Protection (26 page)

Maggie had been right. The heaters had turned the place into a tropical jungle and wiping sweat from her brow, Isobel briefly stared around her and then trotted back to the house. Weaving her way through knot after knot of partying guests and becoming increasingly frustrated until finally, she saw her, wedged between a group of cackling women and an enormous Christmas tree.

The sight of her made her gasp and struggling not to empty the entire contents of her tray onto the floor, Isobel stared. Where had she been all this time and what had she been up to? And what did it matter? She was here now and it was time.

Making sure she was still busy, Isobel left the dining room and made her way quickly across the hallway to the lounge. Then, pausing in the doorway, she surreptitiously checked that she hadn't been seen before lowering her head to her chest and slumping heavily against the frame.

Maggie was at her side in an instant, just as she'd hoped. and smoothing back Isobel's hair she offered her a concerned smile.

“Perhaps you should go home.”She said, pressing her hand to Isobel's forehead. “You look ever so pale and we've still got a long evening ahead of us. Tell you what, you shoot off now and I'll go tell June. She can hardly get angry if you're not feeling well and I reckon the rest of us'll cope without you. Most of this daft lot are too squiffy to care who's serving the drinks anyway, just as long as they keep coming. Go on, off you go. Go home and get some rest.”

Isobel nodded weakly and turning her back on a worried Maggie, threaded her way across the room and out of the door, confident that Maggie would do as she'd said and that June and everyone else would think she'd gone straight home to bed.

But if stage one was now complete, it still left her with stage two and after waiting until Maggie was safely out of sight, Isobel quickly dumped her tray behind the nearest drift, ruffled up her hair and then slapped herself twice on the cheeks, retrieving some of the colour Maggie had so conveniently thought hadn't been there.

Then, making her breathing quick and shallow, she approached the guard at the foot of the stairs and faced him with what she hoped was a suitably frantic expression.

“We need help.”She gasped with hesitation. “The press have managed to get inside the garden and they've surrounded Carrie and her girlfriend. Your boss wants you out there quick as you can.”

The guard narrowed his eyes. “You sure?”He asked suspiciously. “No one's called me on the radio and I don't see any great rush towards the grounds. Reckon you must have it wrong love. The boss would ‘ave called me by now.”

Shit! Isobel thought. Shit, shit, shit! But she wasn't about to give up yet.

“I know!”She cried, the panic in her voice now not entirely false. “It was your boss that sent me! He's trying to play it down, doesn't want everyone panicking, but he needs help and the battery in his walkie-talkie's gone flat! For God's sake, will you please hurry!”

“I dunno.”He said doubtfully. “How'd the press get in anyway? Security's tighter than a cat's arse.”

“How the hell should I know!”Isobel cried and in a flash of inspiration, switched tactics. “But if you won't help, then I'll just have to find someone who will, but I tell you now, your flippin' boss won't be happy.”And with that she walked off.

Behind her, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw the guard start to fidget, but she kept on walking, casting about as if looking for someone else who could help before suddenly pausing, as if her quarry had been found.

The guard, sensing his career on the line, called her back.

“Okay, I believe you.”He said. “Where exactly are they?”

“Out the front, by that reindeer thing. You can't miss them.”

“Okay, I'm there, but you better not be stringing me a line my girl, or there'll be trouble, and while I'm gone, you stay right there! Do not let anyone up those stairs. Understand?”

“Yes, yes! I understand! Now go!”And with an expression of complete anxiety, she gave him a shove. Hopping from foot to foot until he was safely out of sight before scurrying up the stairs.

Leaving the security guard to find out the hard way that he was a complete and utter plonker.

Upstairs was quiet and dimly lit and crouching at the top of the stairs, Isobel scanned the ceiling for cameras. There didn't seem to be any, but just in case they happened to be concealed by means invisible to her, she decided to err on the side of caution and pretend to be looking for somone, and so, stepping onto the landing, she wandered slowly across the carpet, turning her head from side to side and silently mouthing ‘ hello' a few times as she went.

