Bad Angels

by Rebecca Chance

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ Wayne said resignedly, wrinkling his small pug nose. ‘It’s funny cos it’s true.’

  ‘You’re very strong,’ Andy said firmly. ‘I’ve seen you play. You move really fast. I bet you’re solid muscle.’

  ‘I wish!’ Wayne patted his stomach gloomily. ‘More like lard.’

  Andy giggled.

  ‘Oh, come on,’ he said. ‘With the amount of exercise you do?’

  ‘Yeah, but then I eat a pie and it all piles back on straight away...’ Wayne finished the mince pie he was eating and chased the pastry down with some mulled wine. ‘Mmm,’ he said. ‘This is top stuff. I don’t usually like ’ot drinks, but this is well tasty.’ He nodded to the terrace. ‘Shouldn’t you be showing me the Father Christmas, then? Be something to do.’ He glanced around the room, which was empty apart from three bodyguards and two waiters. ‘I know I’m early. I always am.’

  ‘All right, here we go,’ Andy said, leading the way onto the terrace, holding the door for Wayne. ‘Next year we’re going to do a giant Father Christmas getting out of a helicopter on the roof, but this is all right for now.’

  Wayne’s eyebrows shot up at the sight in front of him. ‘Yeah,’ he said respectfully, taking in the reindeer rearing up, four feet up from the top of the balcony, the sleigh, Santa Claus at the reins, the entire contraption dwarfing even the big space heaters and enormous built-in Weber grill. ‘I’d call this all right for now. The kids are going to go mental over this. Wait—’

  He looked down at the snow underfoot.

  ‘Did it snow ’ere? But ’ow come there ain’t any on the roads?’

  Andy giggled again. ‘We got a snow machine!’ he said gleefully. ‘It was my idea! Brilliant, isn’t it? You should see it coming out, it’s so much fun. Even the bodyguards were dying to have a go.’

  ‘Mate, that’s excellent,’ Wayne said seriously, turning round 360 degrees to take in the spectacle of the snow-covered terrace. ‘So that snow on the Santa Claus—’

  ‘Yeah! It’s all real! Mental, eh?’ Andy said. ‘Why don’t you have a go on the snow machine after lunch? It’ll be ready for a top-up by then.’

  ‘Love to,’ Wayne said with great enthusiasm. ‘I must say, you and Mr K definitely know ’ow to throw a party.’ Andy finished the rest of his mulled wine. It was rich with port and brandy, and tasted as richly crimson as it looked; he felt his head spinning, and took it as a warning. Reluctantly, he said:

  ‘I should be getting back downstairs, I suppose. That’s really where I’m meant to be.’

  ‘Oh.’ Wayne finished his own glass, looking straight ahead at the reindeer. ‘Yeah. Sorry to keep you.’

  ‘No, it’s been really nice! And thanks for making them give me some food. Sergei’d never have let me have anything if you hadn’t said so.’

  ‘Plenty to go round,’ Wayne said, still staring ahead, his nose like a little snubbed button in profile, a slight double chin showing under his small round jaw.

  A waiter bustled out onto the terrace with a fresh tray loaded with the largest prawns Andy had ever seen in his life. ‘River prawns, sir?’ he asked, extending the tray to Wayne. The door to the great room had been propped open, and raised, jovial voices inside made both Andy and Wayne look towards their source. A large, bullet-headed man loomed into view, wearing a very expensive suit; he was clearly Russian. Next to him was a thin, pale girl with her hair scraped back into a ponytail, dressed in a navy Chanel couture wool frock with a beaded Peter Pan collar, flat pumps with grosgrain bows on her long narrow feet. Sergei was practically bobbing and scraping to the man, babbling questions about his flight and his comfort; the man was flapping his hand dismissively at Sergei, who was buzzing around him like a small, annoying insect.

  ‘That’s Grigor’s fiancée. And her dad,’ Wayne observed, biting the tail off a gigantic prawn. ‘Seen ’em round the club last week. Tiny little thing, ain’t she? ’E’d better not get on top. Snap ’er in two.’

  Andy cracked a laugh.

  ‘That’s Miss Fyodorova?’ he asked under his breath, as the waiter shot over to offer food to the high-status new arrivals. ‘I thought she’d be more... more...’

  ‘You and me both, mate,’ Wayne said dryly. ‘Oh well. Her dad’s stinking rich.’

