There were lots of other people in the darkness, laughter, guitar music, but there was no one by the Cazalet house.They passed it, turning up the left side of the estate through a marshy area with reeds growing high, found a place where the fencing gaped and squeezed into the garden. They could hear conversation and laughter, light through the trees and shrubbery.They had taken pills before leaving the cottage and were feeling the effects. “Are you getting high, brother?” Yanni whispered.“I’m floating, man,” Khalid told him.“Then put on your face.”Yanni pulled the ski mask on, and grinned as his brother did the same. “You look like a clown.”“So do you,” Khalid told him, and took his Glock out and dropped the shoulder bag to the ground. “Let’s do it,” he said to Yanni, and led the way cautiously.—On the terrace, they were at the coffee stage, Ferguson and Cazalet sitting down and Dalton pouring it out. Dillon was standing by the open window, enjoying a cigarette.
