Memoirs of a Gigolo Volume Seven

by Livia Ellis

  I tell her my Uncle Albert knows about what has happened. He’s going to contact the Singh family.

  Have him telephone her.

  I tell her I’ll call again when I’m not so heavily medicated and hang up.

  When I’m released the next morning, Gita picks me up. She drives me to Wold Hall where I will hide and heal until it is time to leave for Scotland and Cousin Margaret’s wedding.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Dirty Laundry

  I sleep for long periods of time those first days at Wold Hall. Gita and Mrs. Gresham care for me.

  Gita sits on the bed next to me, where I drift in and out of sleep. She reads voraciously. She changes my bandages. She washes my wounds. She helps me bathe. She doesn’t feed me, but she does facilitate the process.

  Harry, Uncle Albert, and Aunt Maisie arrive at the weekend.

  We have a family meeting in my bedroom.

  Everyone is on board with the conspiracy to keep mum in the dark.

  Mr. Gresham believes the best thing to do is to tell mum something rather than nothing. Like it or not, I will not be fully recovered when Margaret’s wedding rolls around. I will be bruised. These things must be explained.

  We are all in agreement that she will be told I had a riding accident. Every one of my injuries easily accounted for.

  Olga is also a problem.

  After a fair amount of discussion, we are all in agreement the same lie will do.

  Olga doesn’t need this kind of stress.

  I’m also not entirely certain how likely it is that she would call her father and ask him to send one of his knee busters around to deal with Parvati’s boyfriend.

  I want this to be dealt with through the legal and acceptable channels. Not through gangland score settling.

  It’s the next morning when the shit hits the fan.

  There really is no other way to put it.

  The shit hits the fan.

  The first warning comes in the early morning hours.

  The phone rings and rings and rings until Gita gets up from where she’s sleeping on the couch to answer it.

  It’s Uncle Harvey.

  We have a problem. Elon is getting mum and Aunt Lucy. Sanjay has been called. They’re coming to Wold Hall.

  They can’t come to Wold Hall. I’m in no shape to see mum.

  I’ve made the papers.

  Pictures of my busted up face, Parvati, the Boyfriend, and some rather lurid details about me getting beaten up in a lovers tussle. The details are not entirely correct, but close enough to the truth to be damning. They always are.

  To sum the article and its contents up in a few statements:

  I am named as Miss Parvati (daughter of the billionaire industrialist) Singh’s fiancé. The details of the engagement have been kept private in anticipation of a public announcement sometime in June. It’s a lovely thing that I’m going to get married. I deserve some happiness after that long run of bad luck I’ve had.

  Unknown to me, innocent newspaper selling lamb that I am, Miss Parvati (daughter of the billionaire industrialist) Singh has a secret lover. Mr. Andre Laurence (bad guy!) of Whitechapel is being sought by police for questioning. Mr. Andre Laurence (bad guy!) of Whitechapel is a bad bad man with a criminal record as long as a baby’s arm. In fact – Mr. Andre Laurence (bad guy!) roasts babies for his dinner. Daily.

  I had the stuffing knocked out of me when I walked in on Miss Parvati (daughter of the billionaire industrialist) Singh and Mr. Andre Laurence (bad guy!) in flagrante delicto (that means having sex). I was rushed to the hospital by a totally distraught Miss Parvati (daughter of the billionaire industrialist) Singh. I am currently recovering at my country estate Wold Hall (location of the soon to be shot reality drama The Noble Service, thenobleservice.com).

  A family spokesperson speaking in the strictest of confidentiality reports that I am doing well, in good spirits, and looking forward to putting this incident behind me and getting down to the nuts and bolts of planning our September wedding. (Poor deluded man!)

  Miss Parvati (daughter of the billionaire industrialist) Singh and Mr. Andre Laurence (bad guy!) are photographed making out in the hospital parking lot while I am inside getting patched up. (Poor deluded man!)

  Oh fuck me. Oh fuck me times a million.