Free The Silk Thief by Deborah Challinor Page B

enthusiastically. ‘You can have Connie, or me — I’m Hazel — or you can have Loulou.’
    Loulou, Leo presumed, was the petite, raven-haired beauty on the end of the sofa fluttering her eyelashes at him.
    ‘Actually,’ he said apologetically, ‘I’m here to see Friday.’
    There was a delicate but deliberate snort of derision from Loulou. He fixed her with a stony-faced gaze: she stared right back, not bothering with the fluttery eyelashes now. He looked at his watch and wondered if the other cove was waiting for Friday as well.
    When she pranced in minutes later, she stopped short and said, ‘What are you doing here?’
    The man on the sofa stood.
    So did Leo. ‘We need to talk. In private.’
    Connie and Hazel tittered, highly entertained.
    ‘Just one minute!’ the other man exclaimed. ‘I have an appointment!’
    Friday walked slowly across the floor towards him, her hips swinging and the semi-transparent fabric of her robe sliding away from her long, long legs. Leo was amused to watch her wrap muscled but lithe arms he himself had expertly tattooed around the cove’s neck and whisper in his ear. He reddened immediately, but nodded and returned to his seat, his hat over his lap.
    Friday beckoned: Leo followed her out of the salon. As they passed the open door to Elizabeth Hislop’s office, Elizabeth called out, ‘Any more than fifteen minutes, and you charge him!’
    Leo couldn’t tell whether she was joking or not.
    ‘I take it the little dark one, Loulou, doesn’t like you,’ Leo said as they climbed the stairs.
    Flicking him a sour look, Friday said, ‘She hates my guts, and I hate hers. Bloody light-fingered, too. Did Harrie tell you someone tried to break into the safe here last year? It was her, I’m sure of it. And she’s spying on me.’
    ‘Really? Why?’ Leo asked, but Friday had clamped her mouth shut.
    On the first floor she ushered Leo into a small, smartly furnished bedchamber, and closed the door.
    ‘What’s happened?’ she asked immediately.
    Leo remained standing. ‘I’ve just been to see Bella Shand.’
    Friday had been on the alert minutes earlier; now every nerve in her body was jangling. ‘Why? You don’t even know her.’
    ‘Young Walter left a letter, to be delivered after he sailed.’
    ‘Did you open it?’ Friday demanded. Bloody hell, what had Walter said about them? What did Leo know?
    ‘I did not. It wasn’t addressed to me.’
    ‘Did Bella tell you what it said?’
    ‘He admitted to killing Furniss.’
    ‘Christ, really? What did Bella say?’
    ‘She wanted to know who Walter is, if what he’d written was true, and where he is now.’
    ‘What did you tell her?’
    ‘I said it was true. She said she remembered Walter from the Isla . But as to his whereabouts, all I said was he’d left Sydney.’
    ‘She must know he’s on a ship for England.’
    ‘I’m sure, but what can she do about it now? Friday, you do know why Walter wrote that letter, don’t you?’ Leo asked. ‘He did it to protect you, so she wouldn’t come after you and Harrie and Sarah.’
    ‘I know, but …’ Friday stopped, realising that Leo was staring at her, arms crossed, eyebrows raised.
    ‘What I don’t understand is why would she have come after you?’
    Friday said nothing, feeling her face begin to burn. She sat on the bed.
    ‘Unless,’ Leo went on, ‘perhaps she thought you, or maybe Harrie or Sarah, killed Furniss.’
    ‘Shut up,’ Friday said.
    Leo ignored her. ‘But for her to think that, she must have known that at least one of you was in that burial ground with Furniss when he died. So, was it you, Friday?’
    ‘It’s none of your business.’
    ‘What were you doing there?’
    ‘Really, Leo, I can’t tell you.’
    Leo took Bella’s note from his jacket pocket. ‘You can if you want this.’
    ‘Is that from her? To me?’
    ‘Yes, but you’re not getting it till you tell me exactly what’s going on.’
    Friday put her face in her hands. God. Their