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“Can we focus on the problem at hand?” Agnes said. “As far as I can see, everything will be fine if we stick to the west side of the house. What are the chances of Duncan leaving his studio? Can we lock him in if we have to?”
“If we get desperate.” The key was in her pocket, just in case. “But the cook usually takes him a tray for his lunch. He only leaves to go to the toilet, and that’s in the same corridor.” Something caught Donna’s eye and she froze. “We have an audience.”
The three women looked up at the mansion. Duncan stood in the window, staring at them. His arms were folded, and there was a frown on his face.
“Everybody, smile and wave,” Donna said through clenched teeth.
They waved and smiled.
“Do you think he’s suspicious?” Mairi said without moving her lips.
“He’d have to be a real idiot if he wasn’t.” Agnes glanced at Donna, who was in the middle, and she froze. “Don’t look now, but Joyce is charging over the lawn with her walker, and she keeps getting stuck.”
Donna couldn’t help glancing to the side. Joyce was indeed heading their way. Today, she was wearing a luminous orange leisure suit with clashing purple hair and lime-green running shoes, and every time she put her walker down on the water-logged ground, it sank. She’d yank it up, give it a shake, curse a blue streak and charge on. Behind her, Flora appeared out of the bushes, pushing a wheelbarrow laden with boxes. One of them flew open, and a string of paper hearts floated over the grass.
“I’m going to kill them,” Agnes said.
“Please do,” Donna muttered.
And then she heard a voice, booming out over the estate. “Donna, I need to talk to you.”
Her eyes flew to the studio window, which was now wide open. Duncan was leaning out with his hands on the ledge. All he had to do to see the two committee members was turn his head. Her hands flew to the bottom of her shirt. If ever there was a time to get naked, it was now.
Agnes grabbed her shoulders. “Don’t even think about it. Get in there and talk to that man. Preferably, when his back is to the windows. I’ll deal with the two witches, and Mairi will keep an eye out for the sound people.”
“Yes, you’re right. Of course you’re right. Stripping isn’t the answer.” But it was hard to unclench her fingers from her shirt.
“Not this time,” Mairi said.
“Donna.” Duncan was losing patience. “I want to talk to you. Now.” There was a pause, and then he said a word she wasn’t even sure he knew, “Please.”
The three sisters gaped at him.
“Oh crap,” Mairi said. “He has a brain tumour.”
Agnes groaned. “Don’t make me hit you. Distract Duncan while Donna gets into the house.” She pushed Donna towards the mansion. “You deal with your boss.” And then she waved at Duncan before casually striding towards the women on the lawn.
“Hi, Duncan,” Mairi said. “So, I hear you don’t like painting nudes. Are animals more your thing?”
Donna heard Agnes muttering something as Mairi smiled brightly up at Duncan, who looked bewildered. Without a word to her sister, he slammed the window shut.
“Job done.” Mairi grinned. “I am totally underestimated by everyone around me.”
“Joyce,” Agnes called. “What are you doing? Get off the grass!”
> With a groan, Donna entered the mansion and hurried towards the studio, feeling like she was heading to her doom.
***
The Sinclair sisters were up to something. It didn’t take a genius to see it or to figure out it involved the mansion. If he weren’t so nervous about talking to Donna, he’d have investigated. But right now, he had other things on his mind, and whatever the sisters were hatching didn’t take precedence.
He wiped his palms on the thighs of his jeans. This was crazy. He’d asked women out on dates before. Hell, he’d been married. So why were nerves making him pace? He was a grown man. Almost forty. He paused in his pacing across the studio floor. Maybe this wasn’t nerves? Perhaps it was a mid-life crisis? Was thirty-eight too early to have a crisis? Maybe men had them earlier. He should have asked his brother about this when he’d called him. At thirty-nine, Hamish was much more likely to pierce his ear and buy a motorbike than Duncan was.
So, nerves then. It had to be. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this nervous. He thought hard and came to the conclusion it was when he was fourteen and had asked Bernadette to see a film with him. Perhaps he shouldn’t have thought of that. Bernadette had said no. What if Donna said no too? He stopped in front of the painting of his wife.
“What do I say to her?” he asked Fiona and then groaned. “What am I doing? I can’t ask my wife how to chat up a woman.”
He turned the painting so Fiona faced the wall. It was better that there were no witnesses to him making a complete fool of himself.
