Tom pointed to the pipe.
‘I thought you weren’t doing that shit any more,’ he said boldly. He loved music and he liked Ste. He didn’t want him to throw his life and his talent away. He’d heard from Stella how hard Rob Holland and his team had tried to keep Ste clean. Ste shrugged. ‘I want to. It makes me feel good.’
‘There are other ways,’ said Tom softly, remembering the way he felt when he was with Stella, or the time he’d driven the gull-wing Mercedes around the Winterfold estate, feeling invincible as the speedometer touching 100 mph.
Ste snorted. ‘Like what?’ he said cynically, slurring his words. ‘Love?’
The way Ste spat out the word, it was clear that his bust-up with Clover had been a major incident.
‘Look, come and see my cars,’ said Tom, pointing into the garage where the collection was stored. ‘They make me feel like James fucking Bond.’
As they walked across the courtyard Tom pulled the Red Comets’ CD out of his pocket and gave it to Ste.
‘You should listen to these. They’re great.’
Ste took it and pushed it into his pocket.
The garage was a huge space, the size of a tennis court, split partly in two by a barn wall that stretched up to the roof where there was a hay loft. The cars were lined up, each one lovingly polished and gleaming. Only Rob’s mud-splattered Range Rover and trail motorbikes looked out of place among the classic sports cars.
‘Come around the other side and see the E-Type,’ said Tom, excitedly. ‘Just looking at it makes me weak at the knees.’
As they approached the other side of the garage, he was suddenly aware of the unmistakable sound of someone having sex. In the dim light, he could see a woman lying splayed out on the bonnet of a silver car; her dress was hitched up around her waist and a man was thrusting into her. His trousers had crumpled down around his knees and his white shirt was hanging loose.
‘Shit – that’s my fucking Ferrari!’ shouted Tom.
The couple stopped and turned like startled rabbits. The woman curled up and slipped off the car, her long blonde hair falling behind her. Ste stepped from behind Tom and said in a confused voice, ‘Clover?’
Tom saw he was right: the girl was Clover Connor and the man, Blake Brinton, who was desperately trying to pull up his trousers.
‘You fucking whore,’ screamed Ste, charging towards them.
Tom tried to grab Ste but he shook him off, running up to Blake and grabbing his shirt.
‘You dirty old bastard!’ he cried, trying to throw a punch. Ste’s fury was not enough however: Blake had a body toned from years of yoga and gym-work and swatted him away like a fly. Ste fell onto the floor into a cloud of dust as Clover bent to her knees to pick him up.
‘Get away from me, you slut!’ cried Ste, tears streaming down his face.
‘Ste, honey, please. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I still love you,’ squealed Clover.
Ste ignored her, stood up and threw his entire body weight against Blake like an angry, floppy doll. Blake simply moved out of the way and let Ste land with a noisy thump on the bonnet of the Ferrari. Tom flinched again, praying there would be no dents.
‘Calm down, mate. It’s not worth it,’ he said, pulling Ste to his feet and steering him towards the door. Clover, now sobbing, ran after them. ‘I didn’t want you to find out like this.’
‘Watch your mouth, Clover!’ said Blake sternly. ‘My wife is at the party.’
‘Oh yeah, it suits you to still keep it a secret, doesn’t it?’ she screamed, her perfect white teeth bared. Tom caught the expression on Ste’s face as he realized this was not one-off party sex. He turned away and started running out of the barn.
‘Oh, shit,’ said Tom, sprinting to catch up with Ste, who was now halfway across the courtyard and making his way round the side of the house. For someone apparently so unhealthy, Ste was quick and nimble as an alley cat.
‘Ste,’ he shouted after him. ‘Come back!’
One of the drivers had left his courtesy car with its engine running as he went to help a beautiful blonde woman in a floor-length mink coat into the back of the car. Seeing his chance, Ste nipped into the front seat, slammed the door and roared off, leaving the driver and the blonde standing there, coughing dust.
‘Bollocks,’ moaned Tom, watching the car swerve all the way up the drive, its red tail-lights fading into the blackness.
‘My car,’ shouted the driver, running fruitlessly down the gravel drive.
