Kissing Toads (43 page)

‘Harry,' I said. He opened an eye. ‘Winkworth – you have to go now. You should go back to your room and . . . and do whatever you have to do, and—'

‘Winkworth? We have a night of wild sex and you're calling me by my surname? Well, Dacres, if that's how you feel—'

‘That's
Miss
Dacres to you!' I flashed, determined to stay on top of the situation.

He glanced from his erection to me, pointedly. ‘
Miss
Dacres, may I . . .'

‘Last night was a mistake,' I said hastily. ‘It shouldn't have happened – it didn't happen – you took advantage of me when I was emotionally vulnerable and if you ever tell anyone –' dear God, the tabloids – ‘I'll deny everything and I'll sue the shirt off your back and—'

‘This shirt?' He held up the one he wasn't wearing.

‘
Any
shirt! Just wipe that big fat grin off your face, because if you breathe a single word about this—'

‘You're right about one thing,' he said, losing the grin and groping for his clothes. The erection was still in place, large as life and twice as distracting. Bugger . . .

‘What?' I said.

‘It
was
a mistake – possibly the biggest I've ever made.' He was watching my face, which fell. I could feel it. I stared at him. ‘So . . . you don't want me to come back tonight, then?'

‘No! Absolutely not.' What kind of game was he playing? ‘Anyway, if it was such a big mistake . . .'

‘It was the best mistake I've ever made,' he said. The erection was out of sight now, tucked into his trousers. ‘I could make it again, no problem.' He leaned over and kissed me, mouth to mouth, no tongues. The kind of kiss that means something, though I didn't know what. ‘See you later.'

When he had gone I lay down again, telling myself that as we had the day off I could go back to sleep. But it was no good. My emotions were fizzing away like a bottle of champagne in an earthquake; I felt as if the cork would fly out any minute, though whether I would laugh or cry or scream blue murder I had no idea. Under those conditions, I believe men go and play squash, or golf, or beat someone up, if they're that way inclined, but girls don't. We have a far more effective emotional outlet.

Girls' talk.

I rolled out of bed, despatched Fenny to go walkies with one of the maids, and went to wake up Roo.

  

Delphi, as I may have mentioned, is not a morning person. Yet since we came to Dunblair – perhaps because she was going to bed much too early for both her health and mine – it always seemed that
she
was the one waking
me
up, especially on mornings when I was due for a lie-in. That Saturday, the pounding on my door dragged me from a sleep so deep that in the confusion of returning to consciousness I wasn't immediately sure
who
I was, let alone where. I'd locked the door out of some obscure instinct of self-preservation, but it wasn't doing me any good. The pounding was accompanied by a voice. ‘Roo!
Roo
! For God's sake wake up and let me in!'

Roo. Yes, that was me. I tried hiding my head under the pillow, but the thumping still got through. In the end I surfaced, reluctantly, scrambled out of bed and staggered to the door. The lurid throw over the duvet came halfway with me, caught inexplicably round my leg. I unlocked, let Delphi in, and tottered back to bed, groping for the phone even as I subsided into the warmth of my nest.

‘I
have
to talk to you,' Delphi was saying.

‘I need tea – coffee – any combination,' I mumbled. ‘I'll ask Harry—'

‘NO!' Delphi yelled in capital letters, snatching the phone from my grasp.

‘Why ever not?'

‘You mustn't – you don't understand – you mustn't ask Harry for anything
ever
again. Especially not now.'

Delphi had clearly gone completely bonkers.

‘Look, whatever it is you want to tell me, I'll listen much better when I've got some tea or something. Calm down and give me the phone.' Her insane panic was
really
waking me up, which is not a pleasant experience without coffee in support.

‘Wait, please. The problem isn't the tea, it's Harry.'

‘I thought you'd decided you liked him after all,' I said. Delphi, I knew, had always resented Harry being a normal sort of guy instead of the stone-faced fantasy butler of Georgette Heyer novels and
The Remains of the Day
. And Harry, being a normal guy, hadn't been able to resist making fun of her resentment. It all seemed harmless enough – except that there was that strange business of the ‘deal' they had made to get rid of Roddy . . .

