That the letter with its prospect of the Caribbean had arrived at 4 Lawrence Crescent instead of 4 Lawrence Street had been a mere coincidence, but when she had discovered that Dee Pearce had gone away without leaving a forwarding address Daisy had been sure that fate was taking a hand. What could she say? What would the unknown Dee be likely to say? In the end, she just left her number and rang off, feeling depressed. ‘Would you care to leave a message?’ĭaisy hesitated. ‘I’m afraid Mr Carrington is unavailable at the moment.’ The voice at the end of the phone was cool with suspicion. ‘Dee Pearce,’ she said, wondering if the other girl could hear the lie. ‘I’d like to speak to Seth Carrington, please,’ she said when she was finally put through to someone who announced herself as Mr Carrington’s personal assistant.ĭaisy glanced at the top of the letter. Wiping her palms on her skirt, Daisy reached for the phone. Why had he written this one by hand? If she had any sense she would fold up the letter, put it back in its envelope and return it to the sender with a message saying that it had been opened in error.īut being sensible wouldn’t get her to the Caribbean and it wouldn’t help her find Tom. She didn’t recognise the name, although it had a vaguely familiar ring to it, but everything about the letter was suspicious-not least the fact that Seth Carrington wrote like a man used to dictating letters and having them typed immaculately for him. ‘Call me if you are interested.’ It was signed in the same aggressive script: ‘Seth Carrington’.ĭaisy looked back at the telephone. ‘I will be in London from May 19,’ the letter had concluded curtly, with the name and telephone number of one of London’s most exclusive hotels. ‘.your name given to me by a mutual acquaintance.believe you might be interested in a proposition I have in mind.someone of your talents and discretion required for a forthcoming trip to the Caribbean.’ Daisy’s eyes skimmed the letter again, although she knew it by heart, and stopped at that tantalising mention of the Caribbean, just as they had done when she’d first ripped open the envelope-before she had realised that it wasn’t addressed to her at all.
It was short and enigmatic, the bold black scrawl thrusting itself across the page as if the writer was used to expressing himself in a blunter, less elusive style. Daisy chewed her bottom lip as she looked from the telephone to the letter in her hand.
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