  ‘He’d have to be,’ Andy said without thinking, looking at the slight, droopy girl, her face bare of make-up, her persona of any sex appeal. ‘She looks like a wet piece of spaghetti in a two-thousand-quid dress.’

  Wayne laughed so hard he spat out some prawn into his hand. Everyone turned to look.

  ‘I really should go...’

  Andy dashed off, nodding respectfully at the father and daughter as he passed. Sergei hissed again, his head jerking forwards like a cobra, making it clear that Russian near-royalty was his exclusive territory, and that Andy should not stop to introduce himself; Andy wouldn’t have dreamed of it. But Sergei must have decided on reflection that Andy’s obedience wasn’t enough. As Andy waited for the lift, he felt a sharp poke on his shoulder, two fingers jabbing into him; he swivelled round to see Sergei, almost a foot shorter than him, glaring up at him with absolute fury. ‘Who do you think you are?’ Sergei spat out, so viciously Andy almost expected to see venom dribbling from his lips. ‘You are nothing! A stupid concierge! You are no one! So you and Mr Khalovsky both like Christmas? Big fucking deal, as you say here! Tomorrow, Christmas will be over, and Mr Khalovsky will forget all about you, but I will still be by his side! Looking after everything for him, everything! You know what I did for him, just this morning? Do you?’

  Sergei’s narrowed eyes were completely black, like the people in horror films who are taken over by demons. Andy shook his head dumbly, terrified of both Sergei and the answer to his own question that Sergei was about to give: if he’s going to tell me he tossed off Mr K as a Christmas treat, Andy thought in panic, I’ll burst out laughing – I won’t be able to help it – and then this little freak will probably have me killed...

  ‘I made him a Christmas stocking!’ Sergei hissed. ‘With his name on it! And presents inside! Hanging on the foot of his bed, when he woke up! He was so happy he cried and said that he was the luckiest man in the world!’

  ‘Oh, that’s lovely!’ Andy exclaimed quite spontaneously. Sergei stared at him with deep concentration, trying to make out whether Andy had spoken satirically, but Andy’s face was an open book, and it was perfectly clear, even to a suspicious Russian, that Andy had meant what he said.

  ‘Yes!’ Sergei eventually said triumphantly. ‘Yes it was! He loved it! And though he said Father Christmas had come, he knows it is really me who comes! Sergei!’ The secretary pounded his scrawny chest so hard with his clenched fists that Andy was concerned he might actually dent himself. ‘Me! I do this for him! I take care of him! So you—’ One hand shot out and stabbed Andy again in the chest; if Andy hadn’t been wearing the elf costume, which was made of heavy felt, Sergei’s finger would have left a bruise.

  ‘Ow!’ Andy said, jumping back, frowning now. ‘Enough with the poking!’

  ‘I poke you every time I want!’ Sergei said, foaming at the mouth with rage. ‘You are just a pathetic concierge! You stay downstairs, where you belong, and I stay up here, with Mr Khalovsky, looking after him, taking care of everything for him! You think because you make a fool of yourself, dressing up like that, he will like you! Well, you are stupid! You just look like a big green frog! Stupid!’

  The lift pinged. With huge relief, Andy shot through the opening doors.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m going!’ he said, noticing with horror that Sergei’s back had hunched over, his fingers extended like claws; he looked rather like Gollum defending his ‘precious’. Andy glanced at the bodyguard stationed by the lift; even that impassive Slavic professional, for a second, rolled his eyes back in his skull to show the whites. It was a clear indication that he also thought Sergei was barking mad.

  The doors slid shut again: Andy found himself looking at his own r
eflection in their steel surface. His handsome dark face was blurred in that distorting mirror, but he could see the whites of his eyes, the paler purple of his lips, and a little of his equally white teeth; he found himself turning round, staring at his much clearer reflection in the antique gold-framed mirror set into the mosaic back wall. He shook his head in wonder at the bizarre confrontation he had just had with Sergei – or rather, that Sergei had just had with him.

  But, crazy though that had been, its memory dissolved almost immediately. There was something much more pressing on Andy’s mind. His brain was racing with speculation. And then he shook his head slowly once more, his brown eyes wide, still watching his face in the mirror, the elf ears on his head wobbling as he did so.

  ‘No,’ he mouthed to himself. ‘No. Not possible.’

