Dirty Minds, page 14
Kind regards
James Smith
‘Well, he’s honest.’ She sounded impressed. ‘I mean, if it was a freebie weekend he was looking for, he could have booked in as Mr and Mrs Anstruther, and then she could have gone sick at the last minute.’ She looked across at Tom, as she pulled plates and glasses from the dresser. ‘What do you think? Do you want him?’
‘I’ve been wondering. I must admit that, like you, I admire his honesty. We have to remember however, that he is the adverb king. He also doesn’t know much about history, and he couldn’t be bothered to check. Cavemen first appeared millions of years after his piece was set.’
He jumped to his feet.
‘I’ve just remembered, I’ve got a bottle of wine in my jacket pocket. I got distracted for some reason when I came in and forgot it. I’ll get it.’
‘Open it for yourself by all means. I’m on the wagon for a few days. I had far too much champagne last night. I must look awful.’
He chose not to respond to that comment. She looked terrific. ‘In which case, I’ll leave the bottle here for another time. Let’s take the healthy option.’
‘So, what about young James?’
‘You know, even though he can’t write for toffee, it might be a good thing to have the perspective of a younger male. I am a bit of an old fuddy-duddy, after all.’
‘Positively ancient.’ She set a jug of water on the table, then sat down opposite him. ‘I think he sounds nice.’
She loaded his plate with food. The two dogs were sitting side by side, eyes glued on the lamb. Tom noticed to his horror that Noah was drooling. Ros’s eyes followed his.
‘I think it might be a good idea if I sorted the dogs out with some meat. Noah might drown in his own dribble otherwise.’ She got up and divided the remaining meat into two bowls. The dogs’ eyes lit up.
‘By the way, I’m afraid I’m going to have to be in London most of next week.’ She saw his face fall. ‘I know, I wish I could be here. But it’s work, and it’s a few thousand pounds worth of work.’
His eyes opened wide. ‘Wow, that’s probably more than we’ll ever make out of this book. What are you doing? Selling your organs?’
‘No, not yet. That’s plan B. I got an e-mail from my editor. They want me to do a three-page article on this spring’s fashions. I got an amazing amount of unsolicited information from some of the people at last night’s party, so I think I should be able to cobble something together.’ She shot him a glance, laced with regret. ‘But it does mean I won’t see you for a few days.’
‘Business is business. We’ll be together next weekend anyway.’ The realisation that they were to find themselves together in a hotel for the weekend re-ignited his doubts and fears. Their relationship was moving onwards at a fast pace. Or at least, fast by his standards. She was so right about his not being the impulsive type. But two days and two nights together? He hoped his drained emotions would be able to handle it. Unbidden, Diane’s face flashed before his eyes. He dropped his head in confusion.
‘Don’t be disappointed.’ She could tell he was troubled. ‘We’ll make up for it at the weekend.’
He swallowed his mouthful and looked up. ‘Ros, I’ve been thinking. For next weekend, do you think it would be a good idea if we didn’t appear to be too close?’ She raised an eyebrow. He hastened to provide an explanation. ‘I’m thinking from the point of view of the other writers. I wouldn’t want them to think we had got it all sewn up.’
She knew him so well already. ‘Tom, I think that’s a very good idea. By the way,’ she tried to sound as if it wasn’t very important, ‘Fonsie’s got us two really nice rooms overlooking the park.’ She hoped she hadn’t put too much stress on the word ‘two’.
‘How very kind of him.’ He sounded relieved.
She had a fair idea as to what was going through his head, but she said nothing. She had long ago realised that he was going to need time to get his head straight. She gave him a bright smile as she explained.
‘Apparently all the rooms are on the first floor. So that is where all the action will take place.’ Seeing the expression on his face, she added, ‘For the book.’
‘Um, yes. That’s excellent.’ He returned his attention to his food.
‘So, any other replies from the writers?’
‘Yes, the Tiffany girl, you know, Two’s Company, is coming with her husband. His name is Luca Rossi. You never know, I might have to roll my Italian out again.’
