Chapter 3
The hefty wooden door – about a foot thick and studded with nails whose heads were the size of golf balls – was open, and a stone ramp led up to the daylight beyond.
As we climbed the steep slope, I did a quick calculation and reckoned that the walls were probably as much as four or five metres thick and the same kind of height – definitely built to repel even the most determined assault.
When we emerged at the top of the ramp, it was to find ourselves in a totally unexpected environment.
Secluded by the surrounding walls was an enchanting sub-tropical garden half the size of a football pitch, with palm trees, exotic shrubs and, at the centre, a swimming pool surrounded by lavender and rosemary bushes.
All around were buildings constructed against the inside of the defensive walls which, presumably, had once housed the garrison.
I followed Mary along a paved path through the bushes to the largest of the buildings.
A series of arches along the front had been glazed and they looked out onto a charming terrace protected from the sun by a wrought-iron pergola covered in luxuriant vines.
She led me along the terrace until she reached a glass door.
She tapped on it and, without waiting for an answer, held it open for me.
‘This is Miss Graceland’s study. She’ll see you here. Arrivederci, Signor Armstrong.’ She spoke in hushed tones as she ushered me inside before closing the door quietly behind me and leaving me on my own.
I stood still and took stock. It was a large room for a study, and although there was a bookcase full of books, including one whole shelf of gardening books – presumably the film star’s hobby – the focal point of the room was a massive TV screen mounted on the end wall.
Compared to the outside temperature, it was blissfully cool in here and I could see that a new air-conditioning system had been installed.
Directly in front of me was a big, old-fashioned wooden desk with a modern office chair behind it, but there was no sign of my host. The desktop was piled high with untidy heaps of paper, most covered in scribbled handwriting, and there was a large-screen laptop closed in the centre of it.
There was a fine old wooden door set in the wall to my left, presumably connecting with the rest of the house, and a pair of stylish, modern sofas to the right, facing each other across a glass-topped coffee table.
The vaulted brick ceiling had quite clearly been recently sandblasted, and the room had been replastered and repainted.
The floor was paved with light-grey marble slabs – probably not original – strewn with handsome Persian rugs, and the overall impression was of comfort and understated opulence.
I heard footsteps approaching, and the door on my left opened.
I turned at the sound of the door handle and found myself in the presence of a true megastar.
I recognised Alice Graceland immediately, and my first impression was that she surely couldn’t be over sixty.
She was casually dressed in a blue skirt and a T-shirt advertising The Eagles’ comeback tour at Madison Square Garden, and she looked stunning.
As her bright-blue eyes – either by accident or design, the exact same shade as her skirt – met mine, she produced a radiant smile that threatened to reduce me to a gibbering wreck, fiancée or no fiancée.
She was a stunningly attractive woman, and I found myself smiling gormlessly back at her.
She walked over to where I was standing and extended an elegant hand.
‘Mr Armstrong, good morning. Thank you for coming.’
Close up, I could see a handful of fine lines around her eyes, but she could very easily have passed for ten or even twenty years younger than me. Mind you, a lot of people look younger than me these days.
‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Graceland. It’s an honour to meet an actor of your stature.’
She gave me a deprecating smile. ‘You’re too kind. Please take a seat. I’d like to talk to you.’
I sat down on one of the leather sofas facing her and she took a seat opposite me.
‘The reason I’ve invited you here is because, at the end of the month, I’m having a house party, and I would like you to come.
’ No doubt noticing my puzzled expression, which had been there since Selena had told me about the invitation, she elaborated.
‘I want you here in your professional capacity. I’m going to need you for your expertise as a detective, and I insist on paying you for your time. ’
Conflicting thoughts were going through my head.
There was a certain amount of disappointment, although even in my most optimistic moments, I hadn’t really been expecting her to offer to turn my books into blockbuster movies.
This sense of disappointment was tempered by the thought of who might be at this party.
