Henry Masterson, Blaine’s personal assistant, paused in his unhooking of several tons of damask curtain and patted his glowing forehead with a starched cotton handkerchief. ‘New guest. Arrives tomorrow. Doesn’t like clutter.’
‘Jesus, but you’re an unfit little fucker, Henry. Anyone’d think you were the fifty-a-day man.’ I reached for the pack of Marlboros that was already half-empty at eleven o’clock in the morning.
‘Don’t you dare light one of those filthy things in here!’ Henry snapped, and I reluctantly slid the cigarette back into its packet with my teeth.
‘So. Who is it?’
‘I don’t know,’ Henry lied.
‘Bollocks. C’mon, Henry. Male or female. Tell me that at least, will you? Whoever it is, they’ve got the best room in the place. Must be someone important.’
There was the first glimmer of pity on Henry’s face. I hated that, but it meant that he was starting to crack already. ‘I’m sorry, I really can’t say, Finn.’
‘For fuck’s sake! Just a name, an age – anything. Just something off the bloody form, huh?’
‘Actually, she didn’t submit a… Oh bugger.’
‘She. Thank you, Henry. That’s a start, at least. So, what else?’
‘Look, I know this is always difficult for you, but Blaine insisted. You’re not to know until she arrives.’ Henry glanced out of the window. ‘I don’t suppose your roses are in bud are they? A vase would be lovely for the dresser.’
‘Don’t change the subject. Ah, come on little man, don’t make me beat it out of you.’
‘You wouldn’t.’
‘Want to bet?’ I began a slow walk towards him. ‘I might even fetch my dog to jump all over these nice clean sheets with her muddy paws. You’d go fuckin’ suicidal then, wouldn’t you? Look, I promise I’ll look surprised. Put my acting skills to good use.’
‘I don’t know…’ Henry sat on the edge of the vast bed, took off his glasses and began to polish them with the hem of his shirt. I knew then it was only a matter of time. ‘Promise?’
I made the sign of the cross. ‘May the Baby Jesus be my witness.’
‘I really shouldn’t be doing this.’ Henry actually glanced over his shoulder, as if some interloper might be hiding behind the wardrobe. ‘Lilith Bresson,’ he whispered.
All that effort, for a name that meant fuck all.
Henry smiled at my nonplussed expression. ‘The artist? Good grief, you’re probably the only man in the country who hasn’t heard of her.’
‘All right, don’t rub it in.’ I was bored of the game now.
‘Blaine mentioned something about you seeing her on the telly?’
‘Not in the last three years, I wouldn’t have. I don’t watch the TV, Henry. You don’t watch the frigging TV. The last time I got five minutes’ glimpse of the bloody thing was when I was hanging upside down off Blaine’s bed. Shit.’ My knees gave way and I slumped down next to Henry. My wildcat, my moment’s weakness, had a name. Lilith Bresson. ‘Oh Christ, Henry. What the fuck have I done?’
Chapter Four
Lilith
I stood in the maelstrom of Alicante Airport, cursed my father for the thousandth time that morning and hated the entire world. Pallid, overweight parents with their feral children streamed through arrivals in their uniform of replica football kits and badly-fitting shorts, swapping places with near-identical families burned to a vivid shade of lobster. As soon as my luggage had been checked in, I fought my way to the AlbionAir First-Class lounge. I didn’t hate First Class passengers any less than the Economy herd: there just tended to be less of them.
I swiped my pass card at the door with one hand and removed my espadrilles with the other so that I stood barefoot in my travelling outfit of a Yankees baseball cap, grey cotton vest and frayed denim shorts, and curled my toes into the thick woollen pile of the carpet. I raised a supplicant’s face to the frigid current from the air conditioning.
‘Can I help you?’
I opened one eye to see a tall, sallow man in a navy blue suit blocking my way. ‘Give me a minute to cool down, and I’ll tell you –’ I scanned his lapel for a name badge. ‘George’.
The chief steward of AlbionAir’s First Class lounge gave me an appraisal that suggested he had just discovered me on the sole of his shoe. ‘If you require facilities to freshen up, miss, I suggest you try the ladies’ restrooms by Gate 13. This area is reserved for First Class passengers only.’