Seductive Viennese Whirl (17 page)

"Thanks for placating Miss Craddock," I said, after I had stopped bouncing long enough to go over and give Sparky her Viennese chocolates. Then I perch on her desk waiting for her to open them. Well, what's the point of buying someone expensive chocolates if you can't get a piece of the action? I think as I help myself to a large hazelnut truffle.

"Actually, she was pretty narked," says Sparky. "Oooh, delicious," she says, biting into a mint crème. "I'm dying to hear all about Vienna."

"Can't talk now," I say, seeing the Haddock dart out of her office. I can't imagine telling Sparky about the Count and the Marquis. In fact, I can't imagine telling anyone about them, it would ruin the memories. Under the bright strip lights the magic of it all is already fading and I need to hold on to it, because right now, it's all I have in my life. Images flash before my eyes; the Marquis caressing my knee at the casino, Vienna whizzing past while I'm pressed up against him in the Fiaker, looking for clues in Gabi's cleavage at the Eden Bar. It's all breaking up, into fragments of coloured glass. I jump off the desk as a sense of melancholy descends.

Eva and I have moved some of the detritus aside and are sitting on her desk when we notice that the Haddock's walking towards us. The effort of forcing one of her fake smiles makes her neck muscles stand out like the spokes on an umbrella. I think she's amazed we actually made it back.

"Good news, Kate. Mark approved your idea and Simon's visuals. Pity you couldn't be here to present them yourself," she says, before turning away and resting a hand on Eva's shoulder. "Mark seemed most put out that you weren't here. I know you've been ill, but do give him a call to apologize won't you, darling? And set up the photo shoot for the poster campaign ASAP will you. We'll present the results at the end of next week at the meeting I've scheduled with Mark. Kate, Mark thought it was brilliant that you wanted to feature a deer in the ad, wandering through the casino."

"Actually, we were thinking more of using a stuffed one, maybe one left over from the launch."

"I don't know, Mark's very keen we get hold of a live one. And I must say I rather agree with him. So Kate, darling, can you rustle up a deer for the shoot?"

"Can't he just bring down one of the several thousand deers he has on his estate?"

"No, of course not. Those are wild animals." She wrinkles her nose. "They're dirty and are probably crawling with fleas. We need an animal trained for this sort of thing."

"Part Bambi part Barbarella. That shouldn't be too difficult."

She snaps, "I'm getting a little tired of your sarcasm. Just get on with it." While I'm at the receiving end of the Haddock's wrath, Eva's putting her hand to her forehead.

"I still feel a bit sweaty," she says weakly, winning the Haddock's sympathy vote.

"Of course you do. You've been through a terrible ordeal." She helps Eva into a chair and turns to me. "You know, anyone would think you were behind all this. First Sten gets poisoned, and now Eva. I wonder if you'll finish me off next!" She goes off laughing at this hilarious joke.

"Are you going to call McManus?" I say when the Haddock's out of earshot. "No, but I was thinking of calling the Weasel, that is unless you'd prefer to?" "Why would I want to?" I say, feeling all flushed, wishing the Weasel didn't have this peculiar effect on me.

"Just thought I'd book him for the shoot."

"Oh, please don't."

"I'll think about it later." She starts walking away, calling over her shoulder, "Right now I need to take my letter to the postroom."

"Excuse me, don't you mean
my
letter?"

She stops and turns to face me. "All right then, your letter." Her face is all glowing with excitement. "Do you think he'll write back?"

"How should I know?" I say, flicking on my computer. "I'm not a flipping psychic."

"Hey, what's up? You're not jealous are you?"

"‘Course not."

"Eva," says the Haddock, who's popped up again. "You're not going out are you?"

"Just taking this letter up."

"Can't Kate take it? I want to talk to you about photographers. I'm rather keen to get Will on board."

"I was just thinking the same thing."

"Really? Well, I think you should get onto him right away, see if he can't squeeze us in." And she puts her arm around Eva and drags her off. Eva hands me the letter, which I promise to post but then just put on my desk and scrutinize. I sit staring at it for a good long while, because, truth be told, I'm not that keen on seeing Ricky again. I open the drawer to my desk, take out a four day old jam doughnut and cram it in my mouth. Then I jog up to the second floor to burn off the calories from the doughnut.

