Kissing Toads (38 page)

There was much excitement and surprise among the team – much raising of eyebrows and lowering of voices – since no one but me had seen it coming.

‘I go to Glasgow Hilton,' Basilisa had announced to HG. ‘You pay. Then I contact
mis abogados
. You pay, and pay. I buy
casa nueva
, maybe Chelsea. You pay, and pay, and pay. You cannot treat me like this. I make you pay in
sangre
, in the blood of your heart. You will see!'

‘Not under English law,' HG retorted with the hint of a grin.

Basilisa, however, did not deign to hear him; it might have spoiled her exit. She drove off in convoy leaving a furore of speculation in her wake. Happily, it didn't occur to anyone that I might be involved, and only Russell remarked that I had very little to say for myself on the subject. ‘Does that mean we cut her out of the historical scenes?' he said. ‘If she and HG are splitting up, she may not wish to be part of the show any more.'

‘After we went to all that trouble,' I moaned, as horrific possibilities rose before me. Basilisa getting an injunction to stop the show because she was in it, Basilisa getting an injunction to stop the show because she
wasn't
in it . . .

‘Plus,' Russell said, determined to plumb the depths of gloom, ‘HG may not want her included now.'

‘Don't,' I said faintly.

‘
She'll
want to be in it,' Morty said. ‘It's
television
.' As if that was a clincher.

With Basilisa, it probably was.

‘Do we know what happened?' Nigel enquired, as if discussing an intriguing incident from history. ‘I assume from prior events that Delphinium was involved in some capacity. Were her charms the catalyst for this occurrence? Could that be why she decided to leave this morning? Some sort of connection is indicated. Ruth, you must know what happened.'

‘Haven't a clue,' I said. ‘Delphi's back tomorrow, anyway. She only went to London to try on her wedding dress. I think that's more important to her than anything Basilisa gets up to.'

‘A likely story,' said Morty.

‘Actually,' I snapped, ‘it's so bloody likely it's true.' But my little spurt of rage didn't convince anyone. Rumours multiplied and spread; at lunch, Alex and Brie joined in, the latter also determined to attribute Basilisa's departure to Delphi; by the afternoon newspapers were ringing up on every number they had. Presumably, the uninjured hack from the
Scoop
was still around and had seen the cavalcade pass through the village, or Basilisa had called them herself. Or both. I didn't see Ash till the evening, but although he must have heard what people were saying he didn't make any attempt to contradict it, merely giving me a cold look and the briefest of greetings when we met.

I didn't venture down to the kitchen; I was too afraid of finding Ash cheek-by-jowl with Cedric, looking more than just friendly. His coldness
might
mean he liked me and resented HG kissing me, but it might mean something completely different. I'd obviously made a total fool of myself; there was no need to make it worse.

Nobody had the nerve to ask HG what had really happened.

The staff looked discreetly cheerful about the change in their circumstances. Morag was heard to mutter something about ‘the depairture o' the ungodly', and Sandy, when back from Glasgow, was seen to toss one of Basilisa's shoes to Elton with the command: ‘Kill!' I saw Dorian only for a minute: he appeared pleased about his stepmother's exit but, with the perception that often accompanies unrequited passion, regarded me with a suspicious eye. Neither he nor his father came into dinner, and I escaped early, crashing out by ten, too tired for secret misery to keep me from sleep.

Until Harry woke me around one, knocking on my door, and Delphi, white and shaking, tottered into my room.

  

That was the worst awakening of my life. It was one of those morning-after awakenings that I'd sworn never to do again – never, since Ben Garvin left me, and I'd had a week – two weeks – of waking up like that. There are a few seconds before recollection kicks in, when you think everything's all right, and then it all comes flooding back. The warmth and security has gone from your life; you're cold and empty and alone. And this time, there were so many things to do, so many arrangements to make and unmake. I had to call Maddalena about the Dress – the dress I would never wear. I was still lying down and tears overflowed at the thought, trickling down my temples into my ears. It's not a good idea to cry lying down. I sat up to do it more comfortably and found myself sniffing back the tears, too empty to give way.

