A Fatal Slip Read Online Free PDF Page A

been referring to the fact that her arrival hadn’t been particularly joyful—in which case, it would certainly be an odd choice for a name,” Arabella said.
    Francis nodded his head. “You’re probably right.”
    Arabella turned to Brian and Emma. “Did you get our place cards?”
    Brian held up four folded pieces of heavy card stock with names handwritten on them in fancy script. He glanced at one of them. “We’re at table 14.”
    “I don’t suppose we shall know the rest of our dinner partners,” Arabella said, adjusting the light shawl draped over her shoulders. “No matter. I’m sure we’ll get along.” Arabella plucked an hors d’oeuvre from the tray of a circulating waiter. “Mmmm, caviar.” She tapped the waiter on the arm and he spun around. “You must try one,” she said to Emma, Brian and Francis. “It’s divine. Osetra, if I’m not mistaken.”
    “What on earth is Osetra?” Francis raised an eyebrow as he reached for the tray.
    “Very, very expensive caviar,” Arabella said, taking his arm. “Savor it,” she cautioned. “Burst the delicious, little bubbles with your tongue and cherish the flavor.”
    Francis raised both eyebrows. “I’m a country boy, Arabella. My pleasures are simple ones. Some good barbecue and a pitcher of Tennessee tea, and I’m a happy man.”
    “Nonsense.” Arabella slapped him on the arm playfully. “Everyone loves caviar.”
    Emma turned to Brian who was trying, as discretely as possible, to spit the hors d’oeuvre into his cocktail napkin. He laughed when he noticed Emma watching. “Sorry, I’m just not as sophisticated as you are.”
    Emma squeezed his arm. “It’s all a matter of taste. I knew some very sophisticated people who
hated
caviar.”
    Brian took Emma’s hand as they wound their way among the tables, looking for number 14.
    Suddenly Hugh’s amplified voice came from the front of the room.
    “I want to welcome you all here tonight and thank you for coming. My dear wife, Mariel, arranged this lovely get-together to celebrate not only my upcoming birthday, but also the fact that we have moved back to Paris to stay. I’ve spent most of my life traveling the globe, truly the peripatetic traveler, but now at my age”—he paused and there was polite laughter from the audience—“I’m ready to settle down. If you will find your tables, please, Mariel has a spectacular dinner and evening planned for you all.”
    A smattering of applause came from the audience, quickly dying away as people moved toward their seats, the ladies’ gowns rustling as they moved.
    Brian found their table easily enough and held out one of the gilt chairs for Emma while Francis did the same for Arabella. The centerpieces dripped with luscious pink and blue hydrangeas, and a dozen tea lights glittered among the crystal, china and silver. The beauty of it all—the elegant ballroom, the twinkling lights, the flowers, the caviar . . . everything . . . nearly took Emma’s breath away.
    “I think this is our table,” Emma heard someone say behind her. She twisted around in her seat. “Oh.”
    Brian, meanwhile, had jumped to his feet. “John!” He pumped the other man’s hand enthusiastically. He turned to Emma. “Emma, you remember the Jaspers, don’t you? John and Lara?”
    “Yes, certainly.” Brian and Emma had run into them one night while dining at L’Etoile, Paris’s most elegant restaurant. They were clients of Brian’s, having employed him to completely renovate the mid-century modern house they had recently purchased.
    “I think we’re at your table.” John gave a big smile, his round face flushed from champagne and the warmth of the room.
    Brian introduced Arabella and Francis as John pulled out a chair, and Lara slipped into it.
    “My wife, Lara,” John said with a look of pride.
    She was a beautiful young woman in her late twenties with long, golden brown hair and green eyes. Her low-cut, backless, sequined fishtail gown made the