.

After he'd received all her paperwork, he'd filed with Companies House, and bingo! Prima Donna Productions was a legitimate venture.

"It's so exciting," she told Daisy and Mimi over a much-needed bottle of Pinot Grigio on Friday night at their local pub, the Hare and Hound off Sloane Square. "If someone had told me last year that I'd be running my own business I'd have laughed in their face. But look at me now? I'm really doing it." She scoffed. "James Neilson-Barnes, eat your words."

"Hear, hear!" Mimi agreed, nodding emphatically.

"A big launch party is what you need," Daisy announced, her face lighting up. "To shout to the world that you're on the scene."

"That's a fabulous idea, Daisy!" Floria told her. "I'll invite some of mother's cronies as well as up-and-coming musicians and producers. It'll be a great networking opportunity for everybody."

"And amazing publicity for you," pointed out Mimi. "Do you know a photographer or a journalist who could write an article?"

"I could ask _Hello_ if they wanted to cover it. I know the assistant editor there. They might send a photographer for first dibs on the pictures."

Mimi spread her hands in the air. "Even better. I should have known you'd have it covered."

Floria laughed. "One thing I'm not short of is press contacts, although it will be nice to have something positive written about me for a change."

"Cheers to that," sang Mimi and they clinked glasses.

Saturday morning dawned mild but cloudy. As Floria lay in bed, propped up on her pillows, she watched as thick, silver clouds accumulated in the slate-grey sky. A few brave rays from the sun tried to push through, but failed dismally and receded, admitting defeat. It looked like rain.

For once, she didn't have any plans. Mimi was camping over at a two-day rock festival, Daisy had treated her team at the salon to a spa day, and Donna, who was delighted at being invited to the grand opening, had said very vaguely that she was busy. Floria had a feeling that 'busy' meant she hoped to be spending some time with Greg, the solicitor who'd read Serena's will. The two of them had become quite close recently.

So she had a lazy lie-in, read the paper and then sauntered down to the café on the corner for a large caramel latte and a toasted tea-cake. First up on her schedule for the day was to pop into the office. There were voice mails that needed answering, her own launch party to plan and a task list to put together for her new admin assistant. At least business was flowing in, and she hadn't even officially launched yet. This was good. Very good. A self-satisfied shiver ran down her spine. It was all working out.

_I am a successful business woman_ , she chanted as she unlocked the door to the office. _I am not a bimbo._ And with a contented smirk on her lips, Floria got down to work.

It was nearly four o'clock when she paused for the first time. Gosh, where had the time gone? She rubbed her eyes. They were dry and gritty from staring at the computer screen. Definitely time to call it a day. She stood and stretched, then walked from the office into the reception room. Children's laughter drifted over from the park through the open window. It was very humid despite the clouds.

She closed it, thinking she'd lock up and take a nice stroll back home, stopping off at her favourite Italian to grab something for supper.

Josh hesitated for a split-second before he knocked on the door.

He'd popped to the Kings Road to buy Paloma a birthday present and realised he was only streets away from Floria's new office. On a whim he walked towards it, thinking he'd check it out – not for a minute expecting anyone to be there on the weekend. Except the window was open and there was Floria at her desk. He smiled as she stood up and stretched. Why not pop in and say hello?

"What a lovely surprise," she said, as she flung open the door.

"I thought I'd come and see what your money paid for," he said, thinking how nice it was to be greeted by a big, happy smile rather than Paloma's sulky pout. She'd been really temperamental of late, snapping at him more often than usual and staying out to all hours, then complaining she was tired and hung-over the next day.

"Sure, come in. Let me show you the headquarters of Prima Donna Promotions." She stood back, giving him access. "Actually, you just caught me. I was about to pack up for the day."

He looked around. It was a bright, airy front room with high ceilings and typically English adornments around the cornices. An impressive chandelier twinkled in the afternoon sunlight, even though it wasn't on, shooting rainbow darts all over the walls.

"Did it come furnished?" he enquired, admiring the plush cream sofa and armchair, both with puffy cushions that made one want to sink into them, positioned around a modern, white coffee table. A pile of _Vogue_ magazines sat in the middle.

She shook her head. "Nope. My friend Daisy and I went shopping last week. I know a great interior design place in Surrey where I get all my furnishings." She grinned merrily. "Trade discount with a further ten percent off because the owner likes me."

Today her pale blonde hair was swept off her face in a ponytail, exposing her clear forehead and wide, laughing eyes. It made her look much younger than her twenty-something years. "Is there anyone who doesn't like you?"

She glanced at him, surprised by the question, and then said, "I can think of a few people."

He didn't reply. Paloma was one of them. He'd had such an earful after she'd rocked up (three hours late) at the bar and found him with his arm around Floria's shoulders. The thing Paloma didn't understand was that Josh had always been able to have plutonic relationships with girls. Just because he enjoyed their company, it didn't mean he was sexually attracted to them. Take Mimi for example. They'd been best friends since junior school, and he felt a similar connection with Floria. They were sisters after all, and Floria was so easy to talk to, and she made him laugh.

Paloma was a different animal. Her entire existence was based on surface beauty. Sexuality was a tool to be used to get ahead in her career, to get what she wanted from men and to booster her self-esteem. Josh understood that. He'd known her a long time. Unfortunately, it meant she didn't have many female friends, which was a pity as it may have grounded her a bit more.

He glanced at Floria's plush figure in faded blue jeans and a long, navy-blue shirt that hung down to her hips. Ankle boots gave her added height and upgraded the outfit from casual to stylish. She was bright and breezy, blonde and voluptuous. The total opposite of Paloma's slender, dark, haunting beauty.

He went into her office. "I like your desk." He ran a finger along a pristine white trestle table about a metre wide which stretched the length of the room. On it was a Mac laptop, samples of material, a thick catalogue, printed lists and an assortment of pens and highlighters. Classic FM was playing softly in the background.

"My workspace," she answered, switching off the radio. "I have to have space to coordinate everything."

"I heard you've got a few bookings already. That's great." Mimi had told him that her bookings list read like a Who's Who of the music industry. He still couldn't get his head around the fact that his little trouble-making friend, Mimi, had such a famous mother, although given her temperament and talent, he supposed he shouldn't be too surprised.

Floria tilted her head to one side. "Yes, I'm very fortunate to have my late mother's contacts as well as my own. It was only when I started this company that I realised exactly how many people I know." She giggled, a happy, pleasing sound that make him want to smile along with her. "I don't know why I didn't do this years ago."

"You should have. I expect your mother could have kept you busy all by herself, if the papers are anything to go by." Dame Serena's parties were legendary. Even he'd heard about them, and he didn't move in those kinds of circles.

"Yes, she did throw a good bash," Floria admitted with a wry smile, "but it took its toll on her. Towards the end, she was drinking heavily and was very depressed. I'm not surprised Collin moved out. She must have been hell to live with. She wasn't easy at the best of times."

"So I hear," he said, then shook his head. "I can't imagine growing up with a famous opera singer for a parent. My upbringing was so different to yours. We were a pretty normal family and nothing much ever happened in Sydney when I was a kid."

"There's a lot to be said for normality," Floria blurted out and Josh didn't miss the wistful gaze in her eye. "All my life I've wanted to be part of a normal family, to have my parents come to my school plays, go for walks in the park, take me on family holidays..." She shrugged. "I guess it wasn't meant to be. Not for me anyway."

With an abrupt flick of her wrist she drew the blind down over the sash window cutting out the light. "When I have kids I'm going to give them the kind of childhood I never had."

He could see the determination in her face. "I have no doubt you will." Poor girl must have had a rough time of it. Couldn't have been easy with a prima donna for a mother. He changed the subject. "Do you fancy a stroll? I'm heading over to Soho to watch Rob. His band is playing tonight. We could walk through Hyde Park and grab a drink at the Serpentine?" He looked at his watch. "It's not too early for you, is it?"

The smile quickly reappeared on her face. He got the impression she was never down for long. She was so naturally effervescent that her energy just bubbled back to the surface. "It's never too early."

He laughed. "A woman after my own heart."

Floria felt a definite spring in her step as they walked down Sloan Avenue towards South Kensington. Josh was talking shop again. He advised her to keep accurate records of all her outgoings, so she made him laugh by divulging she stored all her receipts in a big, pink hat box under the desk.

She didn't have any incomings yet, but expected to get a big cheque next month after Sir Elton's party. She also had a formal dinner, two christenings and a bar mitzvah lined up. "My brochures are nearly ready and I'm planning a big launch party at the end of the month before Mimi leaves." She turned to him. "I hope you'll come. It'll be great fun."

"I wouldn't miss it," he said, grinning at her.

They walked past South Kensington Station and turned into Exhibition Road, the home of the Victoria and Albert Museum, the Science Museum and the esteemed Royal Albert Hall whose stage Dame Serena Levanté had graced so many times.

At the south end of West Carriage Drive stood the magnificent Coalbrookdale Gates. "I can't help but admire these every time I walk through here," Floria mused, staring up at the cast-iron finials adorned with their regal golden crowns.

Hyde Park was decked out in all its summer glory. The main footpath, lined with bobbing yellow daffodils, wild roses and native wildflowers, wound through the landscaped lawns and ancient oaks. It was busier than normal. People laughed and joked as they jostled with each other. Everyone seemed to be in a party mood.

"There must be something on tonight," Floria commented as she got bumped off the path. Josh caught her arm.

"Let's go get a beer," he said, steering her towards the modern, lake-side Serpentine Bar and Kitchen. "It looks quieter in there."

"Actually, that sounds great," Floria said, about to follow him inside. "I'm rather thirsty."

"Why don't you get a table and I'll get the drinks?"

Floria nodded and looked around. The lake-side bar was almost full, but she spotted a vacant table by the edge of the lake, with an unobstructed view. She grabbed it, narrowly securing it before a group of leather-clad teenagers got there. Ignoring their scowls, she sat down with a contented sigh. Perfect.

Elegant swans floated on the dappled silver surface of the Serpentine, while ducks and Egyptian geese waddled along the banks, belly-flopping into the water whenever they felt the need to cool down.

She wished she could do that; it was brutally humid. Her hair stuck to the sides of her face in sweaty tendrils. There was no breeze either. It was very still. Up above, dark grey thunderclouds threatened. It would bucket down later.

Josh returned with the drinks and sat down. "It's bloody warm, isn't it?" He ran a hand through his hair which made it even messier than it was before.

Floria blew a sticky tendril off her forehead. "I was just thinking how nice a dip in the lake would be."

Josh grinned. "I'm game if you are."

Floria nodded to a big sign a few metres away that read: No Swimming.

"Pity," he sighed.

"Floria? Is that you?" A voice called from behind. They both turned around to look. "It is too! I thought so."

An effeminate young man in skin-tight black jeans and a Rolling Stones t-shirt rushed round to give her a hug.

"Good heavens, Alex, how _are_ you?" They embraced and then Floria introduced Alex to Josh. "Alex is a sound engineer. He did some work at one of my mother's concerts a few years back, that's how we met."

"Pleasure to meet you, Josh," Alex gushed, holding out his hand. Josh shook it and Floria had to grin when Alex gave him a good once over, clearly impressed by his size. To give Josh credit, he didn't react.

"Great to meet you too," was all he said.

Alex turned back to her. "I was just about to go backstage to check the equipment for Bruce's show and saw you sitting here and I thought, I must come and say hello. It's been too long!"

"It has," Floria patted him on the hand. "So who's playing tonight?"

He gave her a skewed look as if to say, how could you not know? "Bruce, darling. As in Springsteen." He tapped his wrist. "Starts in one hour."

"Very nice," said Josh, earning himself an excited grin from Alex. "We thought something was up, judging by the people."

Alex's eyes darted from Floria to Josh and back again. Then he said thoughtfully, "Would you and your macho man here like to come? I can organise you VIP tickets. Champagne on tap, darling... I know how you like your bubbles."

Floria laughed. "You know me too well, Alex dear." Then she glanced at Josh, who was laughing. He spread his hands in a gesture of defeat. "Fine with me. I'm always up for The Boss." He didn't correct Alex's incorrect assumption that they were together.

"What about Rob?" asked Floria, concerned he'd let his friend down.

"I'll make the second set. It starts at midnight. I'm sure we'll be done by then."

"Ends at ten-thirty," Alex said helpfully. "Park rules."

"See, plenty of time to get to Soho."

"All right then," Floria said, turning back to Alex. "VIP tickets would be lovely, thank you."

The soundman jumped up and down like an excited child. "Excellent. Meet me at the VIP entrance in half an hour. It's over there." He pointed through the growing crowds. Then with another quick hug, he bounded off between the trees.

"You look very nice, by the way," Josh complimented Floria as they sipped their glasses of bubbly in the VIP marquee some time later. She'd popped into the loos at the Serpentine and let her hair down. It bounced around her shoulders in perky waves. She'd also put on some make-up – not too much. Just a smattering. He liked the way she didn't try too hard. Paloma always spent hours in front of the mirror. Floria, by contrast, had only been gone a matter of minutes. She still looked fresh-faced and natural, but her sparkling blue eyes were highlighted with kohl and she had applied blusher to her cheeks which made her look very pretty. His gaze flickered down to her glossy full lips, which broadened in a smile.

"Why, thank you, Josh." He had to chuckle at the way she fluttered her eyelashes at him.

"So tell me. Do you always get VIP treatment?"

She paused for a moment. "Yes, I suppose I do." Then she gave him a cheeky look. "Being Dame Serena's daughter definitely has its perks."

"Tell me about it. I could get used to this." He grabbed a bruschetta from a passing waitress and popped it into his mouth.

"Best you stay friends with me then," Floria said, tossing her hair back. "I might not be the marrying type, but at least I'm good for something."

Josh frowned. "That's not what I meant," he began, but Floria raised a hand.

"I'm just kidding." She turned her big, blue eyes on him. "It's called self-deprecating humour."

Obviously that bastard ex-boyfriend of hers had really hurt her. He found himself wanting to go and have a word with the guy. Tell him what a fool he was for letting her go. She was such a great girl.

"Shall I go and beat him up?" he asked, nonchalantly.

Floria burst out laughing. Josh was relieved to see her face light up.

"I thought you couldn't fight," she said.

"I'll tackle him to the ground then."

"That's sweet." She pretended to think for a moment. "Can I let you know?"

"Just say the word."

They joked around for a bit longer until Josh's phone beeped. He pulled it out of his pocket and stared at the screen. No way. Not again.

"I hope Rob isn't upset I'm hijacking your evening?"

Josh ground his teeth. "No, it's not Rob. Paloma's just cancelled on me."

Again.

"She was going to meet me at the blues bar after her shoot, but she's been held up and won't make it." He tried not to show how angry he was.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Floria said softly. "I hope you're not too disappointed."

He shrugged it off. "Nope, her loss."

They had one more drink and then Josh gestured to the rapidly growing crowd. "Are you ready? Shall we do this?"

Floria clapped her hands. "Yes, I'm ready. Let's go!"

The dark clouds above had turned even more ominous. Typical English weather. Undeterred, Josh zigzagged through the crowd, Floria close behind him, until he found a big enough space two-thirds of the way back from the stage.

"How's this?" he yelled, above the din of the other concert-goers.

"Great!" They turned towards the stage just as the band members came on. They were too far back to see actual facial features, but the two enormous screens on either side of the stage zoomed in providing them with close-up shots of the performers. The crowd erupted and Josh put Paloma firmly out of his mind and shouted along with them.

Bruce Springsteen began his first number, _Thunder Road_. The crowd seemed to pulse as one, jumping up and down, yelling out the words to the song. He heard Floria singing her heart out next to him, her blonde hair bouncing up and down, her cheeks even more flushed than before. She turned and grinned at him. "Isn't this great?"

"Yeah!"

The hits kept on coming and the crowd, who knew all the words to all the songs, never let up. When he got to _Glory Days_ , it started to rain. Not hard, but a steady drizzle; however, the oblivious fans didn't miss a beat.

Floria turned her face skywards, enjoying the sensation of the rain on her skin. Her wet hair hung limply down her back and her mascara was running, but Josh thought he'd never seen her look more wild and abandoned.

