Chapter 10

"How are you doing, Har?"

"Good, good, thanks" Harry took the glass of champagne from the hands of the man standing beside her and gave him a dazzling smile. "Great party, Simon. I am glad we came over here."

Simon sipped champagne from his glass and giggled. "Well, I am afraid the main course of the evening won't appear; Lady Atherton had invited the crew of the new TV series that is being made in the neighbourhood, this more important crew I mean, of course. But the leading actors had better things to do I think, and only the director has graced us with his presence, you see the guy in the black leather jacket. Lady Atherton is mad like hell."

Harry laughed. "What a disappointment! Somebody famous, these actors?"

"Well, I don't know, I am not very familiar with this business" he smiled. "The actor is British, but the actress is from America. They're making the film just next door, Lady Grace wanted to show-off, to parade the great friendship and good terms between her and her… temporary neighbours, poor girl."

Harry looked at Lady Atherton. She didn't look delighted, indeed, but tried to put on a good face when talking kindly to the director in leather jacket. The man was tall, attractive in a rough way and had this kind of presence that told the world "I am in the Hollywood business but I sniff at it".

Despite the Lady Atherton's disillusion, the garden party was an indisputable success. The weather aided the good mood - the evening was warm and the sun hasn't set yet. Harry liked this noble old garden, now full of people and light, and with background music being played discreetly by a jazz quartet in the corner. She smiled at Simon. "Come on, they have terrific appetizers on the table there."

"Good to refresh ourselves before dances" Simon agreed and followed her.

"Can't wait."

Yes, Simon was a great dancer, in fact he was the best dancer Harry has ever danced with. He had the very good sense of rhythm, the beautiful fluidity of movements, he was just born to dance! It was pure pleasure dancing with him. In fact, it was very pleasant just to be in his company.

They had so much in common: background, education, people they knew, memories of the Cambridge times, similar sense of humour. Simon was a real gentleman… kind, nice, caring and very friendly. And he hasn't overstepped any mark so far. Just a kiss on a cheek for welcome and for goodbye. This might have seemed odd a bit, as they have met several times already but Harry was glad of it, it suited her, and he seemed just to sense it.

She felt a bit sorry she didn't feel a real female excitement in his company, her pulse didn't speed up at his touch, her cheeks didn't blush at his look, she didn't get off balance when he unexpectedly complimented her. However, just yesterday while soaking in the hot bath she finally admitted to herself that maybe, just maybe, it would be good to have somebody to put her arms around, to snuggle, to nuzzle his chest and just cherish the moment. But, at least so far, she couldn't imagine Simon in this role.

Anyway, she felt very comfortable with him despite this… or maybe because of this? Being with Simon was like a slow, peaceful and quiet walk in the countryside in the warm summer afternoon. She needed it, it was the relaxation after her daily hectic life in the SI-10 squad and the constant rollercoaster which was the factory disruption and Dempsey's personality full of contradictions.

"Come on Harry stop thinking about work again" she reprimanded herself mentally, pretending not to acknowledge the fact it was not work she's been thinking of.

Perhaps the thing was, that kind of a friendly relationship with Simon let her be herself – she didn't have to pretend anything, she didn't have to remember to keep her feelings down deep inside, she didn't have to worry she might reveal them and first of all she didn't have to have the fear that someday her heart would be broken into pieces again.

"A penny for your thoughts, Harriet."

Harry blinked several times, suddenly pulled out of the deep corner of her minds, and looked at him a bit distracted.

"Oh, ah, errr, this and that, you know" she smiled. "Did you taste any of those small things?" she pointed at the table.

Simon raised his hand. "Don't worry, I won't ask again. I don't break and enter your secret palace of dreams, My Lady" he caught her hand and kissed it with laughter.

"Thank you, Milord" she curtsied with grace.

Break and enter. The bloody work again!

Oh God, that's enough. You are overworked and frustrated. That's just a phrase!

Both focused on the plates handed them by the waiters and started eating, looking at the people and exchanging comments about them, when Charlotte, the elder daughter of Lady Atherton, came over to them, together with the director in the leather jacket.

"Lady Harriet, so glad to see you!" Charlotte smiled, showing the dimples in her cheeks. "And look who's here, my brother's best friend!" she looked at Simon. "How are you, Simon? Long time no see."

Harry faced politely to the director. "Hello, I'm Jason Dalley" he shook Harry's hand. "Pleased to meet ya."

