It was four in the afternoon. As usual, the tea tray was on the map table, laden with a sterling silver teapot and a plate of stem-ginger biscuits. Sinclair was just putting a cup of steaming Lapsang souchong to his lips when he heard Cordelia’s voice in the hallway downstairs. “Hellooooo!” she called. “Up here, Delia.” She sauntered in and dropped her coat and handbag on a chair. “I’m surprised you’re home,” she said. “Didn’t you have a meeting with Jim Gardiner?” “We ended early. Something turned up concerning VerPlanck’s wife, so I’ve been working here.” Cordelia walked over and looked at his notes. As she stood next to his chair, the scent of her new French perfume enveloped him. He looked up. She was absolutely lovely this afternoon. That outfit was terribly fetching in a ladylike way—the little tweed form-fitting skirt and jacket paired with very high heels. Her legs were encased in shimmery stockings. “What kind of assignation requires an outfit like that?
