The Precise Art Of Staying Alive

Chapter 30 - The Precise Art Of Hosting A Ball

I watched the sunset from my window, just as beautiful as it had been the first day that we'd arrived in Lake Meurtre. Instead of filling me with joy, it made me feel emptier than before, and I watched in the sun's glow dull with tired, bored eyes. The ball had started a few minutes before, and I was in no mood to hurry down and interact with strangers, inquiring about the house, competition and probably Nadia's disappearance. It had only been a few hours since she was reported missing, but she hadn't returned, and I supposed that in a town as small as Lake Meurtre, you took what little gossip you could get.

After the light had well and truly faded from the world, I wandered over to the cupboard, lazily opening it to reveal the white dress I'd bought hanging up. Even though it's shape was different from Nadia's white dress, I couldn't help but be reminded of it, and how she'd planned to wear it at the ball. If Nadia had been alive, then I had no doubt that she'd would've turned such a dull occasion into a wondrous one. I slipped the dress off the hanger, peeling off my heavy jumper, shirt, tights and skirt, shivering at the sudden cold, before pulling the dress on, carefully adjusting the delicate straps over my shoulders. The dress had a sweetheart neckline, and the bodice was fitted down to my stomach, where it flared out into a soft, flowy skirt, just brushing my knees. Running my hands over the smooth, cold fabric, I walked to the side table, brushing my hair slowly, until it was as smooth as it could be. The task was fruitless, and I satisfied myself by hooking long, dangly gold earrings into my ears.

I fastened my black heels onto my feet, trying to control the unease that was slipping through me. I didn't want to pretend I was fine, to force a smile on my face and talk about whose gardeners were dating whose maids or whatever small talk the elite citizens of Lake Meurtre made. But I had come up with the idea to act normal myself, in a strange moment of strength and I had to carry through with it. I pushed open the door, my limbs already feeling heavy and exhausted, and made my way downstairs. There was no one in the hallway, and at the edge of the kitchen door, a long piece of white silk was blocking off the hallway, preventing anyone from snooping further into the house.

I ducked under it, stepping into the kitchen, where delicate platters of food were placed on spare counter spaces and an assortment of crystal glasses was arranged on a dessert tier. The pantry doors were open, that same white silk pinned up the side and drooping along the top, providing an archway. I stepped into the pantry, where the food had been blocked off by what must have been spare sheets hanging over the shelves. The door was open, glittering fairy lights lighting the way up, twisting back and forth over the roof of the passageway. I walked up slowly, my gaze drifting over the lights, sparkling like stars in the night. Chatter sounded from the room, polite and delicate mixed with fake, high-pitched laughter. It was an effort to keep my lips from curling. I finally entered the room, my gaze sweeping across the familiar walls. The walls had been adorned with white and grey silks, as well as sparkling fairy lights which criss-crossed over the ceiling. The one table was laden with food and more cups, various bottles of champagne and wine open, waiting to the side.

Everyone was dressed in finery: long, elegant dresses, sharp suits, all in shades of glittering grey, white and black. Clearly, there was an unwritten dress code, or maybe there was a dress code, and I'd just missed it. I had no memory of anyone making invitations, let alone sending them out. Maybe I was even less observant than I'd previously thought. By a stroke of luck, I blended in with my white dress, but it seemed a little childish compared with the floor-length dresses and gowns that adorned some of the guests. I looked around the room, searching for familiar faces - it seemed as if even a murder couldn't shake my familiar habit. Nicole appeared out of the crowd, clad in her high-low blue dress, seamlessly blending into the refined crowd.

"How's the party?" I asked quietly, idly picking up a crystal glass. Nicole made a face.

"Hell." She replied. I didn't doubt it. Somewhere, a soft waltz had begun to play, although no one was dancing, only mingling and idly talking. I brought my glass to the window, staring out at the mountains, my gaze fixed on a point just off in the distance. If I stayed there, then perhaps no one would bother me. My hastily concocted and admittedly short plan lasted for around ten minutes, before someone approached me, tapping me on the shoulder with a heavy finger. I spun around, forcing a smile to my face and looked up at a stranger. They had blond-grey hair and a towering, intimidating build. Their face was strong, a sharp jaw and broad forehead and nose, and even their wrinkles, lines etched across their forehead and by their mouth in straight lines seemed be tough. I noticed the lack of wrinkles by their eyes, signifying the fact that they spent a great deal more time frowning and providing fake smiles to people than genuinely smiling. Next to them was a shorter woman, although she was still tall, who had long, blond hair, a little too bright to be real and a carefully made-up face, complete with red-painted lips. My eyes flicked between them, waiting for them to introduce themselves. I didn't have to wait long.

"I'm William Cardill. Chief Constable William Cardill." Crap.