The Eunuch's Ward (The String Quartet) (21 page)

‘He stole Ela’s phone. That’s how he got my private number.’

‘Just one private number?’ Mother smiled at me. ‘I’ve got three. God knows why, I haven’t got that many friends, even fewer private, secret friends, but I keep one of the phones in my locker in the gym, another one in the lining of my tartan dressing gown and the third at the Hartsfield House, inside a hollowed-out book. As I say, I hardly ever use them but they give me the sense of independence. Did you use precautions?’

I nodded. ‘What about this engagement? What’s that really all about?’

‘One of Leon’s grand schemes.’

‘One of his long games?’

She seemed surprised. ‘You know about that, do you?’

I nodded. ‘It’s been a while since I’ve heard him go on about it, but he used to talk about it a lot when I was much younger. Is that the same as the ‘long con’? Am I one of his long games?’

She sipped on her lime juice to gain time, winced and resolutely finished off what was left in one gulp. ‘You won’t come to any harm, Sonata. I promise you that. Just do what he says, no matter how crazy it seems.’

‘And you know that how?’ I snapped back. ‘For a golden couple, you two don’t seem to communicate very much.’

‘You get to know a person. You get to know how they think, how they go about things. You’re right, we don’t talk about business. He doesn’t want to, I don’t think that I’ve got anything to contribute. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t guess his next step fairly accurately. He’s not going to accept that takeover lying down. He’s putting on one of his illusion acts. I won’t pretend that I understand exactly what’s going on, he’d never trust me or even Bakir with all the details, but there’s nothing for you to worry about.’

I wasn’t convinced.

Mother asked if I wanted an afternoon of pampering at her beauty salon but didn’t insist when I scornfully refused.

Hugh’s text arrived two or three hours after we’d parted in the garage downstairs. ‘
How are you doing, my darling? Need anything? Xxx’

I walked over to the gate in the wall. It opened smoothly as always, but the penthouse was locked up.

‘I’m fine, thanks. Where are you?’

He answered immediately.
‘At Xango’s. He’s had another surprise up his sleeve, but not in the nature of the one before. I’m very pleased for him. Tell you more when I see you. I’ll be flying him to the Giant’s Causeway tomorrow afternoon. Hope to see you when I get back. Xxx’

* * *

On Saturday the Boys served bunch, an array of tapas dishes, to leave the ladies enough time to get ready for the Big Occasion.

‘Why is everyone assuming that I’m planning to attend that travesty?’ The protestation didn’t stop me from scoffing the lot. Like that proverbial puppy from Sanctuary, my nose was always wet, and my appetite undiminished. I wasn’t as big on tail wagging as him, but after all, I was still a teenager, designed by nature to throw my toys out of the pram and throw tantrums. And it wasn’t as if I didn’t have enough to protest against.

‘I hope that my “intended”,’ I drew the quotation marks in the air with my fingers, ‘I hope that he absolutely hates and detests garlic.’ I packed a couple of chunky garlic prawns into my mouth with my fingers.

‘The smell will stick to your skin for ages,’ said Mother.

‘Good. Hope he’s allergic to it.’

The Skype chimed in. It was my father. I turned the screen so that Mother could see it and raised my eyebrows.

‘Answer it.’

He started talking before the picture settled on the screen. ‘There will be a limo waiting for the three of you...’

‘Three?’ I interrupted.

‘Yes, three. Bakir, your mother and you. Don’t ever interrupt me again. It’ll bring you to the venue. Downstairs, 2 pm sharp. Understood?’

‘Whatever you say, Leon.’ That was Mother.

I cast a scornful look at her. ‘May I ask just one question, Daddy?’

‘What?’

‘Why? Why would I want to play that charade? What will happen if I don’t turn up?’

To my amazement, he grinned from ear to ear. ‘I’ll tell you. In detail.’

An audible intake of breath told me that Bakir has sneaked up behind me.

‘Don’t, Leon.’ Mother’s voice was shaky, raspy. ‘Don’t.’

‘Why not? Miss Sonata wants to know.’

Maybe he’s not smiling
, I told myself.
He could be snarling. Not at me and Mother, of course.

‘If you don’t keep your end of the bargain...’

I nearly said ‘I made no bargain with anyone’, but thought better of it. Finally, at the long last, I was going to get some answers. Whatever they were, they couldn’t be worse than not knowing.