When I get to the post room no one's about, so I quickly fling the letter into the nearest bag. Just as I'm headed out I see that Ricky's been watching me. He walks up to the bag and pulls out the letter.

"This is a letter to Austria," he says.

"Yeah, so?" What's it to him, for God's sake?

"You just put it into the bag marked ‘Domestic Mail'."

"Oh, sorry."

"This is why letters get lost. Because people insist on coming in here and throwing things into the wrong sacks. I collect the mail twice a day. But I suppose that isn't good enough for you?"

I leave him grumbling away to himself and go out to pick up a slice of Key Lime Pie from a patisserie in Old Compton Street. The tangy fruity slice puts me in a much better frame of mind. When I get back Eva's at her desk talking on the phone. She puts her hand over the receiver and says, "The Haddock's keen to know how far you've got with hiring the deer."

"Shit, I'd forgotten about that," I say, lugging a Yellow Pages onto my desk. I turn to the page for Animals for Hire.

I spend the rest of the day phoning around animal trainers. Most of them aren't in, too busy driving their animal actors around in limos to movie sets no doubt. I end up leaving a bunch of messages on answer phones for the trainers to call me back.

At six o'clock, just as I'm just getting ready to go home, I take a call. As soon as the guy comes on the line he starts talking about someone called Violet. I'm about to tell him he's got the wrong number when suddenly I twig. He's talking about a deer.

"What does she look like?" I say, feeling just like a guy talking to a brothel receptionist.

"Long eyelashes, gorgeous legs."

I feel like a real pervert when I say, "I'll take her."

And now, Egg, now that I've stuffed this great fat letter into an envelope, I'm going to post it on the way home. I can't risk sending it via Ricky, it would probably end up in the shredder, and we can't have that now, can we?

Love,

Gherkin

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Burnt pies

Date: 16 August 2011

Dear Egg,

Today's the day of the photo shoot for the McManus campaign. The lift's broken so I'm climbing up to the studio, at the top of the building. I've no idea why I need to be at the shoot but the Haddock just told me to see if Eva needed any help, so here I am.

By the fourth floor I don't think I'm going to make it, but somehow I do, crawling up to the fifth practically on my hands and knees. Jesus, I really do need to start going to the gym again, I think, pushing open the door. One wall of the studio is just windows, floor to ceiling, making it the perfect setting to indulge in a bit of exhibitionism, as I described to the Count in my letter.

Gorgeous, thin people are fluttering about the room like moths trapped in a jam jar. In the midst of all the activity a model, in vest and knickers, stands smoking a cigarette. Feeling a little intimidated, I cower behind a rack of fur coats and stroke the pelt for reassurance.

"Don't touch," snaps Suzie the stylist, whose bleach blonde hair is done up in two cones on the top of her head. She sniffs the air. "Do you smell burning?"

Following the smell leads me to a cooker in the corner, billowing smoke. I'm just about to look what's inside when Briony rushes over carrying two Tesco bags. Throwing them aside she yanks open the door. She pulls out a tray of charred pies, which clatters to the floor.

"I just went out for a second to pick up some more pies."

I get down and start wiping up the smashed crusts, meat chunks and gravy. Crouched down beside me, she looks truly dreadful. Her glasses are all smeared with grease and she's wearing some shapeless black trousers flecked with bits of piecrust.

She shoves her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "I don't understand it. I was pretty good at home economics at school."

"You shouldn't be doing this. Where's the food stylist, Gina?"

"She was here earlier, but got a call for a big job, and just ran off. And Miss Craddock was tearing her hair out, so I said I'd step in." She got up and ran her fingers through her hair, making it even lanker and greasier than before. "Gina did this one before she went." She points at a delectable looking pie. "After baking them you take a bite out and then spray them with this." She picks up a can. "Which gives it that golden, just out of the oven look."

"So what's the problem?"

"All my pies come out sunken in the middle, or leaking with gravy or burnt." She points to a bin overflowing with pie rejects. "I'm worried Miss Craddock'll get really angry if I don't pull this off." Even though she isn't exactly my favourite person in the world I feel sorry for her.

