Kissing Toads (33 page)

‘I thought that was Medusa,' Roo said.

‘Basilisks are similar to gorgons,' Russell explained. ‘They can kill with a look. Know your Harry Potter.'

Wardrobe had set to work cleaning the mud off my Vivienne Westwood, and in the meantime I was wearing a cloud-pink lambskin with fuchsia embroidery which I'd picked up at Maddalena's. I liked it so much I'd even contemplated paying for it. Normally, pink suits me (I have warm complexion tones), but Dick the cameraman said I was looking washed out, and even Russell suggested a touch more blusher.

‘You're supposed to exude a healthy outdoor glow,' he said. ‘Makeover shows are all about the relationship between the environment and the soul of the person in it. Beautiful environment equals beautiful soul. It's a load of bollocks, of course, but we have to go with it. Actually, all a garden really does is up your stress levels over the weeding.' Russell lives in a terraced house in Camden with a paved patio, two terracotta urns, and a hanging basket beside the back door.

He's thinking of getting rid of the basket.

‘I'm sorry my soul isn't beautiful enough for you!' I blazed. ‘Could you get me a new bulb for my bloody outdoor glow?'

I threw a tantrum, but only a small one. Generally, blowing up in all directions makes me feel better, purging my spirit of all the bad stuff that builds up inside – little tensions, frustrations, irritations, slowly accumulating into one big explosive lump. Then boom! I go up like a mini volcano, and after that I feel light and cleansed and happy and in love with the whole world. But the hovering presence of my father couldn't be exploded away. He was there at lunchtime, sharing a sofa with Alex again, flirting with Brie in an avuncular sort of way, there in the evening, talking golf with HG, flattering Basilisa. The female toreador and I swapped glares but didn't speak. She at least seemed to be impervious to my father's charm, as she was to everything else outside the range of her self-interest.

‘It is too much!' I overheard her saying to HG. ‘First, I have to put up with the
jardinera
, who has the manners of a pig and the temper of a mad bull. Now, it is
su padre
. Next, it will be
toda la familia
. This is
mi casa
. It is a situation
insoportable
! Why do you not make the
viejo
leave? He is disgusting. He look at me with the eyes of
lujuria
– the eyes of lust – though he is so old he cannot have used his deek for many years.'

‘The same age as me,' HG said evenly.

For an instant Basilisa faltered, then she steam-rollered on. ‘He seem older,' she declared.

‘I'll bear that in mind.' HG's voice had an edge I hadn't heard before. Maybe nor had the Basilisk. I wondered, hopefully, if he was reaching the limit of his tolerance.

They went off to dinner in HG's private dungeon and I found a minute to repeat the conversation to Roo.

‘Do you think we could use the Basilisk to get rid of my father?' I speculated.

‘Maybe,' Roo said. ‘Provided she doesn't twig that's what you want.'

‘We need a plan,' I said.

I was beginning to feel like myself again.

The following morning I came down to breakfast early. I don't usually do anything early, it's against my creed; if you don't have your sleep, you get tired, and you look like hell, and you don't have that glow that Russell was on about. Early rising is incredibly bad for your health. But I can do it if it's really important. Besides, I'd gone to bed around ten-thirty to avoid a late-night session with my father, so I was awake well before eight. Alex had evidently stayed up drinking; he barely stirred when I wriggled out from under the duvet, dislodging Fenny in transit, and headed for the bathroom. (We really must have sex soon, but somehow the more I thought about it the less I wanted it. It was weird, like Hamlet: ‘. . .
the native hue of lust Gets sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought
.' I would have worried I was becoming frigid, not to mention getting saggy tits, if I hadn't had so many other things to worry about.)

Downstairs, as I had hoped, I found the dining room empty except for the servants. Well,
one
servant. I sat down, requested coffee.

‘Winkworth,' I said, ‘I need your help.'

He leaned against the table beside me, arms folded, a little too close for comfort. But I wasn't going to snub him right now.

‘I thought you decided I wasn't a real butler,' he said. ‘You can hardly trust me to help you if I'm a fraud.'