‘...your suitor will track you down, track you both down, and bring you back to his play room. Then he’ll bring in a dozen of his pets, out of control sex addicts and watch the fun for a couple of days. If either you or your mother survive, he’ll probably treat you to the tender care of the Dirty Brigade...’

‘What’s the Dirty Brigade?’ I heard myself whisper against my will.

‘They piss inside you and shit in your mouth.’ It was Bakir who answered.

‘Thank you, my brother. 2 pm, sharp.’

The screen went blank.

I don’t know how long we spent there in total silence. Mother’s face had turned sickly yellow. Rivulets of sweat were running down Bakir’s face. He pushed a glass of icy water in front of Mother, and dropped a drinking straw into it to stop her from spilling it.

‘He’s lying,’ I said.

They both shook their heads.

‘And you still want me to get engaged to that man? Marry him?’

Mother quickly squeezed my shoulder. ‘He’s not lying, Sonata. Not entirely. Just a small dose of the threat would force you to consent. But, I promise you, nothing bad will happen to you. Not today, not ever.’

Ever since, I’ve been very careful never to recall my state of mind that day and I’m not going to start now.

There was an abalone blue silk dress in my mother’s wardrobe. She complemented it with a midnight blue bolero, embroidered with semiprecious stones. A hair-clasp made of white gold and the same stones as the bolero held my hair away from my face. Simple, silken court shoes, the only ones that I managed to walk in without stumbling.

My mother was in something vaguely golden, Bakir in top hat and tails.

‘It’s not the wedding just yet, Bakir.’ Unbelievably, I was still capable of being surprised.

‘I have this,’ he spread his hands.

‘Leave him alone, Nat. Let’s go, if we’re going.’ Mother headed for the lift.

The Boys smiled and waved.

* * *

Father was waiting for us in the hotel lobby. What’s with the Armenian men? Do they don top hat and tails for any occasion or just for dodgy, enforced engagement parties?

A slim, middle aged woman accosted us before my father reached us.

‘You must be Miss Ganis. Welcome. We are delighted to have the honour to host your wedding. We’ll make sure that everything...’

‘Wedding?!’ I screamed at my father, causing a few heads to turn around. ‘Wedding?!’

‘Sonata, please...’ he waved the helpful woman away and she practically ran off.

‘Don’t you
Sonata please
me. I don’t care how many rapists...’

‘Shut up, you little idiot,’ he hissed at me. ‘Do you really want to ruin everything just when I’ve finally managed to get him where I want him? Of course you won’t marry him. Calm down and listen.’

‘It may be an idea to hear him out first,’ said my mother. ‘I, for one, am dying to hear what he’s got to say.’

I waited.

‘Do you know what Al Capone was originally arrested for?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘It matters a great deal, child. Yes, there will be a wedding. Yes, the licence has been obtained and the bans read... well, the registry office version of them, anyhow. And then, the minute he says ‘I will’, the police will walk in and arrest him for polygamy. Once he’s banged up, I’ll be able to recover... Shall we find the inestimable Mrs. Clough and let her do her job?’ he smiled at me.

‘Short and sweet,’ Bakir stepped forward and motioned us to follow him. ‘Let’s get on. The sooner, the better.’

Standing almost next to each other, Father and Bakir in their white ties and tails, looked like an old-fashioned vaudeville act. Bakir, very fat, enormously tall, dishevelled and placid. One could say serene. Father hirsute, thickset, on the short side and combative.

‘Told you,’ Mother leisurely followed Bakir, ‘told you. You won’t come to any harm. There may be a flutter of interest from the media, but that won’t last too long.’

A nervous looking Mrs. Clough was back on the scene. ‘The bride’s suite is in the mezzanine,’ she chatted in the lift. ‘There’s a lovely marble staircase that leads down to the wedding hall. It’s such a great moment when the bride appears on the mezzanine landing and dazzles... well, yes, follow me, please.’

The suite, two large rooms and a bathroom, were decked out in traditional bridal colours, off-white and gold. The bathroom and the larger of the rooms served as a beauty and hairdressing salon thinly disguised by masses of flowers and gilded furniture. The smaller one was a cross between a dining room and a bar, with champagne flutes and ice buckets taking up one entire floor-to-ceiling shelf. The middle of the room was taken up by a rotating platform, used to dress the bride.