‘There’s something so very sexy about Italian. One of these days you’ll have to try some of it on me.’
‘Ma certo, Signorina.’ She was pleased to see that he had regained his composure. ‘Oh yes, and the Indian Torturer is coming with a girlfriend.’
‘Are you wondering what I’m wondering?’
‘Interesting, isn’t it? Not least as she has indicated they want a double bed. Well, it should give us the opportunity to check that she is a woman. But I must confess I am bracing myself for a Rosa Klebb look-alike.’
‘Maybe they’ll turn out to be a pair of octogenarian spinsters who just happen to have a good imagination.’ She looked down at the dogs. Sophie had abandoned her bowl with only half the food eaten. Noah was halfway round the room with his nose in his. It had been licked clean.
‘Mmm, I’m not sure “good” is the right adjective to describe her offering. I found it quite distasteful. But there’s no doubting the fact that she can write. We’ll see. Anyway, we’ve got another all woman partnership. Can you guess which?’
Ros went through the writers in her head. ‘That only leaves the war story. and the Marquise. My money’s on the Marquise bringing her girlfriend.’
‘Well, I’m glad you weren’t in Monte Carlo for the casino. You would have lost your shirt. Yes, it’s Janet Whateverhernameis. She is coming with a friend called Melissa. But they have opted for twin beds. Of course that may just be a ruse, and they’ll be at it like rabbits all the time.’
‘Thomas Marshall, how dare you impugn the honour of the good lady! She probably just needs a bit of moral support. So the Marquise has got a man, eh?’
‘Yes, and she mentioned twice that she particularly wanted a double bed. I think we can safely assume they are a couple.’All this talk of couples was not doing Ros any good at all. She took a good hard look at Tom. Underneath the strong exterior, he was still very mixed up. He must have loved his wife a lot. Sooner or later they would have to get things sorted out between them, but she was wise enough to realise that it would have to come from him. That didn’t mean she couldn’t help him make up his mind, though. She stood up and bent down to relieve Noah of his bowl, before he ground a furrow in the wooden floor.
Tom watched her perfect bottom with awe. He resisted the urge to cup her buttocks with his hands, but it was a struggle. She turned towards him. He knew at once she could read the conflict of emotions in his face. She gave him an innocent smile and returned to her seat. He collected himself.
‘Actually, I’m going to be pretty busy myself, getting things ready for the weekend. Ah yes, I wanted to ask your advice. Do you think it would be a good idea to let everybody read everybody else’s demo pieces?’
She cut herself a small piece of goat cheese and balanced it on a stick of celery, taken from a huge pile. ‘Yes, I think it would. I certainly learnt stuff from reading the other stories.’
‘Right, then I’ll copy them all. What do you think about this as a plan for the weekend? Friday night, just socialising and dinner, Saturday morning deciding on characters, and Saturday afternoon getting the plot sorted out. Saturday night dinner in costume’
‘Gala dinner in costume.’ She felt she had to interrupt him. ‘Fonsie has got great plans, apparently. It’ll be champagne all the way.’
‘Wow. So then Sunday morning will be spent apportioning writing tasks. Then after lunch they all go home, fired with enthusiasm.’
‘Sounds great. Now tell me, have you got your costume sorted out for Saturday night? It was your idea, after all. You have to be seen to be entering into the spirit of the thing.’
‘Ah, I hadn’t got round to that. Any ideas?’
‘Well, yes I have. Would you mind standing up please?’
He did as requested, while she reached into a drawer. Her hands came out with a tape measure.
‘Right, let’s have your waist first.’ She knelt down in front of him and put her hands around his back. He gulped. ‘34 inches in old money. Now your inside leg.’ He stood dead still, while she fiddled around. ‘We’ll call that 34 inches as well.’
‘I think that’s what it says on the back of my jeans, now I come to think of it.’ His voice was strained.
She looked up with a mischievous smile.