Was I likely to find myself surrounded by famous faces and maybe even Hollywood film producers interested in turning my books into movies?
Along with this was natural curiosity to know exactly why she felt she needed the presence of a private investigator at the party. Before I could ask, she explained.
‘It’s going to be a murder mystery weekend.
’ I probably looked a bit vague, so she gave me more detail.
‘I don’t know if you’ve ever been to one before, but the idea is that, with the aid of a few actors, I give my guests a good dinner and in the course of it, I present them with a murder – naturally, a fictitious murder – and they have to sniff out the culprit or culprits. ’
I gave her a smile in return. ‘That sounds interesting, but a murder mystery weekend is a new one on me. I must admit that, during my thirty years at Scotland Yard, I tended to get more than my fair share of real murder investigations without going out and looking for more. It’s very kind of you to think of me and, to be quite honest, seeing as most of my life now as a PI tends to consist mainly of marital infidelity and petty crime, it’ll be good to get involved with a murder investigation where nobody gets killed.
Where’s the party going to take place – here? ’
She nodded. ‘It’ll be the first opportunity I’ve had to show the place off. The builders only finished just before Christmas.’
‘Will your guests be staying here, or will they be staying in hotels?’
‘There will only be a dozen or so people, so they can all stay here, yourself included. There are twelve guest bedrooms, so there’s ample space.
By the way, I gather from Selena that you and your dog are a double act.
Do bring it with you, by all means. I love dogs and I’ll write it into the murder mystery script. ’
‘That’s very kind. I’ll tell him to be on his best behaviour. When exactly is the party taking place? You mentioned the end of the month.’
‘The invitations have gone out for people to come a week on Saturday. Most people will arrive in the morning, so we’ll lay on lunch here, and the main event will be a big dinner that night, and that will include the murder mystery.
Sunday will be more informal, with the opportunity for those who’re interested to do some sightseeing.
Sunday will also be the day when I can sit down and talk to some of my guests.
I expect people will head off again on Monday. ’
‘Could I ask who these people are going to be? Will they be family members, friends, business associates, fellow actors? I imagine they’re people you know and trust.’
‘They’re a mix of actors and movie people – you know, producers, directors, that sort of thing.’
I felt my hopes soar again at the thought of rubbing shoulders with what would undoubtedly be a highly influential group of people. Maybe people looking for a couple of murder mysteries to turn into blockbuster movies?
Unaware of my high hopes, she carried on.
‘I know what you’re going to say: you’re going to ask me why I’m inviting you in particular.
After all, you aren’t from the TV or movie world.
The answer is that you have what none of the people at the party actually have – me included – and that’s direct personal experience of real murder investigations.
People know me as Elisa Banbury, supersleuth, but I’m a fraud – I just recite the lines they give me.
I want my murder mystery to be as authentic as possible, and what could be more authentic than a real live Scotland Yard detective running things? ’
‘I can’t thank you enough but, given my lack of experience of these murder mystery games, you’re going to have to talk me through what you want me to do, if I really am going to be running things.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll see that you’re well briefed, and we’ll have a full rehearsal before the event. As for what you’ll be doing, it’s quite simple really: I’d like you to play the part of an investigator, a detective, not dissimilar to DCI Armstrong of the Metropolitan Police.’
I smiled back. ‘I think I should just about be able to remember how to do that.’
‘Excellent. Although the guests will be arriving a week on Saturday, would you be able to come on the Friday, so we can do a dummy run of the event with the actors that evening? That way, we should all know what we’re doing.
’ I nodded in agreement and she glanced at her watch.
‘Twelve-thirty already. We mustn’t keep Valentina waiting.
’ She jumped to her feet. ‘Let’s go and have lunch while I tell you more about what awaits you at the end of the month. ’
I followed her out through the door onto the terrace and along to the next building. Here, she ushered me into a large dining room with a table in the middle big enough for twenty people. We perched rather forlornly at one end of it.