The band finished up and walked off stage.

"Encore. Encore," chanted the crowd.

So they came back on again and sang a few more favourites. Finally, the intro to _Dancing in the Dark_ came on and the crowd went wild. Josh jumped up and down and clapped in ecstasy with everyone else. The energy was manic.

" _You can't start a fire without a spark_ ," sang the crowd, who were now swaying like one big tidal wave and would probably have had their lighters out if it weren't for the steady drizzle.

Josh put his arm around Floria's shoulders and felt her link hers around his waist. They swayed together and belted out the words at the tops of their voices.

The band took a bow and walked off stage for the final time. As if on cue, the heavens opened. Rain poured down on the satiated fans, all of whom were basking in the glow of post-concert euphoria.

"That was great," sighed Floria. "Better than I expected. I'm so glad we came."

"Me too," said Josh, grabbing her hand as the crowd surged around them. "Hang on to me, let's not get separated."

They made their way to the exit holding hands. The crowd thinned out as they got to the food stalls. "You hungry?" Josh asked.

Floria shook her head. She was too keyed up to eat. After the excitement of the concert, and holding Josh closely against her while one of the most romantic pop songs of all time was played live in front of her, had made her hyperaware of his presence. She tried to shake it off. The music had just gone to her head, that's all.

Except he was _still_ holding her hand.

They walked out of the concert grounds and into Hyde Park itself. Hundreds of people marched past them, on their way to the various bus stops and tubes.

"I had a great time tonight," Josh said, slowing right down. He didn't seem to care that it was still bucketing down.

"So did I." Floria glanced up at him. Raindrops splashed off her cheeks.

"You're soaked," he said, wiping a wet tendril off her forehead.

"Josh?" Floria began, except she didn't know how to finish. The air around them prickled with anticipation. She wanted to ask him what he was playing at, but she got the feeling he wasn't playing at all. This was just a strange moment, probably fuelled by the music and Springsteen's husky voice, and the excitement of the crowd. Her heart hammered in her chest.

Josh's eyes burned into hers. "Shh..." he whispered, before his lips came down on hers.

She was shocked at the forcefulness of his kiss. His tongue delved into her mouth, assaulting her senses. His left hand cupped her cheek, while his right held the back of her head for support. She opened up to him, enjoying the taste of him and savouring every minute. How long they stood there and kissed, while the rain pelted down all around them, Floria had no idea. It was only when the sky flashed and a loud crack of thunder erupted above them that they drew apart.

Josh was panting hard.

Floria felt quite breathless herself, but that was seriously the best kiss she'd ever, ever experienced. She was still in shock when he growled, "Shall we go back to yours?"

Floria could do little more than nod.

"Come on then." He grasped her hand and together they ran for the bus stop. The queue for the bus to Chelsea was quite long, but Floria didn't mind being sandwiched next to Josh. She felt his heat warming her, permeating through her wet clothes. He moved his hand to her waist and held her possessively against him. Floria was in heaven.

They were just about to get on when a voice said, "Josh, how are you, mate?"

Josh dropped his hand like he'd been electrocuted. A short man in a Bruce Springsteen t-shirt with droplets all over his glasses came forward. Josh shook his hand. "Simon. Good thanks. You enjoy the concert?"

"Yeah, brilliant."

Simon looked pointedly at Floria, then back to Josh. Josh cleared his throat. "Er, this is Floria, a friend of mine. Floria, Simon's a work colleague."

"Nice to meet you," Floria said, nodding at the guy who looked even more drenched then they were, if that was possible.

"How's Paloma?" asked Simon. Floria wanted to throttle him. She watched Josh's face as reality crept in. He was probably thinking, _what the hell am I doing_?

With a sinking heart, Floria knew what she had to do. Before Josh could answer, she made a snap decision.

"I'm going to head home," she said to Josh, flashing him a weak smile. "I think I've had enough excitement for one night. You don't mind if I don't come to Soho with you, do you?"

Josh bit his lip. "No worries. See you soon."

The queue surged forward and Floria was pushed, rather than stepped, onto the bus. She didn't mind. It was a relief to get out of the rain and away from Josh, now that the mood had changed. She moved down inside with all the other wet passengers. It was steamy and smelled of stale sweat. There were no seats available so she stood and tried to peer out of the window as the bus pulled away, but they'd all misted up and she couldn't see Josh.

# CHAPTER TEN

Josh woke up with a blinding hangover. It served him right. After he'd got rid of Simon, he'd stuck to his original plan and gone to watch Rob's band in Soho, where he'd proceeded to vent his frustration in a bottle of Jack Daniels.

Then, feeling utterly miserable, he'd gone home only to find Paloma in a conciliatory mood. She was sorry she had to work late, the shoot was absolutely ghastly, but it was over now, and she'd have more time to dedicate to him. Then she'd proceeded to show him exactly what she meant.

Now Josh felt even worse about Floria. Whatever had made him to kiss her like that? He could kick himself. It was the first time he'd ever been tempted to cheat on Paloma.

Besides, he really liked Floria. She was an amazing person who he considered a friend. He shook his head, then groaned. He had to talk to her. He needed to make this right.

"I'm going to run a few errands," he said to Paloma, who was mid-way through her morning beauty regime.

"I was going to make us breakfast, baby." She didn't look up from the mirror.

"I'm too nauseous to eat."

All he could think about was how he had to talk to Floria and make sure he hadn't irrevocably damaged their friendship.

He felt more human after a shower and a shave, although his eyes were still bloodshot. Paloma was going to Harvey Nicks with some girlfriends and would be gone most of the day. He grabbed his keys and hurried out of the door.

Floria let him in and put the kettle on. She also looked a little worse for wear with dark rings under her eyes and a guarded expression.

"Coffee?" she asked, not meeting his eye.

"Yes, please." He followed her into the kitchen. Best to get straight to it. "Listen, Floria. I just wanted to apologise for last night. I was out of line. I don't know what came over me."

She turned around and leant against the counter. He noticed how pale she was. "That's okay. It was a mad evening. I blame Bruce Springsteen." She managed a weak smile.

He exhaled. "I'm so sorry. I know this sounds really cheesy, but I don't want to muck up our friendship. It's important to me. You're important to me. I mean that." He didn't add, I care about you, because that sounded condescending to his own ears, but that was really how he felt. He did care about her. A lot. As a friend.

"I know." She straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath. "Please don't think anything more about it. Honestly, it's not a big deal."

"Okay, good. I can't tell you how relieved I am. I thought I'd messed everything up."

"Don't be silly," she scolded him, her face turned towards the kettle. "How many sugars?"

"None, and black please."

She handed him a steaming mug with 'Best Friend' written on it. The irony was not lost on him.

"So how was the jazz last night?"

"It was great," he said with more enthusiasm than he felt. "They really got the audience going. You'll have to come and watch sometime." He left out the bit about how he'd demolished the entire bottle of Jack.

"I'd love to. Do they play every weekend?"

"Yeah, most weekends. I'll let you know."

She nodded. They made small talk for a while longer, and then Floria said, "I've got to meet Greg, the solicitor, in an hour. He's agreed to meet me on a Sunday. So I'm going to have to get going. Sorry, I don't mean to be rude."

"That's okay. I've got a few errands to run myself," said Josh, standing up.

There was an uncomfortable moment where they both stared at each other. Then she gestured to the door. "Let me show you out."

He wanted to kiss her on the cheek, or at the very least give her a hug, but felt that would be too patronising in light of their recent conversation, so he settled for a little pat on the shoulder instead.

"See you soon," he said, a little too brightly, before she closed the door.

After Josh had gone Floria flopped down onto the sofa and buried her face in the pillow. Why, why, why was he so lovely? Damn him for kissing her and damn him for being with Paloma!

She was under no illusions about what had happened last night. The excitement, the music, the rain... the fact that Paloma had stood him up. It had all played a part in causing this disastrous situation. He probably wouldn't have even considered kissing her if he hadn't got that text from Paloma. She knew that. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but she was a big girl. She could handle it.

It _had_ been a great night, though. She'd felt so alive, so vibrant and happier than she had in weeks. Thank God he hadn't come back to hers! She shuddered, thinking of the mess they'd be in now if he had. Instinctively, she knew that sleeping with Josh would have been a life-changing experience for her. As it was, she was dangerously close to falling head-over-heels for the guy. The last thing she wanted was another heart-break.

It was better not to go there. She had her business which was doing well, she had her sisters, and her friends. Good things were happening. Another man in her life would just complicate matters. Josh was right. It was better they stayed friends.

Funny, compared to Josh, James paled in significance. His cruel words still stung, but she wasn't in love with him anymore. Of that she was a hundred percent certain. Josh had cured her of that.

Dear God, she prayed. You got me over James, now please stop me falling for Josh.

After meeting Greg to sign yet more documents, Floria decided to go to Brompton Court to sort through her mother's things. It was an emotional task and one she'd been putting off for some time.

Greg had informed her the real estate deed had been transferred to Ranulph and he was free to move in whenever he liked. Brompton Court was now officially his. Her father was overjoyed when she'd called and told him the news. He wanted to move in as soon as he could arrange for his belongings to be shipped from France.

Collin, on the other hand, had been notified to say he no longer had any right to stay there. Floria had got Greg to do that dreadful deed for her. She didn't like Collin but she wasn't going to be the one to chuck him out of his house. She wondered if he'd found his missing Modigliani yet? The police thought it unlikely it would surface in England. It was too easily recognisable. Instead, it would probably be sold on the black market to another collector.

Violeta and Tatiana were hard at work packing up Collin's bedroom when Floria got to Brompton Court. "All Mr Harrison's things need to be boxed by tomorrow," the housekeeper told her, masking tape hanging from her finger. "We've been told that's when the removals are coming."

Floria would have helped them but she had her mother's things to sort out. What did one do with thousands of pounds worth of designer ball gowns? She couldn't just dump them outside Oxfam. If Carmen was here, she could ask her if she wanted them, but something told her the Spanish singer would reject the offer outright. If she couldn't bear to be associated with Serena, she certainly wouldn't be prepared to wear her clothes.

So Floria wrapped them all in plastic and called the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden. The Costume Director was "so, so honoured" to receive the donation, and would pick them up in person. They would be used to dress their up-and-coming singers who couldn't afford elaborate costumes. "Perhaps it will help them channel Dame Serena," he said, hopefully.

The jewellery box was still on her mother's dresser, as it had been the night of the murder. Floria took out each item, inspected it fondly, then laid it on the wooden surface. Each piece held a special memory.

There was the exquisite ruby necklace her mother had worn on stage when she'd sung _La Traviata_ in Venice. The opera singer had had three encores and a standing ovation that night. Floria had been so proud.

Then there was the string of Black Sea pearls that her mother often wore at soirées and dinner parties. She tried it on. The necklace was so long that even doubled-up, it hung below her cleavage. It still shone with an ethereal inner glow.

The story of Serena's four marriages could be told by the glittering array of engagement and wedding bands lying desolately at the bottom of the box, each in their own velvet-lined case, each filled with so much promise when they were given, but now abandoned and forlorn, all hope lost.

There were several sets of diamond-and-emerald earrings given to Serena by her various lovers, and an exquisite peacock brooch that Floria remembered well. It was an exotic piece, unforgettable, adorned with vivid precious stones. A gift from the colonel – unofficially Serena's most consistent lover over the years. He'd acquired it in India when he'd been stationed there.

Was it Zsa Zsa Gabor who had said she'd never hated a man enough to give back his jewellery? Her mother had obviously felt the same way. She couldn't blame her. Often, it was all one had left after a relationship ended.

Floria shook her head to get rid of the dark thoughts. She mustn't be gloomy. It served no purpose. Her mother's ruined relationships were no reflection on her own. Serena had been hell to live with. Uncompromising, single-minded and self-absorbed. It was no wonder men came and went, their jewellery the only hint that they'd been here at all.

Finally, Floria unwrapped a long, sharp object swathed in silk. She recognised it instantly. It was the sparkling tiara given to her mother by Luciano Pavarotti when they'd performed together in Rome on New Year's Day at the turn of the millennium. Floria had been there, seated in the front row with her father. She recalled the intense excitement at meeting the legendary Pavarotti backstage before the show. Serena had sung like an angel – and resembled one too – with the glowing diamante tiara positioned on top of her long, dark hair. Unbidden, tears prickled Floria's eyes.

_I'm just tired and overwrought,_ she thought, blinking _._ It wasn't like her to get sentimental over her mother. That ship had sailed long ago.

She blamed Josh. Last night had been a complete write-off. That bloody man had haunted her thoughts all night and consequently she hadn't slept a wink.

Floria packed all the pieces back into the jewellery box and closed it, locking away the memories. She'd open a safety deposit box in the morning. The jewels would be protected there until she decided what to do with them. Perhaps her sisters would like a piece each? They could divide them up between them. That way they'd all have something of Serena's to remind them of the mother they never knew.

"Why are you so sad, Floria darling?" Violate asked as they sat around the kitchen table a few hours later having a most welcome cup of tea and indulging in a slice of Violeta's superb carrot cake. Tatiana, whose fingers were covered in paper cuts from taping up boxes, had left for the day.

"It's not like you to be upset over your mother."

Violeta knew her too well. She gave a faint smile. "No, it's not Mother." She sighed dramatically and scooped up a large forkful of cake. "It's a man."

Violeta nodded, as if she'd suspected all along. "Not James, I hope. You mustn't go back to him. He was so mean to you."

"Oh no. I'm totally over him," Floria said truthfully. "This is another man. He's wonderful actually, but he's taken." She shook her head. "I shouldn't even be thinking about him."

"Ah, _amore_. It never plays by the rules."

Floria studied her. "What do you mean?" Violeta was not normally so cryptic.

"I never told you my Pepe was engaged to someone else when we met, did I?"

"What?"

Violeta smiled a strange little smile. "Yes, it's true. His father had arranged for him to marry the daughter of a friend. It had been planned for many years. But he didn't love her. He loved me."

"So what happened?"

"We ran away together."

At Floria's shocked look she continued, "We eloped. Our parents were furious. That's why we came to England, to get away from our families. They never forgave us."

"Gosh, that's quite a story," Floria said, once Violeta had finished speaking. "Very romantic, but sad too. So you never saw your family again?"

"Not after the day we left." Violeta looked at her hands for a long moment, then forced a maternal smile. "But I don't regret it. Pepe and I are still happy after all these years."

"That's great," Floria whispered. Imagine loving someone so much you're willing to abandon your entire family for them.

"What I'm saying is love has a strange way of getting its way in the end. Don't you give up on your man, if you really love him."

"Oh, I don't know if I love him." Floria licked the icing off her lips. "But I definitely like him."

Violeta patted her hand. "It will all work out in the end, you'll see."

Yes, it would. Josh with Paloma and her running her business and making a great success of herself. Just the way it should be.

# CHAPTER ELEVEN

It was the day of the launch party. Floria – with Daisy and Mimi's help – had planned it to perfection. It was being held at the gallery next to the office. The owners, two gay men in their forties, had kindly agreed to let them hire it for the weekend once Floria had shown them the guest list. Consequently, the gallery's most expensive pieces now adorned the pristine white walls.

Donna was coming with Greg. Things were definitely hotting up there. Carmen had been invited, but no one expected her to show up.

Invitations had been sent out to over two hundred potential clients who also happened to be the most successful classical musicians and producers of their time. "We can expect half that amount to show up on the night," Floria told everyone from experience.

Floria had asked her contact at _Hello_ magazine to arrange a photographer. They'd been only too happy to oblige. Floria's reputation stood her in good stead for once. That, and her glamorous guest list.

Things with Josh had reverted back to normal, thank goodness. She could even look at him now without thinking about _that kiss_. They never discussed the 'Hyde Park incident', as she referred to it, which suited her just fine. The only person she'd told was Daisy, and her best friend would take the secret to the grave.

Josh was coming tonight with Paloma, who had apparently blown an entire month's salary on a Carolina Herrera dress because she was desperate to fit in with the celebs. She'd also become Floria's new BFF since she'd discovered Simon Cowell was coming.