‘The bridesmaids are still to arrive?’ asked Mrs. Clough.

‘No, no bridesmaids. It’ll be just us. I assume that either my husband or the groom have organised the witnesses. And, Mrs. Clough, we won’t be needing the champagne. My daughter is under drinking age. But, please, help yourself and treat the staff, by all means.’

Mother was handling it well but I couldn’t see any need for handling anything.

‘Bakir, please give them all a big fat tip and send them packing.’

He had parked himself on a sofa in the corner. His eyes stayed on me for a few second. ‘Not wise,’ he said slowly. ‘Don’t fuss.’

‘
Don’t fuss, Miss Sonata
, to you.’ I turned away fast so that he wouldn’t see me blush.

‘Miss Ganis.’ Mrs Clough opened a wardrobe door. ‘Your dress. Would you like to try it on so we could make the last minute adjustments, if necessary?’

I stared at the woman, at her professionally enticing smile and then I turned my attention to the deeply offensive object called my wedding dress. To make it worse, it was beautiful. Simple and stylish. No bride lucky enough to wear it would look like an unmade bed, as so many do.

‘Not right now, Mrs. Clough,’ I uttered with civility that I should have shown to Bakir. ‘Thank you.’

The woman must have seen it all. ‘Come with me.’ She opened the door to the balcony leading out of the main room. ‘You’ve got about half an hour before the team needs to make a start on your face and hair. You can rest your eyes on the grass and the fountain. I find it very soothing.’ She pulled the door to. ‘I’ll tell your mother.’

The balcony was furnished with a drinks table and a small settee, covered in regency pattern. Tacky, I thought and walked over to the stone balustrade. The great thing was that I could look outside without being seen. The balustrade was supporting a number of latticed shutters all around in the style of North African buildings. I leaned on the stone edge and looked around.

The hotel’s airfield was to the right of the building with three small aircraft parked on the side. None of them carried Hugh’s insignia. The closest of them was showing MSA on its tail, written in gold on black background. Two people stood next to it, one quite tall and frail, leaning on a walking stick, it was impossible to tell his age from this distance, the other one was strongly built and wearing a uniform. Ground staff, I assumed. The uniformed man was holding a laptop in his left hand, pointing and explaining something with the other. I couldn’t see any fountain from where I was standing. I leaned over as far as the lattice shutter would let me. I still couldn’t see a fountain, but there were several people hurrying to and fro, carrying buckets, vacuum cleaners and other tools of the cleaning trade. Those people must have been preparing the wedding hall for the next ceremony.

Mine.

I shuddered but fought off the impulse to climb down and drive off in any of the unlocked cars parked in front, or hide in one of the planes parked over the airfield fence.

Father had a plan, I reminded myself. My mother swore that nothing bad was going to happen to me. I mustn’t do anything stupid, I mustn’t do anything stupid, I repeated like a mantra a few times.

The view wasn’t particularly interesting, but Mrs. Clough was right. Even without a working fountain, it was calming. There was nothing here of the wedding hype that permeated the rest of the building. I moved along the stone wall, all the way to the side. And bingo! The fountain stood there to the right under a canopy of old trees, spurting out fresh water through the pouting mouth of a Cupid.

The frail tall man was still there by the MSA plane on the other side of the fence, but his uniformed mate was gone. His attire was odd, I noticed. His trousers looked like a part of a dinner suit, deeply dark and sharp over a pair of highly polished shoes. His top was that of a mechanic, stained, and frayed at the cuffs with all the buttons torn off. I couldn’t be absolutely sure but I thought that the work jacket was attempting to protect a white shirt and tie and a cummerbund. He must have seen something for he raised his arm to shield his eyes against the afternoon sun. ‘I won’t be long, I promise. Just need a quick word with the rest of the team,’ he shouted.

‘Now, why does that sound familiar?’

It did sound familiar. The voice that answered was unmistakeably Hugh’s. My heart vaulted as I pushed aside the branches of a climbing rose to get a better view. It was Hugh! I’d never seen that dinner jacket before but I knew the sheen and cut of the brown hair and the shape of the head only too well. And the gait. I would have known it anywhere, as he walked up the slope towards the air field.

‘Really, Hugh, you’ll be neither use nor ornament for the next ten minutes. Go back there and rally the troops...’