Tom got his mobile out and tried to phone Stella but it went directly to voicemail.
He ran into the house, bumped into Morton and asked where Rob was.
‘Retired to bed, sir,’ he smiled, before leaning in and whispering, ‘and he has company.’
‘Sorry, Rob,’ muttered Tom, as he ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, ‘but this is an emergency.’
Emma rolled over onto the pillow and sighed contentedly. Sex second time round with Rob had been magical, somehow more sure and real.
‘Promise me you’re not going to leave town for New York tomorrow and then not speak to me for weeks?’ she purred.
Rob turned to face her, propping himself up on his pillow.
‘Next time I go to New York, you’re coming with me.’
‘What for?’
‘Shopping …’ he grinned.
Suddenly there was a lot of banging on the bedroom door.
‘What the hell?’ said Rob, pulling on a white towelling robe.
Tom was standing at the door, panting, his cheeks flushed.
‘Tom, is everything OK?’ asked Rob.
‘Not really,’ he gasped, mentally reminding himself to give up the fags as well. ‘Can I come in?’
Emma sat up in bed and pulled the sheet around her breasts sheepishly.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Ste found Clover shagging Blake Brinton in the barn.’
‘You’re kidding, ’ replied Rob.
‘Ste took off in a stolen car about five minutes ago.’
‘Oh, Jesus,’ said Rob.
‘It gets worse: he’s pretty pissed and he’s taken crack too. Who knows what else.’
Rob was already on his mobile trying to reach Ste.
‘No reply. So where’s Clover now?’
‘Having a screaming row with Astrid Brinton downstairs. Turns out she’s been shagging Blake since the Milford launch party.’
Rob and Emma looked at each other. ‘Quite a party,’ said Emma.
Rob quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater.
‘Where you going?’ asked Emma.
‘To find Ste, of course. Tom’s right, he’s a hazard on the road.’
‘Shall we call the police?’ asked Emma.
Rob shook his head.
‘He’s already on probation for a drugs charge.’
He grabbed a pen and some paper and scribbled something before handing it to Tom.
‘I’m going to see if I can find him. Look, it’s 1.15 a.m. Give me twenty minutes or so. Then call his manager, the number’s on here.’
‘Do you want me to come?’ asked Emma sitting up on the pillow.
‘No. You stay here. Most of the guests and press have gone, but let’s try and keep this as low-key as we can.’
Cassandra opened her eyes and, for a minute, wondered where she was. The surroundings were unfamiliar, the room dark. Then she remembered how a driver had brought her to Emma’s house, a converted stable block a mile away from the main house. There was silence; the moon filtered in through the windows and, lifting her head with difficulty, she saw that she was in the living room lying on a leather sofa. Her gown had crinkled and she had snagged the fabric on the corner of Emma’s coffee table. Damn. Won’t be so easy to get dresses for free now, she thought. She desperately wanted to be under her Pratesi sheets in her Knightsbridge home. She wanted to be back behind her Christian Liagre desk telling people what to do – like the old days. She heard a chinking sound outsi
de, like a milk bottle falling over. She dismissed it, maybe it was a cat. She was too tired, drunk and emotional to care or be scared. Nothing could hurt her now anyway! The darkness was her friend, a comfortable black cloud where she couldn’t be seen. Her head was pounding. She wanted to shut out the noise of people whispering about her at the party. Yes, she just wanted to sleep. Sleep. It would all be over in the morning. She dimly remembered Emma saying something about there being a spare bedroom and clean sheets. That sounded good. What harm would it do to stay here for just a few more hours? She could be gone in the morning before Emma could see her. She dragged her body off the sofa and walked up the stone staircase towards the back bedroom. As she shut the door and peeled off her dress to slip between the cotton sheets, she didn’t hear the creak of the letterbox, or the splash of petrol being poured carefully through the slit. And she was fast asleep by the time the burning scrap of linen was thrown into the hall and the flames began to fill the house.
