Ice Diaries (13 page)

“I haven’t had a cleavage
like this since I fed Gemma, so I’m making the most of it.
Lucky Nina’s is always so warm. Get you – is that
Vivienne Westwood?”

“Yep.”

A movement on the terrace caught my
eye. Greg was swinging his leg over the wall. I realized Nina had got
us all here half an hour before Mike’s lot, in order to check
our hands were clean and our hair brushed and have us sitting neatly
in a row for when he arrived. He must have made quite an impression.
Greg wiped his feet carefully on the mat, and removed his parka
revealing a new red cardigan. He offered Nina the plastic bag he was
holding, and she took it and peered inside.

“I’ll put it away with your
coat. You didn’t have to bring supplies. This evening isn’t
one of our usual get-togethers.”

“Will we be playing Monopoly?”

Nina pursed her lips. “No.”

“Scottish dancing?”

“No. I don’t expect Mike
and his friends know how to.”

Greg’s brow wrinkled. “What
will we do, then?”

“We’ll make conversation in
a civilized manner on topics of general interest.” Nina bustled
off to the kitchen.

Archie gave Greg a drink, and went to
help Nina with the food. Greg came and sat between me and Claire.

“Cheers.” I clinked glasses
with the others. “Shall we practise a bit of civilized
conversation? What topic do you fancy?”

“I nearly came as Minnie Mouse,”
Gemma announced, sitting on her throne and swinging her legs. “The
dress has got white spots but it is red and has a black top, and
there’s a bow at the front and between the ears, and you wear
black tights. It’s got a petticoat with frills.”

“That is the most amazing
coincidence! I nearly came as Minnie Mouse too. But on reflection, I
thought I wasn’t quite mini enough to carry it off.”

Gemma was not deceived. She gave me a
disapproving look. “No you didn’t, Tori. You haven’t
got a Minnie Mouse costume, or I’d have seen it. You’ve
only got ordinary clothes.”

“Yes, and it’s not fair.
I’m going to make a formal complaint. I see Toby came as a
baby. Cheating a bit. Must have a word with him.”

“He can’t talk yet, Tori.
You’re being silly again.”

“Darn. Have to watch that.”
I turned my attention to Greg. “Nice cardigan.” I peered
closer. “I don’t wish to alarm you, but your pocket
appears to be moving …”

Furtively, Greg shot a look over his
shoulder towards the kitchen; Nina’s voice and the chink of
crockery could be heard through the open door. She’d be a
while. He put his hand carefully in his pocket and got out something
small and furry. A baby rat; soft grey fur, pink nose and feet and
ears, with long whiskers and black bead eyes. Claire exclaimed and
Gemma jumped off her seat and came over to have a look.

I said, “He’s so sweet! Can
I hold him?”

“She’s a she,” Greg
said, putting the rat in my hands. “I found her in Argos. She
was lost. I don’t think Nina would like her at the dinner
party, so don’t let her see. I couldn’t leave her behind
on her own all evening.”

“We won’t tell,” said
Gemma.

Paul hovered. “Careful, Gemma.
She won’t bite, will she?”

“No, she’s very friendly.”

Claire said, “Did you wash her?”

Greg nodded. “I heated some water
and used Head and Shoulders. She wasn’t nearly so fluffy when I
found her.”

Claire did not look totally reassured.
The rat felt warm and light in my hand, and her claws tickled. I
could feel the beat of her small heart. Her blunt nose snuffled at my
fingers, then she sat up and groomed her whiskers, quite unafraid. I
stroked her behind the ear with one finger and she shut her eyes as
if she liked it.

Greg smiled proudly. “I’m
going to teach her tricks when she’s bigger.”

Gemma was practically hopping up and
down. “Can I hold her?”

I handed the rat over. “What’s
she called?”

“Rosie. After Rose Tyler.”
His favourite of Doctor Who’s companions.

Gemma laughed, delighted. “She’s
nibbling my fingers! Shall I get her something to eat?”

“She’s had her tea. I’ve
got some muesli in my other pocket in case she gets hungry. You can
try her with a bit.”

Rosie took the proffered almond flake
and held it with surprisingly hand-like paws, turning it round and
audibly crunching, little furry jaw working.

“Aaah … Mummy, can I have
one?” I knew how she felt. I wanted one too.

“No.” Claire’s voice
was firm.

“Why not? I’d look after
it.”