"It's because she fancies herself as a judge on _Britain's Got Talent_ ," explained Mimi.

Daisy smirked. "Don't you have to have a talent to be a judge? I'm not sure modelling counts."

"She was expensive before I met you," Josh complained the week before when he'd popped in to install some accounting software. "Now she's a liability."

Mimi was surprisingly edgy the morning of the party. "I can't believe some of the talent you've got coming tonight," she confessed to Floria in a rare show of nerves. "You have some serious pull. Some of these stars I've looked up to my whole life."

"And now you'll have a chance to meet them," smiled Floria, squeezing her arm.

"It's all right for you, you've grown up in these circles," grumbled Daisy, who was also in a state. "The most famous person I've ever met, not counting your mother of course, was Joanna Lumley, and I only brushed past her in M&S."

Floria laughed. "It will all be fine. Don't worry. They're only people, like you and me – just only better known. Besides, if anyone should be stressed, it ought to be me. Tonight is my debut. I've got to create a good impression."

Floria was more anxious than she made out. True, she knew half the people who were coming, but she was well aware they were only doing so because of her mother's reputation. She had yet to establish herself in her own right. This party was the first step in proving she could hold her own. Everything had to be perfect.

"You both look stunning," said Floria, as they put the finishing touches to their make-up. Daisy had outdone herself with their hair. Mimi's dark locks were straightened and with her edgy cut, looked stylish and on trend. Daisy had arranged her auburn tresses up in a sophisticated French chignon with sparkly grips.

"So do you," they replied. Floria had chosen a black cocktail dress with three-quarter sleeves, which accentuated her creamy bust and clung to her arms making them look thinner than they were. A muted orange jacket added a splash of colour, and a circular silver pendant on a long chain completed the outfit. Her blonde hair hung in fashionable waves over her shoulders.

A black cab dropped them outside the gallery. The party started at eight o'clock and it was six. Two hours till lift-off. The canapés had been delivered earlier that morning and were in a cooler van parked around the corner. Daisy and Floria painstakingly carried silver foil covered trays into the gallery and arranged them on the long, elegant buffet table. Floria had gone for a minimalistic approach, to fit in with the general ambiance of the gallery, and had decorated it with candles, pebbles and slender vases filled with irises.

Crates of booze four boxes deep lined the walls of the small office so it was almost impossible to squeeze in. "That's the third time I've stubbed my toe," complained Mimi, who was supervising the waiters who were transferring the £100 bottles of champers into the silver ice buckets.

By eight o'clock they were ready. The only person who arrived on time was the photographer. He snapped some lovely shots of the interior and the girls, and then slunk off to the corner to pretend to study a landscape while surreptitiously helping himself to several glasses of Krug.

"I hope he's not going to get pissed," Floria whispered to Mimi. "I need him to have a steady hand."

By quarter past eight Floria was about to panic. Where was everyone? "Josh and Paloma are always late," said Mimi. "Paloma likes to make an entrance."

"Along with every other celeb coming tonight," murmured Floria. That was the problem with famous people. They all expected to upstage each other.

"Let's have a drink," Daisy suggested. "It'll help take the edge off."

One of the waiters opened a bottle and poured. The girls clinked glasses. "Here's to a successful night," Mimi said just as a car drew to a stop outside. The double gallery doors were open wide, as guests were expected to spill out onto the wide pavement and perhaps even the park.

It was Donna and Greg.

"I love it, you've done a terrific job," gushed their sister, who looked radiant in a scarlet floor-length gown, her cloudy hair wild and her lips the colour of red wine. Greg, holding her hand, looked suitably smitten.

Shortly afterwards Max, a classical music producer who worked with Serena on her "Best of" arias album arrived with a woman who wasn't his wife. "Hello, darling girl," he said in his great, booming voice. "I'm so glad you've branched out on your own. Terrific idea. Give me your card, I want to use you for Tiffany's twenty-first."

Floria was only too happy to oblige. She'd had hundreds of business cards and brochures printed for this very reason.

After Max, a stretch limo arrived and Patrizio climbed out followed closely by a stunning red-head in a black lace dress that left little to the imagination. He kissed her on both cheeks and seemed enchanted to meet her sister. It was the first time Floria had seen Mimi at a loss for words.

Then Simon Cowell arrived in an even bigger limo, and Daisy nearly fell down the stairs when he shook her hand.

Guests arrived in a steady stream after that. Floria was kept busy schmoozing singers, musicians and record producers.

Josh walked in almost an hour late, flushed and agitated followed by an unrepentant Paloma, who looked irresistible in her new dress and freshly tussled hair. She shimmered, shone and glittered in all the right places. "Hello, Floria dahling," she gushed, air-kissing Floria on both cheeks. "Are we very late?"

"Yes," replied Mimi, who was walking past.

"Heavens above..." murmured Max, who couldn't take his eyes off her. "Who is that delectable creature?"

"Paloma Roberts, meet Max Rosenbaum. He owns Rush Productions, Micaela Poliakoff's record label." Paloma, who clearly hadn't heard of Rush Productions or the latest operatic sensation, shook his hand.

"Oh, there's Simon!" she screeched a second later and darted through the rapidly growing crowd leaving a forlorn Max gaping after her.

"Hello, Maximillian," said a deep voice with an Eastern European accent. Floria turned to find a stocky man in his late forties, impeccably dressed in an Armani suit, with dark hair and even darker eyes. Max shook the man's hand and introduced Floria. "Darling, I don't believe you know Zoran Petrovich?"

"Not personally, but I'm so glad you could make it," Floria gushed, extending her hand. When she'd invited Zoran, she hadn't for a moment thought he would come. The Czechoslovakian composer was notoriously private. There were rumours he was linked to the Russian mob. He'd recently bought a country pile in Hertfordshire, with a recording studio, and his latest album was flying up the classical music charts.

Zoran took her hand and brought it to his lips.

"Be careful of this one, darling girl. He's lethal." That was rich, coming from Max.

Floria gave the composer her best smile. "Congratulations on your last album, Mr Petrovich. I listen to it all the time at home, particularly track no. 4, which is my favourite."

"Please, my friends call me Zoran," he said glowing. All musicians loved to have their ego stroked and Floria was an expert, although she wasn't lying about his album. He peered at her from under his long lashes. "I'm honoured to be included amongst so many esteemed guests."

"This is my manager, Phoebe." He introduced a small, mousy woman in a tight pencil skirt with scary three-inch heels that looked like they'd make a good murder weapon.

Floria greeted her with a warm smile; after all, she would be the one making the bookings. They talked for some time, then Floria handed Phoebe her business card. The woman was razor sharp and Floria could see why Zoran kept her by his side.

"I hope you will dance with me later," said Zoran, in his deep voice which resonated with undisguised desire.

Floria promised, and moved away as the famous Czech was cornered by two classical music producers who had been invited.

"Hello, sweetheart. Who's the gangster who was chatting you up?"

Floria laughed. Josh always made her smile.

"He's not a gangster, that's Zoran Petrovich, the brilliant Czech composer. I didn't think he'd come."

"Hmm..." said Josh, giving her a hug. "I'm sorry we're late. Great turnout."

Floria felt the tension in her shoulders ease. "I'm glad you're here. Help yourself to a drink. You look like you need one."

"Do I ever! Paloma took forever to get ready. I nearly left without her. We've just had a frightful row in the car." He headed over to the nearest ice bucket. "How's it going?"

"Good, better than expected," she told him. "Almost everyone who was invited came. I hope we don't run out of canapés. They're going down rather fast."

"Don't worry, we can always order pizza."

Josh strolled off to talk to Greg and Donna. Floria was about to follow when she heard a loud screech. "What the hell was that?" Everybody moved to the door to take a look. A sleek white sports car had come to a skidding halt right outside the gallery causing the guests on the pavement to jump out of their Manalo's. She could smell the rubber from the tires.

The car door slid upwards in a single motion and a tall, utterly gorgeous man climbed out.

"Who's he?" whispered the women, while the men stared in envy. The mystery man was nearly as tall as Josh, but sinewy and toned rather than broad and bulky. His olive skin was very tanned, and a smattering of stubble made him even more dashing. He wore a black shirt over ripped jeans and a bandana around his throat.

"Christ, look at those cheekbones," gasped Mimi, who had sidled up to Floria to see what all the fuss was about. "You never mentioned him!"

"Still my beating heart," murmured Daisy, joining them. "All he needs is a cutlass and a gold earring."

"I have no idea who he is," admitted Floria, perplexed. She'd certainly have remembered him.

Loving the attention, the pirate sauntered round to the passenger side and opened the door. Everyone waited with bated breath to see who would emerge.

To Floria's surprise it was her sister, Carmen, who climbed out of the car, stiletto's first, followed by legs that went on and on forever. Once again Carmen had stolen the show. Her tight, crotch-length dress fit her like a glove and was covered in flashy discs that looked like scales and shimmered when she moved. The guests murmured, some appreciatively and others disdainfully, all wondering who she was.

"Well, she certainly knows how to make an entrance," Mimi muttered, before she and Floria rushed out to welcome her.

"I'm so pleased you could come." Floria grabbed her sister's hand. It was freezing cold, despite the balmy evening. "You look amazing. Thank you for making the effort."

"It's lovely to see you again, under less stressful conditions," said Mimi kissing Carmen on both cheeks. Donna, who had just joined them, nodded her head. "Thank you for coming, Carmen. It means a lot."

"Zat woman will never be my mother, but I want to support my sisters," she said, her English faltering, which belied the tension of the last few months. She nodded at her partner. "This is Pedro."

They turned to the mystery man who left his car exactly where it was and sidled up to Carmen. He's even more attractive up close, thought Floria, staring at the smouldering dark eyes with shadows underneath that hinted at late nights and blazing sensuality. He put a possessive hand around his girlfriend's waist.

"Pleased to meet Carmen's infamous sisters," Pedro said, gazing directly into each of their eyes as he shook their hands. Compared to Carmen's, his was scorching. "I 'ave 'eard so much about you." Tilting his head to Carmen he murmured, "But you never said how beautiful they were."

Carmen scowled. Oh dear, thought Floria. The last thing she needed tonight was a showdown, but then musicians were known to be an unpredictable bunch.

"What do you do, Pedro?" asked Floria quickly. "Are you in the music business as well?"

"No, I am photographer," he said, in his sexy Spanish accent. "I would like to photograph all Carmen's sisters." Then he hesitated. "I'm very good with my lens."

"Oh Lord." Floria felt Mimi clutch her arm for support, while Daisy was a quivering mess beside them. Even the loved-up Donna couldn't take her eyes off him.

Truth be told, Floria was floored that Carmen had come but she couldn't have her dazzling boyfriend causing complete disruption amongst her guests.

In fact, the only woman who appeared unaffected was Paloma. Despite being introduced, Paloma seemed more intent on chatting up every man other than Pedro. Perhaps there was only enough room for one massive ego in the circle, Floria thought, as she watched Pedro's blazing gaze follow Paloma around the room.

Josh didn't seem to notice. "So the prodigal daughter has returned," he said in her ear. Carmen and Pedro were being monopolised by Mimi and Donna at the bar.

"Yes, I'm really touched she made the effort."

"If she's serious about her singing she'd be a fool not to come," pointed out Josh. "This is a great networking opportunity for her."

"True." Floria was aware of that. In fact, she'd hoped that would entice their estranged sister to make the trip, but all she said was, "I hope she stays around for a few days so we can get to know her better."

Daisy joined Mimi and Donna at the bar, while Carmen was being chatted up by a young up-and-coming music producer called Edwardo who'd heard her sing at Serena's funeral.

"Poor man is surrounded," remarked Josh looking at Pedro and shaking his head. "I'm surprised he doesn't spontaneously combust with all the heated glances thrown his way."

Floria chuckled. "I don't think he's the one you need to worry about. Mimi, Donna and Daisy are all smitten."

"But not you?"

"I've got work to do." Floria gave him a cheeky grin. "Besides, he's not my type."

"Hmm, what is your type?"

"I'm still deciding."

Josh laughed. "How's the networking going?"

"Oh, brilliant. I've handed out stacks of business cards and got one definite and two tentative bookings for next month."

"That's great. I must say, you've really put on a good show." He nodded around the gallery. "It looks amazing."

"Thank you." Floria glowed, then she noticed the doorman talking to a thin guy in a peak cap. "Oh, the DJ's just arrived. I'd better go and tell him where set up."

"DJ?"

"Yes, I hope you've brought your dancing shoes?"

"I love dancing," Paloma said, coming over. She snaked her arm possessively around Josh's waist. Greg and Donna joined them. Donna admitted she had an audition with the London Philharmonic coming up. "I'm so nervous," she said, wringing her long, elegant fingers. "It's such a big deal." Josh and Greg got involved in a discussion about the plummeting oil price so Paloma, feeling rejected, sulked off to drown her sorrows at the bar. Floria went to sort out the DJ.

The photographer from _Hello_ magazine had been flitting around all night taking pictures of guests as they arrived and mingled. Nobody seemed to mind, faced with the prospect of free publicity. Halfway through the evening, however, Josh kicked him out so the guests could let their hair down. The dance floor got crowded as women kicked off their heels and men got down to DJ Silver's magic grooves.

Carmen and Pedro showed off their Spanish flair, while Greg and Donna held each other close. Then when Pedro went to get a drink, Edwardo asked Carmen to dance.

"Now that's an interesting development," Daisy whispered to Floria who'd noticed the young producer's hand on her sister's bare back.

Paloma, despite her love of dancing, was the first to leave. She said she had a headache and took a cab home. "She's only upset because nobody is admiring her," said Josh.

"I can't leave you at the mercy of Zoran," he said idly. "He's been watching you all evening." He wrapped a protective arm around Floria. "Come on, let's have a dance."

Floria followed, hesitantly. After the Springsteen concert she wasn't sure music, her and Josh should be in the same vicinity. But she didn't want to be a party pooper and Josh, who'd had more than a few beers, was in a party mood. Everyone seemed to be having fun. Mimi and Daisy were dancing up a storm, with Max and his mistress. Pedro had reclaimed Carmen, and even the scary Phoebe was gyrating with surprising skill.

"You promised me a dance," a deep voice said a few songs later, when Josh had gone to the loo.

"I did indeed." Floria gave the Czech composer one of her best smiles. "Are you enjoying yourself, Zoran?"

"I am now," he said, huskily, as he began to move. He was an excellent dancer, moving with the natural rhythm of a man who lived and breathed music. The DJ had chosen a Latin track and the sensual beat allowed him to show off all his moves. He grabbed her hand and pulled her towards him. "I'm very glad I came tonight," he murmured in her ear. "I have a feeling you and I are going to be very good friends."

He reeked of Eau Savage and while Floria couldn't fault his looks or his dancing, there was something sinister about him that unnerved her. But she was nothing if not a professional party-planner, and to all who were watching it appeared like she was having the time of her life.

Josh, however, was not pleased. "I turn my back for one bloody minute and she's in that dodgy Russian's arms," he complained to Mimi when he got back from the loo.

She raised an eyebrow. "Firstly, he isn't Russian, he's Czechoslovakian, and Floria's a big girl. She can handle him."

"I don't like him," Josh grumbled.

"Don't get all protective over Floria now," warned Mimi. "I know what you're like. Trust me, she's an expert with people. She's got this. He'll be putty in her hands."

"That's what I'm afraid of," he murmured.

"Do I detect a note of jealousy?"

When he didn't immediately reply her green eye searched his. "Josh?"

Josh scowled. "No, of course not. Floria's a friend." Mimi didn't know about that night in the park and he wanted to keep it that way. "But that man's dangerous. Do you know he's got mob connections?"

"Those are just rumours," scoffed Mimi, "now shut up and dance."

Josh grinned and let it go. What else could he do? He didn't like it, but he had to agree, Floria was incredibly good with people, and she wouldn't be taken in by the Czech's savage charms. He hoped.

# CHAPTER TWELVE

It seemed like the party would never end. Finally, the gallery began to empty out as one by one drivers and taxi's arrived to transport the guests home. It was four in the morning when Floria said goodbye to the last guest and locked the gallery door.

