Octavia was timing it as well as she could.  One five-second sip, and then a question.  Playing for time, hoping the sips she’d taken so far hadn’t poisoned her already.  The knife was still there, cool against her throat.  She took a sip (one, two, three, four, five) and asked, “Why are you doing this?”

Tamsin let out a dry splutter of a laugh.  “Are you joking?”

Another sip- one, two, three, four, five.  “Well, it can’t just be because Russel didn’t want to ask Martin about hiring a musician for the ceremony.”

Tamsin leaned forward, the knife shaking unnervingly as she moved, and whispered in Octavia’s ear.  “Are you actually fucking him, or do you just really want to?”

“What?!”  Octavia was so taken aback that she forgot to sip this time.

Luckily, Tamsin didn’t seem to notice.  She just rolled her eyes and put on a sardonic sing-song voice.  “Resurrecting his TV career…  Miss executive producer…”

Octavia wondered if it was worth it to try and tell the truth.  She might not believe it.  It might just make her angrier.  But she was quickly working her way up to murderous anyway. And honestly, what else did Octavia even have?

Sip- one, two, three, four, five.  “Nothing like that.”  Sip- one, two, three, four, five.  “He’s blackmailing me.”

The knife left her neck.  Tamsin had only moved it back an inch or two, but it was an improvement.  “What?”

Sip- one, two, three, four, five.  “He found out that I’d screwed over a businessman I worked with.”  One, two, three, four, five.  “George Chandler from LeFay Jewellers, if you really want to know.”

“Never heard of him,” said Tamsin.

“Really?”  One, two, three, four, five.  “He’ll be disappointed.”  One, two, three, four, five.

“How was he blackmailing you?”  Tamsin was still holding the knife up, but Octavia thought she might have relaxed her hand a bit.  Of course, she could just have been giving herself enough space to have a run-up if she decided to stab her.

One, two, three, four, five.  “He said he’d tell George Chandler where my children live.”

“You never said you had children.”

“I know.”  One, two, three, four, five.  “That’s because I don’t want people like George Chandler finding out about them.”  One, two, three, four, five.  “Or people like my mother.”

Tamsin’s frown deepened, and Octavia worried that she was about to ask why it had been kept from her, and was Octavia trying to call her a snitch?  “So how did Russel find out?”

One, two, three, four, five.  Here it was.  If anything she said caused Tamsin to lose it and plunge the knife right in, it was this.  “He followed me.”  One, two, three, four, five.  “He got photographs of me at my daughter’s tenth birthday.”

One, two, three, four, five.  The knife hadn’t moved yet.  Of course, depending on what Tamsin had put in the tea, she might be as good as dead already.  At least that way George Chandler wouldn’t have any reason to go after Amber and Saffron.

“And why should I believe you?” asked Tamsin.

One, two, three, four, five.  “No idea.”  One, two, three, four, five.  “But it’s true.”  And there it was.  That was all she had.

(To be concluded)