by Jemma Harvey
I nodded, concealing inner qualms. Delphi might not demand Basilisa’s head on a platter, but she wasn’t going to be in the mood for self-restraint.
‘As for mealtimes,’ he concluded, ‘I’ll see Basilisa eats with me, not in the main dining room. That should simplify matters. Deal?’ He extended his hand, his smile making wicked little wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. He might be old, short and string-and-sinew thin, but he was still a knockout. I succumbed to the handshake and found myself smiling in return.
‘Deal,’ I said.
(‘HG’s got quite a thing for you,’ Russell said later. ‘Better watch out, or you’ll top the Basilisk’s hit list.’)
Once HG had gone I was pounced on by everyone to find out what had happened, what was happening, and, if possible, what would happen next. I said we were all still in work (cheers), Basilisa would play HG’s wife (boos), and the object was to carry on as usual (silence).
‘What about Delphi?’ Alex protested, putting his arm around her in a protective gesture. He had evidently decided to constitute himself her champion, even though he was a little late on the scene. ‘That dago bitch actually assaulted her. We should be suing for compensation.’
‘Basilisa wants compensation too,’ I said, ‘so they cancel each other out.’
‘Compensation is for wimps!’ Delphi pronounced, discarding Alex’s arm. ‘The point is, I can’t work with her – even at a distance. None of us can. The laird’s wife was supposed to be a braw Scottish lassie, whatever that means. Basilisa looks about as Scottish as a plate of cold tapas. She makes nonsense of the whole historical thing.’
‘That isn’t your problem,’ I said. ‘Look—’
‘What d’you mean, it isn’t my problem? I’m the star of this show, I got you your job—’
‘You recommended me, yes, but—’
‘I got you the job,’ Delphi’s voice was shrilling at danger point, ‘and now you’re letting me down!’
‘No she isn’t,’ Russell interceded with a gallant disregard for his own safety, ‘you’re letting her down. You may have helped her to get the job in the first place, but she’s kept it on her own merits – and she put herself on the line for you earlier today, in case you’ve forgotten. The least you can do is back her up now.’
‘Well, excuse me,’ Alex said, ‘but I think Delphi’s just a little more important to this programme than Roo—’
‘Do shut up!’ snapped Delphi, rounding on him with a capriciousness that was extreme, even for her. ‘This isn’t about whether Roo’s more important than me or any of that shit, it’s about bloody Basilisa. She hit me, she tried to pinch the role of Elizabeth Courtney, and she’s probably poisoned me as well, but I’m supposed to just overlook it?’
‘Yes,’ I said, screwing my courage to the sticking point, ‘you are. I was employed to get this series made, and that’s what I intend to do. I’m sorry if you think I’m letting you down, but I’m not going to let Crusty down by forcing HG to welsh on us, and I’m not going to let everyone else down by putting them all out of work. I never said so, but I always knew working with you was a mistake. I love you, but you’re every bit as selfish and thoughtless as Basilisa, and if you did me a favour it was only because you expected me to be your yes-woman. Well, I won’t. I’m going to do this job my way, and if you don’t like it you can lump it.’
‘Roo . . .’ Under her screen make-up Delphi was almost white. I’d never spoken to her like that in my life. Maybe it was long overdue, but it didn’t make me feel good. ‘You . . . you traitress! I got you that job when you were totally suicidal, and now – I’m quitting this programme, I’m quitting right this second, and that will destroy you with Crusty and anyone else who matters! You’ll never get work as a producer again!’
‘You sound exactly like the Basilisk!’ I said, fighting an idiotic urge to burst into tears. ‘Next thing you’ll be calling me a beach!’
‘Beach!’ Delphi screamed. ‘Beach and superbeach!’ She stormed off, brushing Alex aside like a mosquito, leaving me trembling and inwardly wretched.
Ten minutes later Crusty rang. I answered my mobile so promptly I didn’t have time to register the caller’s number. ‘Hello?’
‘You left a couple of messages for me,’ Crusty said. ‘Got a problem?’
‘N-no. No, of course not. It’s just . . . HG’s wife Basilisa’s turned up, back from the Caribbean. She wants to play a minor role . . .’