"Harriet Makepeace. Pleased to meet you, too. How do you like the party?"

"Nice, indeed. So English. Ya know all these people here? So posh!" his eyes smiled in his craggy face. "I got a feelin' I am in an old stylish movie."

"Oh I bet you do" Harry laughed. He looked at her with the raising interest.

"Unbelievable!" he said with amusement. "Oh I'm sorry but ya know ya are the first person here who didn't ask me at once: 'are you a Yank?' How that's possible?"

Harry looked at him surprised and laughed. Only after his words has she realised the guy was speaking unbelievably slow American drawl.

"Easy to explain" she said "I've been working with an American for a long time. I got used to his accent and I think I just don't hear it anymore."

"Aaaaah, I see. Very comfortin' for me. Well" he looked around "nice to talk to ya, Lady Harriet. Come to our film set once, I'll show you ev'rythin'." He gifted her with a sexy smile and rushed towards the other group of people. Simon watched him with amusement.

"Hitting on a girl by the 'film set' pitch? I don't believe it." he snorted.

"At least he didn't offered me watching his stamp collection" Harry giggled. "Poor guy doesn't know I am not impressed by this Hollywood stuff. But I don't think he tried to hit on me, it's just his style."

Simon gave her a glass of wine. "Here you are, let's finish and go dance. Lady Atherton is looking at me in a way that makes me scared. Let's dance before she asks me to."

About an hour later they were a bit tired but really had fun, dancing, talking to the people and snacking. Finally Harry decided to have a rest.

She sat down on an old wooden bench a bit far from the others while Simon went to pick up drinks, and looked at the garden with the delight. What a nice night.

Suddenly she remembered another night at a party like that, only that was in December, and she had asked Dempsey to accompany her. He was fascinated! Harry snorted with laughter remembering his boyish joy and his words about 'aristocrats with big… errr… personalities'. Well, he'd surely like these ones here too!

Simon came back and gave her a glass of champagne. He sat down beside her. "Are we having fun, lady Winfield" he asked, putting his arm over her shoulder and looking in her eyes he tilted his head. "You seem to be far away from here sometimes."

"Do I"? she was surprised. "Sorry, I didn't want to. I am having fun, believe me."

"Well..." Simon wanted to say something more but suddenly he interrupted and frowned. "What's going on there?"

There was a kind of turmoil at the table where most of the guests stood. Harry felt a stab of alarm in her body and stood up and rushed towards the table. Simon followed her.

In the circle of light stood Charlotte Atherton, gasping for air, her face chalky white, her eyes widened. She looked shocked and she seemed not to see anyone or anything.

"Good God, darling, what's going on?" it was Lady Atherton's voice full of anxiety. Charlotte stared at her blankly.

"He's dead. He's dead. He's lying there... blood… the knife in his chest. Jason… Jason Dalley is dead."

It was this day one in a million when despite the late hour both Dempsey and Spikings were still in the office. Spikings needed to complete documents for the next day conference with the upstairs so he had left for early dinner at six and came back an hour later – and now was sitting in his office lost in work, trying not to wonder what made the bloody Yank to be here and not to go home or for a night out.

Dempsey, instead, couldn't answer this question even if Spikings verbalized it. He just didn't feel like either going back to his empty apartment or visiting any pubs or bars. He thought that he might just as well stay here and at least straighten the papers and finish a report that was due for tomorrow. Typing without rush, he was murmuring obscenities under his breath but very quietly. He hated that. He hated this stupid paperwork. He hated this desk. He hated this office… well at least tonight.

"Damn" he hissed when he made another typo, left the report and went to pour himself another coffee. At the same moment Spikings entered the outer office.

"Coffee, chief?" Dempsey's mouth twisted in a grimace that was probably meant to be a friendly smile.

"Thanks" Spikings took the mug and looked at him very carefully with the beady look. "Everything all right, Leftenant?"

"Of course" Dempsey tried to look surprised. "Evrythin' tickety-boo, as you Brits say. Even the coffee tonight's better, dunno why."

"Because it's my private" Spikings explained, still keeping his eyes on Dempsey. The Yank looked tired, his five o'clock shadow got stronger and darker, hair in a more dishevelled mess than usual, shadows under his eyes. "Why don't you go home and have some rest, Dempsey?" he asked kindly.