  Melody

  She was crying again. And to do Melody justice, she was totally sick of it. Melody was not one of those actresses who thrived on perpetual excesses of emotion and drama; she was basically a sensible girl who didn’t need to create chaos around her to feel alive.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mum! I don’t mean to be so pathetic! It’s just so lovely to see you!’ she wailed through her tears, clinging to her mother.

  If Melody’s face hadn’t been so bruised, she would have looked exactly like a smaller, more delicate version of the older woman; Sonia Dale had passed on her striking colouring, the black hair and triangular, cat-like blue eyes, to Melody, and in her youth had been just as slim as her daughter. Age and soft living had layered and padded more flesh over the fine bones, but her hair was piled up on top of her head to give her height, her make-up thorough but discreet, and her print wrap dress hid her pleasantly plump body in all the right places. And, like all good mothers, she had that crucial item in her handbag – a packet of tissues.

  ‘Come on now,’ she said, easing her daughter back, trying not to grimace at the bruising on Melody’s face; it was faded yellow now, the colour of dirty nicotine stains, and the swelling was also going down. But it was still unpleasant enough to be a shock for a mother who had had no idea, until Melody rang her first thing that morning, that her daughter had undergone yet another gruelling round of plastic surgery.

  Reaching for a tissue, Sonia dabbed at Melody’s face with extreme caution.

  ‘Do you think you could put on some foundation, love?’ she asked. ‘You know, just so you don’t frighten the horses.’

  ‘Literally,’ commented Ash, Melody’s brother, who was standing by the window staring out at the stunning view beyond. Actually, he was craning his head down as much as possible, trying to give himself vertigo. ‘You better not wander around the village looking like that, Mel. Not near the riding school, anyway. With a face like that you’ll spook a whole string of horses at one go.’

  ‘Ashley Dale,’ thundered his father crossly. ‘Don’t you make fun of your sister like that!’

  ‘It’s okay, Dad,’ Melody said, sitting up, but still leaning against her mother on the sofa, where she had collapsed into Sonia’s arms almost as soon as her family had walked in the door. ‘I did it to myself. It’s my own stupid fault. Ash can take the piss as much as he wants.’

  ‘Ah, bollocks, Mel,’ Ashley said, turning round from the view of Canary Wharf’s skyscrapers, bright in the clear sunny winter sky. ‘Way to take all the fun out of it.’

  ‘Sorry, Ash,’ his sister said, managing a smile. ‘Bet it doesn’t last long.’

  ‘This is a brilliant place,’ Ash said, looking around him. ‘Like, amazing. Are you going to live here now?’

  ‘No!’ Melody said instantly. Apart from the suite at the Bel-Air in LA, she’d never been as unhappy anywhere as she had here at Limehouse Reach. ‘I can’t wait to get out of here!’

  Twenty-one-year-old Ash sighed audibly as his dreams of visiting his sister, even moving into the second bedroom of this amazing shag pad in the sky, fizzled and died.

  ‘It even has a built-in bar,’ he complained in frustration, going over to the free-standing white unit with its smooth grey Corian top. Behind it, against the wall, was a cupboard with glass doors, its glass shelves stocked with martini glasses, hi-ball tumblers, brandy snifters and champagne flutes; Ashley bent down to open the doors below the glass shelves, revealing a drinks fridge on one side and a wine rack on the other. ‘Well cool!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘That is lovely,’ Sonia Dale cooed, craning her neck to look at the set-up over her daughter’s head. ‘Phil, do you think we could do something like that in ours?’

  ‘Where?’ her husband asked bluntly. ‘We haven’t got room for that, Sonia!’

  ‘Maybe if we knock through, like I’ve been talking about – do an L in the kitchen and put it on the far side—’

  ‘Sonia! We are not having an L in the kitchen, and that’s that! It’ll cut the room in half !’

  ‘Not if we knock through to the utility room—’

  Sonia’s attention was temporarily diverted to her husband; this particular battle had been raging between them for ten years now and saw no signs of abating. It was the unstoppable force meeting the immovable object. Melody’s eyes met Ashley’s, and they both smiled in recognition of the decade old dispute kicking off between their parents. It was hugely comforting, because it was so familiar.

  Melody slipped away from her mother on the sofa, came over to her brother and enfolded him in a hug, careful not to squeeze too tightly because of the bandages on her chest. Ashley didn’t have Melody’s ethereal beauty; he was more solid, less striking, a nice-looking, averagely built young man who was close enough to his older sister to hug her back warmly.