‘Make sure it stays minor,’ Crusty said. ‘She’ll be all wrong, but never mind. Bit of the price for doing the series. HG likes to keep her sweet. Wouldn’t fancy her myself, but he’s a rock star: they go for that type. Should have thought he’d be happier with someone a bit less . . . Still, she’s hot stuff. Or so they say.’ Perhaps he had the same sources as Morty.
‘Thing is,’ Crusty went on, ‘she can be a bit of a drama queen, Latin temperament and all that. Handle her tactfully.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ I said.
‘Good girl,’ said Crusty (he’d never heard of sexism). ‘Knew I could rely on you.’
Everyone knows they can rely on me, I thought bitterly. If there’s a gene for reliability, I’ve got it. But that’s my problem.
When we had finished for the day, I retreated to the kitchen. Ash was there too, but I was past caring.
‘Alcohol,’ I told Cedric without preamble.
‘I gather it’s been quite a day,’ Ash said with his usual understatement.
‘I heard the two she-demons came to blows,’ Cedric said with relish. ‘Must’ve been worth seeing.’
‘If you like blood sports,’ I said. ‘And Delphi isn’t a she-demon. She’s just a little . . . hot-tempered.’
‘Heard you had a set-to with her as well,’ Cedric said. ‘Flounced off in a huff and hasn’t been seen since. Doing a good job, aren’t you?’ He handed me a strong smell of whisky with a small glass half full of golden liquid in its wake.
‘Your spies are everywhere,’ I said moodily. I took a gulp of the whisky, which wasn’t a good idea. It slipped smoothly down my throat and exploded. Heat coursed through me; my cheeks flamed.
‘Not really a whisky drinker, are you?’ Cedric commented brightly.
‘Take it gently,’ Ash advised. ‘You look pretty upset.’
‘I hate arguing with Delphi,’ I said when I got my voice back. ‘I hardly ever do. And I said things . . .’
‘True things?’ Ash asked.
‘Umm. Sort of.’
‘I see. Those are the worst. It doesn’t matter what you call someone if it isn’t true because it doesn’t hurt. Only the truth hurts.’
‘Do you have to be quite so . . .’
‘Truthful?’
We were sitting opposite each other, eye to eye. He smiled; I smiled. I couldn’t help it. Suddenly, Cedric wasn’t there.
Only of course he was.
‘You two having a Moment?’ he said in his most disagreeable voice.
Ash ignored him. ‘Sometimes, the true things have to be said, no matter how painful they are,’ he continued. ‘You can’t go on bottling them up for ever. Maybe you needed to clear the air. Maybe she needed to hear them. Have you ever worked with her before?’
‘No. I really didn’t want to. She’s been my best friend all my life, but . . . I was afraid of the pressure we’d be under, afraid of . . . this. Now it’s happened. I’ve said things that can’t be unsaid.’ I stared down into the depths of the whisky. It didn’t help.
‘Then say new things. Go to her. Make it up. Making up isn’t difficult once you get started. It’s the starting that takes nerve.’
‘I never apologise,’ Cedric volunteered. ‘’Pologising is a weakness. You go through life saying sorry all the time you’re just asking to be trodden on. Sorry for this, sorry for that, sorry for existing—’
The speech was all too familiar. ‘Oh shut up,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you get your teeth fixed? You’ve got a smile like an orc.’
It real
ly was my day to upset everyone.
It was about half an hour before dinner and I was standing outside Delphi’s door, two large whiskies to the good (or bad) and still feeling trembly inside. I knew Delphi was in there because I’d run into Alex on my way up.
‘I wouldn’t if I were you,’ he said. ‘She’s so miffy she’s snapping everyone’s head off. I’m not even allowed in to have a shower. Oh, and I don’t think you’re Miss Bridesmaid-of-Honour any more – in fact, I bet you’re right off the invitation list.’
He sounded positively spiteful about it, but perhaps that was his concept of loyalty.
I said, ‘Thanks,’ I don’t know why – a verbal reflex – and went up anyway.
The heat of the whisky evaporated at the door. I’d refused to apologise to Cedric on the grounds that apologising was a weakness, but somehow Ash had smoothed things over, though I’d left Cedric peering in a hand mirror (he kept one in the kitchen) and contemplating cosmetic dentistry. Now all I had to do was knock, say sorry, make up . . .
