

Woman Coming Soon

By

Pringle McCloy

Smashwords Edition

Copyright: Woman Coming Soon

Category: Literary

Innovation, Science and Economic Development Canada

September 6, 2017

1143293
Chapter One

I NOW SUPPOSE IT BEGAN the very second Kasha set foot in my house although I failed to notice it at the time. I was blinded by love, you see, love for my husband who tended to be a bit selfish in returning the favor. No, David was much too busy pub-crawling with his mates and squandering his affections, I suspected, on other women. Only a theory, but there'd been the peculiar perfume trailing behind him like a jet stream, a strange pair of knickers in the Bentley, and the rampant rumors regarding his step-mum but that's another story. In this story, sleepy-eyed David could have shagged any woman he pleased and, according to the tabloids, he pleased almost every woman in London. Especially Kasha who decided to steal him from me.

Talk about humiliation! Pictures of David, alongside a gloating Kasha, hit the front pages of the tabloids while the paparazzi hit me. Eek! They jumped out at me from behind bushes and ran me over on bikes.

"Poor little rich girl!" they jeered. "Poor Sophie Whitehead! Unceremoniously chucked! Done in by your very own chauffeur. Ha. Ha!"

Ha. Ha. Indeed. My cheeks were hot enough to launch a spaceship.

Huge horrid woman in the purple two-piece began to heckle and wheeze. "Woody Allen-ish, I should think. Wasn't the girl like a daughter to you, Miss Whitehead?"

Daughter? How kind, given our eleven-year age difference. I somehow managed to duck into a dodgy pub to medicate on gin. A lot of gin, to be exact. Enough to level a pirate.

"I like gin," I told the bartender as he carefully set down a delicious double. "Gin is my friend."

He snickered. "I wouldn't be so sure about that. Your friend is making you talk funny."

I shot him my best, blurry-eyed look. "I'm going to kill. Did you happen to know that? I can be lethal when I have to be." I nodded my head off. "I'm a killer."

The insensitive barkeep didn't seem to care. "I'd tie myself to that barstool if I were you, miss. You're about to topple off." With that he dashed away to attend to an empty bar. Hmm. I had plenty of time to think while he dusted a few caddies of condiments and pretended to sweep the floor. Did this guy not understand gratuities? He was either independently wealthy or thick. Thick, I decided.

When he returned I attempted to straighten him out. "I don't see a Jaguar parked outside, sir. Or, better still, a Rolls Royce. So, I assume you have to work for a living. Via a bus."

He was quick to bark at me. "And that would concern you how?"

"Well, I'm worried about you. I'm worried about the water being cut off in your flat. And I'm worried that you won't be able to pay your electrical bills either with that callous attitude. You just won't. Not when you have the heart of a hangman." I chased the olive in my empty glass with a finger. "A really good bartender would care that I'm going to kill a people. Two people, to be truthful. And it's your job to care. And to listen. That's what deeply-depressed sods tip you for, in case you didn't know." I scooped up a quid from the stack of bills on the counter and put it back in my purse.

He vaguely shook his head. "Awe. I was going to buy my new car with that, Miss Whitehead. And possibly a house. You are Miss Whitehead, aren't you? The woman in the papers?"

I twirled my finger in the air like a lasso. "Guilty! I did it. Whatever it was."

"Well, Miss Whitehead. You might want to go home before you hurt yourself."

"Make me."

He flashed an evil grin. "I'd like to."

Well, sure. Proposition a drunk, why don't you? But with a bit of effort I was able to focus on his blurry face. My god! He was about the best-looking guy in all of London. Perhaps the UK. Eric Bana, almost. All right, then. He was the best looking Australian in the UK. He was Hector, absolutely, before the dragging of the corpse. You know. Behind the chariot and all. "Do you want to be my new chauffeur?" I asked idiotically.

He smacked his chops. "Will you still love me in the morning? That's the question."

"Easy for you to joke, Hector. They're laughing at me out there, you realize. Viciously laughing. Grown men and women swarming like killer bees over my disintegration. Hilarious, yes. Ha. Ha. She stole him like a highway robber, you know. Kasha did. And she's salting him away until he's thoroughly used up. Sexually I mean."

Hector's eyes glistened. "I could likely help you out in that department."

