‘We’d better keep this quick,’ said the man. ‘There’re about fifty people still milling around the stage. We’re not going to stop until midnight.’ He pushed an envelope over the table like a poker player folding his cards. Maria picked it up and began counting the crisp fifty-pound notes inside with her long fingertips. The feel of large amounts of money still never failed to give her a sexual thrill, and the poor girl from Puglia in her wanted to feel every last note. She felt the cool gaze of the man at the table and stopped herself, stashing the envelope in her black velvet clutch bag.
‘OK, listen,’ she said. ‘We’ll be starting dinner in fifteen minutes. Oswald never allows a dinner to be finished in less than two hours. He likes to luxuriate over every course and insists his guests do too. There are only three staff in the whole house, so it will be easy for you to avoid them.’ She tossed a plain brown envelope onto the table with a thud. ‘Here is the key to the back door. Her room is straight up the main stairway, the third door along the large corridor at the front of the house. I’m sure you’ll find everything you need in there.’
‘You’re sure?’ asked the man.
‘The girl takes cocaine. I saw it with my own eyes at her party in March. She’ll almost certainly have some on her. It wouldn’t surprise me if she wasn’t drinking spirits and taking pills too. She’s such an irresponsible little bitch.’ In Maria’s Italian accent the word came out ‘beach’. The man smiled in the darkness. He could feel himself becoming turned on as he imagined the glorious shirt-tearing catfight that would be had between these gorgeous, dominant women.
‘Well, we’d better find what we’re looking for,’ he said finally, dropping his cigarette into a plastic cup, where it fizzled out with a hiss in the dregs. ‘The newspaper is paying a lot of money for this.’
‘Oh, you’ll get what you want,’ said Maria Dante, nodding so vigorously that a strand of hair fell across her dark brown eyes. ‘Serena Balcon never fails to disappoint.’
Oswald Balcon sat at the head of the Louis XV table in the Red Drawing Room with Maria and Serena flanked on either side of him like two concubines, each gently picking at their asparagus spears.
‘Oswald Balcon,’ chided Maria lightly, looking up at him with glossy chocolate eyes, ‘I think this is the smallest dinner I have ever attended at Huntsford. What happened to the other girls? I thought it was going to be a family affair tonight.’
Oswald placed down his silver knife and fork pointedly, looking more than a little disgruntled. ‘Neither Cate and Camilla nor Venetia and Jonathon will be attending until tomorrow,’ he said, pursing his lips with disapproval. ‘As you are well aware, I can never rely on family support for anything.’
The comment echoed around the room, which was indeed empty, being large enough to seat twenty. The situation was not helped by the frosty atmosphere between the two women, who were pointedly not looking at each other except when passing condiments. A rumble of thunder could be heard far away, like a growl coming from the core of the earth. The sound brought an anxious look across Oswald’s face; he immediately tried to disguise it.
Collins came through the door pushing a silver trolley laden with cloches. He placed Serena’s dinner in front of her, pulling off the silver dome with a flourish. A seared tuna steak was accompanied by a plateful of potatoes and vegetables.
‘What’s this?’ snapped Serena, looking up at Collins, throwing her napkin down angrily. ‘Look at it! It’s practically raw!’
‘But that’s how you always like your steaks, Miss Serena,’ said Collins, looking a little flushed in the face.
‘That was before I became pregnant,’ sighed Serena, not hiding her irritation.
‘Serena! Stop making such a fuss!’ said Oswald, banging his hand on the table. ‘It’s been such a hot day, I asked Collins to serve something light.’
‘Well, obviously you’ve never been pregnant either,’ said Serena, flashing him an icy stare and pushing her chair out from under the table. She was tired and bad-tempered. Exhausted in fact. She felt as if she would melt into the floor at any moment. All she could think of was her room and getting some sleep. She certainly couldn’t stand another two hours being bored to death by her father and Maria cooing at each other.
‘No, neither of you will understand how I am feeling,’ said Serena, standing up now and placing her napkin beside her plate, ‘but I can tell you, it’s pretty awful.’ She fixed her gaze on her father. ‘If I’m going to be in any fit state to do a decent job tomorrow, I need to get some sleep. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’
Knowing the wisdom of having Serena as her fresh dazzling self the next day, Oswald nodded and gave the familiar wave of his hand to let her know she had been dismissed.
Maria glanced at the grandfather clock behind her: 8.45 p.m. She stood up suddenly.
‘Serena, please,’ said Maria, giving her the most sincere smile she could, ‘I would feel so offended if you went to bed now.’ She opened her arms like a Madonna. ‘Please stay. We need to get to know each other so much more now. Collins can cook you a nice, well-done steak, can’t you Collins? Then you can stay and relax at the table.’
‘As I said,’ smiled Serena, trying her best to look gracious, ‘I really don’t think you understand how tired a woman in her third month of pregnancy can get. Daddy, maybe we can meet in the morning so we can go over my introductory speech?’
By now, Serena had crossed the room’s Oriental carpet and was moving to the lounge. Maria sprang up from her seat to go after her, almost running through the doorway to catch up with Serena. ‘Serena,’ she said quietly, ‘your father told me earlier how important this dinner is to him – and how we get along.’
Serena span on her heel. ‘He’ll get over it,’ she spat. ‘And in future, I suggest that you make a little more effort with the lady of the house.’
Maria stood and anxiously watched Serena ascend the enormous flight of stairs, as she sulkily stepped up them one by one. ‘Stupid Italian cow,’ said Serena under her breath, already pulling off her shoes to walk up the thick red corridor carpet barefoot.
On the first floor of the house there was a spooky quiet. Most of the lights were turned off. She had seen Collins go around, methodically switching off lamps earlier, no doubt in a desperate attempt to economize. Saving a few pennies on electricity wasn’t exactly going to refill the Huntsford coffers, she thought with irritation. Passing a window that overlooked the lake, she flinched as the lights were switched on over the domed stage, drowning the grounds in crisp, sterile light. Thank goodness she had drawn the curtains in her room, she thought. She didn’t want her bed being lit up like a football stadium.
She pushed down the gilt handle of her bedroom door and stepped inside. Immediately she knew that something was wrong. A presence. Instinctively she clutched the Jimmy Choo shoe with its four-inch heel in her hand like an axe. With her other hand she felt around on the wall for the light switch. There was definitely someone in the room: she could sense it. Finally she found the switch and flipped it on. Her first reaction was to scream, but the sound in her voice transformed into a shout as she immediately recognized the intruder. ‘MILES! What the hell are you …?’
He was carrying a small torch in one hand while the other was rifling through her overnight bag.
‘You won’t find anything in there,’ she said slowly, almost riveted to the spot with disbelief.
‘Serena, I, look …’
Realizing he’d been caught out, he darted for the door. Serena reacted too slowly to stop him, waving the heel of the Jimmy Choo above her head in frustration.