Marilyn Todd - Sour Grapes

'Thimbles!'

'Goose eggs!'

'Who'll buy my tasty veal pies?'

Another time Claudia would have enjoyed browsing among the bolts of brightly coloured cottons that sat cheek by jowl beside cucumbers, mackerel and pitch as she nibbled on hot, flaky pastries washed down by dark Tuscan wine. Today, though, her mind was on murder and sabotage, and a man bent on taking over her business…

His motives didn't concern her. She'd known men who were richer than Croesus, who still wanted more money. Greed, covetousness, a mere itch they wanted scratching… who cared?

You might want to ask yourself how best to get round the problem of him assuming control of your estate once they tie the knot.

She might also want to ask herself why the Security Police working a murder case in which a family friend was the chief suspect would concern himself with a man who was nothing more than a bit of hot gossip, but Orbilio had a point. If Larentia went ahead with her marriage to Darius (and at sixty-eight, this was her last chance for happiness, so why wouldn't she?), how could Claudia stop him taking power over her business?

Sauntering through the crush, patting piglets in their crates, examining some very odd-shaped roots in a basket and overhearing how the wheelwright's eldest had come down with a ringworm and kindly passed it round the whole family, she wondered where Candace fitted into the puzzle. Orbilio seemed confident that Claudia would work out how the sorceress pulled off that stunt yesterday evening, but she wasn't so sure, and whilst well within her right to turn her out of her house, she felt it was far better to keep an eye on this walker of winds and see where her ambles led.

Turning the corner at the basket-weaver's stall, Claudia felt a light tap on her shoulder. 'Terrence!'

'I was finalizing the arrangements for the Lamb extravaganza when I happened to notice you.' If he'd been rattled by last night's performance with Candace, he masked it well. 'Perhaps when you come to the party you could set aside a little time to talk privately?' he suggested. 'There's a little business matter I would like to discuss

… Oh, for pity's sake, Thalia!'

'You… you don't like it?' His sister's pale face blenched even whiter as she smoothed the robe that hung over her arm. 'The dressmaker assured me that these pleats are the latest fashion, is… isn't that right, Claudia?'

'It's not the dressmaker's word that's at issue, Thalia. The Lamb Festival is supposed to be a celebration of new life, not a bloody wake.' Terrence rolled his eyes. 'What on earth made you buy grey, for gods' sake?' He turned to Claudia. 'I'm sorry, I'm going to have to sort this out while the dress maker still has time to run up a new gown. But remember what I said. Come early. Please.'

He grabbed Thalia's new robe and almost pushed his sister back in the shop. Thank Juno, Claudia had never had siblings! Pushing on through the market, she noticed a familiar Caesar-cut outside the silversmith's shop.

'If Larentia told you she's pregnant,' she quipped, 'she's hooked you under false pretences.'

Replacing the perfume flask he'd been admiring, Darius turned his eyes to her. 'Oh?' They were amber brown like quartz, she noticed. And every bit as hard. 'I thought that was her granddaughter's device.'

Claudia wondered what other family secrets Larentia had been pressed to divulge. 'Like any healthy teenage girl, Flavia is discovering life's rich tapestry,' she trilled back. 'It's simply unfortunate that she makes progress one stitch at a time.'

'Don't you think maturity will remain out of her reach, so long as you persist in shielding her from things such as last night's events?'

Claudia had forgotten how much gravel he kept down his throat. 'As a matter of fact, it was her choice not to attend Candace's summoning of the spirits.' Communing with her dead father was all very well, but… 'She and Orson opted for whispering sweet nothings under the stars instead.'

Darius's lips parted in what he must have presumed was a smile. 'Ain't love grand.'

'You should know.'

'I do.'

He started to cough, that same dry, unproductive cough that Claudia hoped was his conscience, and when the spasm was over, his voice was softer.

'I don't expect you to believe this, and you've every right to be sceptical, but I've grown very fond of Larentia during the past few months. I won't lie to you. She's not the love of my life and she knows it, but neither of us are in the first flush of youth and, since I have no family, companionship does have its merits.'

'As does a profitable wine business.'

'With all respect, Claudia, my stud farm turns three times the profits your vineyards make, and even that income pales into insignificance when set against the rents and profits from my property investments and, as I am sure you know already, my not inconsiderable inheritance.'

At first, she mistook the rumble at the back of his throat for another cough.

'Holy heralds,' he said, shaking his head. 'In all my life I never imagined asking permission for my bride's hand in marriage to a girl young enough to be my own daughter.'

Claudia chewed her lip and thought there was only one way to get round the problem, and that was to discredit the bastard. 'Larentia is happy,' she said.

The laugh deepened. 'Did it hurt very much to say that?'

'Yes.'

'Good. Because now, perhaps, we can be friends.' He picked up a silver mirror. 'Do you think Ren would like this?'

'Darius, the woman's sixty-eight. She's not going to appreciate being shown her reflection by a man twenty years younger than she is.'

'See?' He exchanged the mirror for the silver perfume flask he'd been examining earlier and didn't haggle over the price. 'I knew we'd be friends.' He handed the bottle to Claudia with a bow. 'Please accept this as a token of my undying gratitude for being spared a hideous embarrassment.'

A genuine gesture? Or a trinket to bribe her round? Darius was proving difficult, she realized. The more she knew of him, the less she understood. This was not as straightforward as she had hoped. But then discrediting wealthy respectable breeders of horse flesh was never going to be easy.

Down one of the side streets, a creaking cart loaded with timber graunched painfully and Darius excused himself a moment to push his way through the produce and livestock to run after it. Curious, Claudia followed.

'You want to grease those bloody wheels!' Darius was shouting out to the driver.

'Oh, yeah.' The waggoner sneered. 'And what's it to you?'

'Me? Nothing. To the oxen, it makes a whole world of difference.'

The driver spat insolently into the gutter. 'Give me one good reason why I should worry about them, when they sure don't worry about me.'

'Because if nothing else, they'll live longer and save you money,' Darius snapped, adding 'poor buggers' to Claudia under his breath.

'Talking of living longer,' she said as they rejoined the swaying crowd, 'I notice you didn't ask to speak to any of your loved ones last night.'

'For one thing, I have no loved ones to call upon,' he said, raising his voice to make himself heard, 'and for another, I believe in keeping communications with the dead to a minimum.'

'You surprise me.'

'May I ask why?'

'The way you accept Larentia's confidence in Candace's spells. "Taken prisoner by local superstition", I believe you called it.'

Darius stopped and looped his thumbs into his belt. 'Acceptance isn't the same as approval,' and once again she thought, this was indeed a voice that had trod the path to Hell. 'But somehow Ren's got it into her head that this town has been jinxed, which is absolute bullshit. However, I have to respect that Larentia's buried one husband plus three out of four children, and that old age is also creeping up. She's bound to be… what's the word?'