Lunch was exquisite. The meal had been prepared by Diego’s wife, Valentina, and I learned that she, together with her husband, had come to live on the island, where they looked after Miss Graceland’s home throughout the year.
Alice Graceland told me that she had been exceptionally lucky to find such a talented pair, and I soon realised what she meant.
Over an amazingly tasty starter consisting of a salad of fresh crab meat mixed with slices of apple and pieces of a hard blue cheese, she told me that Valentina and her husband did everything from tending the garden to cleaning the house, and that their daughter, who lived in Mestre, just outside Venice on the mainland, was going to come and assist when the house party took place.
After the antipasti, Valentina arrived with homemade crespelle.
Unknown to her, these folded pancakes stuffed with cheese and ham are some of my all-time favourite Italian dishes, and Valentina’s tasted excellent.
For somebody used to living in Tuscany, where most meals are accompanied by Chianti – a red wine – it came as an interesting change to find that we were served white wine from an unlabelled bottle.
Miss Graceland told me that this was in fact Prosecco.
What was particularly interesting about this version was that, when first poured into our glasses, the wine fizzed like the sort of Prosecco with which I was familiar, but then immediately settled down to an extremely palatable table wine.
She told me that Diego sourced the wine locally in damigiane – fifty-litre glass containers – and bottled it himself.
I told her that I did the exact same thing with my local red, which is excellent, but I couldn’t fault this white wine either.
The crespelle were followed by another of my favourite dishes – fritto misto.
This lightly fried mix of prawns, squid, whitebait and octopus was exquisite, and I found myself marvelling at how Alice Graceland managed to stay so slim and fit if she ate and drank like this all the time.
Later on, unprompted, she offered me an explanation as Valentina served us panna cotta smothered with blueberries in syrup.
‘I don’t normally eat anything like as much as this. I’m going to have to go for a good long swim and spend an hour in the gym later on.’ A look of what might have been regret appeared on her face. ‘And then I’ll be back on rabbit food again.’
The conversation carried on, covering everything from murder cases I had investigated to life in Italy, and I told her that this sort of meal was also far more than I normally ate.
Valentina arrived and asked if me if I would like a digestivo, but I thanked her and asked for just an espresso.
At the end of the meal, I asked for more details of the people invited to the house party and Miss Graceland’s answer was inconclusive.
‘I’ll get Mary to email you the list when it’s finalised. She sent out the invitations a few weeks ago, and some have already said yes, but I’m still waiting to hear from the others. Desmond, that’s Desmond Norman, doesn’t like committing himself to anything in a hurry, but I imagine he’ll come.’
I immediately recognised the name. Desmond Norman had for many years been the modern-day equivalent of Cecil B.
DeMille, probably the most important and influential film producer in the world.
He had to be in his eighties now, but I’d heard that his name still commanded massive respect in movie circles.
I was impressed. It looked as though Alice Graceland was inviting the crème de la crème… and me. I suppressed an apprehensive gulp.
‘And the others?’
‘Mary will supply you with their details as and when they reply but, like I say, they’re a mix of people I’ve known for many, many years.’
‘What about wives and girlfriends?’
‘Some, but not many… Mary will be able to tell you more.’ She glanced at her watch and stood up.
Taking the hint, I hastily rose to my feet as she held out her hand to me again.
‘Thank you so much for taking the trouble to come and see me. I’m delighted you’re going to be able to help out.
I’ve written the script for the murder mystery myself and I plan on showing some of these big-noise directors and producers, not only that I’m the best actor they’ve ever worked with, but that I can do their own jobs better than they can, too.
’ Her eyes sparkled as we shook hands. ‘I’m not really that conceited, Mr Armstrong.
It’s just that Hollywood is still very much a boys’ club, and it’ll be fun to show them what a woman can do.
Now, I think it’s time for me to have a little siesta – it always happens when I drink at lunchtime – but Mary will be pleased to show you around before Diego takes you back to catch your train.
I look forward to seeing you at the end of next week. ’