Suzie comes over. "Bring the pies over will you. Mario's ready to start shooting."

"Give us a sec," I say, confused. I'd thought the Weasel was doing the shoot. Suzie stomps off.

"I'll put these frozen pies you've bought in the oven," I say.

"But the package says they take forty five minutes."

"Then I'll zap them in the microwave."

"You can't!" Briony says, like I'd told her I planned to kill the Haddock. "That's cheating."

"Just take this over for starters," I say, handing her the plate holding the perfect pie.

While Briony takes the plate and trails off I start nuking the frozen pies in the microwave. Across the room I notice Mario, slick Elvis quiff and skin tight t-shirt hugging his pecs, and am somewhat distressed that his muscular arms are covered in ugly Band-Aids. He stubs out a cigarette and starts removing the model's vest and positioning her against the set. A male model stands beside her, one hand resting on a roulette wheel, bored out of his mind.

When the pies are cooked I take a bite from each and spit the mouthful into the bin. Well, I don't want to get food poisoning, do I? These pies don't exactly have a good track record in that department. Then I spray them with food lacquer until they look good enough to eat. I'm feeling really quite proud of myself as I take them over and put them on a table behind the set.

Spying Eva I go over and whisper, "What's Mario doing here?"

"I booked him."

"I thought the Haddock wanted the Weasel?"

"I know, but I was in two minds. He's not terribly reliable. And since everything else is falling apart, I'm glad I picked Mario instead."

"Did Violet get here yet?"

"She's in her dressing room, refusing to come out. She just had to climb five flights of stairs, and let me tell you, she's not a happy camper."

"I shouldn't worry," I say, as I watch the animal being reluctantly led over to the set. "Her trainer told me she's a consummate professional. Very good with children."

A white mink fur coat is slipped on the model, then she's hoisted up onto the deer's back and handed a pie, which she holds up to her mouth to take a mock bite. Mario is shouting at his minions to start spinning the roulette wheel. The male model smiles, the girl model smiles, even the deer seems to smile. Mario is beaming as he starts taking pictures. I go over to the staff food table and am just sinking my teeth into a walnut brownie when I hear shouting coming from the set. When I hurry over the model is removing a gravy splattered fur coat and looking peeved.

"She may be a dream with kids," Eva mutters in my ear, "but she clearly has a problem with models."

"What happened?" I say, chewing on the brownie.

"Violet took a bite. The gravy inside the pie was spraying all over the place."

"Mario not taking it too well?"

"Ranting and raving, you know, the usual."

"Maybe he's in pain."

"Pain?"

"His arms, they're covered in Band-Aids. I think he's been in some kind of accident."

"Can you two shut up over there," shouts Mario. "I'm trying to concentrate."

"Sure thing Mario," says Eva and gives him a little wave. The sycophant.

We watch as the trainer pats the deer on the head and whispers in its ear. The model, wrapped in a clean fur, is helped to mount the deer and handed a pie. After he's taken a few shots, she unsteadily dismounts and drops the pie in the process, which the deer wolfs with abandon. Mario waits impatiently for the floor to be cleaned, then gets her to pose leaning against the deer, and with her arm around its neck. Her eyes are less fearful and she looks like she's beginning to relax, when the deer turns round and grabs the pie clean from her grasp, bolting it down, chemical gunk and all.

"He bit my fingers!" whines the model, lower lip aquiver.

At which point Mario starts to go crazy, saying this is the worst shoot of his career, which I've heard him say on at least ten other shoots. I smile and go off to get another brownie.

When I get back to the set they're coaxing a reluctant model up on the deer's back again. This time the animal only has to turn his head in the direction of the pie before the model, fearful of being bitten again, squeals and drops the pie on her fur. Suzie pulls the gravy soaked coat off, wailing, "This can't be happening. I've only got one left."

"I don't understand it," the trainer tells me. "Violet's usually good as gold."

"It's the first time I've ever come across a cannibal deer," I say, chuckling. His face is expressionless so I swiftly say, "Do you think it would help Violet to take a break? Do you have some animal feed you could give her? She's probably just starving." I know I am. While he's going down to the car to get her food I help myself to a slice of pecan pie and, buoyed by a sugar high I walk over to Mario.