  ‘You’ve been through the wars, Mel love,’ he said, patting her back. ‘All sorted now, though, eh? It’s been a weird old time of it. We haven’t known what to think.’

  ‘Hopefully I’m all sorted,’ Melody said, giving him a last cuddle and then pulling back.

  He looked down at her.

  ‘You got your tits done as well, right?’ he asked hopefully. ‘Mum said you said you’d had all this surgery to get everything back like before.’

  ‘Yes!’ She grinned. ‘They should be all fine – the implants weren’t in for long, so the doctor said I’ll still be—’

  ‘Aah! Sorry I asked!’ Ashley covered his ears. ‘Last thing I want to hear is details of my sister’s boob job! I’m just glad you won’t be, you know, bouncing around like that any more. That Wonder Woman outfit—’ He shuddered. ‘I dunno how brothers of glamour models manage, seeing their sisters with their tits out all the time. It’s enough to give you a complex or something.’

  Phil Dale came over; sensibly ignoring any discussion on the size or bounciness of his daughter’s breasts, he hugged her in his turn, stroking her hair and saying how worried they’d been.

  ‘It just wasn’t like you to disappear like that over the holidays, Mel,’ he said over and over again. ‘I know you were so busy, and we hadn’t seen much of you in the last year, with all the filming and being in California, but we really did think we’d get you back for Christmas...’

  ‘I’m sorry, Dad!’ she mumbled. ‘I just thought I’d hide away for the holidays, get the work done and start the New Year all back to normal... it seemed like such a good idea at the time...’

  ‘Well, no harm done,’ Sonia said sensibly, standing up and smoothing down her skirt, picking up the blue suede handbag that matched her eyes and one of the colours in her print dress. Sonia was very big on things matching. ‘Melody’s come to her senses, she’s given us a ring and we’ve dashed down first thing on Christmas morning to come and bring her home. I must say, at least there wasn’t a soul on the roads. Natalie next door’s keeping an eye on the turkey I’ve got in the oven, but we should really be getting back. Phil, do you want me to drive? And Melody, do you want to pack your stuff now? There’s room in the car, and we’ve got the roof rack. You won’t need to be coming back, will you, love? Not to stay, I mean.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Melody said, throw
n into confusion. ‘I mean, I’ve got the nurse here, and the doctor’s on call if there are any complications—’

  James is in London, is what she really meant. I need to be close to him, work out what I’m going to do. If I pack up and leave, I’ll be really far away from him...

  ‘Come on, Sonia love, don’t rush her like this,’ her father said, coming to her rescue. ‘Melody, why don’t you just get yourself an overnight bag for tonight, and me or Ash can bring you back tomorrow or the day after. Do you need to check with that nice nurse?’

  Aniela had just come in for Melody’s daily check-up when the Dales flooded in to see her; she’d promptly left them to have their happy reunion, telling Melody to page her if she wanted her to come back later.

  ‘Not for my face,’ Melody said unguardedly. ‘She says I’m healing fine. This place—’ she gestured around her at the stunning flat – ‘is more for the privacy, you know. I was scared to death of the paps seeing me like this.’

  ‘They’ll know you had more surgery,’ her brother said frankly. ‘I mean, if your lips don’t look like a goldfish’s any more, and your boobs aren’t the size of—’

  ‘Ashley!’ both his parents yelled furiously.

  A momentary silence fell: Ashley hung his head. It was the first time the Dales had all been quiet at the same time, and into the momentary lull there slid a seductive voice which was familiar to everyone in the room, and, at this point, most people in the country. It was a woman, cooing in velvety tones:

  ‘Mmm, this tastes wonderful! Maybe it’s just me, but I love to lick gravy off the spoon – I bet you do too, when it’s this good. It’s that dash of Madeira that gives it a delicious extra kick...’

  ‘Ma cosa fai, Devon?’ The woman was interrupted by an Italian male, impatient and bossy. ‘Che schifo!’

  As one, the Dales turned to look at the big flatscreen TV, which Melody had been watching before the arrival of her family. A beautiful, curvy brunette, her white bosom wobbling as delicately as two luscious mounds of blancmange above the low-cut neckline of her festive red cardigan, was turning to frown crossly at a skinny, large-nosed Italian man whose hair was a mass of wild curls; he was removing the wooden spoon she had just licked sexily, throwing it in the sink of the kitchen in which they were standing.