And, of course, she did, jumping to obey like a private on the parade ground. There was only so much blending in a drag queen on six-inch heels with an eight-inch-high updo could achieve though and no matter where she put herself, she was bound to stand out, and still people flocked past Zak to reach her.
And he looked more furious than ever.
Joe’s phone buzzed with an incoming message from Control. He tensed as he opened it, the tautness draining from his muscles at the words on the screen.
Slim Frost. Henry Addlington-Thorpe. Stowe School. Class of 2011. Claims to have divorced family, spends weekends with them in Bucks. Keen on punting.
Joe kept his face expressionless as he looked across to Slim, who was still popping his wrist and saying ‘a’ite’ and ‘blud’ to everyone within hearing distance.
What a pathetic fake. Looking so furious about tower blocks and inner-city estates in that poster, when he’d grown up only knowing the kinds of estates that featured Palladian mansions and gardens by Capability Brown.
And of course he was friends with Zak. They were cut from exactly the same cloth.
Standing on her heels, sipping champagne and being adored, Joe could see beneath the paint that Paloma Picante was bored. Maybe her feet were hurting, he decided, as he watched her subtly shift her delicate weight from one foot to the other. Then she stifled a yawn, neatly hiding it in a sip of champagne.
When are they going to show this bloody film?
Paloma and Zak exchanged glances, one disapproving, one apologetic, and she settled on her heels again, allowing just the hint of a wince to show.
Some more dry ice was blown about, and finally Zak wove his way through the VIPs to a corner where a large screen had appeared. Zak absorbed the unenthusiastic applause, then introduced his film.
“Keepin’ it real on the estates and that,” was all Zak could bring himself to say. With another wrist-pop he was off again, and a drumroll echoed through the room as the film began to play.
And what a film it was. A five-minute epic of guns and bull terriers, council estates and young men prowling through underpasses. And Slim Frost standing on tube platforms, spitting his tale of inner-city woe whilst wearing a king’s ransom in gold.
Ground-breaking.
Slim would make loads of money, of course. So would Zak. And would a penny of that be seen by the people who actually lived on the estates that Slim was apparently so concerned about? Joe couldn’t see that happening. The Slim Frosts and Zak Sus of this world holidayed in other people’s misery, made a profit, then stuffed it up their noses.
And Paloma was shifting on her heels again, though only Joe seemed to have noticed.
“Would you like to have a seat?” Joe beckoned towards a silver-painted chair.
“Can I?” she asked Zak softly.
“Why?” Zak asked, annoyed.
“Because she’s wearing heels and has been standing up on them for ages.” Joe didn’t like to speak for other people, but he was concerned that Paloma would cave to Zak again. “I don’t think either of us would want to stand up on those things for even five minutes, let alone three hours.”
Zak curled his lip. “Well, go on, then. But stay where I can see you.” He threw an insinuating glare at Joe, and Joe chose to ignore it. Paloma sank down onto the chair and gave an almost-hidden sigh of relief. She glanced up at Joe and mouthed her thanks, but even with her feet rested, she looked as bored as he felt.
Joe crouched down beside her chair. “How long does this go on for? Now he’s shown the film?”
“Three, four in the morning? It’s up to Zak really.” She shrugged. “I go when he says I go.”
Why, Joe wanted to ask, but he had a suspicion that Paloma wouldn’t tell.
“I don’t want to be another person in a long line of people telling you what to do, but let’s use Leviticus to your advantage. You could say, ‘Oh dear, Zak, the police say it’s not safe for me to stay out late, I’ve got to go home.’ He wouldn’t be able to protest.”
“Do you think?” And for the first time in hours, her smile seemed real. “Dare I?”
“Yes!” Joe nodded. “You’ve turned up, shown your face, you’re bored now and your feet hurt. Zak’s not the one wearing heels and a corset, padding and, well, other things. If you want to go home, go.”
Paloma looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. She rose to her aching feet again and crossed the room towards where Zak and Slim were now holding court. Joe dutifully followed, hearing the uncertainty in her voice when she whispered, “Zak?”
Zak lurched round, the expression on his face far from friendly. “What do you wan’? Another chair?”