‘You’re right, but it wouldn’t have been half so much fun.’ She stood up. ‘And last, but not least, your chest.’ She had to press close up against him to get her arms around with the tape measure. Her breasts pushed against his chest. Her perfume filled his nostrils. For a moment, he genuinely thought he was going to faint. His head was spinning, his heart hiccupping. Finally satisfied with her measurements, she stood back. He did his best to regain his equilibrium.
‘Don’t tell me you are going to run me up a faithful copy of a 1920s toff’s outfit on your trusty sewing machine?’
She gave him a broad smile. ‘As some famous racing driver once said, “I just drive them, I have no idea how to mend them”. But I do know a splendid place in London where you can get just about any costume. If you trust me, I’ll get something for you while I look for something for myself’
‘Ros, I trust you more than I trust Noah to clean his plate.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Melcombe House Hotel lay a few miles from Piddletrenthide, and the countryside was pure Dorset, where rolling hills give way to wooded valleys, in any one of which you are likely to find the remains of a Roman villa. The hotel itself was once the home of a minor aristocrat who had the good sense to stop trading in slaves and start importing fertilizer. If proof were needed that where there’s muck, there’s money, this place was it.
‘Wow, Ros, what a place. Noah would have loved that lake down there.’ Regretfully he had had to leave the Labrador in Devon. The local farmer was only too happy to take him for the weekend.
‘Well, he’s got the pond at the farm to splash about in, if he wants.’
‘I know. But he’s sharing it with a couple of dozen ducks. He hasn’t caught one yet, but it’s not for want of trying.’
He decided against parking alongside the yellow Ferrari. Instead he sought refuge around the side of the house. His car fitted in much better among the staff’s cars. He collected his bag and one of hers from the boot. She was reaching for the remaining two bags when a liveried servant appeared and took over the task.
‘Oh, thank you.’ Tom felt the luggage whisked from his hands. A deferential finger indicated the front door. It would have been unmistakable, even without the porter’s indication. A forest of Doric columns stood at the top of stone steps. Framed in the midst of the columns, was a familiar figure.
‘Rosalind, Tommaso, how good to see you.’ Alfonso advanced towards them and bestowed kisses upon them both. ‘And you managed to bring us a sunny day as well.’
The sun was indeed shining. The view down across the park to the lake was breathtaking: rural England at its very best.
‘Are those deer I can see under the trees?’
‘Si, carissima. The hotel seeks to procure as much produce locally as it can.’ He threw his left arm around her shoulders, his right around Tom’s.
‘Poor little deer.’ She sounded like a child.
‘But they taste so good. Come, let me show you around.’
The house was built of wonderful honey-coloured stone. Rows of stone-framed windows ran from end to end, those on the second floor smaller and less showy. No doubt this is where the servants would once have lived. A lead-topped clock tower finished it off. The overall appearance was of unashamed opulence. They followed Alfonso inside.
‘Here is the dining room and, through here, one of the many lounges. You English have managed to invent so many different names for what is, in effect, the same room. Here at Melcombe House we have a sitting room, a lounge, a morning room, a garden room, a breakfast room and a study. The study is larger than the cabinet office in Downing Street, and certainly larger than most lounges.’
The room referred to as the lounge was elaborate, ornate and enormous. The walls were a fine grey-green colour, highlighted with gold. Intricate plasterwork on the ceiling led to a line of flamboyant ceiling roses, from which satin-clad chains supported magnificent chandeliers.
‘Oh, Fonsie, what a perfectly wonderful place. How clever of you to find it.’
‘I cannot take the credit for that. It was one of my staff in London who saw it on a commercial property website. By the next time you come to visit, it will have undergone a complete transformation. I will, of course, keep all the original features but the infrastructure of plumbing and electrics is in need of complete replacement. We will create a new kitchen, a bar in the old stables and two tennis courts outside: floodlit, of course. Then there is the matter of upgrading the fire precautions and so on. But it will be worth it.’
‘What a magnificent fireplace.’ Tom was very impressed. The fireplace was carved out of the purest white marble into a complex mixture of columns, bows, fruit and flowers.
