Valentine Present and Other Diabolical Liberties (10 page)

     
‘Yes, she swears, and it doesn’t go down well at all. Emily, please show Harriet to her room. I’ll send Cedric up with a drink. What would you like?’

A tankard of red wine would be good.

      ‘A gin and tonic?’ suggests Lady Lancaster.

Oh
jolly dee. Let’s have a tankard of that then.

     
‘We’ve given you your own room Harriet,’ says Melanie softly. ‘Obviously it’s not far from Hamilton’s but well, Margarita is a bit old fashioned …’

     
‘That’s fine isn’t it Harriet, I’ll just sneak to your room under cover of darkness,’ smirks Hamilton.

Just try it mate. I glance away from him and my eyes land on a portrait of Van Gogh. God, it would have to be the one without his ear wouldn’t it? It’s as if someone is trying to send me a message, like I haven’t got enough to contend with?

      ‘Do you like Van Gogh?’ asks Melanie.

     
‘Not this particular one,’ I say shuddering.

     
‘Yes, pretty awful cutting off your own ear isn’t it?’

I bet Julian would prefer to cut off his own ear than have the Jacks do it. In fact I imagine he would prefer not to have it removed at all but you know what I mean.

      ‘Ears are funny things aren’t they?’ I say, while Hamilton looks at me like I’ve gone totally insane. ‘What I mean is you don’t think about them much until you’re in danger of losing them.’

Shut up Harriet for God’s sake.

      ‘Yes, I imagine Van Gogh felt a bit like that,’ she replies, looking confused.

     
‘At least he chose to cut it off,’ I say, willing myself to stop. His mother will think her son is with a raving lunatic in a minute. She wouldn’t be far wrong would she? Only a raving lunatic would do what I’m doing.

     
‘Yes right, a drink then Harriet,’ says Hamilton leading me by the arm to the foot of the stairs.

God,
I so need that tankard of gin.

     
‘You have to help me Fi,’ I cry
down the phone, ‘or Julian’s toast.’

I’m lounging on my bed in a soft fluffy dressing gown sipping my
gin and tonic. My bedroom has a fantastic view of a loch and some mountains in the distance, and I’ve got a phone in the bedroom and another in the bathroom. How decadent is that? If the Jack thing wasn’t so stressful I could actually enjoy this.

     
‘What are you on about? I thought the
reason you were in Scotland playing Lady Muck was so that Julian
wouldn’t
be toast, or at least earless.’

God, why does no one understand?

      ‘I need to divert my calls to your phone. There is no signal here and I can’t very well arrange the meet using the landline can I? I’ll look like a gangster’s moll if I start talking pay-offs and where I’ll be leaving the readies,’ I sigh. ‘And besides, I don’t want the Jacks to get this number.’

God, these silicone breasts are seriously giving me mastitis.

      ‘Honestly, this is getting out of hand,’ I moan. ‘My breasts have deflated thanks to Sir Sebastian’s tiepin and ...’

     
‘Blimey Harriet, what was he doing with his tiepin?’

     
‘He hugged me,’ I explain.

     
‘Must have been some hug.’

     
‘It was. I swear I’ve got mastitis. Well? Can I divert to you or not?’ I ask again, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice.

She groans.

      ‘I don’t know Harry. I don’t want to get involved with these Jacks. I mean, what if they turn on us. Alistair has enough trouble speaking as it is without having his tongue cut out.’

     
‘You’ve got to help me, Fi. All you have to do is take my calls. When the Jacks phone about the pay-off, just take down the details and call this number. Say you’re my PA, give me the info and it’s done.’

     
‘But I’ve got to talk to them, then they’ll know I exist and …’

     
‘Just say you’re my accountant …’

     
‘What?’ she screams. ‘If they think you’ve got an accountant you’ll never get them off your back, and a monkey will turn into a grubby hand.’

I choke on my gin and tonic.

      ‘You what?’

     
‘Grubby hand, grand, get it? I’ve been doing some research on Google. This East End gangster stuff is fascinating; did you know that East End gangsters don’t kill innocent victims? Of course, I don’t know if Julian is exactly innocent, seeing as he owed them money and all that. Did you know that Reggie Kray …’

     
‘Fiona, what are you now, the new Martina Cole? What are you researching bleeding
gangsters for?’

     
‘Sorry,’ she mumbles. ‘Okay, what do I have to do?’