“Sergeant Wenlock has been alerted to a possible problem,” she whispered, though Joe knew that the touch of trepidation in her voice wasn’t as fake as her excuse. “He thinks I should go home.”
“Didn’t you get enough likes on Insta, is that it?” Zak rolled his eyes. “Oi, Wenlock, you come over here and tell me what’s going on.”
‘“Come over here?’ Joe was only standing a metre away from Zak.
“I can’t discuss it, but I need to ensure Mr Fuente is properly guarded, and that can’t happen here.”
“Fuck’s sake,” Zak grumbled.
“Kiss goodnight?” Paloma slid her arms around Zak’s waist and pouted. “For me?”
Zak grabbed Paloma in a possessive embrace and pressed his lips to hers. Joe glanced away, but forced himself to see because he couldn’t allow himself to look away from his principal. Even if she was enduring an unpleasant snog.
Finally, Zak let up.
“Mine,” he whispered, then released Paloma from his arms. She didn’t stop smiling that painted smile, glassy as it was glossy, until she had finally turned from him.
Then her face fell and she whispered to Joe, “Just take me home?”
The car arrived quickly once Joe had summoned it. He would far rather have sat in the back with Paloma and comforted her, but he couldn’t break protocol. He couldn’t do anything but sit there, boiling with anger at Zak’s aggressive dismissal of his lover, of the way he paraded her like a show pony, more curiosity than loved one.
Why the hell didn’t she tell him where to go?
Why doesn’t Alejandro?
Those kids at Eton had a lot to answer for.
Joe got Paloma safely into the house. No fireworks this time. It was tempting to think that Leviticus had given up, but Joe wouldn’t be happy until there was an arrest. It was fascinating to see how she remained Paloma even now they were alone, with that subtly changed voice and gait that rendered Alejandro instantly girlish. The only concession made was the quick removal of her shoes, which were set neatly on the bottom of the staircase. Then there was the far-from-rock ‘n’ roll cup of tea as Paloma and Joe wound down from one of the worst parties Joe had ever been to.
And it was all so platonic, just as it should be.
Joe lay in his bed, listening for the sounds of Paloma becoming Alejandro once more. Then, once the sounds in the house had fallen still, Joe allowed himself to fall asleep.
Although not for long. Joe wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep when his phone beeped, and the sound of someone banging on the front door boomed through the house. He was alert at once, and picked up his phone. It was one of the guards outside.
“What’s going on?” Joe croaked, his voice thick with sleep even though he was already pulling on his trousers and trying to find his shirt.
“Zak Su,” was the bored response of an officer who had been outside for too many cold hours to be dealing with this. “The worse for drink, I’d say.”
“And he won’t go away?” Joe didn’t need to ask that question. He rammed his feet into his shoes, hoping he’d got them on the right feet, and grabbed his PAVA holster. On the landing, he called to Alejandro, “Go back to sleep. I’ll handle this.” Then he headed downstairs, shrugging himself into his jacket as he went.
“Joe?” Alejandro
called. “Who’s there?”
“Zak. But I’ll get rid of him, don’t worry!”
Joe saw Zak’s unattractive red face through the spyhole in the door. He was alone. Joe tested the chain on the door before slipping back the locks.
Keeping the door open only a slice, the chain preventing it from opening any wider, Joe whispered, “If you want to see Mr Fuente, you’ll have to come back during day.”
“I. Want. To. See. Him. Now.” Zak pointed his finger at Joe, jabbing it at his face. “He’s my boyfriend, and I want to see him.”
“He’s in bed. Asleep.” Joe put his shoulder to the door to close it, but he hadn’t reckoned with Zak’s weight, which he was pressing against the door.
“Let me in or I’ll yell really loudly and wake up all the neighbours,” Zak hissed. “And sue for police harassment!”
“It’s all right, Sergeant, Zak’s my boyfriend.” Unseen by Zak and the guards outside, Alejandro’s hand ran down the length of Joe’s back. “I’ll settle him.”
Joe turned to Alejandro. “Are you sure?” he whispered. But he suspected that he could guess the answer to that. Alejandro nodded, his eyes heavy with sleep and sadness.
“Mr Smythe-Unwin, could you step back a moment? I’m going to open the door for you.”