Supposing she wouldn’t? Supposing I’d lost my best friend for good?
I stood there, trapped by my own hesitancy, waiting for my knuckles to tap on the door panel all by themselves. Then I heard the rattle of the key. The handle turned. I hadn’t knocked, but the door opened.
‘Roo!’ Delphi said. ‘I was . . . I was coming to find you . . .’
‘I came to find you—’
‘I’m so sorry,’ she began.
‘I’m so sorry—’
‘I’ve been awful—’
‘No, I’ve been awful—’
‘You’re trying so hard to make a go of things, inspite of Basilisa and . . . and people, and I made it worse for you . . .’
‘No, no – I should’ve supported you – I do support you – you were quite right to bite her, except you could have gone for the jugular . . .’
‘I’ll do better next time!’
‘I’m sorry I called you selfish . . .’
‘I’m sorry I called you a beach . . .’
We hugged, made up, said sorry all over again.
‘I am selfish sometimes,’ Delphi said candidly. ‘I’ll try not to be, but I can’t always help it. After all, if I didn’t think of me first, nobody else would.’
‘Alex?’ I said.
‘Don’t be silly. Alex is selfish too. It’s another thing we have in common. That’s why we’re so well suited.’
I couldn’t find an answer to that, much as I wanted to.
‘You’re the only truly unselfish person I know,’ Delphi said, ‘and that’s why I worry about you. You need a bit of selfishness to survive. Unselfish people are always last in the queue at the great checkout of life.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ I said.
‘I want you to be at the front,’ Delphi persisted. ‘With me.’
We went down to dinner together – late, since Delphi insisted I change – and I had time to tell her in detail about my conversation with HG, and how kind he’d been.
‘He’s got a thing for you,’ Delphi declared. ‘It’s on account of your being a good listener and all that. Hot God has the hots for you – wow! Wow and triple wow. It ought to be me, but I don’t mind because I’m not a good listener and, anyway, I’m going to marry Alex. It’s a pity he’s so old – HG, I mean. I don’t suppose you could . . . ?’
‘He’s drop-dead attractive, but no, I couldn’t. Even if he was twenty years younger I couldn’t. The thought of getting involved with a huge international rock star would scare me shitless. Anyway, he’s married to the Basilisk, in case you’ve forgotten.’
Delphi waved that aside. ‘A detail. He’s long overdue for divorce. D’you really think he’s attractive? You ought to go for it – marry him. Even if he’s dead in ten years, you’ll be a fabulously wealthy widow. You’ll be forty-two, but that’s no age nowadays, and, anyway, you’d be able to afford amazing plastic surgery. Honestly, Roo, you should give it a try. I’m being very unselfish about this, too – marrying HG would make you a much bigger star than me.’
‘I appreciate your unselfishness,’ I said, ‘but I can’t.’
‘Your trouble is, you have no ambition. You only want to marry sleazy ne’er-do-wells like Kyle Muldoon . . .’
‘Actually,’ I said, on a note of self-discovery, ‘I haven’t thought about Kyle in ages.’
‘You haven’t? Okay, who are you thinking about?’
‘Nobody,’ I said hastily. ‘I haven’t the time. All I think about is work.’
‘I don’t believe you. Everybody thinks about somebody . . .’
‘We’re late for dinner. Come on.’
In the dining room, Alex looked surprised to see Delphi and me back on good terms.
‘You don’t understand girls,’ Delphi said tolerantly. ‘You guys think we have shallow relationships that fall apart as soon as a man comes into the equation, but we aren’t like that. It’s male friendships which are superficial – based on getting pissed together and talking about football or cricket and sharing confidences like, Cor, look at the tits on her! Girl friendships go deep – we talk about deep stuff. Not just our love lives, but philosophy and fashion and things.’
‘Girls get pissed together too,’ Alex retorted, sounding faintly aggrieved.
‘Occasionally, but that isn’t the point of girlfriends. The point is to talk. Getting pissed is just the icing on the cake. Whereas for guys, getting pissed is pretty much the whole deal.’
‘That’s nonsense,’ Alex said, still disposed to argue the toss. ‘Everyone knows male bonding is much more serious. There aren’t any famous examples of female friends; there are lots of them with guys. Think of the Three Musketeers.’