‘I
don't
like him,' Delphi declared with a passion out of all proportion to the sentiment. ‘I
loathe
him. He's the most disgusting excuse for a man – or a butler – I've ever met.'

‘What's he done?' I said. It was too early for me to think clearly.

‘It isn't so much what he's done – at least, it
is
, but . . . it's what
I've
done!' She flopped on to my bed, looking tragic. Delphi is an actress of questionable talent, but at that moment her mien – she definitely had a mien, rather than just an expression – would have done credit to a Siddons.

‘Well . . . what
have
you done?' I asked.

‘I – I – I shagged him,' she said, tragically.

‘Uh . . . ?' I stared at her, temporarily at a loss for words.

Delphi and
Harry
???

One: although Harry is an attractive guy with an agreeable grin, he doesn't have the classic good looks or the aura of glamour that has always done it for her. Two: without being precisely a snob – okay, she's a snob, but she isn't precise about it – Delphi's taste in men runs to upper-class types with Eton accents and lots of money in the family. Even Ben Garvin, the local ne'er-do-well, had been the son of successful surgeon, and his tough-guy image (Triumph bike and leather jacket) had been paid for by Daddy. Harry was evidently intelligent and well-educated, but also indefinably blokeish – and though that said nothing about his background, it wasn't Delphi's style. Delphi's men were guys, or possibly chaps, cool and sophisticated and very, very pretty. She didn't do blokes.

‘You . . . you shagged
Harry
,' I repeated, trying to visualise it and backing off hastily.

There are places where the imagination should not go.

‘Yeah.'

‘When? Last night?'

Delphi nodded.

‘Once, or . . . ?'

‘All night.' After a pause, she added: ‘Not this morning, though. It took huge amounts of will power, but I pushed him away.'

‘Will power . . .'

‘I've got lots of will power, honestly. I'm very will-powerful. Roo, what am I going to do? How will I face him?'

‘The usual way, I suppose. But . . .' I fumbled for a single question among the hundred or so that leaped to mind . . . ‘how did it happen?'

‘Don't ask.' She shuddered artistically.

‘Well, all right, if you don't want me to . . .'

‘Don't you
dare
not ask!' She relinquished the shudder, and then the whole story came pouring out. The ‘deal' over Roddy, the kiss – ‘I never even agreed to it! He just
forced
it on me' – how his kindness over the business with Alex had lulled her into a false sense of security. And then last night . . .

‘So . . . um . . . how was it?' I asked.

Delphi looked more tragic than ever, as if smitten to the heart by some dreadful stroke of doom. ‘It was fantastic,' she said wretchedly. ‘It was the best sex I've ever had. It's so humiliating. First Alex cheats on me with two lumps of silicon and a brain cell, and now this. It wouldn't be so bad if it had been bad. At least I'd have felt in control of things. But I lost it completely. Roo, what's happening to us? You pull an international megastar and I shag the butler. It's all the wrong way round. I mean . . .'

I laughed. ‘I know what you mean. You're right, too: we're both acting wildly out of character.'

‘What do I do?' Delphi reiterated. ‘How do I behave towards him? What's the – the etiquette when you've shagged the butler?'

‘Tip?' I suggested.

Delphi was in such a state she insisted on shutting herself in the bathroom after I ordered tea so she wouldn't have to see Harry. However, it arrived with one of the girls, Margaret I think her name is, and Delphi reappeared afterwards looking as near sheepish as she would ever allow. ‘When are you getting up?' she asked me. ‘I can't go downstairs without you. I need a chaperone.'

‘I thought I'd have a bath,' I said hopefully. A long one. ‘Why don't you have one too?'

Eventually, we went down to the drawing room around eleven. HG was the only person there, listening to music, presumably enjoying having his home almost to himself for a day or two. However, he looked pleased to see us, smiling a welcome and turning the volume down with the remote. Delphi glanced around warily, as if waiting for Harry to pounce.