"I'd say that was a roaring success," said Josh, as he helped Floria pile all the empty canapé trays on top of each other.

"It was. I'm so happy," she said, executing a little pirouette. "What a great start to my new career. I've got so many queries to follow up on. I can't wait to get into the office on Monday."

He chuckled. "Mimi's right, you were born to do this."

"It's such fun, it doesn't seem like a job. I get to hobnob with some of the most talented musicians in the country, throw gorgeous parties for them and take home a pay cheque. It hardly seems fair."

"You deserve it," he said. "Now what do we have to do before we can get out of here?"

"Nothing, although it's sweet of you to ask. I've got cleaners coming in the morning. It's Sunday tomorrow so the gallery isn't open. Let's leave everything until then. I'm too knackered to do anything now."

So they left by the back entrance, careful to lock it and set the alarm, then strolled down the much-subdued Kings Road in the direction of her house. At this time of the morning most revellers had gone home to pass out. There were one or two late owls also walking home, and a few tired people waiting for the night bus, but other than that the streets were deserted.

In the distance the sky began to glow as the sun struggled to get up. Josh walked Floria all the way to her door. "Do you mind if I sleep on your couch tonight?" he asked, as she put in her key. Her hand froze.

"It's so late and I'd hate to wake Paloma. She's a nightmare if she doesn't get her beauty sleep."

A pause. Then she said, "Sure."

Floria opened the door and led the way upstairs to her apartment. She'd left the hall light on and it cast a rosy glow over the wooden floors. It was quiet and welcoming, nothing like her frantically beating heart and chaotic emotions. She'd gone from tired and content to a nervous wreck in minutes.

"Come in," she said, trying unsuccessfully to keep her voice steady.

"Don't worry," he said softly, coming up behind her. "I promise to behave myself."

She turned to face him. "I know you will. I'll get you a blanket. Bathroom's through there if you want to use it."

"Thanks."

_He's just a friend. He's just a friend_ , Floria chanted silently to herself, as she got a spare blanket and pillow out of the airing cupboard. _Nothing more._ God forbid Paloma didn't get her beauty sleep.

"I hope I'm not putting you out..."

Floria dumped a blanket and a big fluffy pillow on the couch. "No, don't be silly. It's nice to have the company."

He nodded and flopped down on the couch. "Thanks. I really didn't feel like rowing with Paloma for what's left of the night."

"Why do you stay with her if you row all time?" Floria blurted out, then she shook her head. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business. Forget I said anything."

"We don't row all the time," he said, not meeting her eye. "She's been really uptight lately."

Floria didn't understand their relationship. But then she'd only had one serious relationship and he'd turned out to be a complete prat, so what did she know?

Josh kicked his shoes off and lay back on the couch. "She's not a bad person, you know, just insecure."

"Love." She sighed. "Who needs it?"

He laughed at her. "Don't get cynical in your young age, will you? You've barely scratched the surface."

"God help me," she said, stifling a yawn. "Anyway, I'm going to go to bed. See you in the morning."

They were awoken at nine o'clock by the doorbell. The chimes seemed inordinately loud this morning. With a groan, Floria sat up. Who could it be? It was Sunday morning, for goodness sake. It chimed again. She threw back the covers and stumbled into the entrance hall, completely forgetting she had a house guest, and lifted the receiver.

"Hello?"

Josh lifted his head off the couch and rubbed his eyes. "Who is it?" It was four hours since they'd gone to bed.

"It's Detective Inspector McGuinness here, Miss Levanté. May I come in?"

The police inspector's voice brought her to her senses. "Oh, yes of course. Come on up." She replaced the receiver and turned to Josh, her eyes wide. "I wonder what he's doing here? Perhaps he's found out something about my mother's murder?"

"I think you'd better go and put some clothes on," he growled, staring at her breasts that overflowed out of the slinky, satin negligee she wore to bed. Floria giggled and crossed her arms over her chest. "Sorry, he caught me by surprise."

"He's not the only one," muttered Josh, falling back onto the couch.

"You let him in. I'll go and get dressed."

In the bedroom she pulled on some leggings and a t-shirt. Bloody hell, Josh must have got an eyeful. Oh well, it wasn't anything he hadn't seen before.

"Good morning, Detective Inspector," she said, going back into the lounge. Josh had let him in and he was waiting for her in the hallway. "Please come into the kitchen. I was just about to make some..." She caught sight of Josh leaning against the kitchen counter, his hair dishevelled and his shirt half open displaying some very manly chest hair. Her mind went blank.

"Coffee?" he finished for her.

She flushed. "Yes, would you like some?"

"That would be great, thanks."

DI McGuinness looked pointedly at Josh, so she said, "I'm sorry. This is Josh Graham, a friend of my sister."

"Ah..." The Detective Inspector held out his hand. Josh shook it, but before he could speak, his phone rang. "Sorry," he held up an apologetic hand and marched out onto the balcony to answer it.

"Yes, of course, I'm fine," Floria heard him say as DI McGuinness smiled at her.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you."

"Oh no," she said hastily. "Josh slept on the couch last night. We had rather a late one. It was my business launch."

"I see." His eyes twinkled. "And what business might that be?"

"Oh, my party-planning company, Prima Donna Productions. It was the official launch last night."

"And it went well?" He glanced outside to where Josh was still on the phone, his back towards them, leaning over the balcony railing.

Floria shuffled onto her other foot. "It was a successful launch, yes. Do you take sugar?"

"Two please." He strolled around the apartment, taking in the bookshelves, the two Vettriano's on the wall and the crumpled pillow and blanket on the sofa. Floria let him nose around and put the filter machine on.

He stopped in front of a photograph of Serena. It had been taken at The Met about ten years ago. Floria liked it because of the contented smile on her mother's face. Serena was always euphoric after a performance. It was when she was happiest – and that was how Floria wanted to remember her. Not screaming at her latest husband or having a drunken tantrum. She'd placed the photo in a silver frame on the side table next to a jar of daffodils.

"She looks very much like your sister, Carmen, in this picture," he commented, picking it up.

"I know, isn't it uncanny? And when Carmen sang at the funeral it was like watching mother all over again."

"Indeed. Lovely voice," remarked the detective. "She's got a great future ahead of her."

"Let's sit down." Floria gestured to the sofa and chairs in the lounge. The coffee machine gurgled away while Floria folded up the blanket Josh had used. It smelled of him. She placed it on top of the pillow and sat down. The detective chose the armchair.

"What is it you wanted to see me about?" Floria asked. "Have you found out something about my mother's killer?"

"No, nothing like that, I'm afraid. Just some more questions, if you don't mind. It's a line of enquiry we're following."

Her heart sank. So they were no closer in finding out who murdered her mother. "Oh, okay. Well fire away."

The detective consulted his notepad, which he never seemed to be without. "Did your mother say anything to you about changing her will?"

Floria stared at him. "Changing her will? No. Why?"

"Her solicitor, Greg Edwards, seems to think that's what she wanted to talk to him about. She had made an appointment for the day after she died."

"Good heavens. Really? Greg never mentioned it."

"He probably didn't think it relevant in light of her death," DI McGuinness said. "Are you sure your mother didn't say anything to you?"

"I slept on the couch, for Christ's sake." Josh's raised voice floated in through the crack in the sliding door. "Nothing happened."

Floria felt her cheeks going red. She forced her mind back to the topic at hand. "No, I don't think so. Like I said before, I hadn't seen her in months and we seldom spoke on the phone. She wasn't that type of mother. If she was planning to change it, she wouldn't have told me. Sorry I can't be of more help."

"That's okay," the detective said. "If I can ask you something else...What changes do you think she would have made to it, you know, if she hadn't been killed?" He focused his direct gaze on her face.

"I really have no idea," Floria said with a shrug. "I was surprised that my father, Ranulph, inherited Brompton Court. I expected her to leave it to Collin."

"Why were you so sure?"

"Oh, for God's sake, Paloma." Josh ran a hand through his hair.

"What?"

"That she'd leave it to Collin? Wasn't it your father who first located the property?"

"Yes, but it was in mother's name. He loved the place but Collin had been living there. I just assumed he would continue to do so. Everybody did."

"Did you know Collin was having an affair with an air stewardess?"

The question hit her in the stomach. She blinked as her mind processed what he'd just said. "No. I had no idea. I thought they were happy. Well, as happy as mother could be."

The detective nodded.

So Collin had been having an affair. No wonder Serena had been acting up those last few months. "I wonder if she knew..." she mused. "Maybe that's what she wanted to speak to Greg about?"

He shrugged. "It's unlikely. Her will was dated last November and they were already married then. No, I'm afraid your mother had always intended to leave her current husband out of her will."

"I don't know what she was thinking." Floria got up to pour the coffee. She'd given up trying to read her mother's mind years ago. "All I can tell you is that my father didn't expect to get Brompton Court. He loved the place but Serena had married three times since they were together. He thought it would go to Collin. We all did."

"Collin wasn't too impressed with the outcome of the will, was he?" DI McGuinness chewed on his pen. "Perhaps he was under the impression he would get the house too?"

"He probably was. He stormed out, if you remember. I suppose he thought being her widower he was entitled to it."

"That _is_ usually the case," DI McGuinness mused, accepting a steaming mug. "Thank you." There was a small pause as he took a sip.

"What about the other beneficiaries? Do you think she was thinking about cutting them out of the will? Your sisters, maybe?"

"I suppose so, but we'll never know, will we? If Greg doesn't know..." She shrugged.

"It does complicate matters." DI McGuinness snapped his notebook shut.

"Do you think her murder had something to do with her will?" Floria asked. First the burglary, now the will? It was all too confusing for words. She was glad she wasn't the one trying to figure it all out.

"I don't know," he said, not giving anything away. Or perhaps he really didn't know. "Maybe."

Josh chose that moment to come indoors. He made a bee-line for the coffee machine. "May I?"

Floria nodded. "Help yourself."

DI McGuinness said, "Well, I think that's all for now. I'll let you get on with your day. Thank you for your time, Miss Levanté."

"Please, call me Floria."

He gave a half-smile. "Floria."

Josh stood behind the couch, coffee in hand. "I'm sorry about that."

DI McGuinness stood up. "Not a problem. So, I believe you're Floria's sister's friend. Mimi, is it?"

Josh smiled. "Good guess."

"The accent gave it away." He turned back to Floria. "How _are_ you getting on with your sisters?"

"Very well," she said, smiling. "Mimi and Donna are lovely, and I plan to meet Carmen later today."

"Good for you," the detective said, his craggy face breaking into a rare smile. "Well, I'll leave you to it."

He nodded to Josh who nodded back.

Floria let him out and then turned to Josh. "That was _so_ weird. I just found out Collin, that's my mother's fourth husband, was having an affair. With an air stewardess."

"I take it your mother didn't know?"

Flora sunk into the chair the detective had been sitting in. "I have no idea. It would explain her behaviour lately, and all the drinking, but she never let on."

"Perhaps she was embarrassed."

"It's not Serena's style to keep something like that to herself. It's more likely they had a flaming row." She shrugged. "Except I didn't hear about it."

"But you haven't seen her for a while."

"No, you're right. I probably wouldn't have known even if she had confronted him. He had moved out, so that was obviously the reason."

She stared out of the glass sliding doors to the balcony. "It gets even more confusing. Greg told him my mother was planning on changing her will." She turned back to Josh. "Do you think it had something to do with her death?"

"I don't know." Josh perched on the coffee table in front of her. "I suppose it could have, but try not to worry too much. I'm sure that detective will get to the bottom of it. He seems pretty smart."

"Yes, he is." She shivered. "All this talk of murder freaks me out. It's bad enough that she's dead, but to think her killer is still out there somewhere..."

Josh stood up and pulled her gently to her feet. Then he enveloped her in a great bear hug. She buried her head in his shoulder and let him hold her. It felt so good. He rubbed her back. "It'll be okay. They'll get to the bottom of it, eventually. Try not to think about it too much. You've got enough on your plate."

The desire to stay glued to him was overwhelming, but she disentangled herself and took a deep breath. "Thanks. I needed that."

He grinned. "Any time."

"I'd better get ready. I want to call Carmen before she makes plans for the day."

He let her go. "I've got to get home too. I've got rugby practice this afternoon and Paloma is hopping. Mind if I have a quick shower?"

"Of course. Go ahead."

She drank her coffee while she waited for Josh to finish. DI McGuinness's questions ricocheted around her mind. What had Serena been planning? Had she known about Collin's infidelity? Her heart sank. While she didn't love her mother, she did feel sorry for her. A fourth marriage on the rocks. That must have been soul destroying. But Collin wasn't in the will anyway. So there was no need to cut him out of it.

"All yours," chirped Josh, appearing in a puff of steam. His hair was wet and smoothed back, and he'd done his buttons up, all but the top one. "Thanks for letting me crash on your couch."

Now it was her turn to say, "Any time. I hope you don't get into too much trouble."

He shrugged. "It's not a big deal. Paloma will get over it." He felt his pockets to make sure he had everything, then said, "See you soon, sweetheart," and with a quick peck on the cheek, he was gone.

After Josh had left, Floria played Zoran Petrichov's latest album, as loud as she dared, hoping it would shake the uneasy mood she'd been in since the detective had left.

It worked.

The vigorous symphony was bold, exciting and bristling with the sort of dark, languid energy that surrounded Zoran himself. The first track ended in an uplifting crescendo that inspired and invigorated her, the second and third were filled with exciting romantic frisson and the fourth sonata was grand and vigorous. By the time she emerged, pink and steaming from the shower, she felt revitalised and ready to face the day.

The first thing she did was call Carmen. It was high time she got to know her Spanish sister better. She'd leave the other girls out of it for now. Her instinct told her that Carmen would fare better in a one-to-one rather than all of them at once.

# CHAPTER THIRTEEN

They met in the café on the ground floor of the Hilton, Park Lane, where Carmen and her boyfriend were staying. The majestic glass and chrome building shot up into the cornflower blue sky. It overlooked Hyde Park and Buckingham Palace and in the distance, the London skyline shimmered.

Pedro came down to say hello. He looked every bit the artiste in tight jeans, a white Spanish-style shirt and his signature bandana around his neck. The bright light of the day didn't diminish his sex appeal, if anything it made the shadows under his eyes look sexier and his stubble even more designer. "I can't stay," he said with an apologetic shrug. "I'm going to the Delacroix exhibition at the National Gallery." Floria kissed him on both cheeks, he reeked of Eau Savage.

In contrast to Pedro's flirtatious smile and lithe, fluid body, Carmen was stiff and reserved.

"It's lovely here, isn't it?" Floria said gaily, ignoring her sister's tense shoulders, and the way her eyes followed Pedro out of the building. Were things strained between them? "Especially this time of year. I think Hyde Park is so beautiful in the summer. Have you seen the cherry blossom trees? They're in full bloom at the moment." And she chatted away in her normal fashion until she felt her sister begin to relax.

They had coffee and croissants in the modern, recently redecorated hotel café. Carmen wore black leggings that made her legs seem endless, with a steel-grey tracksuit top. Her thick, dark hair hung straight and shiny down her back. Even casually dressed, she oozed glamour. Again, Floria was reminded of a younger Serena, who could turn heads having just stumbled out of bed – and often did. Her laid-back outfit was in direct contrast to the bold citrus tones of the café's wallpaper.

Their drinks were brought to them by a suave Polish waiter who stared so hard at Carmen he tripped over the rug and very nearly went flying. She didn't appear to notice. Another Serena trait.

"Shall we take a stroll?" Floria suggested, once they'd finished their coffee and brushed the croissant crumbs from their lips. She'd kept up a running commentary for the last half hour and had run out of things to say. Carmen had answered in monotones, content to listen to Floria sprout on about nothing in particular. To her relief, Carmen nodded and pulling a fuchsia wrap from her canvas bag, tossed it around her shoulders.

They left the hotel through the main lobby, the besotted waiter gazing after them. They walked past the Hard Rock Café, crossed the busy road and into Hyde Park.

The sun's rays were welcome after the air conditioning in the hotel. Floria tilted her face up to the warmth and thought about the last time she was here. The concert... the downpour... Josh... Such bitter-sweet memories.