Dempsey returned to his chair and sat down, putting his feet on the desk. He grinned wickedly. "Hey boss, t'is the first time I'm workin' overtime voluntarily an' ya wanna get rid of me?"

"All I'm saying is we all need peace and quiet sometimes…" Spikings was interrupted by the phone ring. He returned to the inner office. "For goodness sake, if that's my wife…" he picked up the receiver. "Yes" he barked unwelcomingly.

Dempsey returned to typing the report but Spikings' next words made him scrambled immediately.

"Makepeace?! What's going on?! What?"

James appeared at the threshold at the lighting speed and looked at the boss with the ill-disguised anxiety. Spikings was listening, making notes, nodding and murmuring in assent. Finally he commanded: "All right then, secure the area and wait for us." He hung up and faced Dempsey. "Get your skates on Leftenant. We got a murder at the Atherton House."

Simon was really impressed by how sweet and sexy Lady Harriet Winfield immediately changed into Detective Sergeant Harry Makepeace when it came to crime.

She asked all the guests, with the paramount authority in her voice, to leave the garden and get together in the spacious living room, she asked him to stay and not to let anyone approach the body and she called the forensics team and her boss. The forensics came first and she dismissed Simon from his duty, and now she was talking to a police doctor and some technicians. Simon stood few feet away listening and watching; he knew it was a bit childish but he was glad she didn't pay attention he was still here; it was so fascinating! Harry's face changed totally, she was cool, serious, concentrated at her task; oh my God, what a woman, Simon thought with raising delight. He felt like being in a criminal movie, like watching it from the inside, and he liked it.

Just two minutes later, two men entered the garden and rushed towards Harry and the police doctor; one of them, Simon guessed, was Harry's boss, a silver-haired gentleman with moustache, moving springily; another one was Lieutenant Dempsey. Simon smiled; he had taken to the feisty Yank at the moment they had met for the first (and so far, the last) time. The American had that something that made him trustful and loyal. Simon thought he'd like a chance to have a chat with him, the man was really interesting. Perhaps one day they could go for a pint. "Good evening, Leftenant" he welcomed Dempsey, holding out his hand to him in greeting.

Had he expected the warm answer he was disappointed. Dempsey barely looked at him. "Doc," he nodded briefly with a stone face and at once he turned to Harry and their boss, who was already asking Harry about the details of the crime. But Simon, unpleasantly wondered at Dempsey's rude behaviour, followed them with his eyes and noticed a strange wince in Harry's look and just a small twitch of anger, or… resentment? in her face, it was just a blink-and-you-miss-it thing but it was there.

Spikings looked at Simon questioningly, so Harry rushed to explain in few words who he was and what his temporary role on the crime scene was. Spikings motioned Simon. "Well thank you Mr McPherson for your kind help but now I have to ask you to go back to the house and to wait with the rest of the guests for us." Simon obeyed without a word and went towards the house, a bit feeling sorry he couldn't stay there, a bit curious of what the thought he'd just witnessed.

"And you, haven't you noticed anything?" Spikings asked.

Harry shrugged. "No, Sir. We had a quick word when Charlotte Atherton introduced us to each other. Then I lost a sight of him and an hour later he's been found dead."

"Well" Spikings looked around "let's go inside, children. Time to speak to the people. How many?"

"About thirty, Sir. Minus the stiff, I mean the victim, and me of course. Still a lot."

"Let's talk at least to the Athertons and leave the rest for tomorrow. And this errr, friend of yours, I assume you think he's also beyond suspicion?"

"Sir…" she hesitated "yes, I think so…" For a moment she felt a kind of disloyalty to poor Simon but pulled herself together; that was work now. "In theory, just in theory, I could assume he might have known the stiff… the victim! before and had a reason to kill him..." God, it sounds so ridiculous, she thought. Both men looked at her with appreciation: that was their Makepeace all over, reasonable and impartial when necessary. "But" she added quickly "it's obvious he himself couldn't be the murderer. We've been all the time together. He could hardly have a minute to be alone."

Dempsey, who has been unusually silent so far, looked at her in a way that made her realised it sounded a bit ambiguously. "What I mean is…" she began but suddenly interrupted, angry at herself. She had no obligation to explain anything to him, she might define what she meant to Spikings, but Spikings evidently wasn't interested in such details and didn't expect them. She quickened to avoid any nasty comment from Dempsey, and entered the house before the men. From now on, it was going to be quite a long night.