     
‘When they phone, say I am away for the weekend and have no phone signal. For God’s sake don’t say where. Tell them I can make the pay-off when I’m back on Monday; I just need to know where and when.’

     
‘Well …’ she says hesitatingly.

     
‘Fi, come on,’ I urge, ‘it’s only a bleeding phone call.’

     
‘Okay, but if Alistair gets nailed to the floor, I’m holding you responsible,’ she says threateningly.

     
‘Nailed to the floor, bleeding hell Fi, where did you get that from? Even I know that wasn’t in
The Godfather
.’

     
‘But it was in
The Long Good Friday,
and that was British,’ she says, like that explains everything.

     
‘You’ve been Googling too much. You’ll make yourself go blind doing that,’ I say.

     
‘I’m already blind, and it’s masturbating that makes you go blind, not Google.’

That explains why I’ve got 20/20 vision then.

      ‘Thanks Fi. I appreciate it, and honestly, Alistair won’t get nailed to the floor but if he does I promise to take full responsibility.’

She laughs.

      ‘Well that’s okay then. Anyway what’s it like up there?’

     
‘Oh, you know, wall to wall luxury, servants waiting on you hand and foot, that
kind of thing.’

     
‘No I don’t, but I’m getting a feel,
don’t stop.’

     
‘I’ll probably have Evian water coming out of my ears …’

     
‘I’m surprised you can talk about ears.’

     
‘Grand staircases and balconies, gin and tonic on tap, tell me when to stop.’

     
‘You’ll get bored. The grass is always greener on the other side.’

     
‘Well at least there is grass here, there’s sod all at Marlborough Mansions or hadn’t you noticed.’

     
‘I bet they have beautiful horses. I’d love to ride there. Riding here is not the same is it?’

     
‘I wouldn’t know. You’re probably more cut out for this than I am. Can’t you do it instead of me and then just give me the money?’ I ask, hopefully.

     
‘I’m not that great a friend.’

     
‘No, I thought not,’ I agree.

She blows a kiss down the phone and hangs up. I sigh with relief. At least I don’t have to worry about the Jacks. I sip my gin and tonic. There is a light tap at the door and Cedric enters.

      ‘I thought you might need another G and T Miss Harriet. Are you ready for Emily to dress you for dinner?’

Dress me for dinner? Crikey, do I look that incapable.

      ‘It’s the norm to be dressed for dinner Miss Harriet. It may look a little odd if you did it yourself.’

     
‘Right,’ I say.

     
‘Good, I’ll send her up in about forty-five minutes. Another wee toddy,’ he asks, pointing at my glass.

     
‘Ooh yes, another wee toddy indeed, although let’s make it less of a wee one shall we?’

I’m not in the habit of saying no to a free drink. He smiles cheekily.

      ‘Of course Miss Harriet, one large wee G and T coming up.’

* * *

      I strip off in the bathroom which has to be the
size of Fiona’s entire semi. Okay, a bit of an exaggeration but crikey. I’m tempted to take some snaps and upload them to Facebook. I’m cocooned for one whole weekend in ankle-deep carpeting and scented air, and what’s more, the lighting in the bathroom is very flattering. Note to self: replace light bulbs in Battersea flat with these. I stare longingly at the sunken bath and then at the oversized shower. Maybe I’ll have one of each. The shower is one large alcove. I mean, you could seriously get three people in there, not that I’d want to shower with three people. Mind you, the way my finances are going I may have to consider it, if only to save on water. Having to pay the Jacks an extra five hundred quid hasn’t helped. At least I’ve paid the rent and the back instalments on the bank loan. I’ve also made a huge decision about Julian. There is no way we can stay together after this. Once I have the rest of my money from Hamilton I’ll clear my debts and try to get my old nursing job back. I’ll pay the Jacks this time but once Julian gets his investor he is on his own. If he loses his ears then he loses them. It’s not like he ever listened to anyone when he had them. Treating me like this isn’t love is it? Not the kind of love that I recognise
anyway.

