The Devil in Disguise (Harry Devlin, Book 6)
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Harry Devlin is hired by the Kavanaugh Trust to contest the will of their late patron. Charles Kavanaugh has left everything to his new housekeeper, Vera Blackhurst. Then the current Chairman of the Trust is found dead, fallen from a third-floor hotel window. Did he jump or was he pushed?
collection of treasures.’ ‘I hope his tongue was firmly in his cheek,’ Roy said. ‘Geoffrey has no sense of humour whatsoever. It’s part of the person specification for partners in Maher and Malcolm. All I can say is that there is a small chink of light. We must make something of it. So I have a proposal.’ ‘Take out a contract on Vera Blackhurst?’ Roy suggested. He stretched his arms and emitted a comfortable belch. Harry reflected that it was just as well that Luke, that model of decorum, was
he had been celibate for too long. She led him into an L-shaped living-room stuffed with more antiques than the Lady Lever Art Gallery. Vivaldi was playing on a Scandinavian sound system that reminded him of something out of Star Trek. A Persian rug was stretched across the floor and he guessed it must have cost a fortune. Not a place to be sick on the carpet, he told himself. On the mantelpiece were half a dozen framed photographs showing Inge at various stages of her life since childhood. She
Putting on his most genial expression, Matthew said, ‘Tell you what, Harry. Why don’t you have a listen to this?’ He moved over to the sound system and selected a compact disc from the cabinet which he put into the player. The room was filled with discordant music and Harry had drunk enough to be unsure whether it was the booze or the din that was giving him a headache. Juliet grimaced. ‘What in God’s name is this?’ ‘Real fist to the piano stuff, eh? Yet without it, Harry and I would never have
harm? He liked a drink himself. But he was bothered by her appearance today. Not even her expertise with make-up could disguise the bruise on her left cheekbone. He was still looking the worse for wear himself, but she didn’t have the same excuse. He’d acted for too many battered wives not to be anxious about what the blemish might signify. But he hadn’t plucked up the courage to ask her about it. He’d need more than a couple of glasses of wine to start treading on such dangerous ground. ‘So Roy
offended a moment ago.’ ‘No, no. Really. Not at all.’ Matthew grinned. With his floppy fair hair and amiable manner, it was easy to picture him in a straw boater and striped blazer, punting a girl in a summer frock down the Isis. He was an investment consultant and, having met him at some cocktail party for the great and the good, Luke had persuaded him to become a trustee. He was the younger son of Lord Gralam, but although the family home was in Surrey, he had moved up North the previous