The order took a moment to reach Zak’s addled brain as he pushed some more, the chain still resisting him, then he finally stepped away from the door. Joe closed it. He glanced at Alejandro, trying to think of something he could say to stop Zak from coming in, but there was nothing that could convince Alejandro, he knew.
So Joe opened the door, and Zak catapulted himself into the house.
“At fucking last!” he roared. Joe ignored him while he secured the front door again. Zak grabbed Alejandro around the shoulders and stared wide-eyed. “Where’s my bae Paloma gone?”
“I was in bed—” Alejandro looked utterly terrified, caught there by his so-called lover. “I can put it all back on if you like. Is that what you want?”
“No, that’ll take ages. I just want to be with my bae.” Zak stroked Alejandro’s hair and started to kiss him again.
“Excuse me, Mr Smythe-Unwin.” Joe tried to remind the newcomer of his presence.
“Hop it, mate,” Zak said. “Me and Alejandro are going to have some fun.”
Joe tried to catch Alejandro’s glance. “Mr Fuente, if you need me…?” But all he received in response was a nod, Alejandro’s gaze fixed on his own bare feet.
Joe went back up to his room. He sent a message to Control and to the guards outside that Mr Fuente had been happy to admit Mr Smythe-Unwin, although the word happy couldn’t have been further from the truth. Joe undressed and got back into bed again, falling asleep with half an ear out.
Just in case.
* * * *
The sound of a cry woke Joe from his half-slumber. He knew instinctively that it had come from inside the house. It had come from Alejandro’s room.
Joe didn’t hesitate. He threw back his duvet and was out of his room in seconds. Without a pause, he barrelled through the door to Alejandro’s room. Zak, his face even redder than before, stood in the middle of the room, his eyes bulging and his breaths deep and aggressive, like a bull about to charge. He was fully dressed but dishevelled, as if he’d been in a fight.
“Get out of here, Copper! Fuck right off!”
Joe scanned the room for Alejandro, and saw him cowering in his bed. The brightly woven cover was drawn up to his naked chest, clutched by one white-knuckled hand. The other hand was pressed to his shoulder and between Alejandro’s fingers Joe could see a slick of bright red blood. Alejandro stared wide-eyed at Joe, tears coursing down his cheeks and in the lamplight, there on his jaw Joe saw the telltale sign of an open-handed slap.
Joe strode up to Zak and grabbed him by his shirt, lifting him an inch from the floor. “You did that, did you? Assaulted Mr Fuente?”
“Fuck off!” Zak repeated, but his voice was now rather small. “He started it!”
Joe glanced at Alejandro. “Is that why you insisted on coming in, to assault your boyfriend? Is that it?”
“Let me go, you mad bastard!”
But Joe only tightened his grip. Fury ripped through him, and Joe tried to remind himself that this was partly why relationships weren’t allowed with principals. He was verging on the unreasonable.
He overshot reasonable by some way as he dragged Zak across the room, flung up one of the sash windows with one hand, then slapped Zak onto the windowsill, so that his upper body was leaning out above the patio below. A freezing blast of wintry air hit Joe and it was only then that he realised he hadn’t got dressed. He was dangling Zak out of the window while wearing only his shorts.
“I’ve had enough of you, Mr Smythe-Unwin! I’m going to politely ask you to leave of your own accord, and if you don’t, you’ll leave either via a back-up team of police officers who I’ll call here to arrest you, or you’ll be leaving via the window!”
Zak was terrified, struggling, scraping his feet across the carpet to gain purchase. “You—you mad bastard!”
“What’s it going to be, Mr Smythe-Unwin? How are you vacating the premises this evening?”
A tear ran down Zak’s face. “I-I’ll go quietly. I promise.”
Joe pulled Zak back to his feet and shut the window. “That’s just what I wanted to hear, Mr Smythe-Unwin.”
“Just go, Zak,” Alejandro told him through his tears. “Go somewhere and sleep it off.”
“I’ll be back,” Zak promised, but his bottom lip was wobbling.
Joe marched Zak downstairs. He unsecured the door, but before letting Zak outside, Joe told him, “I really don’t like bullies, Mr Smythe-Unwin. Bear that in mind, eh?”