After Rob had roared off in his Range Rover, Tom went back into the garage and found the keys to Rob’s motorbike. He kicked it into life and drove fast out of the grounds, but after a few minutes it was obvious he was on a futile mission. He pulled up and turned around. The main gates to Winterfold were about two miles behind him on B-roads, but he wasn’t far from the East Gate that would take him back through the estate and straight to the house. It was only as he drove back into the grounds that he smelt the strong and pungent smell of wood smoke. At first he thought there was a problem with the bike’s engine. But then he turned a corner and saw flames pouring from the windows of a building.
‘Fucking hell! Emma’s house.’
He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and called 999, shouting at the operator for the fire brigade.
‘Is anybody in the property?’ asked the dispatch officer.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Tom, thinking of Emma in Rob’s bed only thirty minutes earlier. He hung up and opened the bike’s throttle, powering back towards Winterfold. As soon as he got there, he saw Rob stepping out of his Range Rover.
‘No sign of him,’ called Rob, angrily slapping the car door shut.
‘Forget that! Get Emma quick,’ shouted Tom. ‘The Stables is on fire. I’ve called 999 already but it looks pretty bad.’
‘Fuck,’ shouted Rob, running back towards the car. ‘Get in! Cassandra is in there and the fire station is ten miles away. They won’t make it in time!’
It was the acrid, choking smoke seeping under her bedroom door that woke Cassandra. She felt dreadful. No hangover had ever made her head pound so hard and her limbs felt like lead. She opened her eyes and was suddenly wide awake: the room was filling with smoke.
She threw back the sheet and moved to the door. The bedroom had a wooden floor that was hot under her bare feet. She reached for the doorknob, but was doubled up in a coughing fit before she even got there. Cassandra grabbed a towel and held it over her face as she forced herself to think. She cautiously touched the door handle. Not too hot – she opened the door and gasped when she saw the landing. It was full of thick, black smoke and flames filled the whole opening at the top of the stairs.
Slamming the door shut, she realized that she had only seconds before her room would also be engulfed in flames. Her eyes darted to the window. Dare she open it? She had seen films where fresh air inflamed the fire. Was that a backdraught? She couldn’t remember. Would flames rip through the door and burn her alive? Would the house explode? She had no more time to think – smoke was pouring under the door now and she was beginning to suffocate.
She began coughing so hard that she was forced to her knees. Outside, she could hear a car horn hooting violently. She ran to the window and saw a black Range Rover screeching to a stop at the back of the Stables. The doors flew open and Rob and Tom jumped out. Tom could see his sister’s face in the window thirty feet above him, her features twisted in fear.
For a second he felt paralysed. What could they do? Fire had ripped through the ground floor of the house and was leaping out of the front windows. Getting into the house to help her would be impossible.
‘She’s got to jump,’ shouted Rob, running to the back of the car to open the boot. He pulled out a blanket covered in horse hair and ran over to Tom.
‘Grab one end of this. I’ll take the other and we can stretch it out. We won’t catch her, but we should manage to break her fall.’
Beneath her Cassandra could see her brother mouthing words she couldn’t hear but when she saw the blanket, she realized that they wanted her to jump. She knew she had no other option if she wanted to stay alive. All around her the house creaked and groaned as it struggled to still stand, its beams and joists twisted by the heat. Her hands shaking, she inched the old window open and put her face to the hole, greedily sucking in fresh air. Revived, she opened a space big enough to jump through and hoisted herself up, her feet gripping onto the windowledge. Savage flames were only two feet beneath her, licking up from a ground-floor window and Tom and Rob seemed to be standing a long way from the house.
‘We can’t come any closer, Cass!’ shouted Tom. ‘You’re going to have to jump out as far as you can. Don’t worry, we’ll catch you.’
She had no time to think about whether she trusted them. The smoke was so thick she could no longer see anything inside the bedroom, apart from a square of scorching flame where the door had been. She jumped, hurling her body out into the space in front of her as far as she could. She felt like she was floating, the air full of sparks and ash, her body suspended there in time, a last look around at the world before death took her. Then time was switched on again and she felt her body slam against something – first the blanket and then the ground.