They walked in silence for a while. Bees buzzed over lavender bushes, while birds tweeted in the trees as if to lighten the mood.

"When did you start singing?" Floria asked Carmen as they passed a group of children playing on the lawn. Perhaps if she focused on Carmen's passion, her sister might thaw a bit. Floria was used to dealing with difficult personalities, but Carmen was proving a tough nut to crack. But then how did one make up for the last thirty years? They were sisters, yet strangers – and Serena's poison ran deep. It would take time for Carmen to open up.

It seemed to work. Carmen relaxed her shoulders and replied, "I sang as far back as I can remember. It's all I've ever wanted to do."

"It's amazing. It must be in the genes." Then it popped out. "You remind me so much of mother... I mean, Serena, when she was younger."

"Do not talk to me about _that_ woman." Carmen hissed, staring stonily at the path ahead of them, oblivious to the cherry blossoms that had lined it like confetti.

Throwing up her hands, Floria said, "I do understand, you know. You're not alone. I hated her for many years too."

Carmen whipped her head round. "What do you mean?"

"She was a terrible mother." Floria stopped walking and faced her sister. "The worst. In fact, you were probably better off not having her in your life. She made mine a complete misery."

Carmen said nothing as she seemingly tried to process what Floria was saying.

With a croak in her throat Floria continued, "She travelled so much I barely saw her and when she was around she totally ignored me, or treated me like a nuisance she couldn't wait to get rid of. I can't remember one occasion where she hugged me, or looked after me when I was sick, or complimented me in any way." At Carmen's incredulous expression she continued, warming to her subject. "You see, you missed nothing. She never once came to any of my school functions, or helped me with my homework or met any of my friends. I was dropped off and collected by an au pair and pretty much left to fend for myself." She paused to draw a breath.

Carmen looked down at the ground. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise."

Floria's eyes were dry. She had no emotions where her mother was concerned. Not anymore.

"It's okay. I dealt with it long ago." She took a deep breath. "In my opinion, Serena was incapable of loving anyone. Singing was her only true love. Everyone else paled in significance. Perhaps it's what made her so great?" She shrugged. The thought had occurred to her before. Serena's single-minded determination and selfishness meant that she refused to waste her energy on anything or anyone that didn't assist her cause.

"What about your father? Didn't she love him?" Carmen asked. They continued to stroll along the winding path, now flanked by colourful herbaceous borders sprinkled with lilies, delphiniums, cow parsley and asters.

"Only because he was her manager. When he retired, she retired him as her husband. He wasn't of any use to her anymore. She had bigger fish to fry."

Carmen shook her head. This new-found knowledge was obviously a revelation. "She sounds like a horrible person. Nothing like in my imagination."

Floria managed a half-grin. "That's one way of putting it. So you see, even if you had grown up with her, it wouldn't have made a stitch of difference. I'm sure she was much better in your imagination."

There was a pause. Then Floria asked, "So did you know of her?"

Carmen nodded and drew her wrap closer around her slender shoulders. "Si. My father told me when I was young that the great Serena Levanté was my birth mother. He didn't keep it a secret from me."

"Why didn't you try to contact her?"

The glare was back. "She didn't want me. My father told me how she asked him to raise me once I was born. She even gave him money." Her face scrunched up and she practically spat out the words. "Her career was more important than her baby."

Floria recognised the hurt in her sister's face. She'd felt it many times. The desolation. The confusion. The neglect. Bloody Serena for putting them through this.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, and took her sister's hand. Carmen faced her, tears welling in her eyes, that she angrily blinked away. Floria hugged her and felt the tension dissolve from her rigid frame. "It's okay now," she murmured. "At least we have each other."

Carmen sniffed and nodded. "Thank you." She pulled away and ran her hand across her face. Floria noticed she wore no make-up at all, yet her skin was effortlessly smooth. Her green eyes were almost incandescent after her tears. Carmen may not like it but she was the splitting image of Serena.

"What was it like growing up in Spain?" Floria asked, finding a way to break the sombre mood.

"We lived in Barcelona, where my father worked. He was a sculptor. He made beautiful statues for gardens and museums." She paused as two cyclists sped past. "I was raised by him and my grandmother." A faraway look came into her eyes. "She was a wonderful woman and an incredible cook. I think she used to work in a hotel kitchen when she was younger. When she died, it was just me and my father. We didn't have a lot of money. As soon as I was old enough I began modelling. It helped pay for my singing lessons."

Floria took it all in. Carmen's upbringing was so different to hers, yet they suffered the same heartache. "And all the time you know who your mother was. That must have been hard."

Carmen nodded. "I knew that was where I'd got my singing talent from. Papa thought it would spur me on. I think he hoped I'd contact her one day, but I refused. I didn't want to meet the woman who didn't want me."

"Where is your father now?" Floria asked quickly, not wanting to focus on Serena's abandonment. It would just set Carmen off again.

"He still lives near Barcelona, but he's retired now. He still sculpts, but only for his own enjoyment." She shrugged. "He has a simple life, but he's happy."

Floria smiled. "I'm glad. Do you see him often?"

"As often as I can. I'm busy with modelling contracts a lot of the time, and Pedro... well, he takes up a lot of my time too."

"He's very good looking," Floria admitted, glancing at Carmen to see her reaction. Her expression didn't change.

"I know. And he knows too," she said with a very Spanish shrug. "There are always women throwing themselves at him."

"Gosh, how do you cope with that?"

"I don't always," she smiled grimly. "We have some very big arguments."

Floria could well imagine. Both Carmen and Pedro struck her as fiery personalities.

Carmen sighed. "It wasn't always this way. When I first met Pedro, he was a struggling photographer, no one important. We fell in love. But now he is well known, he has changed. He can have any woman he likes."

"Yes, but he is with you," Floria said, trying to make her sister feel better. All she got was another shrug.

They reached a huge oak tree and came to a stop beneath it. A squirrel sprinted past and with a small hop, dashed up the trunk. Another followed, close on its tail.

"I'm single at the moment," she confided to her sister, watching the squirrels chase each other all over the tree, jumping from branch to branch. "My boyfriend broke up with me shortly before Serena died."

Carmen raised an eyebrow. "But you're so friendly and pretty. I'm sure you will find another boyfriend in no time."

Floria laughed. "That's so nice of you to say, but I'm going to concentrate on growing my business now. No more men for me, not for a while, anyway." She firmly pushed an image of Josh out of her mind.

Carmen stared at her as if she were mad. "Won't you get lonely?"

"Oh no," lied Floria with a bright smile. "I have plenty of friends, and now I have you guys too."

Carmen nodded, unconvinced. Her sister was clearly the type that liked to have a man around. She couldn't blame her. When one grew up alone, with no siblings and not much in the way of parental guidance, the thought of a strong man by one's side was very appealing. She got it.

It struck her what perfect boyfriend material Josh was. Reliable, honest, strong and capable... she thought of the protective way he'd held her, the depth of his kiss and the intense look in his gaze as he'd suggested going back to her place. Whoa! What more could one ask for? Pity he wasn't hers to lust after. In fact, pity wasn't strong enough a word. Tragic, more like.

They walked for a while longer, then strolled back to the hotel. Carmen announced she was going shopping. Now that she had some money she wanted to get a few glamorous outfits to audition in. Her aim was to try out for the prestigious Verona Accademia Per L'Opera Italiana. "I need some proper training if I'm going to be a famous opera singer," she said, her slanty, green eyes burning with determination.

"There's nothing wrong with your voice," Floria told her, but she agreed the renowned academy would give her some much-needed credibility in what was a brutally competitive vocation.

"I can introduce you to some people," Floria offered. "I know a lot of producers that would only be too happy to take you under their wing. Edwardo, for one." Edwardo had been very taken with Carmen at the launch party and his star was rising. He'd be a good man to know. "And what with being Serena's daughter..."

Carmen shook her head. "I don't want to use _her_ connections." The animosity emanated off her.

Floria had expected as much. "Fair enough," she said lightly. "But it's a tough business. If you change your mind, let me know."

# CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"I'll meet you in the usual spot," Floria said into her phone before she hung up.

She and Daisy often met at the deck chairs in Green Park on the weekend – weather permitting. There was an ice-cream vendor nearby and it was a perfect opportunity to catch up on the latest gossip and get some sun – especially after last night's party and her meeting with Carmen.

"I had the strangest morning," confessed Floria and told Daisy about DI McGuinness's visit. For some reason she left out the bit about Josh staying over. It would just raise too many questions. Questions she didn't know how to answer.

Daisy was sympathetic. "Gosh, Collin shagging an air hostess. Who would have thought?"

"I had no idea," Floria admitted. "Poor mother."

"Maybe that's why she kicked him out?" Daisy suggested, tapping her finger against her cheek. Then she gasped. "Do you think he murdered her because of the air hostess?"

"No, of course not. He's not that type." At least she didn't think he was. How well did she really know Collin?

Her uncertainty must have shown in her face because Daisy added, "You never really know, do you? Some people are so good at hiding things."

Floria blew a hair out of her face. "Not everyone." She couldn't lie to save her life.

"No," Daisy corrected herself. "You're not like that at all. You're lovely and bubbly and what you see is what you get. It's just that I could never read Collin."

"I know what you mean. He is very private. I've often asked him about his work, but he's very vague."

"Yet so successful. And he was having an affair, yet we never knew."

Floria liked how Daisy counted herself as one of the family. If Floria knew, it stood to reason Daisy would too.

"That's not surprising really. I hardly ever visited them and mother never confided in me."

"Mm... well, it's still suspicious. It makes you wonder what else he could be hiding."

Floria bit her lip. "I'm sure the police will investigate everyone thoroughly."

"Yes, Paul is very clever, but he definitely needs help schmoozing people. He's a bit too intense, if you know what I mean – and that new man, Buckley, was it? Well, he has all the tact of a drill sergeant."

Floria laughed. Daisy always made her feel better. "Paul, huh? Well, it's good to know you guys are on first-name basis."

She could have sworn Daisy blushed. "I helped him interview the guests at the reception, that's all."

"There's something else, Daisy..." Floria began. Daisy raised an eyebrow. They were both wearing skirts and the sun shone on their bare legs. It wasn't an intense heat, just pleasantly warm.

"Mother was about to change her will."

Daisy perked up. "Now that is interesting. Is that what the Detective Inspector told you? How did he know?"

"He spoke to the solicitor, Greg. Apparently mother had an appointment booked for the day after she was murdered."

"Was it specifically to change the will? How do you know it wasn't to discuss something else, like a divorce perhaps? Collin was cheating, after all."

That was a good point. "DI McGuinness seemed sure," she said thoughtfully. "Greg must have spoken to mother about it when she booked the appointment. She hadn't left Collin anything in her will anyway, so a pending divorce wouldn't change that."

"I wonder what she was up to..." Daisy was intrigued.

Floria felt nervous. "What if someone found out what she was going to do and murdered her because of it?"

"That's what Paul...er, DI McGuinness said." Daisy fingered her diamante earring. "But then the murderer would be someone who inherited, right? Which leaves you, your father, your sisters or Violeta."

"No... that's impossible. DI McGuinness is barking up the wrong tree."

Daisy shrugged. "I can't help but agree. Do you think Serena was going to cut your sisters out of her will?"

What a horrific thought. "Well, if she was, it's too late now." Floria shuddered. Imagine if she'd never found out about her sisters' existence?

Daisy patted her on the shoulder. "Let's get an ice-cream. It's too nice a day to be worrying about the investigation. We can leave that up to DI McGuinness and his sidekick."

When Daisy returned with two perfectly formed soft-serves, Floria asked, "So how are things with you, Dais? I worry about you all alone in Edgemead."

"Oh, don't be silly. I love it there. It's only twenty minutes to London on the train, so I can see you whenever I like. And I've got my salon, of course, which keeps me busy. I enjoy chatting to my customers, it's like gossip central in there some days."

Floria laughed. There wasn't much that went on in the little village of Edgemead that Daisy didn't know about.

"Do you think you'll ever move to Brompton Court permanently?" Daisy asked. The country house was empty now that Serena had died. Only the housekeeper, Violeta, and her husband the groundsman lived on the property, and they were in a cottage on the estate.

"I will one day," Floria replied, "When I'm married with kids. But until then, my flat in Chelsea suits me just fine. It's handy for the business too." She patted her friend's hand. "There's no rush. Violeta has everything under control, and I often pop back on weekends to check in."

"It would be nice to have you close by, that's all," said Daisy, standing up to throw her napkin in the bin. "Hey, isn't that Paloma over there?"

She gazed across the park to where a tall woman stood brushing leaves off her skirt. Her hair was ruffled and the blouse she was wearing had fallen off one shoulder. There was a sarong on the grass under a big oak tree, but on the other side, so partially obscured. They could see two male legs sticking out from behind the trunk.

"It can't be." Floria squinted into the distance. "There's a man with her and it's not Josh. His legs aren't that skinny."

They stared into the bright sunlight. "I'm sure it's her," murmured Daisy. "Look, she's even doing that thing with her hair. I wonder who the guy is?"

"I don't know," whispered Floria, feeling a chill descend on her despite the warmth. The woman wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and bent down to give the man a lingering kiss. In doing so she turned side on so they got a good look at her profile. It was Paloma.

They watched as she glanced at her wrist watch, then walked purposefully across the park in the opposite direction until she was obscured by trees. When they turned back to the man, he'd vanished.

"Oh my God," muttered Floria, feeling sick. "She's cheating on Josh. How could she?"

"Poor Josh," said Daisy, still gazing at the tree where the man has been lying. "Are you going to tell him?"

"I don't know."

"Perhaps she was meeting a friend," Daisy suggested. "We shouldn't jump to conclusions."

"You don't believe that," said Floria. "She was messed up, her blouse was off her shoulder, she had grass in her hair. They were _not_ just friends. Besides, she kissed him!"

"Okay, I agree, but what are we going to do about Josh?"

"I don't know."

She could tell Josh what they'd seen, but she didn't want to be the bearer of bad news. Their friendship was tenuous as it was and she really cared about him, she didn't want to hurt him.

No, it was best coming from Paloma, but if she was sneaking off to meet her lover in secret, she wasn't planning on telling him. That much was evident.

"I'll call him and see if he wants to get together, then I'll suss out if he knows," she said finally, biting into the cone. "I'm not going to tell him outright. It's not my place."

"If it was me, I'd want to know," Daisy pointed out, leaning back in the deck chair. "You would tell me, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, of course, but I've known you for much longer than Josh. I don't know how he'd take it, and I really don't want to ruin our friendship."

"You like him, don't you?" Daisy was too intuitive for her own good.

Floria shook her head. "Only as a friend, but we did snog in the park after all, and he stayed over at my place last night..."

"What?" Daisy jumped right off her deck chair. "You little tart. Weren't you going to tell me?"

Floria giggled. "Not like that, silly. He didn't want to wake Paloma at five in the morning, so he slept on the couch. Nothing happened."

Those were the exact words Josh had used when explaining to Paloma.

"Are you sure?" Daisy tilted her head and raised her eyebrows. "That sounds a little tenuous to me."

"Of course I'm sure! He did get an eyeful though when your Paul arrived and I answered the door in my nightie."

"Oh Lord," sighed Daisy. "And he still managed to resist you?"

"Unfortunately, yes." And they both laughed.

"Seriously though, as Josh's friend, you should let him know."

Floria bit her lip. Daisy was right. Josh deserved to know.

It was Wednesday night and the little blues bar in Soho was almost filled to capacity. Keith Richards lookalikes leaned on the bar sipping tumblers of whiskey, while groups of city-types congregated along the sides, laughing and joking after a hard day at the office.

Floria found Josh at one of the few tables at the front, near the stage. He was talking to Rob. The rest of the band were setting up their equipment.

"What a great place," Floria said, kissing Josh and Rob hello. The walls were covered with sheet music, yellowed with age and large posters of famous blues musicians. She recognised Miles Davis and Muddy Waters. There was an autographed guitar by Eric Clapton hanging above the bar. The whole effect was sleazy and authentic. "I love it."