I glance around the bathroom taking everything in. White pristine chenille bath towels hang over a heated towel rail. There are Jo Malone candles around the bath and a whole tray of posh bath products.
There is even a music player. I switch on some Michael Buble, fill the bath, and light a candle before sliding into the hot water, pampering myself with Jo Malone Bluebell bath lotion, and all this without Gary’s Platinum card. In fact, I’m the one getting paid for the privilege. How much better can it get? I sip from my G and T and let out a relaxed sigh. This is the life. Second
note to self, try and bag a rich husband as soon as possible. Preferably not Hamilton as he has slight halitosis. Nothing I couldn’t cope with but I’m not sure he is my type. There’s a weakness about him and I like my men strong. Oh yes, scoffs a little voice,
that’s why you chose that little prick Julian. A fine mess he has got you into
. Hindsight is a wonderful thing. When I first met Julian he was so appealing with his cute baby-face blue eyes and stub nose and of course, his gorgeous sensuous mouth that demanded to be kissed. He seemed so adventurous with lots of vision. Not great hearing but great vision. He had sex appeal too but not such a great libido I learnt later but hey, you can’t have everything can you? Michael croons
and I’m lost in a whole new world of luxury. I can never stretch out like this in the bath back at the flat without my feet resting on the taps. You never get the full benefit of a Radox bath like that do you? I lean
back and massage my breasts. I look at my surroundings again, you know, to convince myself I’m not dreaming and hang on a minute, there is a cat
drinking out of the loo with his arse stuck in the air. I leap up, sloshing water onto the floor.

     
‘Oi, you little bugger, what are you doing?’ I snap.

The little bugger only turns and hisses at me. I splash it with water
but it just hisses more and bares its teeth. It’s like the cat from hell. It wouldn’t surprise me if it goes for my throat in a minute. God, it’s like being trapped with a lion. How do these things happen to me? There is a tap at the door.

     
‘Miss Harriet, it’s Emily. Are you okay?’

No I’m not. I’ve got a bloody demented cat in my bathroom that has obviously had some kind of Stephen King
Pet Sematary
resurrection. I grab the only weapon at hand and hold the Jo Malone candle menacingly near him. I’m at a aristocratic manor for heaven’s sake. How can they have demented cats here? I thought these kinds of people had dogs anyway. It’s worrying, this. Zilch phone signal and demented cats. The whole family will no doubt turn out to be vampires. Thank God Fiona knows I’m here. When my blood-drained body is found at least she will know who did it.

     
‘There’s a bleeding cat in here and it’s none too friendly,’ I say, sounding every bit
not
like an aristocratic guest.

Emily throws open the door and lurches at the demon. He immediately transforms into a little angel in her arms, all purring and nose rubbing. I fling myself at a chenille towel and wrap it around me.

      ‘Come on Diamond, you know you shouldn’t be in here. I’ll just take him out and I’ll be back, Miss Harriet,’ she says calmly.

Diamond?
She’s got to be kidding me right? Little chance of forgetting Jack Diamond while here then.

     
‘Sorry about that, he’s a little b- … terror is Diamond. He’s all right once you get to know him. Madam Margarita dotes on him,’ smiles Emily shyly, her glance shifting surreptitiously to the silicone breasts sitting on the bed. Ah yes, I’d forgotten about them.

     
‘Sir Sebastian pricked me,’ I say, rummaging through my suitcase for a spare pair.

There is a sharp intake of breath and I turn to see she has turned quite white.

      ‘Oh no,’ I say quickly. ‘Nothing like that …’

Like what? What am I saying exactly?

      ‘His tiepin pricked my breast and …’

She turns even whiter and for a second I think she is in danger of fainting.

      ‘Not my real breast obviously, but one of these,’ I say hastily retrieving a spare from the case.

     
‘Oh,’ she says with a relieved sigh, ‘but why were you wearing those?’ She blushes. ‘Sorry Miss Harriet.’

     
‘Don’t bleeding ask, they’re more trouble than they’re worth. A bit like balloons they are, one prick and
they’re
gone.’

She nods.

      ‘A bit like losing your virginity but in this case you have spares whereas you can never get that back can you?’ she says and bites her lip.

     
‘God, I’m so sorry Miss Harriet, I don’t know what came over me.’

I look at her wide-
eyed and giggle.

     
‘What are you wearing this evening Miss Harriet?’

That’s the million dollar question.

      ‘Buggered if I know. What do most of them wear for dinner?’

She fiddles nervously with my undies.

      ‘I’m sorry madam, what do you mean most of them?’

This is no good. I’ll have to tell someone I’m a fraud. I need to trust someone on the inside. God I’m sounding more and more like a gangster by the minute.