But first and foremost there was Alex – Alex and Brie in my bed. I had to do something about that. Now.

I wasn't angry – there wasn't any room for anger in that awful hollow coldness – but I wanted to be, I needed to be. Anger is heat and fire and life, the blood-rush that courses through your body, eclipsing grief and hurt. I took the tiny spark in my heart and blew on it, fanning it with images, fancies, fantasies. Not those two heads on the pillow, dimly visible in the moonlight, while I slunk away like an intruder, unwanted and unseen – that was too much even to remember. Instead, I let imagination take over, inventing scenarios, focusing repeatedly on the one central fact. Alex and Brie. Alex and Brie.

I swung my legs out of bed. Roo rolled over and blinked at me.

‘Delphi? Are you okay?'

‘Can I borrow your toothbrush? Mine's in my room.'

‘Sure.'

I went into the bathroom and cleaned my teeth with savage energy, until my mouth foamed like a rabid dog. I can confront the world with an unwashed face but not with yellow teeth. Then I wrapped myself in Roo's bathrobe and went back into the bedroom. Fenny, who had settled on top of the duvet in the hollow between me and Roo, was just beginning to wake up. He'd need a run outside to pee – something Alex usually delegated to one of the maids.

‘I called Harry,' Roo said. ‘He's bringing tea.'

‘Good. Can you hold Fenny for me and ask Harry to see he gets a run?'

‘Where are you going?'

‘To deal with Alex.'

But when I opened the bedroom door, Harry was already there. If he'd gloated or grinned that infuriating grin, I might have been embarrassed by the memory of the previous night and furious at my own embarrassment. But he was just there. On my side.

‘Time to throw them out?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Jules has got a car ready; he can take them both. What with Basilisa yesterday and all those excess actors, it really is chucking-out time at Dunblair. I'll come with you.'

‘I can manage,' I said.

‘I'm coming anyway. You may need back-up.'

I was grateful, though I didn't show it. I'd stoked up the anger but it still wasn't hot enough, and part of me was dreading going into my room, seeing them together.
Them
. They weren't people any more, they weren't individuals – just Them. An entity of deceit and betrayal. I wouldn't have admitted the dread to anyone, not even Roo – after all, I was supposed to be Delphinium Dacres, the gardening diva with the superstar temperament and the superstar temper – but I thought Harry guessed.

He said, ‘Just one minute,' and went into Roo's room to pick up her phone and give some orders. I waited. When he emerged, I went to my bedroom door and walked straight in.

They were at it. Brie was on top – Alex always liked that – and bouncing up and down like a kid on a pogo stick. She was wearing the devil-mask from the wall, holding it in position with one hand. Although the rest of her bounced, her tits didn't: the implants kept them rigid and virtually immobile. Alex was making the groany noises he always made just before coming, so that for a second it hurt me unbearably – and then the anger rushed back, a great scorching flame of it, and I began to scream.

‘Get off him – get out of here – get out both of you – get out – get out – get out!' I'd meant to come up with something more pungent, but anger, real anger, isn't original.

Brie stopped bouncing, shed the mask, and looked stunned – appalled – uncomfortable – and then her expression settled into a kind of vague resentment tinged with something that was almost satisfaction, an expression that told me everything I needed to know about our so-called friendship. I may not have loved her the way I loved Roo, but I'd done what I could to help her –
I
was the one who had brought her to Scotland – and my rage hotted up a few more degrees.

Alex, meanwhile, looked . . . well, the only way a man can look when caught by his fiancée shagging another woman. I didn't need to see his dick to imagine its collapse. Embarrassment fought with horror in his face and just about won. ‘Delphi!' he cried. ‘My God, Delphi – I didn't expect . . . I didn't know . . . you don't understand . . .' It took several seconds for him to detach himself from her, and Brie, still exuding a faint sense of triumph, didn't give him any help. ‘This isn't the way it looks,' he went on, defying credibility.