"We play here quite often," said Rob, who looked the part in skinny black jeans and a t-shirt, with a tasselled scarf around his neck and a quirky hat on his head. His saxophone sat gleaming on the stage, ready to play.

Rob went to chat to his fellow band members and Floria shimmied out of her jacket and sat down. Josh smiled at her. "I'm so glad you called. Paloma cried off tonight. Again."

"It's about time I came to see Rob play," she said, carefully. She had a pretty good idea why Paloma had cancelled. Josh looked great in blue jeans and a white shirt, open at the neck. He was tanned from playing rugby, and his face was relaxed and smiling. How could she tell him about Paloma and ruin his evening? She swallowed nervously.

"I'll get you a drink," Josh went to the bar and came back with two beers and a bowl of peanuts. "In case you haven't eaten," he said, putting them down on the table.

The band was introduced and launched into their first number. A vibey track with a soulful beat and lots of electric guitar rising above the other instruments, designed to warm the band up, and get the audience's attention. It certainly did. The applause afterwards was deafening. People were still coming in, and a doorman was managing a queue outside.

"It's only a small bar," yelled Josh over the noise. "It gets packed out quickly."

The second number was slower, more bluesy, with the haunting sound of Rob's saxophone dominating. It made Floria's heart beat faster. She couldn't put it off forever. If she was going to tell Josh about Paloma, then she'd have to do it in the interval. She glanced at his tanned face from hours on the rugby pitch. He's enjoying himself, she thought, watching his face break into a grin as he clapped enthusiastically. He won't be after I've told him what we saw.

"We'll be back after a short break," Rob said into the microphone after they'd been playing for forty-five minutes. It was now or never. Floria downed the rest of her beer as Josh turned to her and said, "You've very quiet tonight. Is everything okay?"

It was the moment of truth. She took a deep breath. "Actually, there is something I have to tell you."

"Oh?" Josh put his beer down and frowned. "What's up?"

"I saw Paloma on Sunday afternoon," she began, looking down at her hands, then at her empty glass, anywhere but at his piercing gaze. "In Green Park. I was there with Daisy."

"Oh?" Josh raised an eyebrow. "For all her drama on the phone, she wasn't home when I got back from yours. Went shopping with a friend – or so she said."

Something in his expression made her say, "You mean she wasn't with a friend?"

Josh ran a hand through his hair. "It's okay, Floria. You can tell me. She was with a man, wasn't she, in Green Park?"

Floria bit her lip, but nodded. How did he guess? Did he know about her infidelity? "I'm sorry, I didn't want to tell you, but I thought... well I thought you deserved to know."

He didn't speak for a moment, then he muttered, "It's not the first time."

At Floria's look of surprise, he explained, "She does this every now and again, mostly to make me jealous. It's an insecurity thing, you see."

Floria shook her head. She didn't see at all. Josh was so nice, she couldn't in a million years imaging cheating on a man like him.

He sighed. "I should have known something was up. She's been acting up a lot lately."

"I'm so sorry." Floria felt devastated for him. What would he do now? The news had probably ruined his evening.

Stupid Paloma. She didn't know how lucky she was. Why would she risk her relationship like this?

"Don't worry. It's not your fault." He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "I'll have a chat with her tonight. It'll blow over, it always does."

Had he just said what she thought he'd said? He was going to forgive her? She withdrew her hand. "I can't believe you're so complacent."

"I know it must seem strange, but that's Paloma. She craves attention and when she doesn't get it from me, she moves on to someone else. I spent the night at yours, so now she's acting up. It's never serious."

He must love her very much to put up with this, Floria thought. Boy, did she need another drink. Relationships were too complicated for words. Thank goodness she didn't have one. Who needed this type of nonsense?

"Excuse me," she said, getting up. "It's my round, what will you have?"

"Good idea," he agreed. "I'll have the same."

When she got back with the drinks, the band began to play again and they stopped talking to listen.

Now she'd done her duty, Floria resolved to enjoy herself. If Josh wasn't too perturbed by the news, then why should she be? The second set was jazzier than the first and Floria tapped her foot to the rhythm, enjoying the skilful musicians and the upbeat atmosphere.

Josh leaned back in his chair, apparently at ease. If he was suffering, he didn't show it. It was hard to believe he was unaffected by Paloma's behaviour. The only sign that he might not have been himself was that he drank more than usual. Bloated by the beer, Floria nursed a large glass of wine, while Josh switched to Jack Daniels.

In the next break, Rob introduced Floria to the band members. Tony, a tall, scrawny guy with a wide smile, was the drummer; Will, who had long grey hair but was only about thirty, was the keyboard player and Joe, a big, brawny American, played the electric guitar. The newest member of the group was the bass player, a large black man called Ben. They seemed like great guys, and despite Floria's original misgivings about talking to Josh, she was really enjoying herself.

"Honey, anytime you wanna come to a gig, let me know and I'll get you tickets," Joe said, winking at her and giving her his card. "My numbers on the back."

When it got seriously full during the second set, with locals turning up and people walking in off the street, Josh pulled her onto his knee to free up her seat for an elderly jazz lover. Being so close to him was wonderful, but she was petrified she'd squash his thigh or make his leg go numb. "Relax, you're fine," he whispered in her ear, so she stopped wiggling and then because the band was so good, she forgot to worry about it.

Shortly after, he rested his hand casually on her thigh. His thumb rubbed the inside of her leg every now and again. _It's probably just a subconscious gesture_ , Floria thought, trying not to squirm. _He'd do the same to Mimi. I mustn't read anything into it._

When the final set came to a close it was nearly one in the morning. Floria felt wide awake. She hadn't drunk too much and the music had been so good she still felt invigorated. "I think I've just become a fan of jazz," she said to Rob and Joe, afterwards. Joe grinned from ear to ear and said in his American drawl, "And I've just become a fan of yours. Promise you'll give me a call? I can show you some of London's best jazz venues." Floria laughed, and promised, then turned to find Josh watching her, a speculative look on his face. His eyes were slightly glazed, but he seemed in control of all his senses.

They walked out onto the pavement. "I think Joe likes you," he said quietly.

"He seems like a fun guy."

He didn't say much more, just stuck out a hand to hail a cab. "Do you want to share a cab home?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No, I'd best not. I said I'd wait for Rob."

"I had a great time," Floria began. "And I hope you're not too upset by what I told you. About Paloma, I mean." She bit her lip.

He wiped a stray hair off her face. "Don't worry about me. I'm fine. Paloma is just being... well, Paloma. It doesn't faze me anymore. I've become immune to her antics."

The cab pulled up.

Then he pulled her towards him. He's going to kiss me, she thought ecstatically. Josh lowered his head and kissed her softly on the lips.

"I'll call you tomorrow," he said, after he pulled away.

Her lips tingled all the way home.

# CHAPTER FIFTEEN

On Saturday morning everyone met for brunch to say goodbye to Mimi, who was flying out that evening.

Donna and Greg were suitably loved up. Donna's audition for the London Philharmonic had gone pretty well, but she hadn't heard from them yet and was getting increasingly antsy. "I've dreamed of this for so long," she said, winding a napkin around her long elegant fingers. "I don't know what I'll do if they say no."

"There are other orchestras," Floria pointed out. "And lots of opportunities for someone with your talent."

"That's what I've been telling her," Greg agreed, squeezing her arm. The way he looked at her... It was obvious he was in love. Lucky Donna, thought Floria, glancing at Josh. He didn't meet her eye.

"It's a long flight to Sydney," Mimi said, rolling her eyes. "I hope I can get some sleep."

Bloody Paloma had the cheek to sit on Josh's knee. They'd obviously made up. As if she wanted to rub it in, Paloma snaked a hand down the front of Josh's shirt. "Sleeping is the last thing I'm going to be doing tonight." Her violet eyes flashed triumphantly at Floria.

Taking one look at Floria's devastated expression, Mimi continued as if Paloma hadn't spoken, "Perhaps I'll get lucky and sit next to some hot stud. I've always wanted to be part of the mile-high club."

Donna laughed. "Mimi!"

"We'll have to try that next time we go to France," Paloma whispered to Josh just loud enough for Floria to overhear.

"It's more likely to be a chatterbox or a screaming baby," pointed out Greg, oblivious to the undercurrents flying across the table.

"Shall we order?" said Floria, desperate to change the subject. She flagged down a passing waitress. Mimi opened the menu.

Paloma ordered a fruit salad and yoghurt. "When one's a top model one has to watch one's weight," she said to Mimi who promptly ordered a full English.

"Good idea," said Josh. "I think I'll join you."

"Make that three," added Greg. Paloma looked stony-faced.

Donna ordered scrambled eggs on toast, and Floria, who couldn't care less what she ate, just said, "I'll have the same."

"What are your plans when you get back to Sydney?" Floria asked her sister. She would miss her terribly. They'd become quite close over the last few weeks. It was Mimi who'd first suggested starting her own business, and now look at it. A month in and she was so busy she'd had to hire a secretary and an assistant.

It was through Mimi she'd met Josh, who'd fast become one of her closest friends. For a while there she'd thought he might be something more, especially after she discovered Paloma cheating on him, and he'd kissed her again outside the bar on Wednesday night. But it wasn't meant to be. Josh had forgiven Paloma, and their love life was as healthy as ever, that much was obvious.

She sighed internally. No, she and Josh were only ever destined to be friends.

"I'm going to get back to work and record some songs," Mimi was saying. "I've got lots of ideas and I've made a start on a few already."

"Remember us when you're famous," said Josh, ruffling her hair.

The food came and they fell on it like vultures. All except Floria who'd lost her appetite. She picked at her scrambled egg, willing herself to shake off this miserable mood, but she couldn't.

I love him, she thought helplessly. God help me, but I love him.

After breakfast they piled out onto the pavement and Josh flagged down a cab to take Mimi back to her hotel. She still had to pack before the hotel shuttle took her to Heathrow.

As they said goodbye, Floria struggled to hold back the tears. "It's been so great having you here." She hugged her like she was scared to let go.

"I'll be back to visit," Mimi promised, her expression concerned. "And we'll Skype regularly. I want to hear all about what's happening in the business, and in _your_ life." She gave her sister a stern look. "You'll be fine."

"I know. Thanks for all your help. You've been wonderful."

With one last squeeze, Mimi released Floria and turned to Donna. "Good luck with the audition, honey. I'll keep my fingers crossed for you."

"Stay in touch," Donna whispered, her big, dark eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Come here." Josh grabbed her and pulled her in for a bear hug. "You take care of yourself now. No more fights on stage."

Mimi laughed. "You don't have to tell me twice."

Greg gave her a brief hug while Paloma made a big deal about air-kissing her on both cheeks.

"I'd better go before I start to cry," Mimi said, taking a deep breath. "I'll see you guys soon, okay?"

Floria nodded determinedly. "Yes, you will. I'll make sure of it."

With Mimi gone, Floria didn't see any need to hang around. She'd had more than enough of Paloma and she couldn't stand to be near Josh now that _she_ was all over him again.

"I've got to dash," she said. "I've got an event on tonight." It was true. She did have things to do before tonight's party, but really she just wanted to be alone.

"Do you want to share a cab?" Josh offered, but she shook her head.

"No thanks. I'll walk."

And with a brief goodbye she strode off down the road. Around the corner and out of sight, Floria stopped and buried her face in her hands. The urge to cry was overwhelming. Just when she was about to give in to it, her phone rang. Thinking it might be the caterers or the florist or something to do with the party tonight, she answered it.

"Hello, is zat Floria?" said a voice she recognised instantly. She'd been playing his album continuously since they danced at her launch party.

"Zoran, how lovely to hear from you."

"Darling, can ve get together tomorrow to talk about my party? I will take you out to lunch. I know a nice little bistro in South Ken."

"Yes, of course. That would be lovely." It would be a welcome distraction from Josh.

"Excellent. I will make reservation and pick you up at twelve-thirty."

Floria agreed and hung up, a frisson of excitement in her stomach. Zoran was a magnificent composer and to have him on her client list would do wonders for her business. It was important his party was planned and executed to perfection. Then he'd recommend her to his friends, or associates. She wasn't sure Zoran had any friends. He seemed such an intense, private man.

With her spirits lifted, Floria went home and got straight to work on the function she had that night. It was a small 'intimate' dinner party for Herb Goldsmith, who'd produced one of Serena's more recent albums. It was his sixtieth and he was having a few close friends round for dinner. A 'few close friends' turned out to be twenty guests, who included Classic FM's Director of Programmes, Katherine Jenkins and an MP.

She checked in with the caterers who confirmed everything was on schedule, and arranged to meet them at the venue at six o'clock. Then she called her friend Tilly, the florist, who was already there, doing the flower arrangements.

Her assistant, Jed, a strapping young lad fresh out of design school, picked her up with the van. Together they carried the trestle table and chairs up to the penthouse using the goods elevator. Floria spent the rest of the day preparing the room, setting the table and arranging the seating plan with Herb. Tilly had outdone herself with the flowers. A large bouquet in a shiny silver urn sat on the mantelpiece. Dusky pink roses vied for space with lilacs and lily of the valley. A few budding white roses curled daintily on the side adding a whimsical touch.

Smaller versions in neat little posies were positioned along the centre of the long table, interspersed with candles. Herb had a dimmer switch, so they set it on low and lit the candles. The overall effect was warm and welcoming, but not overly romantic.

Then the caterers arrived and took over the kitchen. For starters they were serving juniper-crusted venison carpaccio with roast plums and elderberry. Mains were roast corn-fed chicken with dauphinoise potatoes and for the vegetarians, artichoke heart with a broad bean and goat's cheese stuffing. For desert, they were serving red wine and berry poached pears with white chocolate crémeux.

"It sounds delicious," Floria said, complimenting the chef. Two waitresses / cleaners had just arrived and were having a cup of coffee in the kitchen. They'd serve the meal and clean up afterwards, leaving the kitchen spick and span.

"Thank you, dear girl," Herb said gratefully, handing her an envelope containing the cheque. "It looks smashing."

"Happy birthday, Herb," Floria said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

He swatted her away. "Thank you, now get off with you. I'm sure you have better things to do than be here on a Saturday night."

Not really.

Mimi would be boarding her flight now and Josh would be wrapped around Paloma. The thought made her sick to her stomach. Perhaps Paloma was a goddess in bed, maybe that's why Josh didn't want to leave her.

She could hook up with Daisy or one of her other friends, but she didn't feel like going out. It would be better to go home and lick her wounds. She'd bought a new jazz album that she was dying to try out. Perhaps she'd listen to that and soak in a nice bubble bath. That would make her feel better.

She checked the arrangements one last time and then asked Jed to take her home.

At exactly twelve-thirty the following day a sleek black limousine pulled up in front of her apartment. A thoroughly over-excited Leonard nearly fell out of his window when Zoran himself emerged from the svelte interior. Floria, who was waiting, kissed him hello. He held her for a fraction longer than was necessary.

"You look delectable, little one," he said, his dark eyes flickering appreciatively over her body. Floria got the feeling she was being sized up for lunch, or perhaps dessert. "Shall we go?"

She nodded, wondering what she'd let herself in for. Zoran was rarely in the papers, but his reputation amongst the music crowd was one of a conqueror. He didn't have girlfriends, he consumed them, and when it ended, which it inevitably did, he moved on to the next conquest. Europe was littered with his cast-offs, all stunningly beautiful women who refused to talk of their relationships with him, adding to his mysterious appeal. His immense wealth was said to have come from nefarious investments and shady dealings with the Russian mob. Personally, Floria thought it was all a bit overdone, probably for a clever publicity stunt.

The driver held the door open for her and Zoran took her hand as she climbed into the limo. This wasn't her first time in such a car. She'd travelled in limousines several times with her mother, but this one was positively enormous inside. Plush leather seats ran along both sides, long enough for a six-foot man to stretch out and still have room to spare. A bottle of Krug lay chilling in an ice bucket. Soft music played in the background. Floria recognised it as one of Zoran's earlier albums. Musicians' egos never failed to amaze her.

"Here, have a drink," he said, and handed her a glass of champagne. It was delightfully cold and bubbly. "To a successful partnership."