Zak shot outside faster than he’d come in.
Joe locked the door again, then headed up to Alejandro’s room. He tapped on the door.
“Sorry about that. Do you need anything?”
“No, I’m fine,” Alejandro squeaked through a sob. Then he called weakly, “I’m not very fine really. I’ve cut my arm. Can I have a hot chocolate?”
Joe came in and perched on the side of the bed. He ruffled Alejandro’s hair. “I’ll get the first-aid kit, and a hot chocolate. Then we can have a chat. I’m sorry, by the way, in case that seemed… I mean, the window business. I’m not sure I should’ve done that. I hope it didn’t scare you even more.”
That seemed to be all it took to open the floodgates. Alejandro crumpled against Joe’s shoulder, sobs wracking his slender form. What had happened in here tonight Joe wasn’t entirely sure, but it wasn’t a pretty scene, of that he could be certain. Alejandro’s whole body heaved with the force of his tears and he clung to Joe with one hand, the other still pressed against his shoulder.
“Do you want to come downstairs with me, Alejo? I don’t want to leave you on your own.” Joe put his arms around him, resting his cheek against Alejandro’s hair. He’d have to tell Control and the guards outside that Zak had left, but he couldn’t do that until he knew that Alejandro was comfortable with them knowing. Whether he was going to report Zak or not.
Alejandro nodded sadly and whispered, “I’m sorry he woke you up, Osito.” Then a fresh sob came, but it seemed a little less despairing than it had two minutes earlier. “I’ll come downstairs with you.”
“You haven’t done anything wrong. Don’t apologise.” Joe kissed the top of Alejandro’s hair, then stood up from the bed. “I’ll grab my jumper. Can you get downstairs on your own, or do you want someone to lean on?”
“It’s only my shoulder that’s bumped, I can manage.” He lifted his head and blinked up at Joe. “You can borrow my robe if you like? I need to put something on. I’m not very decent under my blanket.”
“Well, as long as it’s only a bump!” Joe wasn’t convinced. What the hell had gone on? “I’d look swish in your robe, wouldn’t I! Thanks.”
“It’s on the back of the door.” He waited until Joe had turned t
owards the door and added, “Now don’t turn around until I say, because we’re platonic.”
Joe busied himself tying on the robe. It felt soft and decadent against his skin, but the fact that Alejandro was apparently naked under the sheet troubled him. He really hoped there hadn’t been some unpleasant sexual undertone to whatever Zak had done.
“Not looking!” Joe announced, trying to sound cheerful.
“Now you can look!” Alejandro exclaimed. “New shorts, to cheer me up.”
Joe couldn’t quite process what he was seeing. At least, he’d seen something similar before, but that was when he’d ended up in a Soho club on a stag night. Alejandro’s shorts covered him decently, that was true, but they were lurid turquoise with several rows of fringes. It looked as though he’d borrowed them from a Texan cowgirl who’d moved to Montmartre.
“Erm… Well, they’re jolly!” Joe laughed. “Oh, Alejandro, never change. Please. Always wear wild fringed shorts like that, because they’re far more exciting than mine!”
“Do I look fierce, girl?” he teased, gathering the brightly woven bedcover up in his good arm. Then he gave an exaggeratedly camp cry of, “Yaaas, Sergeant!”
“Very fierce. Like one of Beyoncé’s backing dancers.”
“They’re called Destiny’s Child. There’s beaucoup shade in here tonight.” Alejandro blinked, then drew the back of his hand over his tear-slicked cheeks. When he spoke again, he was far less exaggerated, the performer pushed away. “You look gorgeous in that robe, Osito. Will you look after me tonight, please?”
“Of course I will.” Joe slipped his arm around Alejandro’s shoulder. “Let’s get that hot chocolate on.”
Together they descended the stairs to the kitchen. There Alejandro sat at the table, the blanket covering his bare legs.
“Dr Joe and his first-aid kit first.” Joe grabbed it from the cupboard and laid it open on the table, then bent over Alejandro to have a look at the wound. He really hoped he wasn’t looking at a knife wound. It didn’t look like one, but he had to be sure. “Can you tell me how you got this?”
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