I swirled my fresh martini. "Do you know what they're saying, Hector? The papers, I mean?"

He pointed to his nametag. "The name is Timothy. But call me Tim. It would be easier for you, I think."

He was talking down to me but I didn't really care. Hector-Tim could say anything he wanted, he was just that deadly. "They're calling me the dowdy heiress. And they're calling her an authentic Russian princess. Isn't that sad?"

I couldn't see any tears in Hector-Tim's eyes at all. Only curiosity. I had him spellbound, I was certain, so I rambled on. "I rescued that ingrate from a shelter, you see. And did she thank me? Oh, yes. She thanked me, all right. By nipping off with my husband. In the dead of day. In front of the neighbors. They likely cheered. Very sad indeed."

He coughed. "Well, if it's any consolation you're beautiful." His attempt to boast my esteem cheered me up, if ever so slightly. He was finally doing his job. "Stunning actually."

At that point I dared to confront my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Holy smoke! Rain had turned my dark hair into the wild springy curls of Diana Ross.

Just then the pub door flew open and in marched Potsy, the cook I inherited from my mum, a Goliath of a woman with a stern look on her face. As she came thumping forward I whispered to Hector-Tim. "If she hits me you'll need to call the authorities. I would but I'll be knocked out cold."

In one great swoop she hauled me off my stool. "That will be enough, Sophie. Quite enough. You've had your fun now. I've finished up the shopping and have been waiting for ages in the car. We need to get going home now."

She was quite pretty, really, our Potsy, with soft grey curls framing her angry face. Her outdated camel coat needed burning although only a lion would dare tell her. "Hector-Tim is coming with us," I told her, as she started to haul me away. "He's going to be my new chauffeur."

"Right, then." Over her shoulder she called back to the bar. "If you come within ten kilometers of her, Hector-Tim, I shall have you lynched."

I sat there sulking as Potsy went screeching through the streets of London in her estate car built in about 1812. It rattled. It complained. It did everything but spit us out on the road. It was depressing all around... since nobody seemed to care about me at all. Except maybe Hector-Tim.

"I think I'm in love with Hector-Tim, Pots."

"You're crackers. Absolute crackers."

"You don't know him like I do."

Her face slipped into a rigid structure as she tried not to laugh but the corners of her mouth betrayed her. She was cracking up inside. "Well, several hours in a bar can do that to people. It's called drunkenness."

"He's my friend."

She snorted. "Well, agreed. You're short on those. And with your new sudden taste for alcohol he just may come in handy."

I clammed up. I had a lot to brood about, actually. Imagine David deserting me the week of my thirtieth birthday. Was I a fossil in the making, did he think? Of course, he did! You should have seen the pity pouring from his eyes as he stood at our front doors, bags packed.

"Going somewhere?" I leapt like a crouching tiger from behind my grandfather's clock.

"You've been spying on me!"

"Really? When my husband is packing up and preparing to go off without leaving even a note I'm not allowed to spy?" I was good at it, you see, spying. Given that my great uncle's distant cousin had written Sherlock Holmes.

David shuffled his Bruno Magli loafers. "You were watching me!" He looked guilty. Not like Jude Law at all, as everybody seemed to think, with his face now growing indignantly red and a tear welling in his shifty right eye. No, he looked more like Jude Law fifty years from now and after Christmas dinner.

_'Can you imagine?'_ Evil Sophie quipped. It's a bad habit I have, you see, talking to myself in the second person, a carryover from childhood days when I had no friends to speak of at all. Similar to modern day, one might say. _'Just imagine, Sophie! When David is old he'll pass methane gas more profusely than a herd of cattle. Disgusting! You're lucky he's abandoning you. Really you are.'_

Continued shuffling by David-the-defector. "You were supposed to be at your charity."

"Oh, pardon me! Is there something you'd like to tell me or am I being too curious?"

He emitted a sigh that shook the foyer. "I didn't want it to be this way, Soph. You know I didn't."

"What way?" I wrapped my widow-grey jumper tight around me.

"I'm leaving, I'm afraid. This isn't working for me anymore."

Well, run me over with a tram, why don't you? I was devastated.

_'Don't wail, Sophie!'_ Evil warned. _'It's unbecoming. Do not curl_ _up into a prenatal ball and do not howl like a banshee_.'

