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years older than Kendra, Grace was stick-slim and, in Matt's estimation, the smile on her face was about as natural as the blondeness of her hair. She had her father's colouring and rampant ambition, but little of his charm.
    'Rupert has promised to take me on a private tour of the London showroom and studios,' she said. 'It'll be wonderful.'
    'Oh, how exciting!' Kendra exclaimed, coming over in time to save Matt from having to find something polite to say.
    Grace positively glowed with satisfaction, and it occurred to Matt, not for the first time, that she was a little jealous of her younger sister.
    When they sat down to dinner at the fifteen-foot-long, mahogany table, under the lights of three cut-glass chandeliers, Matt was pleased to find himself next to Kendra's second sister, Frances. At twenty-three, she was just a year younger than Grace, but couldn't have been more different. Taller, bigger built, and plainer than her siblings, she wore her shoulder-length brown hair unbleached, and a minimal amount of make-up and jewellery, but she had an attraction all her own. Intelligent and practical, with a sharp wit, which she wasn't averse to sharing, she was, to her father's eternal mystification, training to be a child psychologist.
    'So, what do you think of Grace's latest conquest?' she murmured to Matt as they began the meal. 'Impeccable qualifications, wouldn't you say?'
    He glanced at her in amusement, not pretending to misunderstand.
    'Oh, definitely. Diamonds and an Eton accent – perfect.'
    At the head of the table, Brewer cleared his throat.
    'Nasty business that, last night,' he commented, breaking a roll to dip into his asparagus soup. 'Deacon had already left, but I think Harry got caught up in it. It was a hell of a business, I gather. Were you there when the police turned up?'
    'No, I'd already left too,' Matt said.
    Kendra looked at him, raising her eyebrows infinitesimally, but didn't say anything.
    'That poor girl!' Joy said.
    Grace was less sympathetic. 'It was on the news earlier. They made her sound like such an innocent little thing, but you should have seen the way she was dancing – she was asking for it.'
    'Oh no – you can't say that!' her mother responded. 'God knows she wasn't a saint, but no one deserves that!'
    'I didn't see you at the party,' Matt remarked to Grace. He'd declined the soup, knowing from experience that it was rich and creamy. With two further courses to come, he had to watch his fat intake.
    'Oh, Rupert and I just popped in for a few minutes. We were passing and there was someone he wanted a word with. Sophie was dancing on one of the tables when I saw her, and Jamie was looking as mad as fire. No wonder; she can't have had much on under that dress.'
    'I think she looked beautiful,' Deacon put in.
    He was sitting diagonally across the table from Matt, and had been very quiet until then. Even now he spoke as if to himself, his dark eyes dreamy under the fringe that flopped over his fine-boned face. At nineteen he was heir to a business empire worth millions, but, as yet, had shown no great desire to become involved in the running of it. With uncharacteristic patience, his father had been heard to say he had no doubt the lad would come to it in time.
    'She was a slut!' Grace declared.
    'Now, come on,' Joy intervened. 'I think that's enough. Whatever else she was, she was someone's daughter and nothing excuses the taking of a life. Let's talk about something else, shall we?'
    There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment, broken only by the chink of cutlery on china, and then Grace spoke again.
    'No prizes for guessing who the number one suspect will be, anyway,' she remarked, and Matt could cheerfully have throttled her.
    Her father pushed his empty bowl aside.
    'Who?'
    'Well, Jamie Mullin, of course. She's been leading him round by the nose for weeks and they had an almighty row last night – right in the middle of the dance floor!'
    'That doesn't mean he killed her!'