Thoughtfully, all murmured something along those lines, raised their glasses and took a very small sip.
Lily’s palms were beginning to sweat with fear. It seemed a cold draught was blowing on the back of her neck. She told herself that the male members of the gathering were not her responsibility. She told herself that a six-foot Serbian sporting a duelling scar and brazenly imposing himself on the company was hardly the elusive Irish woman they were seeking. But the feeling of dread would not leave her. With a surge of relief, she saw the imposing figure of Sandilands passing with a full plate some yards away. She screwed up her courage and called out to him.
‘Joe! What ho, Joe!’
He spun around, concerned, alerted by the intimate use of his name.
Almost crushed by the sudden attention she was attracting, she managed an encouraging: ‘Won’t you come and join us?’
He stood surveying the group until Rupert took over, inviting him to sit next to the Serbian in the remaining place. He introduced Sandilands to his neighbour.
‘You’ve just missed an amazing tale of derring-do,’ Edward commented.
‘Oh, yes!’ Lily added. ‘A chapter from John Buchan, you’d swear! Do you realize you’re sitting next to an assassin, Joe?’ Her voice sounded improbably girlish to her own ears but Sandilands’ presence was giving her confidence and she knew he was receiving her message. ‘A self-confessed assassin! An expert in poisoning, shooting, clubbing and drowning.’
‘Great heavens! Your Highness is not, I trust, about to demonstrate any of these skills this evening? Perhaps someone should tell him whom he’s sitting next to?’ Sandilands said calmly, shaking out his napkin.
‘A Scotland Yard detective, I understand?’ Gustavus nodded. ‘But off duty tonight, I’m presuming? No cause for concern on either side. I perform no lethal tricks where there are ladies present.’