Valentine Present and Other Diabolical Liberties

by Lynda Renham

  ‘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.

  ‘The thing is,’ I whisper, pulling her towards me like a conspirator, ‘I’m not really one of them, you know, a proper lady. I have no idea how to behave … and I’ve never had a ladies maid in my entire life. In fact, you’re the first one I’ve ever met.’

  I think her eyeballs will pop out in disbelief.

  ‘Can I trust you, will you help me?’ I ask pleadingly.

  She hesitates for a moment and then becomes animated, pulling dresses and scarves from the rails.

  ‘This dress,’ she says, picking the one Brice had chosen at Marcus’ shop, ‘and with these shoes, and this scarf. If I were you I’d have your hair down too. It looks nicer that way, if you don’t mind me so saying Miss Harriet?’

  ‘You can say whatever you like but call me Harriet. All this Miss Harriet business is making me feel more spinsterish by the minute.’

  She studies me intently.

  ‘Let’s ditch the silicone, your breasts are perfect.’

  Perhaps she can tell Marcus that.

  ‘I can’t, the dress only works with them.’r />
  ‘Bugger,’ she blushes. ‘Sorry Mi … Harriet.’

  ‘Don’t apologise. I’m capable of a lot worse.’

  Twenty minutes later she stands me in front of the mirror and I stare transfixed by my own reflection. My skin looks dewy and youthful and my eyes are sparkling. Emily has performed miracles with eye make-up. My hair hangs in soft waves around my face. A look I’ve never been able to achieve.

  ‘What do you think?’ Emily asks proudly.

  The sound of an arriving car makes my stomach lurch.

  ‘I think I look stunning. Thanks Emily.’

  I glance out of the window.

  ‘I thought it was just family this evening,’ I say, trying to hide the panic in my voice.

  ‘Oh it is Mi … Harriet. They have asked Major Bates …’

  ‘Major Bates?’ I say laughing. ‘Is that a grown-up version of Master Bates? He must have done a lot of wanking.’

  ‘He’s Madam Margarita’s brother-in-law,’ Emily says, diverting her eyes.

  ‘Between you and me no one seems that keen on him, if you don’t mind me saying Miss Harriet,’ she whispers, ‘Oh, and of course, Mr Brice will be coming,’ she adds with a smile.

  My stomach somersaults. Brice? She is kidding me right?

  ‘Brice who?’ I say hoarsely.

  ‘Why Mr Hamilton’s cousin of course, Mr Brice Edmunds.’

  Oh my God. I’m well and truly fucked.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I have to admit I seriously thought about running out on both Hamilton and Julian after hearing that Brice Edmunds is not only here but is also Hamilton’s cousin. Running away from this God-awful crappy weekend, whoops, I mean ghastly weekend, must not forget to keep up the posh lingo. I then decide that would be the coward’s way out and I’m no coward. So, Brice Edmunds is here, and I have to admit even hearing his name makes my body quiver. Hamilton’s cousin, I mean, who has such bad luck? No wonder my lucky dip ticket didn’t have one sodding winning number. Well, there is nothing for it. I just have to face him and if he dobs me in then he is dobbing in Hamilton as well. I’m not taking all the blame.

  I put on a brave face but I’m sweating like a nun in a field of cucumbers. A light spray of Caroline Herrera perfume and I am ready. Emily looks at me proudly. I take a deep breath and nod for her to open the door. The chiffon feels light and cool against my skin and I drift out onto the landing to the strains of lilting Gaelic music. There is laughter and the clinking of glasses. I reach the top of the stairs and admire the grandeur of the staircase. Portraits adorn the stairwell and seem to follow me with their staring eyes. I see Cedric hanging coats on a rack. He looks up and I shrug nervously. He gives me an encouraging wink and I cling onto the bannister. Well here goes. I shall probably leave claw marks all down it with my long talons. How do women cope with these Wicked Witch of the East nails? Do they have someone else tie up the laces on their trainers or what? I am halfway to the bottom when I see Brice walking towards Cedric. He follows Cedric’s gaze and our eyes meet and lock. His face breaks into a smile and he acknowledges me with a nod. God, he looks gorgeous. He’s wearing a crisp white shirt and the new tie he bought in Marcus’s shop. He looks every inch the upper-crust gentleman in his dinner suit. At least he isn’t wearing a kilt, although I have to admit a gander at his rope and tackle wouldn’t be too distressing. His hair is freshly washed and his eyes twinkle at me. I really would love to drown in those eyes. He frowns slightly when I don’t smile back. Oh God, this is awful. He is standing underneath a huge grandfather clock and for a minute it feels a bit like that Titanic under the clock moment, and strangely enough in that exact second it is like something clicks between us, and then he is holding out his arm for me to take. Why do I have this awful feeling that this is going to be the most humiliating night of my life?

  ‘Hello Harriet. The dress is perfect.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I ask accusingly, forgetting that he has more bloody right to be here than I have.

  He takes a step backwards.

  ‘I could ask you the same question.’

  ‘I mean it’s lovely seeing you again. It’s just everywhere I go you seem to be there,’ I add quickly.

  Jesus, now I’m almost accusing him of stalking me. But wouldn’t that be a dream come true?

  ‘Well, actually I’m here to meet my cousin’s new girlfriend. And you?’

  I pull an apologetic face.

