The Devil in Disguise Read Online Free Page B

open door to his right. A couple of white-haired men with hearing aids were playing piquet at a small table. The room had a domed ceiling which emphasised the atmosphere of religious solemnity. It was hard to imagine that they were in the heart of the city of football and pop music, of stand-up comics and stevedores.
    Harry was seized by the sudden urge to shout, ‘All right, lads! Let’s have a look at the filthy pictures, shall we?’ But he thought better of it. Even if the old fellers could be persuaded to unveil their stock of superannuated porn, their hearts would probably split under the strain once they took a look at it.
    Suddenly he heard a woman’s giggle from behind the opposite door. It was a sound as unlikely as rap music in
    a monastery. From the doorknob hung a placard saying: Kavanaugh Trust - Private Meeting . Harry knocked and, without waiting for a reply, pushed open the door and walked inside.
    Matthew Cullinan was facing him. He had his arms round the waist of a woman in a gingham overall and he was squeezing her ample buttocks.
    Harry groaned inwardly. Why did he always rush in where others feared to tread? If only he had stayed outside and waited for a summons he might have been spared the spectacle of a scion of the aristocracy sexually harassing a serving wench. And wasn’t Matthew reputed to be something of a shrinking violet, anxious to avoid any hint of publicity or breath of scandal? Perhaps he thought that goosing a caterer didn’t count, that waving his cheque book around gave him some from of droit de seigneur .
    Matthew winked at Harry and whispered in the woman’s ear, ‘We have company, darling.’
    She looked over her shoulder and blushed. Plump, with a plain but pleasant face, she reminded Harry of a farmer’s wife. He estimated that she was in her mid-thirties, rather older than Matthew. ‘I did warn you that we shouldn’t mix business with pleasure.’
    To his surprise, she spoke with a slight German accent. Well, a Bavarian farmer’s wife, then. Harry was flummoxed: he would have guessed that Matthew’s taste was for leggy Sloane Rangers. Matthew disentangled himself from her and strode forward to offer Harry his hand. A half-forgotten phrase sprang to Harry’s mind: the tranquil consciousness of effortless superiority . This fellow made the average cucumber look hot and bothered.
    â€˜Sorry to barge in on you.’
    â€˜No harm done. Inge is quite right. I should have allowed her to carry on sorting out the eats. May I introduce the two of you, by the way? Darling, this is the Trust’s solicitor, Harry Devlin. Harry, meet my girlfriend, Inge Frontzeck.’
    â€˜Oh.’ Okay, so he’d misjudged the scene. But why did her surname sound familiar?
    The woman smiled. ‘Hello. I do hope you weren’t offended a moment ago.’
    â€˜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 summer. Luke had assured Harry that Matthew was anxious to shun the limelight, to the point of being almost a recluse. But just at the moment there were no signs that he was easily embarrassed in the presence of others.
    â€˜We’re the ones who should apologise. You must have thought we were enacting a scene taken from the club’s private collection. I have been a bit naughty, I suppose. I told Luke that I felt it would be a good idea for us to bring caterers in since the club’s facilities are, frankly, rather limited. Inge is in the business and I asked her if she wouldn’t mind helping