‘Ah, Tommaso, let me tell you exactly what that is. You have before you a pedimented, cartouched and swagged chimneypiece.’ He gave them both a broad smile. ‘I must admit I find it a bit over the top. The very nice lady from English Heritage gave me the full description. You must remember it for your book. Now, let me lead you upstairs.’
The staircase itself was a masterpiece of the woodcarver’s art. Gold balls topped the newel posts and all the treads had been polished to a deep chocolate brown. A slightly worn red and gold carpet ran up the middle, held in place with gold rods. They walked up to the first floor.
‘Here is the main accommodation floor. There will obviously be an elevator installed. We currently have twenty-four bedrooms. I intend to reduce that number to twenty, by creating two new suites.’ He glanced tenderly at Ros. ‘Next time you come here, my dear, you will be able to choose between the Royal and the Republican suites.’
‘I wouldn’t know which to choose.’
‘You see, we are even-handed here. We cater for republicans as well as monarchists. But you can leave the decision to your fiancé. Which would you pick, Tom?’
Tom did his best to avoid Ros’s eyes. ‘I suppose I am a republican with a small “r”. But what happens if you are entertaining somebody like Bill Clinton? You can hardly put him in a Republican Suite, but, at the same time, he’s hardly a monarchist. The Yanks got that out of their systems centuries ago.’
Alfonso stopped in his tracks. ‘Rosalind, I can see why you have fallen for this man. He has a brain in that head of his. We had not considered that. Of course, we cannot use the word “republican”. It would be too embarrassing. After all, when Hilary retires, Bill promised me they would come to see me.’
Tom goggled. Alfonso was on first-name terms with the former president? And, even more important, he spoke of Ros having fallen for him. Her fiancé?
‘Why not call them Dorchester and Winchester, or something local?’
‘Of course, after your meeting this weekend, maybe we should name them the Sadist’s and the Masochist’s suites.’
‘Fonsie, behave yourself. I don’t want you accusing any of our co-writers of being in any way kinky.’
‘Although we have a pretty good idea that at least one of them is a bit weird.’ Tom looked at his watch. It was almost half past one. In less than four hours time, the other writers would be arriving. He was beginning to feel nervous.
‘We are looking forward to seeing what they all look like. We have built up a mental picture of them, but who knows?’ Ros looked down the corridor. ‘So which are our rooms? I think I’d like to freshen up before lunch.’
‘Over here, look, his and hers.’ Alfonso pointed to two doors set side by side. The numbers 16 and 18 were discreetly visible, painted in yet more gold. He flung the two doors open. Tom waited until she had chosen one. Then he walked into his. He was unsurprised to find a four-poster bed, complete with gold hangings. He heard a squeal of glee from next door.
‘I will leave you young people to sample the delights of 1920s plumbing. Lunch will be served in the breakfast room. It is more intimate.’
Tom remembered the breakfast room as being slightly larger than the whole floor area of his own house. That was intimate? He went into the bathroom and used the facilities. There may have been hundred-year-old plumbing but it didn’t show. This was true opulence. He found himself thinking about the book. This was going to make a remarkable setting.
He washed his hands and returned to his bedroom. It boasted two huge sash windows. The view was every bit as stunning as Ros and he had been led to believe. Meticulously maintained parkland stretched away to the distant lake. Vast oak trees, their trunks protected by wooden enclosures, dotted the grass. This was a scene that would have to be in the book. He searched for a suitable adjective: bucolic, maybe? Or was that just reserved for cows? He resolved to check that and then use it, along with the description of the fireplace downstairs. The sunshine was the icing on the cake. It was an idyllic place.
His musings were interrupted by a tapping noise. Fearing the worst from the plumbing, he tried to trace the origin of it. It seemed to be coming from an ornate panel, set in the wall by the door. There was a silver bolt set in it. He slid the bolt open. Her face appeared in the opening.
‘Surprise! Bet you didn’t know we’d got one of these.’
‘A secret door, no less. Is yours camouflaged as well?’