“Because they’re wild
creatures … except for Rosie who’s … adopted.”

“But if I had one it would be
adopted too. Please, can I have one?”

Nina’s voice became more audible.
Greg took Rosie from Gemma and pocketed her. Her worm-like tail hung
outside briefly, then vanished. We all sat back as Nina walked past
us to the table.

Gemma hissed, “Please, Mummy, can
I? I want one.”

“Ssh, we’ll discuss it
later. Go and wash your hands.”

I went too. Their bathroom is nice;
they have a proper commode, and an old-fashioned bowl and jug for
washing, with a matching soap dish, and a hanging lantern.

I could hear the snowmobiles’
engines getting louder as we rejoined the others. Team Mike had
arrived. They lined the sleds up the far side of the terrace wall.
Mike walked into the room, all smiles and compliments and
introductions, and Nina fussed over him, taking his jacket. Beneath
it he had on a smart suit and tie. So, improbably, did Big Mac, Eddie
and Hong, giving them the air of bouncers outside a flash casino. BJ
wore a suit with a shirt open at the neck while Serena, once changed
out of her ski suit, was elegant in a long dress with a ruffled
neckline. Sober she was back to normal; I was no longer her best
friend. They’d all come. Morgan had thought Mike might leave a
couple on guard duty at Bézier. Mike handed Archie a boxed
bottle of Rémy Martin XO Excellence Cognac, and Nina a bottle
of Jean Patou’s Joy.

Nina was delighted. “Mike, you
shouldn’t have!”

“It’s nothing. I’m
sorry not to be able to bring you flowers.”

Mike greeted me like an old friend,
holding my hand and kissing both cheeks. He stepped back so he could
survey me. “Tori, you’re looking amazing tonight.”

Nina moved him on to the drinks. Mike
refused champagne and had a glass of orange juice. He shook Gemma’s
hand and said he’d always wanted to meet the Queen, made Claire
glow by admiring Toby thoroughly and convincingly, briefly discussed
the design of the Barbican with Paul, then charmingly evaded Nina’s
clutches and came and sat next to me.

“Tori.” He lowered his
voice to an intimate level. “I’ve been worrying a little
about our conversation the other day. Perhaps I should have kept
quiet.”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t
take it too seriously.” From across the room, I saw Serena’s
eyes straying in our direction, computing Mike’s interest/lack
of interest in me. More to needle him than in the hope of being told
anything, I said, “Though I have been wondering what you and
Morgan fell out over.”

He smiled and leaned forward. “You
just want me to badmouth Morgan so you can get angry with me. I bet
you’re beautiful when you’re angry.” Having
delivered this cliché, he settled back against the sofa, smug
as a panther lolling in a tree, irritating as a raspberry seed
between the teeth, regarding me under half-closed lids. “I’ve
got an almost overwhelming urge to pull that zip, and Nina wouldn’t
approve. Quick, tell me something, take my mind off it. Something
that’s not corsets or bodices or bustiers.” He shut his
eyes for a moment. “Or velvet or zips.”

The stare I gave him was as cool as the
weather. “I’ll make it easy for you.” I got up and
joined Greg and Archie over by the drinks, keeping my back to Mike.

Charlie and Sam arrived late – on
account of Sam fussing over what to wear, if past form was anything
to go by. Nina introduced them to the guest of honour. I saw Serena
notice Mike’s eyes flicking over Sam the same way they’d
flicked over me, but she didn’t have anything to worry about;
Charlie always puts people in the picture at an early stage.

“This is Sam and Charlie. Charlie
was a published author, as well as being P.A. to Harry Carrington.”

“A published author, I’m
impressed. Tell me, what books have you written?”

“Book. Just the one,
Carapace
.
My pen name is C.J. Hewitt. I don’t expect you’ll have
heard of it, it’s rather niche.”

“
Carapace
? But I bought it
for my sister, it was the last present I gave her.” He looked
sad for a moment then rallied, as if determined not to let his loss
cast a pall. “I thought it sounded her sort of thing, and it
was, she loved it. I’m honoured to meet you. Are you writing
something else?”

I didn’t believe Mike. The guy
was a creep. He was making friends and influencing people tonight,
and in my opinion this was just part of his charm offensive. Clever
of him to say he’d bought it as a present; too easy to be
caught out if you say you’ve read a book when you haven’t.
But Charlie glowed just like Claire had, happily taken in, and
chatted about
Carapace
and Jeanette Winterson and Sarah Waters
until Nina called us to sit at the table.