The restaurant was situated just off the Brompton Road and passers-by stopped to stare as the limousine glided to a stop. Floria felt like a minor celebrity as she disembarked, took Zoran's arm and let him lead her inside. His manners were impeccable. He may not be as tall as Josh, but he more than made up for it with his dominating presence. Floria noticed he was in good shape. His suit fit him well and his forearm felt hard and lean underneath her hand.

The bright, Parisian-style restaurant was cosy and intimate. The waiter led them to a corner table at the back, out of sight of the main dining area.

After they'd ordered, Zoran got down to business. The party was for his daughter's sixteenth birthday. "She lives with her mother in Switzerland," he explained, "but she is coming to study in London next year." The party was not only a birthday party, but also a chance to introduce her to Zoran's extensive network of musicians, associates and friends.

"She plays the piano like a dream," he told Floria over their langoustine starters. "But she is not interested in studying music. She wants to read history of art at Oxford. It's where her passion lies."

They discussed the guest list over their main course, duck confit and gratin dauphinoise, washed down with an excellent Pinot Noir. The strong flavours of the wine slid luxuriously over her tongue.

"Is Andrea Bocelli really coming?" Floria gasped, holding the print out in front of her.

"I consider Andrea a personal friend," Zoran said, smoothly. "We have worked together many times. He is genius."

Although rarely photographed in public, Zoran only dated beautiful women. His ex-girlfriends included supermodels, actresses and musicians. Floria had always wondered what was it that attracted them to him, but she now understood. He had a presence about him that was powerful, but also a little scary.

"I hope you will also come to my party," he said in a conspiratorial voice. "I would like my daughter to meet you."

Floria was touched. "Why thank you, Zoran. I'd be delighted."

They skipped dessert and ordered another bottle of wine instead. The conversation became more personal. "My wife left me because I am workaholic," he confessed, leaning forward and putting his hand over Floria's. "I travel a lot and she didn't like being alone." He shrugged. "But what can I do? I must work."

"I understand," Floria said sympathetically, then told him all about Serena's dismal love-life. "Before she died, her fourth husband had just left her."

"I am sorry," he said, stroking her face. Floria shivered, despite herself. As if sensing vulnerability he said, "Let's go to my townhouse where it's more comfortable?" His voice was low and husky. "We can discuss the arrangements further there."

Floria knew she'd be walking into the lion's den, but the roller-coaster ride she'd been on with Josh lately made her throw caution to the wind. "Okay, but just only for a little while."

A little distraction wasn't a bad thing. It wasn't as if she was going to sleep with him or anything. It was just a drink and some interesting conversation. Besides, the man was enthralling. When he focused his attention on you, it was like no one else existed. Floria reckoned she deserved a little attention after playing second fiddle to bloody Paloma for so long.

Zoran's townhouse turned out to be a four-storey Victorian house in Pimlico. It had a high tech recording studio in the basement, various music rooms filled with instruments of every kind, including a magnificent grand piano, two large reception rooms, an enormous kitchen and several bedrooms upstairs.

Zoran gave her the grand tour.

"This is amazing," she told him, as she ran a finger over the piano. "Can you play all of these instruments?"

"A great composer must know how to play every instrument in the score," he said, closing the distance between them. Floria read something in his expression that made her pulse quicken. He was very close now. "Why don't I show you upstairs? There's a wonderful view from the master bedroom." His intention was clear.

Floria shook her head. "Zoran, I don't think this is a good idea. I'm flattered but...ours is a professional arrangement."

He didn't move. "There is no reason why it can't be a personal arrangement too." He snaked a hand round her waist and drew her to him. She could feel his heat seep through her dress. Part of her wanted him to kiss her, wanted the release, but professionally she knew it was a bad idea.

Unfortunately, Zoran wasn't taking no for an answer. He kissed her but when she didn't respond, he pulled away. "Is something wrong?"

Floria bit her lip.

"There's someone else, isn't there?"

She nodded. "It's ridiculous, since he's already taken, but I can't help it. No one stands a chance until I can get him out of my system."

Zoran narrowed his eyes. "Can I not be the one to exorcise him?"

"I wish it were that simple," Floria said, smiling at his handsome Slavic face. "I'm sorry if I've disappointed you. My intention was to discuss business today. That's all."

"But you are a beautiful woman. You deserve to be appreciated."

"Thank you. You're very sweet and it's a lovely offer. If I wasn't in love with Josh, I would definitely take you up on it."

He shrugged, then took her hand and drew her over to a large sofa. "I understand," he said. "He is a lucky man. Come, I'll open another bottle and we can swap stories. I too have been in love before. Several times."

Several hours later, the third bottle empty, they moved the coffee table to one side, put on some Latin music and Floria showed him her Zumba moves. He was fascinated. "Now I know what this means," he said, clapping his hands. "Now it's my turn. I teach you the salsa."

"But I know how to salsa," said Floria.

"Not like this."

He grabbed her hand and pulled her towards him with a force that caused her chest to bump against his. She gasped, then laughed. His eyes burned into hers as he held her tightly against his hips, with a hand on her bottom.

They began to move in time to the beat. It was heavy, sensual music and Floria was flushed and out of breath by the end of it. Zoran hardly broke a sweat. When the song ended, they collapsed, laughing, onto the flokati rug.

Before Floria had time to catch her breath, Zoran rolled on top of her and kissed her. Giddy from the wine and the dancing, Floria gave in and let him. Why not... it wasn't like Josh was interested. Why couldn't she have a little fun too?

He broke away, breathless, some moments later, and stared at her with his hard, sexy gaze. "Are you sure I can't entice you upstairs? I promise you won't regret it. Tomorrow, that man of yours will be a distant memory."

Floria giggled. She'd had far too much wine. She touched his face. "I would love to, but I can't. Not only am I in love with Josh, but my business is too important to risk over an afternoon of passion, as tempting as it may be."

He growled, and rolled off her. "You drive me crazy, Floria darling. People say I am heartbreaker, but it is you who is breaking my heart."

He held out a hand to lift her off the fluffy, white rug. Once on her feet she swayed dangerously. "Would you mind calling me a cab, Zoran? I think I'd better go home now. I'll call you tomorrow with some ideas and quotes."

"You can sleep it off here," he offered, spreading his arms wide. "I have plenty of spare rooms."

"That's very kind of you, but I'd best be getting home." It would be very hard to resist Zoran's calculated advances if she were in his house. He was an expert in the art of seduction, that was for sure, and she didn't want to risk anything happening that might blow this deal.

He sighed, silently admitting defeat, and took out his mobile phone. He spoke in rapid-fire Russian, or it could have been Czech, for a few seconds then hung up. "Dmitri will drive you home. He is waiting out front."

"Thank you for a lovely afternoon," Floria said, picking up her handbag from under a pillow and her shoes from under the coffee table. "It was fun and I needed that." He had made her feel like an attractive woman again. His advances, while not entirely welcome, had been just the pick-me-up she needed. What girl doesn't like to be flattered? Besides, Zoran was a great kisser.

That, Floria decided on the way home in the car, was a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

The light drizzle had turned into a steady downpour. Floria dashed from the car to her front door, nearly falling over a pot plant in the process.

"Oh, my God!" she exclaimed, when she saw a huddled-over Josh sitting on her doorstep. "You nearly frightened me half to death. What are you doing here?"

He was drenched. His shirt stuck to his body, his hair was dripping, even his shoes were soaked. "Where have you been?" he said icily.

"Out," she sang, gliding past him up the stairs. It took her nearly a minute to find her key in her handbag and insert it into the lock.

"You're pissed."

She turned to face him. "So what? I can get pissed on the weekend if I like."

He glanced at his watch. "It's a bit early, isn't it?"

"It's never too early," she snapped, and opened the door to her apartment. He followed her inside, leaving a puddle on the floor.

"Do you mind at least drying off," she said, nodding towards the bathroom. "Why didn't you call if you were coming round?"

"I did. Check your phone." He stomped off to the bathroom.

Floria dug in her bag again, finally pulling out her mobile. "Ah, so you did. Five times." There was also a missed call from DI McGuinness. That could wait.

When Josh came back into the lounge she gave him a skewed look. "Is everything all right?"

"I should be asking you that question," he snapped. "Your neighbour downstairs told me you'd swanned off with that Zoran character in his big black limousine around midday."

She frowned, "What of it? We went out to discuss his daughter's party. Did you know she lives in Switzerland with her mother? This is her..."

"I couldn't care less who she is." Josh lost his temper. Floria shut her mouth. She'd never seen him like this before. "You went out for a business lunch with a renowned womanising gangster and got home six hours later, pissed out of your mind."

"Actually, I don't think he really is a gangster," Floria said pouting. "He seemed very nice."

Josh shouted, "Will you be serious for one moment?"

"I don't want to be serious," she retaliated. "Where's the fun in that?"

"Just look at yourself. You're a mess. Do not try and tell me you were just talking."

Floria glanced in the mirror over the mantelpiece. Her lipstick was smeared, her hair looked like she'd been spun round by a tornado, and the top two buttons on her blouse were undone. Hastily, she did them up.

"We were dancing. He taught me how to salsa."

"Really? Is that how you got covered in fluff?" He swiped at some hairs from Zoran's flokati rug that had stuck to her jumper.

"You are being completely unreasonable," Floria said, her voice rising. "I told you, we talked and we danced, then Dmitri drove me home."

Josh threw his hands in the air. "Don't forget the drinking and the kissing. You do know Zoran Petrovich devours women for breakfast? The man is a shark, Floria, and I don't want you anywhere near him."

"You don't even know him," she shouted. "He was a perfect gentleman."

"Yes, I can see that."

Floria lost it. "I don't have to answer to you," she shrieked. "It's none of your damn business what I get up to with Zoran or anyone else for that matter."

Josh's gaze hardened.

"You have no right to tell me what to do. You don't want me, yet you think you can waltz in here and dictate who I can and can't see. Well, I've had enough of it. Go home to Paloma and lay down the law to her. She's the one who needs to hear it. Not me."

Josh grabbed her wrist. "Did it ever cross your mind that I might care about you?"

Floria wrenched her arm free. "Well, you can't have it both ways, Josh. Now get out."

He stared at her for a long moment. All she could hear was her own ragged breath and the pounding of her heart. Then he turned and walked out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

Floria gripped the back of the sofa, stunned. She trembled all over. Why on earth had Josh acted so irrationally? He had no right to tell her off like that. He wasn't her bloody father.

She collapsed on the sofa and took some deep breaths, trying desperately to calm down. Things had got way out of control.

Poor Josh. He was only being protective. That was his nature. Now she'd gone and said all those awful things. Would he ever want to talk to her again?

Oh God! What a mess.

She collapsed onto the sofa and sobbed.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

When Floria woke it was dark. For a moment she was confused. What time was it? Why was she on the couch and not in her bed? Then it all came rushing back. The boozy lunch. Kissing Zoran. The fight with Josh.

"Oh no," she groaned, holding her head. All those awful things they'd said to each other. She felt gutted. What must he think of her?

She rolled off the couch and stood up, head pounding. Ugh. Drinking in the day was _never_ a good idea. She'd lost count of how many glasses she'd had. The clock in the kitchen told her it was nearly nine o'clock. She'd been out for almost three hours.

She stumbled into the bathroom and washed her face. A murky mess of foundation and black mascara flowed down the drain – evidence of her somewhat debauched afternoon. Then she brushed her teeth and stared at her reflection. Not great, but it would have to do. At least she didn't look like she'd just stumbled out of a strip club anymore.

Her heart was heavy. She needed to find Josh and apologise. Until they cleared the air between them, she wouldn't be able to rest. Yes, he had been out of line coming here and yelling at her, but she was his friend, and she should never have lost her temper like that. He'd said he cared about her, and she'd told him – in no uncertain terms – to get out.

She threw on a pair of jeans, catching her nail in the zip. Then she struggled into a pale blue kitted top, which she had to take off again to put on the right way, before tugging on her coat. It was still raining. She grabbed her bag and charged down the stairs and out of the front door to catch the bus. Josh's apartment was in Mayfair, only a couple of stops away.

The bus was empty except for an elderly couple clutching _Phantom of the Opera_ programmes and a solitary man half-asleep in the back row. Floria had no idea what she was going to say, except that she needed to make things right. Life without Josh wasn't worth thinking about.

The bus let her off down the road from the apartment he shared with Paloma. She ran the short distance, leaping over puddles, not caring that her hair got wet. She didn't even care that Paloma would be there. This was about their friendship, and had nothing to do with her. She would ask to speak with Josh in private.

Big glass doors marked the entrance to Josh's building at street level. There was a security panel to the side. Floria pushed number seven and waited. There was no reply. She was just about to push it again when a woman came out with a pushchair. Floria held the door open for her, and then slipped inside. The entrance hall was more of a courtyard with pot plants and a vacant reception desk. Perhaps the receptionist didn't work after hours. Looking up, Floria could see the rectangular network of corridors leading to the apartments above.

She took the elevator to the third floor. It was a smart block, very corporate and most probably occupied by traders and models and young professionals with money. Josh had said the serviced apartments were modern and functional, and most people kept to themselves.

She walked along the corridor until she reached number seven. To her surprise the front door was ajar. Not by much, but enough to see a warm glow emanate from inside. Someone was home.

She knocked and called out, "Josh, are you there?"

When nobody answered she pushed the door wider and went inside. There were noises coming from the bedroom. Paloma's laughter, then kissing sounds.

Oh God, she'd caught them at it. How embarrassing. Suddenly, this didn't seem such a good idea after all. She spun around in confusion, and tiptoed back towards the door. Her only thought was to get out as quickly as possible.

She was almost there when a male voice said sharply, "Who's there?"

That was _not_ Josh's voice.

Floria stopped. Turned. And crept back to the bedroom. She poked her head around the door, and stared in astonishment. Paloma was on her hands and knees, stark naked, straddling a gorgeous man leaning up on his elbows.

"Pedro!" she gasped.

Paloma snickered. "Well, it's clearly not Josh, is it?"

Floria felt sick. Did Carmen know her boyfriend was screwing Paloma?

"Where is Josh?" she asked in a shaky voice. She didn't know where to look.

"Wouldn't we all like to know," Paloma scoffed, pulling the sheet up to cover her breasts. "He left this afternoon. Just packed his things and walked out."

"He left?" Floria shook her head, confused. "You mean he left _you_?"

"Yes, darling. Are you thick or something? He said he'd had enough and walked out. Can't say I'm too upset." She stroked Pedro's chest. "It all worked out rather well, didn't it, baby?"

Floria felt the bile rise in her throat. She ignored Paloma's remark and said to Pedro, "Does my sister know you're here?"

Pedro shifted uncomfortably.

"I take it that's a no." She stared daggers at him. "It was you that day in the park, wasn't it? You said you were going to the National Gallery." She shook her head. What a lying bastard. He'd planned to meet Paloma all along.

"We met at your party," Pedro said simply. He ran a hand through his hair. "It was lust at first sight."

Floria turned on her heel to leave. She didn't want to see anymore.

"Tell him I say hi when you see him," called Paloma, laughing after her.

Floria saw red. She strode back into the bedroom. "You know, Josh really loved you," she said. "How could you do this to him?"

"He's no angel, let me tell you," Paloma snapped, getting off Pedro. The sheet fell to the ground. She didn't care. "He swans in and out as he pleases, never tells me what he's doing or who he's seeing then expects me to drop everything for him. Well, I have a life too."

"You don't deserve him," spat Floria.

"Oh, and you do, I suppose." Paloma laughed bitterly. "I know you've had your eye on him. You've been waiting in the wings, haven't you? Well, good luck. Josh befriends every needy woman that comes along. You're not the first to fall for him, and I'm sure you won't be the last."

Floria didn't want to hear anymore. Josh was a nice guy, that's all. Not a selfish bitch like Paloma. How they'd ever ended up together was a mystery.

She turned to Pedro. "I'm giving you twelve hours to tell my sister about this. I mean that." She wagged her finger at him. "Otherwise, this time tomorrow night, she and I will be having a very interesting conversation."

Then she really did turn and leave, slamming the front door behind her.

