Master of the House (26 page)

‘Have you still got it?’

‘You know, I think I probably have. I never used it though. The trail on that story had gone cold and something happened in Parliament the next day that put it all out of my head. But he might remember me if he saw me again.’

‘He must have wined and dined hundreds of women since then. Did he know you were a journalist?’

‘God, no, I didn’t tell him that. Said I was teaching English as a foreign language, like every other British person out there.’

‘Right. So – would it matter so much if he recognised you?’

‘I’m not sure. He might just think it’s a bit of a coincidence, that’s all. Might want to investigate me.’

Joss pinched his lips. ‘He might want to do more than investigate you.’

We fell into a stagnant silence.

‘You’re right,’ he said after some thought. ‘We can’t go ahead with this. You say the story won’t be printed and it’s too risky anyway. So that’s my place in the history books assured. The man who lost Willingham Hall.’

It looked hopeless enough. ‘It’s not your fault you were saddled with your father’s debts,’ I said. ‘Can’t you just live with the status quo? Let Voronov carry on with his monthly visits, take his rent and keep the rest of the house for yourself? It’s not too terrible an inconvenience, is it?’

‘It’s humiliating,’ he muttered. ‘He treats me like a serf. Besides, in the end he’ll take the house from me, lock, stock and barrel. I know it.’

‘He can afford any house he wants. Why should he be so set on yours?’

‘Because it’s fun for him to treat me like this, that’s why. He’ll turn the screw until I have to sell up. He asked me once if I wanted to accept double the rent in return for attending one of his parties.’

‘What? Surely you accepted?’

‘As a
submissive
,’ hissed Joss. ‘The point is, I’m an English aristocrat and it amuses him to see me humbled. He loves to demonstrate that money is superior to birthright. Obviously I refused. But he keeps repeating the offer.’

I had no more words to say. I couldn’t see how the situation could ever be resolved. There was no story in it for me and no hope of Joss ever prising Voronov out of the east wing. Indeed, it was surprising that Voronov hadn’t just gone ahead and bought the Hall outright. But perhaps he was saving that special pleasure for later, a kind of
coup de grâce
, so he could savour Joss’s utter defeat.

‘Let’s think about this,’ I said, without much enthusiasm. ‘Voronov has been leasing part of your house for his parties. You want him out. He wants more than a nice venue for his kinky scenes – humiliating you is an integral part of the pleasure for him … what can we do?’

Joss shrugged and lay flat on the bed.

‘So there’s nothing I can do but put it on the market,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ I said, the beginning of an idea dawning, albeit probably an unworkable one. ‘After all, it still belongs to you. What’s the stuff he knows about your parents?’

Joss put his hands over his face, then spoke in a dull, dead tone.

‘They used to host these parties on their yacht. Hedonistic isn’t the word. Makes this place look like Balamory. Voronov went to a few. He has footage. Drugs, prostitutes, international criminal playboys everywhere.’

‘Bloody hell.’ I resisted the natural urge to comment on what a great story that would make. I can be sensitive. ‘I see.’ The beginnings of my plan melted into mist. I was stumped.

‘I’m fucked, aren’t I?’ said Joss mournfully.

‘I think it does look that way. Sorry.’

* * *

We returned to Tylney in low spirits. Our trip to London had been a bit of a pointless waste of time, if a pleasurable one. All bets were off. The grand scheme would have to be abandoned.

It hadn’t all been completely futile, though. I had Joss, and I had found an elusive part of my self in the process. Our peculiar plot had grown and flourished like a plant in rich soil, bearing unexpected flowers.

‘Do you still want to stay with me?’ he asked, parking the car with a dejected air in the Hall grounds.

‘Oh, Joss. Do you really think I was only with you for the story?’

I was surprised, staggered even. Couldn’t he read me better than that?

‘Weren’t you?’

‘You’re serious, aren’t you? You really don’t know?’

He was the picture of woe.

‘After what I did to you … I didn’t want to hope.’

‘Joss, are all your instincts dead when it comes to human relationships? Do you really think it’s possible to fake the way you’ve made me feel? And the kinky sex! Who would put themselves through it if they weren’t into it? If they didn’t love you?’

‘Do you love me then?’

I shook my head but only because I was beyond words. I worked on sucking in some air and forming some coherent thoughts for a while before asking, ‘Are you really asking me this? Are you really, seriously, in doubt?’