Archie sat at one end and Nina at the
other, with Mike in the place of honour on her right, BJ on her left.
Mike chatted to Claire on his other side, but mostly to Nina. From
what I overheard, they seemed to be talking about foreign travel and
music. I was in the cheap seats next to Archie, opposite Greg and
Serena. When she told him about the labradoodle she’d had as a
child, I could see he longed to boast about his new pet, but after a
glance at Nina he evidently decided it was not a good idea. The three
bodyguards said little, and when they did speak it was to each other
in a sort of guttural shorthand. Hong sat on my left. He was younger
than Mac, shorter and Chinese, but with the same Chesterfield sofa
build. English wasn’t his first language, I discovered when
trying to get him into conversation. I have a theory that most people
have one subject on which they are interesting, if you can only
discover what it is; but if Hong had one, I failed to find it. So I
leaned across the table and tried Mac.

“Tell me about cage fighting.”

He regarded me curiously. “What
d’you want to know?”

“Well, everything, really. I
don’t know anything about it.”

He gave a short laugh. “You and
everyone else. A mate of mine’s wife asked me, ‘Is it to
the death?’ I said, ‘Yeah, and I’ve only lost
twice.’ Mind you, she was pissed at the time.”

“I suppose it’s because not
many people have met a cage fighter.”

“No. There’s a lot of
people say they’re MMA when they’ve never been in the
ring. The sort of meathead who used to say he was SAS to impress the
lassies. Got the ink, some of them, that’s all.”

“Ink?”

“Tattoos.”

“Did women do MMA?”

“Oh aye. There were some good
Scottish girls coming up.”

I sipped my wine while deciding what to
say next. Archie on my right, unaware he was interrupting, said my
top was quite Elizabethan in style, apart from the zip of course,
which got us talking about royalty and Shakespeare and Tom Stoppard
and circuses … When I next looked, Mac was involved in some
ponderous and incomprehensibly Scottish teasing of Eddie.

Every so often snatches of conversation
from the other end of the table reached me. Mike’s deep voice,
“One would like to help more, but we have to be realistic …”
“Not wanting to be sententious, but civilization is more
important than any individual.” “The Magic Flute is a
great favourite of mine, I envy you.” And Nina, “No, I
entirely see that. Anyone would do the same in your position …”
“Oh absolutely, I couldn’t agree more …” “Ah,
Mozart …”

BJ was regaling Sam and Paul
with funny stories about when he was training to be a nurse and was the only male in the group. Serena strained to
hear, clearly wishing she was the other end of the table. I tried to
picture Morgan at the dinner; if his behaviour at the ceilidh was
anything to go by, he’d be scornful about Nina’s efforts,
uninterested in social chit chat, and rebuff people who tried to
start a conversation with him. In a word, ungracious. Whereas I had
to admit Mike was making the occasion go like a rocket. Part of me
would have liked Morgan sitting by my side, bad manners and all.

The meal was leisurely, with several
courses and a different wine to accompany each dish. Even had Nina
thought them appropriate, we wouldn’t have had time for board
games or dancing. The wine was rather better than the food – no
fault of the cook, Nina had done well with the materials available. I
began to feel pleasantly chilled out. My mind ran on Morgan’s
raid on Bézier, wondering whether it had been successful. Over
tinned fruit and cream with Muscat de Beaumes de Venise, Nina asked
Mike about his plans, and how long he’d be staying. There
happened to be a lull in the buzz of conversation just then, so even
from the far end of the table I could hear Mike’s answer.

“Well, you know we’re
practically pirates.” An amused, deprecating murmur rose from
his neighbours. “So while we’re here we’re doing
some pirating, looking for gold. We’re digging down to the
British Museum. Unfortunately it’s a low-rise building.”

“But that’s stealing!”
Gemma stared at him, scandalized. “It’s not your gold,
it’s the Museum’s, you can’t take it. And anyway,
pirates have ships and you don’t.”

Nina and Claire both said, “Gemma!”

“It is, though.”

Mike smiled. “I’ll get a
ship when I need it to cross the Channel, Your Majesty. And I’m
not sure anything left behind under twenty metres of snow belongs to
anyone any more, unless you dig it up, at which point it belongs to
you.”