The puddles on the street had turned into rivulets flowing towards the drains. Floria walked straight through them. Oh poor Josh! Is that why he'd come to her house earlier today? He'd just walked out on Paloma?

What bad timing. He'd come to her and she'd got back drunk as a skunk from Zoran's place, looking like she'd just tumbled out of his bed. No wonder he was mad.

She had to tell him nothing happened, make him see that she was hopelessly in love with him. Her heart surged with hope. Then plummeted again. What a mess she'd made of everything. Would he even want to see her now? Was it too late? With shaking hands she dialled his number but the call went straight to voicemail.

A car sped past, splashing her legs and soaking her jeans. She barely noticed. Where would he go? Rob's house maybe? Except she didn't know where Rob lived, nor did she have his number. She walked on, her mind working overtime. But she knew someone who did.

She dialled Joe, Rob's friend and fellow band member. It rang a while but eventually he picked up. He was delighted to hear from her, but when she said she was desperately trying to get hold of Josh, his tone changed. "Sure, I've got Rob's number, I'll send it to you."

Avoiding any small talk, she thanked him and hung up. Her phone beeped seconds later. Rob's number flashed on her screen. She hit the dial button.

Rob answered. "Hello." There was music playing in the background.

"Hi, Rob, it's Floria. I'm looking for Josh, is he with you?"

A pause. Then Josh came on the line. "Floria?"

"Oh, Josh, I'm so sorry about earlier. I went to your flat. Paloma was there with... Well, anyway, she told me you'd left." The words came rushing out. "I really need to see you."

There was another pause, then he said, "I'll meet you at yours," and he hung up.

There was no bus in sight. Floria didn't fancy walking all the way home in the rain. Luckily, at that moment a cab came round the corner, its yellow light lit up. Floria jumped into the road. "Stop!" she yelled.

It pulled over and she jumped in, giving her address.

Wouldn't it be easy if people had yellow lights on top of their heads that they could switch on when they were available, she mused irrationally? It would save an awful lot of misunderstanding.

The journey home took under five minutes. She rushed upstairs, flung off her dripping mackintosh and kicked off her shoes. Her socks were so wet she could ring them out. Peeling them off her freezing feet, she tossed them in the laundry basket, leaving her feet bare. She had just finished rubbing her hair with a towel and putting a comb through it, when the doorbell rang. She pushed the buzzer to let Josh in. He was up the stairs and at her front door in a matter of seconds.

They stared at each other. Floria's heart thumped like a freight train. Then Josh said, "So you went to my apartment?"

She nodded and looked down. "Yes, I wanted to apologise. She was there." She hesitated...

"She doesn't waste much time, does she?" Josh said.

Floria looked up. "You knew it was Pedro she was seeing?"

"I knew when they met that something was up."

"But how? I didn't think they even liked each other." If memory served correctly, Paloma had left the party early stating a headache.

"Hmm... things aren't always what they seem." He took her hand and led her to the sofa. In a daze, Floria sat down.

"I don't understand."

"Paloma gave him her number at your launch party. They met up the very next day. That was who you saw her with in the park. I suspected as much, but I let it slide, thinking it was just another one of her dalliances."

"Except it wasn't?"

"No, I think she really likes him. His ego matches hers, anyway."

Floria sniffed. How was he so calm?

He rubbed her arm. "I only hope your sister isn't too cut up about it."

"She doesn't know yet." Then she told him about her conversation with Pedro.

"Good for you," he said softly. "It won't last. Paloma is too high maintenance for any man, especially one as self-centred as Pedro. Your sister is better off without him, though. That's for sure."

"I couldn't agree more, but aren't you upset?" Floria studied his face, he seemed fine. Happy even.

"No, I'm not. To tell you the truth I'm relieved it's over. Her cheating doesn't even bother me anymore. That must mean something."

A flicker of hope began to stir in Floria's stomach.

"And then there is you."

"Me?"

He smiled into her eyes. "I realised my reaction to your afternoon with Zoran was totally irrational."

"It was...especially since we didn't do anything."

"Unless I was in love with you."

Floria blinked several times. Had she heard him correctly? "Pardon?"

He continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Then it made perfect sense. I couldn't bear the thought of you with that man, or any man. I was filled with rage at the idea of him taking advantage of you. Much angrier than I ever was with Paloma when she cheated on me."

"He didn't take advantage of me. I promise. We kissed, that was it. But I only let him because I was so hung up on you. I even told him so. That's why I didn't sleep with him."

"I'm extremely glad to hear it," he said softly. "I realised when I got to Rob's and cooled down that it was you I wanted." He touched her face. "It was you who I was in love with."

"Oh, Josh," she sobbed, clutching his hand to her cheek. "You don't know how happy that makes me. I tried to be just friends, I really did, but it killed me seeing you with Paloma."

"Well, you don't have to worry about her anymore." He gathered her into his arms. "The future is just for us."

Oh, those words were a joy to her ears! Floria felt her eyes prickle with tears. "I'm sorry, it's just I'm so happy. I can't believe this is happening."

Josh kissed away the tears falling down her face, then captured her lips with his own. Floria held him tight, and kissed him back like she'd never kissed anyone else before. He groaned, and pulled her onto his lap. He felt warm and strong and smelled so divine that she lost herself in his embrace.

Several minutes later he picked her up effortlessly, as if she weighed no more than a feather, and carried her into the bedroom. "Now where do you keep that little night dress you were wearing the other day?" he murmured.

Floria giggled. "Oh yes, sorry about that. I didn't mean to give you an eyeful."

"Yes you did, you little minx," he growled, and laid her gently on the bed. "I nearly dragged you straight back to the bedroom there and then."

She laughed. "I had no idea."

"On second thoughts, who's got time for night dresses?" Floria's squeal was lost as he lowered himself on top of her and recaptured her mouth with his own.

Floria's senses went into overdrive. His hard body, his scent, his determination all drove her wild. Josh in the flesh was so much better than in her dreams – and the best part was, he was all hers. It was almost too good to be true.

"I can't believe this is really happening," she said, for the second time. "I feel like I'm dreaming."

Josh laughed. "Sweetheart, trust me, you're not dreaming – and I'm going to prove it to you, over and over again, for the rest of our lives."

"Really?" She lifted her head up to glance at his face. His eyes burned intently into hers.

"Yes, really."

She lay back on the pillow with a blissful sigh. "How lovely."

Reality had never felt so good.

A FREE GIFT

If you'd like to read more from Louise Rose-Innes, download her free romantic suspense, A PASSION SO WILD now at www.louiseroseinnes.com.

SECOND CHANCES  
(MIMI'S STORY)

### (BOOK 2 – THE LEVANTÉ SISTERS SERIES)

BY LOUISE ROSE-INNES

# Chapter One

Mimi stood in line at the baggage check at London's Heathrow airport. It was heaving. There were people everywhere, moving in different directions like hordes of little ants. She checked her wristwatch, her flight to Sydney left in just under two hours. Plenty of time to relax with a much-needed G&T (or two) before boarding.

After a month of living in hotels and out of suitcases, it felt good to be going home.

"Byeee sweetie," screeched a voice from behind. "Pwomise you'll stay in touch?"

Mimi turned around. A large-breasted blonde in a dangerously low-cut top jumped up and down and waved to someone who'd already gone through the check-in. Mimi didn't see anyone wave back. She frowned at the woman. Could she be more stereotypical? Any moment now and her boobs would bounce straight out of her top.

"Bye luvvie," the blonde called again, blowing frantic kisses from fuchsia lips. A security guard escorted her away from the check-in counter.

Mimi turned back to the queue, her mind already on other things. It was bizarre to think that just a month ago she was at the end of her tether, her singing career in tatters, and her heart broken into a million little pieces.

Now she'd been given a second chance. She had a newfound family, more money than she knew what to do with, but most of all, she had her mojo back.

Her heart was still in a million little pieces, but she could live with that because now she had faith. Faith in herself and in her ability. It had taken finding out who she truly was to mend her self-esteem.

Watch out world, here I come, Mimi thought, as she piled her clear-plastic cosmetic bags and phone into the provided trays and walked through the x-ray machine.

"I think I've lost my belt," an Aussie voice said from behind her. A well-dressed man with a tanned, chiseled face pointed to her tray. "Could that be it?" Somehow his belt had found its way onto it.

Mimi picked it up and handed it over. "Here you are." She checked him out. His navy blue trousers fit him perfectly – he didn't really need the belt. A white shirt, covered by a pale blue jumper and a lightweight blazer, completed the outfit. This was a man who knew how to dress. At the same time though, he didn't come across as trying too hard. His look was effortlessly stylish and well-financed, judging by the shiny leather brogues and Burberry hold-all. "Can't have your trousers falling down during the flight."

"Not unless it's for a good cause." He gave her one of the naughtiest grins she'd ever seen.

Unable to resist, she smiled back. He was cute – for a preppy yuppie. For a fleeting moment she wondered if the buxom blonde had been with him?

She gathered up her things as he threaded the belt through his trousers, and with a breathy, "See ya," made her way along the corridor to the airside area.

Duty Free was bustling. Tourists and travelers filled their baskets with perfume, booze and cigarettes to take home or to enjoy on holiday. Mimi wasn't interested. Now that she was on her way home, her focus was on other things. Her singing career, for one. The first thing she was going to do when she got back was hire herself the best singing coach money could buy. Her voice was good, but it needed depth. The new song she'd written required an extensive vocal range. Her plan was to become Australia's next big pop sensation.

Now, about that drink... Mimi made her way to the business class lounge. Yes, she was splurging, but after the month she'd had, she figured if anyone deserved a treat, she did. It wasn't every day you found out you're adopted and your real mother is a world-renowned opera singer.

The bar was at the back, dimly lit with ceiling spot lights and lamps that threw a soft glow onto the mahogany counter. "Double gin and tonic," she said to the waiting barman.

"That bad, huh?"

She spun around, embarrassed to be caught indulging. "You could say that," she murmured, her cheeks blazing. It was Mr. Abercrombie & Fitch.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

She nodded. Why not? He was extremely easy on the eye and it would pass the time.

"A whiskey and soda," he ordered, then turned to her. "So are you going home or just visiting?"

"Going home," she replied. "How about you?"

"Same. I've been in London doing a business deal."

"Are you in fashion?" she asked, pointedly looking at his attire. Maybe a buyer, or in sales.

He laughed, showing white, even teeth. "No, hotels. We have several in Australia and a new one in London. The Brompton in Kensington. You may have heard of it?"

Mimi shook her head.

"Oh well, never mind." He looked a bit put out she didn't know it. He was very self-assured and far too confident for his own good. Mimi decided it wouldn't hurt to knock him down a few pegs.

"So what do you do?" He studied her through cobalt blue eyes rimmed with long, dark lashes.

The words to 'I never knew the devil's eyes were blue,' popped into her head.

"I'm a singer," she said, dropping her gaze. Backing singer more like, and a disgraced one at that. The memory of being booed off stage at her last gig was still painfully fresh in her mind. So, she wasn't famous yet but she would be. It was just a matter of time.

"Mm..." His eyes crinkled up. "You do look vaguely familiar. Well, you must be a pretty good one to be travelling business class. These seats don't come cheap."

Mimi shrugged. Let him think what he liked.

"Did you come here to give a concert or something?" He was probing. Mimi changed the subject.

"Actually, I came for a funeral. My mother passed away last month."

"I'm sorry to hear it." He pursed his lips. They were nice and full. Kissable lips.

She tossed her fringe out of her face. "Oh, don't be. I never knew her. In fact, I've lived in Sydney my whole life. The first time I learned about my birth mother was when she died."

"Now that sounds like a good story." He grinned and gestured to the couch. "Why don't we sit down and you can tell me all about it."

They sat and while he sipped his whiskey and soda, Mimi found herself telling him who her birth mother was.

"No way!" He gave her a sideways glance as if he didn't quite believe her. "You're serious, aren't you?"

Mimi cocked her head. "Perfectly serious."

"But Dame Serena Levanté is one of the world's best known opera singers. Even I've heard of her and I don't even like opera."

"I know."

"And a complete diva if the papers are anything to go by."

"Oh, I can vouch for that. I never met her, but my sister, Floria, tells me she was a nightmare."

Wild parties, countless lovers, too much booze, and above all, total unaccountability. All the trappings of fame and fortune – that's what Floria had said.

"And you had no idea she was your mother?"

"None whatsoever. My adoptive parents never mentioned her." She paused, wondering if she was over-sharing. What the hell, she'd never see this guy again and it felt good to unload. "In fact, until recently, I didn't even know I was adopted." Just saying it out loud made her grit her teeth. To say she was furious with her adoptive mother for lying to her all these years was an understatement. How different her life might have been if she'd only been told the truth!

It made sense when she thought about it. She was so different to her parents. Her mother was meek and mild-natured and her father, who died last year, had always been a stickler for the rules. No wonder they'd clashed.

Mimi – always the wild one, always in trouble, always mixing with the wrong crowd. Becoming a backing singer for Toxic Phonics had been the final insult. Her father was mortified and refused to speak to her. Her mother questioned whether this was the best way to express herself. They didn't understand. No one did.

No one except Kyle. He was an artist, like herself. He cared. He understood what it was like to be different, to not fit in and somehow he made it seem okay, cool even.

They'd had intense discussions about music and life and self-expression. His dark sensuality and unpredictable spontaneity had attracted her like a moth to a flame. It was a cliché, but it was true. Mimi was powerless to resist him. The first time they'd made love it was like a torrent of emotion had been released inside of her. She'd cried in his arms.

Kyle... She hadn't thought about him for at least three hours. That was an improvement.

"Wow, well, that is the most interesting thing I've heard all day," He said, his eyes sparkling like Coogee Bay on a summer's day. "I'm very pleased to meet you, miss Levanté. I'm Rob, by the way." He put down his drink and held out his hand.

"Mimi." She shook it. It was cold from the ice in his glass, but he had nice long fingers that wrapped right round her hand.

She pushed Kyle into the back of her mind. "So tell me something about you, Rob. I've done all the talking so far."

"Not much to tell, really. My life's nowhere near as exciting as yours." He paused, briefly, then said, "I'm an only child, born and bred in Australia. I'm from an outback town called Alice Springs. It's far away from every coast and every major city in Australia – basically in the middle of nowhere. When my parents split up I went to boarding school in Sydney. Been there ever since."

"Boarding school?"

He fidgeted. "My parents' divorce was so messy that my mother had a nervous breakdown. I was sent to boarding school because she couldn't look after me."

"I'm sorry," Mimi said, studying his face. The sparkling blue eyes had clouded over. "That's tough."

He shrugged. "Everyone has their issues, right?"

She nodded. It was true. Everyone had their drama, although she seemed to attract more of it than most.

Rob shook his head as if trying to clear the memories and forced a smile. The clouds disappeared. "I could do with another. How about it?"

"Sure, why not? We've got the whole flight to sleep it off, right?"

He grinned and fetched them two more of the same. Mimi studied him as he brought the glasses back. She supposed he was good-looking in a traditional, tall, muscular kind of way. Not her type, though, she didn't go for anything conventional. All of her dismally few past relationships had been with arty, angsty types, usually actors or musicians.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" she said when he'd sat down.

"Sure." He looked wary.

"Was that blonde woman with you earlier? The one screeching goodbye?"

His face relaxed. "Bambi, yes. I'm afraid so. We met at the races last week. She's a whole lot of fun."

"She looks it." Mimi took a sip of her gin and tonic.

"Be nice." Rob chuckled and nudged her in the ribs.

Mimi couldn't help but grin. Rob was so friendly that he cut through her normal reserve. "I'm not judging," she retaliated. "Just observing."

"I suppose she was hard to miss. Anyway, onwards and upwards, isn't that what they say?" He waved a hand dismissively.

Easy come. Easy go, thought Mimi. That's the kind of guy he is.

To read more of Mimi's Story, download Second Chances here.

# LOUISE ROSE-INNES

Louise Rose-Innes writes contemporary romance and romantic suspense. She lives in leafy Surrey with her family, and when she's not writing is traipsing through Richmond Park or kayaking on the river Thames.

Louise is giving away one of her romantic suspense books for free! So if you want more, head over to her website and download it today.

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