a tiny thirteenth-century church in the middle of a postcard-perfect village. The church was currently crammed with rather a lot of the Met’s finest, but you could still admire the rood screen if that was your thing, and the carving on the pulpit, and the marble monuments to local worthies from centuries ago. Afterwards the reception would be across the road, in a marquee in the garden of the bride’s aunt’s house. We were staying in one of the local pubs, where they had romantic rooms with low beams and wide, soft beds and a roll-top bath by the window. I had booked to stay an extra night, so Rob and I could be alone together. In almost two years we’d never gone away anywhere on holidays. A trip to the country, even if it was just for the weekend, made a nice change.
The only problem was that I couldn’t drink any of the French wine that Ben had travelled across the Channel to buy – cases and cases of it, since he knew his colleagues well enough to cater for a big night. Derwent had driven some of it down from London in his car, and Rob had gone to help him unload it while we hung around before the wedding.
‘Not that there’s much point since I won’t be able to have any.’ Derwent dumped a box by the marquee and went back to get another one.
‘Are you on call? So’s Maeve.’ Rob was moving much more slowly than Derwent, not being in the least bothered about the inspector’s compulsion to prove himself quicker and stronger than any other man. Tall and broad-shouldered, Rob looked extremely handsome in his best suit. As if he knew what I was thinking, he winked at me before he disappeared inside the marquee. I guessed he was going to put the case behind the bar, where it was needed, rather than leaving it outside. Derwent was on his third case by now, piling them up. I sat on the wall and watched the two of them, amused.
‘It’s typical.’ Derwent glared at me. ‘And I’ll be watching you, Kerrigan. No sneaking a glass of fizz.’
‘Just to toast the happy couple.’
He pointed at me. ‘Not a drop.’
‘I wouldn’t,’ I protested. ‘I know the rules. Besides, the boss is going to be there. I wouldn’t dare.’ The boss was Superintendent Charles Godley, one of the Met’s stars, who was handsome and talented and expected the best from his team. We investigated murders. The most complex and sensitive ones came to us, which was flattering, but it meant that we couldn’t shut down for the weekend. Everyone was invited to the wedding but some of us had to stay sober, ready to rush back to London if we were needed. Rob had been one of us, once upon a time. He knew the score. Given the choice, he would have been happy to be on call too, I felt.
But we wouldn’t be needed. I closed my eyes and tilted my face up so the sunshine could warm it. The weather was perfect. Everything would be perfect.
Derwent nudged my foot with the toe of his shoe. ‘Wake up.’
‘I’m not asleep,’ I said, not opening my eyes. ‘Why are you bothering me?’
‘There’s no one else to talk to.’
‘Why didn’t you bring a date? Couldn’t you find anyone?’
‘Of course I could have found someone. I wanted to come on my own.’
‘Why?’
‘I have my reasons.’
Something in his voice made me open my eyes. I shaded them with my hand so I could look at him. ‘Do I want to know what those reasons are?’
A grin. ‘Probably not.’
‘Tell me anyway.’
‘Maybe later.’ He looked past me and raised a hand. ‘There’s Ben. Poor fucker. He looks as if he’s going to spew.’
‘He’s probably nervous.’
‘Nervous that Christine won’t turn up. It’s a good thing he got her pregnant. She’s a long way out of his league.’
‘She’s completely in love with him,’ I said, my voice sharp. ‘She’ll be there because she wants to marry Dornton.’
A slow headshake. ‘That was quality minge.’
I shuddered. ‘Congratulations. That is absolutely the most offensive way you could have