Perfect Strangers

‘Not exactly the crown jewels, are they?’ he said as Sophie snatched them back from him.

‘They have sentimental value.’

‘I’m sure, but we can rule out Nick trying to steal your priceless stash of diamonds. That’s what I’m trying to work out: what was he hiding?’

‘Hiding? I thought he was after my money.’

‘Lana’s money, you mean,’ he said absently as he picked up her copy of I Capture the Castle and flicked through the pages.

‘Did Nick give you this?’

She shook her head.

‘It was a birthday present from my dad.’

‘It’s a bit dog-eared, isn’t it?’

‘It’s my favourite book, actually,’ she said, taking it away from him.

‘So did Nick give you anything?’ asked Josh, rifling through the receipts in Sophie’s purse. ‘A note, a love letter, something like that?’

‘Josh, please!’ she said, grabbing the purse. ‘I’ve told you, he didn’t give me anything. Now if you’ve finished raking through my life, I’m going to have a shower. I want to get the Thames out of my hair.’

Kicking off her shoes, she padded through to the bathroom, which was bigger than most hotel rooms she’d ever stayed in, even on her luxurious trips with Will.

‘Don’t go getting any ideas about having a three-hour bath,’ called Josh. ‘This isn’t a minibreak. We’ve got a busy day ahead of us.’

‘The premiere, of course.’ She smiled sarcastically and turned on the taps.

It was wonderful feeling the hot water on her skin, soaping herself with peach and almond bath crème, the stresses of the past two days running away down the brass plughole. Stepping out, she dried off and wrapped herself in a towelling robe, enjoying the clean smell, and walked back into the living room, rubbing at her hair with a hand towel.

Josh was sitting at a walnut writing desk in front of a silver laptop computer. It was connected to a sleek-looking laser printer.

‘Was that always here?’ she said.

‘They just brought it up – nothing’s too good for a guest like Mademoiselle Aniston.’

She watched him do a Google search for ‘Riverton Hotel murder’: a shocking number of hits scrolled up.

‘Good,’ muttered Josh, clicking on one. ‘They’ve released a picture of Nick.’

There was a loud clunk as the printer sprang to life, but Sophie turned away: she didn’t want to see Nick’s face, not right now. She picked up a peach from the fruit bowl, but she didn’t feel like eating and put it back.

‘No mention of you in any news stories,’ said Josh. ‘Let’s hope it stays that way.’

He clicked about quickly, and when he had to enter something, Sophie noticed he was touch-typing.

‘You’re very efficient,’ she said.

‘You sound surprised,’ replied Josh, not looking up from the screen.

‘It’s the barge,’ she said, deciding that nothing about Josh McCormack would surprise her any more. ‘No electricity, copper kettle, all that stuff.’

‘So you have me down as some sort of gypsy?’

Sophie blushed.

‘Not quite, just a little less technical.’