Chapter 8: Everybody in the Picture

Gwyneth's POV

Miles's voice came up from the terrace speakers through my open window.

"I'm not saying that," he announced to the entire inn.

I opened my door and found Celia already outside hers.

"What isn't he saying?" she asked me.

"Apparently everybody's about to find out," I told her.

Gregory emerged from the sitting room, tapping the microphone.

The taps boomed up from the terrace and rattled the corridor window.

He looked down at the switch, then tapped it again.

"That's enough testing," Celia said.

Miles followed him out with Finlay.

"The switch slides," Miles told Gregory.

Gregory pressed it with his thumb instead.

A piercing squeak made everybody step back.

I took my hand off the little screwdriver in my purse.

It wasn't my microphone, and I was wearing my nightdress.

Gregory finally turned the thing off.

"Good night," I said, and closed my door.

The following morning, Celia came to collect me for the portrait.

She had brought a steamer and a folder of example photographs.

"I don't need steaming," I told her.

"It's for the sleeves," she said.

I held out my bare arms, since my green dress had no sleeves to steam.

Celia looked at them and left the steamer outside.

Downstairs, the photographer had arranged chairs on the terrace.

The silver heart stood beside the biggest flower arch.

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