‘I didn’t know what love looked like. At least, I know what it’s supposed to look like. I’ve faked it quite convincingly myself at times. But that’s what’s so confusing.’

‘Oh, Joss …’

‘My parents didn’t love me. Do you want to know something really funny? I used to be jealous of you, when we were kids. Jealous. Because, although she was a bit clueless, your mum obviously loved you, and you loved her. There was this thing between you –
warmth
. Acceptance. You were good enough for her. I wanted to feel good enough but I never did.’

‘They must have loved you in their
way
? Maybe that cold, upper-class way one hears about? You know – undemonstrative, but it doesn’t mean they don’t feel anything for you.’

He shook his head. ‘No, I saw plenty of parents like that when I stayed with schoolfriends, but their sons weren’t like me. They took it for granted that they were wanted.’

‘The ironic thing is, I was unplanned,’ I said.

‘But your mother loved you, once she had you.’

‘Yeah. Yeah, she did.’ I had no doubt about this and I suddenly had an inkling of how dark and destabilising it must be to have no such certainty in life.

‘After you,’ he said, looking out at the lush green slopes of the estate as if it were bleak and parched, ‘there were other girls. Lots of others. But it was never the same. Something about you, and the way you were with me was different. I could never put my finger on it, but I fucking hated myself for losing it.’

‘Maybe because I knew you. That I loved you despite myself and despite the way you’d treated me. Perhaps that gave you a clue that it was real.’

‘Yes,’ he said, considering this. ‘I always felt it was real.’

‘And it’s real now,’ I told him. ‘Realler, because I’m older and less gullible and starry-eyed.’

‘I had this nightmare,’ he said. ‘That you were only with me for revenge. That you and Voronov were lovers.’ He swallowed hard and I could see the shine in his eyes, presaging tears.

‘Hey.’ My hand was on his arm. I could feel the little tremble under my palm. ‘It was just a dream. Joss.’ I took a breath. ‘Would it be such a terrible thing to sell the house?’

He shut his eyes and the tears spilled out, gliding along his cheekbones. He shook his head.

‘I hate the fucking place,’ he said with a strangled little laugh and a gasp for breath. ‘Always have done.’

So now we were free, free of Willingham Hall and the old iron grip of his late father and the taunting leasehold of Arkady Voronov – well, almost.

We decided to put the place on the market once he’d had a chance to speak to Voronov. The trouble was, this proved difficult. He was constantly ‘unavailable’.

The morning of his next visit dawned without Joss having reached him. It was also the day of Jamila’s wedding, which I was to attend with mum.

I woke up first and experienced the joy of finding him beside me, which had still not worn off. He had one arm flung over the side of the bed while the other rested on his chest. His legs were scissored wide – luckily the bed was vast – and he exhaled a gentle semi-snore. His eyelashes fluttered, casting shadows on his cheekbones as he dreamed. I wondered if he dreamed of me and, when I looked down at the rudely tented blankets, I wondered still more.

I lay propped on my side and slid my hand beneath the covers, seeking the lazy warmth of his body. My fingers tiptoed up his flank and found with ease his stiff upstanding part. I stroked it gently on the underside, enjoying its softness coupled with its rigidity. He squirmed and moaned and almost woke up, but not quite.

I relished the thought of what he must be feeling in his dream as I crept beneath the covers into that subterranean place of close heat and male scent. My first breath on his rounded tip made him sigh and shift again. I put the tip of my tongue on the very base of his erection and dragged it slowly upwards. He rippled and gathered around it as I rose, then his heels crashed into the mattress and his pelvis jolted. I supposed that meant he was awake.

I knew it when he cried, ‘Oh, Jesus, what …? Lucy? Oh, God.’

I poked my head out of the covers.

‘Sorry. Thought I’d wake you up gently. Shall I stop?’

‘No,’ he said, after collecting himself. ‘No need. Carry on.’

I carried on, kissing and licking and sucking on him until he was ready to give me my good-morning mouthful. He returned the favour after that, and I almost fell back into a satiated sleep but remembered in time that I had places to be.

‘I’ll try and get back as early as I can,’ I said, making the finishing touches to my wedding outfit. ‘I want to come with you when you try to speak to Voronov.’