‘Who's left?' I said after commenting on the quiet.

‘Nigel's gone to Leicester,' HG said. ‘Dorian went online last night and came up with some Dagworthys living there who're direct descendants of Elizabeth's aunt. I'm not sure how he did it, but apparently you can find out anything with the Internet these days. Much better and more efficient than leaving it to the papers, or so Dorian says. I'm the wrong generation for this sort of thing.'

‘And Nigel's hot on the trail?'

‘He phoned them first thing and left about an hour ago. Looks like it's just us now.'

‘Where's Ash?' I said, trying to sound non-committal.

‘Last seen talking to Morag. I didn't know, but evidently her mother was a Craig. I think he's sounding her out on her family history.'

‘Didn't they say she was the local beauty once?' Delphi volunteered. ‘I know it seems unlikely, but perhaps the Scots don't wear well. It comes of being dour all the time. Although you'd think that they'd have heard of Crème de la Mer even here.'

‘Vanity is one of the seven deadly sins,' Harry said, arriving with fresh coffee. ‘Morag doesn't do sin.'

‘Too right,' said HG. Delphi, completely unnerved, had lapsed into silence. ‘She just enjoys deploring them in everyone else. I expect that's why she works for me. I must have the whole set.'

‘I can never remember what they are,' I said, feeling mischievous. ‘Except for lust. I know lust is in there somewhere.'

Delphi glared at me. Harry, my target, gave me a look which said:
Touché
.

‘Any news from the village?' HG asked him.

‘Dirk phoned. He says three sinister strangers have arrived at the pub.'

‘Lochnabu is crawling with strangers,' HG retorted. ‘The not-so-gentlemen of the press. How sinister?'

‘Dirk says they're
not
press,' Harry explained. ‘Under the circumstances, that's sinister.'

‘I could go and check them out,' I offered. ‘I'd like a walk.'

(‘You can't leave me!' Delphi hissed.

‘Don't be idiotic,' I hissed back.)

‘You shouldn't,' HG said. ‘The hacks will be after you like vultures as soon as you set foot outside the grounds. If you want a walk, stay on my land.'

‘I'm not famous,' I argued. ‘They might pester a bit but they won't mob.' I didn't feel like curtailing my activities because of the bloody press. I couldn't see why I should have the disadvantages of celebrity without even being one. ‘Anyway, I want to find out about the sinister strangers.'

‘Dorian can go with you,' HG said, clearly determined to look after me.

‘No thanks.' I was equally determined not to have Dorian. ‘I'm sure he'd rather spend time with his computer.'

‘You can take Fenny,' Delphi offered, still convinced her fluffy pup was a cross between a Rottweiler and a bloodhound. ‘He'll look after you – and the exercise would be good for him.'

And then Ash entered, right on cue.

‘Good,' HG said, arranging matters with the careless authority of uncrowned kingship. ‘You can go with Ruth. She's decided she wants to walk to the village to check on some sinister strangers at the pub. They're probably just unsuspecting tourists caught up in the scrimmage, but you never know.'

Rather surprisingly, when the situation was explained to him, Ash agreed.

I took Fenny, promising Delphi faithfully that I would return before Harry could ravish her again, and we set off.

Initially, neither of us said anything. It was a beautiful day for a walk: the sunlight on the loch sparkled like a sheet of diamonds, the woods were green with early summer and rippling with birdsong, cloud-shadows came chasing down the mountainsides, swooping across the landscape on a light breeze. Ash and I strode along side by side, playing a sort of conversational chicken, waiting to see who would crack and break the silence first. I knew it was going to be me. I may be more patient than Delphi (
mayflies
are more patient than Delphi), but I hate those kinds of games.

Only I couldn't ask the big question in my head –
Are you gay?
– because that would betray my own feelings. If he
was
gay, that would be merely embarrassing, but if he wasn't – if he didn't have similar feelings for me – I would be shamed and humiliated as well. That's what comes of living in a liberated society. Communication between the sexes becomes a total minefield.