‘That's exactly why you're the person I need,' I said. ‘You're naturally devious and underhand. The thing is, I have to get rid of my father—'

‘I don't do murder.'

‘Stop being stupid. I don't want to
murder
him, I just want him to leave. That's what he's good at. Why is it people only walk out when you don't want them to? When you're desperate for them to go, they stay and stay.'

‘Are you desperate?' Harry asked.

I nodded. He didn't push me on the personal stuff. He just said: ‘Why don't you tell him yourself?'

‘He might go to the press,' I explained. ‘You can imagine the headlines. ‘
GARDENING DIVA DELPHINIUM DUMPS DAD
'. You know the kind of thing. It would be awful.'

‘Would he do that?'

‘Yep. He's sort of hinted to Alex already.'

‘What do you want me to do about it?'

‘Basilisa doesn't like him. I thought, if HG invited him to stay here, she might have a temperament and start screeching and force him to leave. He's got nothing to do with the show, so he wouldn't be able to come back to Dunblair. He'd have no option but to quit the area.'

‘And you want me to talk to HG?'

I nodded again. ‘On account of your natural deviosity. I thought you could handle it.'

‘Maybe,' he said. ‘It depends.'

‘On what?'

‘What's in it for me.'

‘There doesn't have to be anything in it for you,' I objected. ‘You're a butler. It's your job to sort out awkward domestic tangles.'

‘What
have
you been reading? Anyway, according to you I'm a fraud, so . . .'

‘Yes, but you're
pretending
to be a butler, so you can still buttle. Jeeves would have done it.'

‘I keep telling you,' Harry said, ‘Jeeves was a valet.'

‘
Alfred
would have done it.'

‘All Alfred had to do was polish the Batmobile and iron Robin's tights – or possibly vice versa. No one ever asked him to outwit Catwoman's mother or spike the Ovaltine for the Penguin's dad. Deviosity wasn't in the job description. So I repeat, what's in it for me?'

‘A very large tip?' I suggested viciously.

He considered for a minute. ‘Only if I get to specify the precise amount and the nature of the currency.'

For a wild moment I had visions of him demanding South African rand to be lodged in a Swiss bank account. ‘What the hell . . .'

‘You can afford it. You're a C-list celeb, after all.'

‘C-list?
C-list
?' I got to my feet, bringing us almost nose to nose. (Almost – he's taller than me.) ‘I refuse to respond to provocation. I'm definitely B-list: we both know that. If you can't handle my parent problem, forget the whole thing.'

Harry grinned that maddening grin. ‘Calm down. You haven't heard my price.'

‘I don't think I want to.'

‘All I'm asking is a kiss.'

I stared at him. I was so stunned I couldn't say anything at all.

‘One kiss. With tongues. Duration: minimum two minutes. Oh, and half before, half after. That's the usual arrangement with dodgy deals of this kind.'

I found my voice again, though my nervous system was spinning out of control and I had an extraordinary feeling that the floor heaved beneath my feet. ‘I am
not
going to kiss you! I don't go around kissing the butler—'

‘Fake butler.'

‘I don't kiss fake butlers either! I am never,
ever
—'

‘You want me to get rid of Roddy, that's my price. Deal?'

‘Absolutely not! I don't believe you can do it, anyway.' I meant, get my father away from Scotland. Not kiss me.

‘Of course I can,' he said.

I should have backed off – we were still too close for comfort, too close for safety. I shouldn't have hesitated. He caught my arms and twisted them behind my back, holding them with one hand. I suppose I struggled; I don't remember. He was stronger than I expected. He took my face in his other hand – I must have tried to turn away. The grin was gone; his expression was somehow intent. I thought: he's not even good-looking. Not like Alex . . .

He kissed me.

I don't know why I opened my mouth – probably to protest – but it was
very
bad timing. His tongue went in and it pressed all the wrong buttons: it was terrifying, intimate, halfway to sex. His body was clamped against me and the biggest erection I'd ever felt was pressing into my groin. Just for a second I lost it completely. It was like when I was fourteen and Ben Garvin kissed me for the first time, only worse. Much worse. My whole body was sliding out of control, melting into him, melding into him . . .

