Read Dying For You for Free Online

gestured back towards the door. ‘Caroline's sent me to tell you to mingle, dears. So come along.’
    Simon took hold of Rafferty's arm in a vice-like grip and led him to a small mixed group. He introduced him and then left him to make conversation.
    After a while, the conversation being the mix as before and above his head, Rafferty glanced round, looking for Jenny. He couldn't see her. Instead, his gaze was caught and held by Isobel, the agency receptionist. Isobel had removed the concealing wrap in which she had arrived. She was dressed to kill in a little black number; sleeveless, strapless and almost bodice-less, her bosom swelled out in lush, white curves. Few of the men could take their eyes off her, Rafferty included. She gave him a ‘come hither’ smile. Beside him, the man whom Simon Farnell had introduced as Dr Lancelot Bliss, the well-known TV Doctor, nudged Rafferty and murmured in his ear.
    ‘Look, but don't touch is the best advice there, old man. Isobel's determined to get some poor fool up the aisle – the richer the better. She's had her eye on Guy, but as he said, she's all right to bed, but not to wed. Anyway, he wouldn't waste himself on Isobel even if he wasn't already married to Caroline, especially with the funds his late first wife left him.’
    Rafferty was astonished to find himself the confidant of gossip; it seemed singularly inappropriate from a medical man, though the inappropriateness of his behaviour didn't seem to trouble the doctor. But then the well-known Bliss had presented his TV Doctor show for a number of years. No doubt mixing with the lovies, their behaviour had rubbed off.
    Clearly, Dr Lancelot Bliss and loviedom were as natural a pairing as rock stars and hard drugs. In creating his stir he held centre-stage; a place that was obviously his preferred location. Rafferty had already noticed the little attention-seeking gestures. Every minute or so, Bliss would let his thick, straight dark hair flop engagingly onto his forehead and just as regularly he swept it back. The gesture drew attention to both the shining thickness of the hair and the beauty of his hands, which were long, slender and artistic. His clothes were from the dressing-up-box of the born show-off. The suit, though appearing plain at first glance, was a three-piece rather than a two-piece, the waistcoat and jacket silk-lined in a bright peacock blue at odds with the outward look of conservative sobriety. He even wore a fob-watch, an expensive bauble of exquisite beauty and workmanship.
    Bliss broke into his thoughts. ‘Isobel's father made several disastrous investments when she was around twelve and lost most of their money. Then, in the way of these things, the good money chased the bad. Guy Cranston let this out a few weeks ago after a few drinks too many.’
    Rafferty was surprised. Guy Cranston didn't seem the type to turn garrulous with drink.
    ‘Her mother persuaded Guy to offer her the agency job in the hope she'd snare a rich husband. So if you've got a few shekels, dear boy, take care. They're on the brink of losing the house - Latimer Court in Suffolk. Beautiful place, or it was – needs a fortune spending on it now. You've got to give it to Isobel. You'd never guess the family's problems from looking at her. She does rich very well.’
    Rafferty said, ‘Thanks for the tip. I'll steer well clear.’
    Under his lashes, Rafferty let his gaze rest on Isobel, who was being very touchy-feely with a man of Mediterranean appearance. She threw back her head and laughed, displaying her long, white neck and rounded bosom to advantage. Isobel was dressed in what Rafferty presumed must be designer gear. And though there wasn't much of it, the scrap of material was clearly not ‘off-the-peg’ and had presumably cost as much as his borrowed and ill-fitting suit. Diamonds glittered at her ears and throat. If she was wearing the last of her family's money as an ‘investment’ she hid it well. Rafferty would never