‘It’ll have to be before he gets into party mode,’ said Joss glumly, still in bed. ‘He won’t want me trying to discuss business while he’s … getting down to business.’

‘No, well, I’ll stay for the ceremony and the speeches, then I’ll slip off if I can. Leave mum as my proxy.’

I darted over to the bed and kissed him, jingling with my quantity of silver bracelets. I was wearing traditional salwar kameez at Jamila’s request – it was lighter than air and made me feel almost giddily feminine.

I left the room in a swirl of scarves, promising myself that I’d put the Hall and Voronov from my mind for just these next few hours.

Mum still wasn’t dressed when I let myself into the flat. She was sitting drinking tea in her dressing gown, staring at a satellite TV show about angling.

‘Mum?’

‘Oh, love,’ she said with a sigh.

‘What’s wrong? You’re coming to the wedding with me, remember? We bought outfits from the sari shop on Coventry Road.’

‘I don’t think I’m up to it, angel. Sorry.’

She had that awful blank staring look I remembered from my childhood. I remembered too the feeling of helplessness that went with it. Then I remembered that I was an adult, took her mug from her and said, ‘Come on. Have a shower. It’ll perk you up.’

‘Take more than a shower,’ she said. ‘I’m not well, Lu. I’ll call the CPN later, don’t worry. You go and enjoy yourself. I’ll be all right.’

I sat down beside her, frowning at all the loose tobacco that attached to my lovely clothes.

‘What’s happened? Where’s Animal?’

‘Gone.’

‘Oh.’ That accounted for a lot. Another broken basket of hopes and dreams. ‘I thought you two were solid.’

‘So’d I. But … it’s not that, anyway.’

‘No?’

‘Look, you go. I just need a day to sort my head out. Do some thinking.’

‘Thinking’s dangerous, especially when you’re like this. Come to the wedding. It’ll be lovely – all the celebration and colour. It’ll take you out of yourself. Please?’

I helped her to her feet, hustled her into the shower, stood in the bathroom handing her the shampoo and soap. The last thing I wanted was for her to lock the door of a room that contained razors. Once she was out and wrapped in her towel, I led her into the bedroom, laid out her clothes and helped her into them.

I was no hairdresser, but I dried it and fought it into some semblance of an up-do, containing a huge number of grips. She remained silent, placid and doll-like throughout.

‘Do you want make-up?’ I asked her. She rarely wore it, unless it could be proved beyond reasonable doubt that it had been nowhere near an animal, and she shook her head this time too. ‘Fair enough. Let’s get our handbags and shoes and get out of here.’

Mum was slightly bucked up by the lovely new beaded bag she’d got from one of her suppliers – handmade, she told me – and she turned the car radio on. Music meant she was a rung above her lowest ebb.

I kept up a stream of neutral chatter about local events, avoiding any references to Animal, or even Joss. Relationships were not to be touched upon.

But she surprised me, as we parked the car outside the wedding venue, by bringing it up herself.

‘Don’t blame Animal,’ she said. ‘It’s not his fault.’

‘I wasn’t blaming anyone. Sometimes these things don’t last. It’s life. Look at me and Károly.’

‘Yes. And now you’ve got your lord.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t say “got” him,’ I said, but my cheeks heated a little at the thought of us being an item.

‘Don’t you see a future in it, then?’ The word ‘future’ seemed to depress her again and she laid her head against the window.

‘I don’t know what the future will bring,’ I said to her. ‘Maybe you could do a Tarot reading for us?’

She smiled. I had hit the right note.

‘Maybe I will,’ she said. ‘Soon as we get back, I’ll get the cards out.’ She turned eyes to me, old eyes, older than I’d ever seen them look. ‘I bumped into somebody earlier in the week.’

‘Did you? Who was that then?’

I hoped it wasn’t the boyfriend before Animal. She’d had to get a non-molestation order out on him in the end.

‘Don’t look so worried, angel. Not Raggy, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

Sigh of relief.

‘No. Your dad.’

‘My …?’

I didn’t have a dad. Never had one. Never even knew his name – in fact, mum had always said
she
didn’t know his name. They had met at some sort of rave or free festival or something, too much wacky baccy was taken and I was the result.

‘Your father?’

‘Yes, I know what a dad is, thanks. I just never thought I had one. You said you didn’t know who he was … his name, I mean.’