It must have been well over the allotted time when he drew back . . .

Several heartbeats before he let me go.

‘That was something else,' he said. ‘Mm. Definitely . . . something else.'

‘I didn't agree to you kissing me!' I fumed, groping for indignation, outrage, life-saving fury. ‘It's eight-thirty in the morning! You can't – you can't maul me about at
breakfast
 . . .'

‘Sorry. I'll remember to collect the second instalment later in the day.'

‘You haven't done anything to collect on! We don't have a deal – we
never
had a deal. And if you lay so much as a finger on me again, I'll sue you for assault – I'll tell HG – I'll—'

‘You could tell Alex.'

That was below the belt. Alex in the grip of protective rage, Alex on the warpath doubling a fist in Harry's face . . . the fantasy was beyond the reach of imagination.

‘I don't need Alex,' I declared. ‘I'll deal with you myself.'

‘So we do have a deal?'

That, of course, was the moment when we heard voices outside, and Russell came in, followed by Roo.

‘You're up early,' she said, gazing at me in faint surprise.

‘I . . . I had something to sort out.' I didn't look at Harry. ‘Anyway, I went to bed early.'

‘I noticed,' said Russell. ‘It isn't natural. Are those scrambled eggs? Good. Roo tells me we've had the
Scoop
on the line already. They want to come and take some pix this morning. They'll want you too, Harry. Also Young Andrew and Ash.'

‘I don't need PR,' Harry said, disconcerted.

‘Don't worry, you can stay in the background. Delphinium'll see to that.'

‘I'm afraid I'm a bit busy . . .'

‘No, no,' I said, relishing his discomfiture. ‘You led the rescue party. You have to be there.' Latching on to the chance of a small revenge, I radiated sweetness and generosity. Russell looked startled, Harry both annoyed and faintly appreciative of my tactics. ‘I won't do it without you,' I announced.

It didn't occur to me to wonder why Harry should be quite so camera-shy. It should have done.

  

We spent most of the morning posing for pictures against the background of Dunblair castle, while the surviving journalist from the
Scoop
took notes about our expedition. Young Andrew was both tickled and uncomfortable at being included, making him more inarticulate than usual (especially since Auld Andrew came along to supervise). Ash was bored and increasingly impatient, Harry curiously reluctant to be involved at all. Delphi enjoyed herself hugely, thrusting Fenny into the limelight and evidently determined to make Harry take his share. I had no idea what she was up to, but in the end he said curtly: ‘If that's enough, I'm off. I need to talk to HG about something,' shooting Delphi a look which totally bewildered me. The
Scoop
fished for HG's participation, but in vain.

In fact, he was doing the final re-enactment scenes with Basilisa, well out of range of Delphi and me. I was so relieved I allowed myself to be inveigled into the front row of the publicity shots without complaint, although in the main I hate being photographed. I was itching to ask Delphi what she was up to, but we didn't get the chance for a private word. She seemed to have got her glow back with a vengeance, though perhaps it was more glitter than glow, a kind of diabolical sparkle that made me deeply suspicious.

At lunchtime, I began to have an inkling of the truth.

Roddy Dacres was present, being chummy with everyone, acting as if he was part of the scenery instead of somebody whose only claim to be there was a tenuous relationship with his daughter. He had a strangely mesmeric effect on the company: he was so much at ease, so sure he belonged that no one had the nerve – or the effrontery – to question him. Even HG, putting in an appearance in the wake of his acting success, seemed to accept him at his own valuation. They'd talked golf and mutual friends (none, but Roddy stretched a few acquaintances) the previous day; now, to my amazement, I heard HG actually proposing that Roddy should stay in the castle, ‘Join the crowd – much more convenient than being stuck in the village.' I glanced at Delphi, expecting to see raw horror in her face. But she seemed preoccupied, and was looking beyond HG to the door.