‘It isn't?' I retorted, slightly calmed by his panic. ‘It looks like sex, but tell me it's something else. Miniature golf, perhaps? Tiddlywinks?'

‘She came on to me,' Alex insisted desperately. ‘I was pissed, and she just
threw
herself – I mean, she was here in the bed when I—'

‘Liar!' said Brie, groping for her clothing, which seemed to have made its way under the bed. ‘You were the one who suggested it. Go up first, you said, wait for me—'

‘I don't care who did what,' I interrupted, snatching the dress from her grasp. ‘I don't care if it was
rape
!' I meant, if Brie had raped Alex – Alex wasn't the aggressive type. ‘You get out – both of you –
now
! No clothes – just as you are! NOW!'

‘Give me that dress!' Brie's air of triumph disappeared. ‘I'm not going anywhere till I—'

‘Delphi! You don't mean it! I love you – we're getting married . . .' Alex stood up, clutching the duvet round his hips. (This can be done with a sheet but should not be attempted with a duvet. It's overkill.)

‘Not any more!' Not without a pang, I tugged off the ring and hurled it at him. ‘You can take this, but that's all! No clothes – no bedding – you go as you are!'

Alex scrabbled on the floor for the ring (the diamond was seriously valuable) still trying to preserve what modesty he had left with the duvet. Brie grabbed her dress and tried to wrench it from my hands. Amazingly, it didn't rip.

Harry's voice rose above the furore, sounding very level and calm and, for once, exactly like a perfect butler. ‘Ladies and – er – gentleman, no fighting please. Miss de Meaux, Mr Russo – I'm afraid I have to insist that you leave. Immediately. The bedding belongs here; your clothes will follow you. There's a car waiting outside.'

‘I'm not going like this!' Brie objected. ‘How dare you! I won't be ordered about by a
servant
!'

These arrivistes are always so vulgar.

‘Bloody cheek,' Alex said. ‘Look here, this is . . . is . . . a private affair, and none of your business, so—'

‘Everything that happens in the castle is my business,' Harry said, ‘by authority, in case you've forgotten, of the owner. Now,
sir
, let me relieve you of that. You really can't walk out with the bed linen, you know. It's extremely bad manners.'

‘I won't—'

Sandy materialised in the background with Elton and Sting. On cue, one of the dogs growled.

‘You can't do this,' Brie almost begged, gazing from me to Harry to the dogs and back again.

‘Yes we can,' I said.

‘I'll tell the press . . .'

‘Tell 'em,' I said. The tabloid coverage was going to be a bloodbath. There was nothing I could do to stop that.

And, from Harry: ‘Perhaps you'd like pictures?'

They left – naked, protesting, with Sandy and the dogs on their heels and Harry in the rear. I leaned out of the window. Naked, they got into the car. ‘Leave them in the village,' Harry told Jules. ‘At the pub. Then you'd better come back for their clothes.'

‘You can't do this!' Alex fumed. ‘It's – it's – assault.'

‘Actually it isn't,' said Harry. ‘I would never hit a man with no clothes on. Be glad of that.'

‘I don't want to go to the village!' Brie declared. ‘I want to go to the airport.'

‘If you like,' Harry said obligingly. ‘I'm not sure they'll let you on the plane like that. Of course, it would make the security checks very simple . . .'

Sandy got in the front with Jules, and they drove off.

I went back to the bed, picked up the devil-mask. I'd always hated it. It was part of the Basilisk effect – but Basilisa had gone. I put it on the floor and stamped on it, hard. The papier mâché cracked and scrunched underfoot. I stamped on it again and again in a sudden outpouring of pent-up violence. When Harry came in with Roo, I was sitting on the edge of the bed, hugging myself. The mask was in fragments.

Harry nudged them with his toe. ‘Feel better for that?'

‘Not much.'

‘Go back to Ruth's room. I'll bring you some tea and sort out Alex's stuff.'

‘Can you – can you change the bedding?'

‘Mm.'

‘Could you throw this lot away, or put it in the back of a cupboard? I don't want to sleep where . . .'