  ‘I am Hamilton’s new girlfriend.’

  I’m also thinking of doing a runner but I don’t think I’d get very far in these shoes.

  ‘Darling, there you are,’ calls Hamilton and my heart sinks.

  You know that feeling, the one where you just want the floor to open up and swallow you. I seriously want this whole main hall to disintegrate and devour me. I cannot believe that for the first time in my adult life I finally meet a man who makes my stomach somersault and my legs quiver, and better still actually seems to like me, and who in the next few seconds will be lost to me forever. I pull my shoulders back and turn a bright smile onto Hamilton.

  ‘Sorry darling, you know how long it takes to get ready. I’m so eager to meet your grandmother.’

  But not as eager as I am to leg it from this place. Brice is staring intently at me and I tense under his scrutiny, or perhaps squirm might be a better word. It then dawns on me if he is Hamilton’s cousin then he is of course the other grandson. Oh no, hells bells, how much deeper in the shit can I get?

  ‘Oh sorry Brice, I should have introduced you two. This is my girlfriend Harriet and this is my cousin Dr Brice Edmunds.’

  Doctor? He really is out of my league isn’t he? I should have a GP who looks like him. Maybe I should mention my mastitis; he may want to have a look. God, I’m out of control. Get a grip Harriet.

  ‘Brice lives in the old stalkers’ lodge when he’s home. Not that he’s home often,’ laughs Hamilton.

  He lives here? Jesus, how much worse can this get? If he’s not home often why does he have to be home now? Brice doesn’t laugh and his eyes continue to bore into mine. I struggle not to lower them and meet his gaze head on.

  ‘So, you’re the girlfriend we’ve heard so much about. Hamilton tells us you are an expert at clay pigeon shooting?’

  What the fuck.

  ‘Well I …’

  His soft features harden and his eyes narrow.

  ‘I hope Harriet will be joining us at the shoot tomorrow. It will give us all a chance to get to know her better and she can show us her shooting skills,’ he says, his eyes never leaving mine.

  The bastard. What is he playing at? I’ll show him my shooting skills all right and I’ll make sure the first bullet has his name on it and the rest can have Jack, Jack and Jack on them. God I’m losing the plot, or my mind, one or the other, or possibly both.

  ‘Well, I don’t know Brice, Harriet has a lot of work to catch up on while she’s here. Her jewellery business, you remember I told you about it?’

  I nod and reach out to a passing butler who is offering cocktails. I knock back a vodka twist and shudder.

  ‘And of course there is all her charity work,’ adds Hamilton.

  Jesus Christ. I grab another cocktail quickly before the butler has a chance to move.

  ‘That wouldn’t be Oxfam would it?’ asks Brice with a sardonic smile and a cursory glance at my false breasts.

  Oh no, one hasn’t sunk has it? That’s all I bloody need. I open my mouth to speak.

  ‘Don’t get Brice started on his hobby horse,’ Hamilton laughs.

  ‘Actually,’ I say in my newly trained voice, ‘I’m a huge supporter of Oxfam. I donate much of my earnings to them,’ I add pompously.

  Well, that certainly isn’t an untruth is it? I’ve probably fed half of Ethiopia in the past two years.

  ‘That’s very charitable of you. We should discuss your philanthropy over dinner …’

  ‘I really don’t like …’

  ‘Shall we go into the dr
awing room for aperitifs,’ says Hamilton, anxiously grabbing my hand. I’m swept from the hallway and led towards the drawing room.

  ‘I met Brice when I was with Marcus. He came to buy a tie,’ I whisper.

  He stops in his tracks.

  ‘What,’ he exclaims loudly and then lowers his voice. ‘You weren’t yourself were you?’

  ‘Well I wasn’t bleeding Pippa Middleton was I? Of course I was myself. He’s suspicious of me. We should tell him Hamilton.’

  He grips my arm tightly and pulls me into a corner.

  ‘You don’t tell Brice anything. He’ll think I’m trying to steal his inheritance or something. It’s not like that, obviously,’ he says glancing quickly behind him. ‘He’s never here. He’s always in Asia or somewhere equally filthy.’

  ‘Asia?’ I say admiringly.

  ‘Just don’t forget what I’ve paid in advance and if you mess this up, that’s all coming back.’

  I swear I will cut off Julian’s ear/tongue/penis myself when I next see him. He releases his grip and leads me gently towards the drawing room again, where Brice is standing like a bloody centurion. He is probably going to announce the imposter. God I feel sick. Still it doesn’t stop me popping a mini salmon tart into my gob. Well, a girl has got to eat after all. Anyway the way things are escalating here I may not even make it to dinner.

  ‘Well, where is she?’ growls a voice.

  I glance nervously at the wheelchair which seems to be zooming dangerously towards us. The woman sitting in it is imposing indeed. Her naturally grey hair has been expertly pulled back into a neat bun in a style that makes her look younger than her years. She is stunningly beautiful and for someone very sick her skin glows. Her eyes are sharp and bright and they appraise me thoroughly and finally land on my face. The manic Stephen King cat sits demurely in her lap. She stops the wheelchair by a chaise longue. A hush falls over the room and Hamilton rushes to her side.

  ‘Come here girl,’ she says, her voice softening.

  ‘You’d better go,’ says Brice. ‘I’d yank that right breast up first if I were you. Grandmother hates anything false as do I.