‘No. No. No!’ screamed Emma rushing out of the bedroom and flying down the stairs. Rob had phoned her to tell her about the fire and that Cassandra was lying injured at his feet, alive but in pain. There were still about forty guests at Winterfold who were all wondering what the hell was going on. In the distance the sound of sirens was getting louder. Emma threw open the front door and looked towards the glow of the fire. She quickly called Julia.
‘The Stables are on fire. Cassandra was in there but she’s OK. Come as quickly as you can.’
Julia screamed down the phone.
‘My baby!’
‘Someone, give me some car keys!’ shouted Emma as the guests ran down the stairs towards her. A waiter, just packing up the last catering things, threw her a jangling bunch. ‘The white catering van. Go!’
Emma smelt the inferno before she could see it. The Stables were over a bluff, hiding everything but the orange glow in the sky, but as soon as she had cleared the rise, the night sky was pierced by orange flames. Tears flowed down Emma’s cheeks as she pressed her foot hard down on the accelerator. Her tears turned to choking sobs as she managed to make out the silhouettes of Tom and Rob standing two hundred feet away from the fire. Next to them the door of Rob’s car was open and Cassandra was sitting huddled in a blanket.
‘Thank goodness, thank goodness,’ said Emma under her breath.
Four fire engines roared up behind her and suddenly the whole area was buzzing with firemen rolling out hoses.
‘There’s a water supply in that outhouse,’ shouted Emma pointing to a small building fifty feet away. She ran over to Rob who caught her in a strong embrace, crushing her to his chest.
‘She’s got cuts and sprains and she’s coughing up black stuff, but I think she’s OK,’ said Rob quietly.
Emma walked over to her and the two women locked eyes. ‘We’ve called for an ambulance,’ Emma said softly, then gathered Cassandra into her arms and held her. For a moment Emma didn’t know what to say. She felt overpowered by feelings of guilt, anger and then fear. How the hell had the fire started? Had Cassandra dropped a cigarette? Or perhaps it wasn’t an accident. No one had known that Cassandra was in there, no one had seen her go into Rob’s room-anyone would have assumed Emma was in there asleep. Emma had a sudde
n flashback to Gstaad, remembering the black Mercedes smashing up against the rear of her car. Had the driver come back to finish unresolved business? Despite the heat coming from the burning building, she shuddered. Someone wanted her dead, she felt sure of it. And they had almost killed Cassandra in the process.
‘Let’s go over this one more time,’ said Detective Inspector Peter Sheldon. ‘You think someone meant to burn down the Stables with you inside?’
It was 4 a.m. and Winterfold was in chaos. Word of the blaze had got around the village and Roger, Rebecca, Stella and Ruan had all returned to the house: Stella and Ruan to reassure various important guests staying in the house that everyone was safe, and Roger and Rebecca had come back to tut and fuss around. Julia and Tom accompanied Cassandra to Oxford’s John Radcliffe hospital. Emma sat in Winterfold’s library with Rob at her side, her hand in his as she answered the policeman’s questions. For a brief moment she reflected that only three hours earlier she had been feeling happy and secure. Apprehensive, yes, but excited when Rob had kissed her. Now it was fear of another kind. The fear of being watched, hated, hunted.
‘I know it sounds ridiculous but I do think someone might want me dead.’
Inspector Sheldon looked at her cynically, but indicated she should continue.
‘I was in Switzerland over Christmas and a car tried to run me off the road. I ended up hospitalized.’
‘Was it investigated?’ asked Sheldon and Emma caught the slight tone of disbelief in his voice.
‘Yes. The police thought the most likely explanation was joyriders.’
‘I’m inclined to agree.’
Emma kept quiet knowing it was pointless to argue. Rob, however, wasn’t going to let it drop so easily.
‘All Emma is saying is that it’s more than a little strange that in the space of six weeks she’s been run off the road and then her house has been set on fire,’ he said irritably. The policeman closed his eyes, as if he had heard it all before.
‘We can take a statement off you next Mr Holland,’ he said. ‘The fire officer will be here soon so we’ll know more then. In the meantime, do you mind if we have a look around the house? And we’ll need the names and contact details of as many party guests as you can get hold of. If it is foul play, then we’re going to have to follow up with everyone we can.’
Guilty Pleasures Page 52