‘I always thought they were gay,’ Delphi said. ‘Didn’t one of them become a monk in the end? That proves it.’
At dinner, I sat next to Ash – I often did – wanting to check that Cedric had forgiven me for the remark about his dental care. (‘Probably,’ Ash said. ‘If there’s no arsenic in the soup, we’ll know he’s all right.’) I’d expected Morty to be rather subdued after the way he’d chickened out on us earlier, but he chatted away as usual, apparently unaware that he had done anything to be ashamed of. But then, I reflected, sail-trimmers are like that: they think their attitude to life, honour and friendship is sheer pragmatism, and as such comprehensible and even admirable. Either that, or Morty was just naturally brazen.
‘Well, here we are again,’ Russell said cheerily, ‘one big happy family.’ At times like this, you can overdo the irony. ‘Let’s hope now we can finish the series with no more melodrama.’
That definitely came under the heading of Famous Last Words.
Delphinium
Having made it up with Roo, I was in the sort of warm, loving mood where I wanted the world to be right with everyone, so when we went to bed I snuggled up to Alex, determined to get our sex life back on track. Somehow, since he’d come to the castle, I’d been too tired, or he’d been too peevy, or Fenny had been in the way, whatever – but we hadn’t had full sex even once. Fenny tried to join in as usual, wagging his tail and burrowing between us with his nose, but I deposited him on the floor, telling him to stay so firmly that he got the message. I’d kept my underwear on – Alex liked to remove my bra himself and play with it, probably a fetish dating back to babyhood and some breastfeeding incident when his mother got her lingerie in a twist. We got cosy and I went down on him, though I didn’t have a feather to give him the ultimate thrill. Then suddenly, out of the blue, he said, ‘I don’t know why you were so anxious to patch things up with Roo.’
I stopped what I was doing immediately. You can’t have a row with your mouth full. ‘What?’
‘I thought you’d changed your mind about her – having her as your bridesmaid and all that.’
‘She’s my best friend – she always has been. I’m not going to change my mind about her just because we had a falling-out. Friends fall out, and in again, all the tim
e: it doesn’t mean a thing. What’s got into you? You used to like her.’
‘I have changed my mind, okay? She’s got so bossy up here, ordering everyone about. I don’t want her at my wedding.’
I opened my mouth to say it was my wedding, not his, and shut it again. It would be my wedding, naturally – I’d made all the arrangements, and, anyhow, the groom isn’t important: weddings are always about the bride. But I couldn’t tell him that. Instead, disdaining defensive tactics, I went on the attack, reviving the subject of Darius Fitzlightly and other pals of his whom I didn’t go for. Sex was forgotten and Fenny, detecting a change in the ambience, jumped back on the bed and began to bark. Alex muzzled him, swearing, I accused him of cruelty to dogs, and the quarrel degenerated into general silliness.
In the end I got up, snatched my dressing gown – for the record, a particularly gorgeous man’s one in embossed velvet with a quilted silk lining – and went out, slamming the door pointedly behind me. Being solid oak, and heavy, it slammed with a thud that would have done credit to the door of a dungeon. I stormed off, though I had no real idea where I was going to storm to. The castle was dark and very quiet; assorted electric lighting only served to emphasise the shadows. In the dimness, Basilisa’s décor was oddly reassuring: it was difficult to imagine a phantom in Highland kit would deign to promenade in front of a Dali lip sofa and purple cushions. Still, I was glad I didn’t believe in ghosts. Atmosphere and communing with Elizabeth’s memory I could go with, but a skeleton in tartan, possibly playing the bagpipes, was an idiotic idea.
I went downstairs, aiming vaguely for the drawing room and the chance of a drink. In the hall, I couldn’t find the light switch – the staff normally dealt with turning lights on and off – and I had to feel my way, but I knew it well enough by now to reach my goal without toe-stubbing or colliding with furniture. Suddenly, a face emerged from the gloom ahead of me – a pale, alien face with cold slanting eyes, a dark fall of hair, high cheekbones catching a glimmer of light from somewhere or nowhere.
‘Shit!’ I said, my heart jumping despite all my native scepticism.
‘Delphinium?’ It was Ash.