But nobody challenged her and after waiting long enough for someone to come tearing up the stairs demanding to know what she thought she was doing, Isobel gave up the pretence and stuck two fingers up at the infra red alarms she had noticed blinking away in the corners, but which she figured were clearly not switched on either.

She was safe and making her way silently along the length of the hallway, she glanced up at the numerous pictures and awards hanging on the walls, before gently trying each of the doorknobs.

To her disappointment, most of the rooms were locked, aside from what was obviously a guest bedroom and a couple of bathrooms and fearing the door to Carrie's room would also refuse to budge, she almost whooped for joy when she found it open.

Her hand on the doorknob, she struggled to contain her excitement.

At last, she was here! In her room. The room she slept in. Undressed in. Made love in. The room that perhaps they, too, would share, providing she didn't prefer a new room to go with her new beginning. Either way it didn't matter. Here would still be the first place they met.

Breathing in the residuals of perfume, Isobel closed the door behind her and ran her fingers across the top of a chest of drawers. She opened the top drawer and found neatly folded panties and pulling out a pair, she sniffed them, wallowing in the scent of fabric conditioner and almost coming with the thrill. Replacing them she toured the room. Her hand touching wardrobes, the dressing table, the paintings on the walls. Excited still further by the knowledge that she was trespassing through private domain, for here were things she was never supposed to see. Never supposed to touch. Never supposed to even know about.

Her eyes touched on the bed and the fresh sheets and pillow cases. Crease free, they gave no clue that anyone had ever slept there, but Isobel knew different.

This was the bed they shared. Where she dared to fuck someone else!

It wasn't right!

It made her want to break things and ruin things like tearing the duvet from the bed and ripping it to shreds! She wanted to smash perfumes to the floor! Throw pictures and vases and anything else she could get her hands on just so that she would know she couldn't do these things behind her back! She was supposed to be with her! Not rolling around in this bloody expensive bed with someone else!

But she couldn't! She couldn't do any of those things. Giving into her rage would only bring every security guard in the house running and then where would she be? She would be caught and her plans would be ruined.

Frustrated, she wrenched her gaze from the bed and forced herself to calm down.

Okay, so what if they had screwed in this bed? Who cared? She could always order a new one, and new sheets and duvets to go with it. Then they would have a huge bonfire out in the garden. Just the two of them. A huge burn-up in which they could get rid of all the things she'd shared with that other bitch!

Providing she could just find somewhere to hide.

Beneath the bed was out for a start. The gap between the base and the floor far too small to accommodate even the most anorexic of stick insects, and hiding behind the curtains was too obvious even to consider. The free standing furniture wasn't much good either, shoved up against the walls like it was, and she could hardly hide in the bathroom.

Which left only the closet.

Gaping, Isobel thought she'd stepped into the Tardis.

There were dresses everywhere! Row upon row of them, every length, every colour, every style. And shoes! Dozens of pairs of shoes. All neatly arranged in see-through boxes and tucked beneath the corresponding outfit. And underwear! A whole fuckin' cupboard stuffed with stockings and bras and other accessories. It was unbelievable! How the hell did she have the time to wear all this stuff?

Isobel didn't have the first idea, but standing here staring at it all wasn't going to find her a place to hide, and pulling the door closed behind her, she crossed over to a free standing mirror and wriggled behind it, checking to make sure that the dresses behind her completely covered any gaps at her sides, before settling herself down and hugging her knees.

“Brilliant party Carrie. Thank you so much for inviting us. Have a wonderful Christmas.”

Kissing the air on either side of her friend's cheek, Carrie waited until both she and her escort, a huge Swede with no English, had climbed safely into their limousine, before retracing her steps back up to the front of the house and closing the solid, Oak door behind her. Relieved, she let out a huge sigh.

That was that then. It was over. Finally she could collapse into a nice, warm bed.

“You look knackered!”Carmichael offered from his place propping up the doorway to the lounge. “But I have to say you did a terrific job tonight. Everyone I spoke to had a wonderful time and I don't think you let one of those rat bags get to you.”

“Thanks, but I'm glad it's over. I've never felt so on display and poor Andrea, I don't think she got a moment's peace.”

“Neither did you.”Carmichael said. “But I think your dress helped. Some of them couldn't stop drooling long enough to say anything!”

“Urg! What a lovely thought. But talking of drooling, are you planning on dribbling all over my pillows or are you thinking about going home?”

“I think.”Carmichael replied, suppressing a burp. “That under the circumstances staying might be wise. If I go home now I'm only going to pass out in the lav again and it's not a lot of laughs waking up with the rim of a toilet seat digging into your face. Better go see Brian though before I crash. Make sure everything's okay before we delve into the post party bitch.”

Carrie groaned. “God, Carmichael, do we have to? I just want to go to bed.”

“What? And lie awake all night wondering what everyone said about you? I don't think so.”

“I really don't care.”

“Oh, no? Remember last year when you woke me up at four o'clock because you thought Joan whats-her-face had called you a lying, scheming cow?”

Carrie surrendered. “Oh, alright! I give in! I'll see you in the kitchen. But don't take too long nattering with Brian. I really do want to go to bed!”

Tucked up in her cottage, Amanda had spent the evening watching ‘weepie' movies on the television, and inbetween sniffles, eating chocolates, blissfully unaware that the stars she was currently crying over were up at the main house, swigging Champagne and having a great time.

Not that she would have cared if she had known. She'd never enjoyed showbiz parties and it had long been her belief that such functions were all glitter and no substance and full of nothing but fake friendships and phoney promises that tripped from lips as easily as warm butter from a crumpet.

Far better, in her opinion, to watch them acting out somebody else's life than hear them banging on about their own.

But when twenty minutes later, the phone rang and Carmichael, sounding slightly worse for wear, informed her that the coast was clear and the party was over, she still didn't loose any time in hurrying back over to her beloved kitchen to enjoy the gossip.

To her surprise, Andrea was already there and taking her coat from her, Andrea asked the housekeeper if she couldn't sleep?

“Haven't tried.”Was Amanda's reply. “I've been watching movies all night and I've just came over to hear all the gossip. I like it when it's nice and fresh.”

Andrea chuckled. “Oh, I see. You didn't actually want to be at the party, but you don't want to miss out on all the scandal. Very commendable.”

“There's nothing commendable about it.”Amanda said, plonking herself down at the kitchen table and eyeing the large glass of scotch Andrea was working on. “I'm just a nosey, old woman. But what's with the booze? I thought you didn't like scotch?”

Andrea shrugged. “I don't as a rule but I thought it might help me sleep. My head is buzzing like crazy! I don't know how Carrie does it. She makes it all look so effortless and ordinary, whereas I didn't know which way to turn next. I swear I must have answered the same question at least a thousand times.”

Amanda tutted. “That would be right. Celebrities are even nosier than I am! I reckon it's them what buys all those magazines you know. Just so they can keep an eye on what each other's up to…Hello Carrie.”

Slouching into the kitchen, Carrie smiled tiredly, yawned and slumped into the chair next to Andrea's.

Andrea turned to her. “What's-a matter with you?”She asked, swallowing the last of her scotch and deliberately slurring her words. “You look done in. Shame. I wassh hoping to get you out of that dress and..”

Carrie stared at her. “Are you drunk?!”She gaped, glancing at Amanda, who either genuinely hadn't noticed or was pretending supremely well that she hadn't. “When did that happen? We've hardly had a drink all night!”

“That's right!”Andrea cried, suddenly all bright and cheerful again. “I was just kiddin'! You should see your face!”

Carrie huffed. “Bitch!”She said. “You really had me going then. Thought I was going to have to listen to you chucking up all night. But how are you really? Did anyone give you a hard time?”

“Not exactly. Three people offered me extremely good money to watch you and I tumble in the sack, one offered marriage and I had innumerable, casual asides as to what it was actually like to snog another woman? So, all in all, not a bad evening I'd say.”