"Lovely of you to tell me, David. Obviously the nine years we spent together meant nothing to you at all."

Just then the lovely, green-eyed Kasha came trudging down the stairs. She was loaded down like a donkey with bags and was dragging my fake leopard coat behind her.

"Kasha!" I cried, relieved. "I'm so glad you're here! David is deserting me!" I didn't understand, you see. David with luggage. Kasha with luggage. Moron that I was I just didn't get it.

She shook her long, cinnamon-colored hair. "Sophie," she said in a puny voice, eyes glued to the floor. "I'm sorry. But I'm going with David."

"Going with David?" I shrieked. "Going where?" God, this was so embarrassing! Someone in the foyer was screeching her head off and apparently it was me. "Going where? You're my chauffeur, not his."

Oh. Oh. There were two red-faced _Et tu Brutes_ behind Pompeii's Pillar and only one Caesar. "You're going with David?" I managed to whisper. "You can't possibly go with David! You're only nineteen. He's twice your age!"

' _Forget David,'_ Evil hissed. _'She's stealing your coat, Sophie. Are you going to let her get away with that? Let her have the Munchkin. He has little feet and we'll not get into the subject of his penis. But the coat? It's too short for her and she'll look goofy in it. You should save her from the embarrassment.'_

Kasha hobbled her way to David who took her arm. "We're awfully sorry, Soph. But we're in love. We didn't plan it at all, it just happened."

Well, that made everything a lot better. I wanted to skydive from London Tower I was so enthusiastic. It wasn't my fault. And as I stood there like a ninny watching the two of them shuffle through the doorway like a pair of penguins going off to make an egg I called out to an empty foyer. "What about me? Doesn't anybody care about me?"
Chapter Two

IT SEEMED NOT. NO, IT seemed that my bleak future included only a pitch-black bedroom and the howling of a long-lost wolf. And I had only Evil for sympathy.

_'It's important to pity yourself, Sophie._ _Since you have no friends to do it for you. Pity is comforting, in a pathetic sort of way. You should lie here forever, in fact, simply wallowing. Until you die.'_

Self-pity. I was developing quite a taste for it before __ Potsy came thundering through my bedroom door and the blinds flew up with a roar.

"Enough!" she said in a gruff authoritarian voice. "Enough of this foolishness. You get out of that bed or I'll take this tennis racquet to your arse."

I pried open my swollen eyes. "You wouldn't dare!"

"Don't tempt me! Your parents and I didn't raise any quitters. So, if that's what you've chosen to become you'll be whipped."

"I could take you," I said dryly.

She started to dance around like Mohammed Ali. "Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee. Get out of that bloody bed and show me."

She was lovely, really, our Potsy. Tall, slender, and with soft silver curls framing her unlined face, she fell within the age range of fifty to one-hundred-three. She desperately lied about her age.

"How does it feel to be thirty, Sophie?"

' _It's a compliment,"_ quipped Evil. ' _Since she's pushing a hundred. Maybe even dragging it. Potsy is really, really old.'_

__ "It feels terrible. I'm a pathetic mess. Depressed, really. Nothing to look forward to at all."

"Rubbish! You have everything to look forward to. Now that you've rid yourself of that selfish beast."

"That's not the way it happened, Pots, as you well know. He rid himself of me. And I know I shouldn't miss him but I can't help it." I wiped a tear from my eye with the edge of a floral bed sheet. "I'd actually kill with my two bare hands to have him back."

She raised her racquet. It had been the cold war, David and Potsy, silently despising one another. "And I'd kill with my two bare hands if he came back here with his wanker between his legs. He'd be doing his own cooking, I'll tell you that."

With considerable effort I managed to raise my upper body and plop it against the Queen Anne headboard. "I'd cook for him."

"That's hilarious! You can't even make tea. Kasha can at least do that."

"Thanks. I needed that."

"Where's your humour? There was a time when you'd have thought that very funny. You know. With your warped disdain for human kind."

"Humour? You mean before two people that I loved betrayed me? That humour?"

"Two people you thought you loved, you mean. Neither was worthy of your love. Not even close."

Evil was fidgeting. ' _She's getting on your nerves again._ _Always pushing you around like a wheelbarrow. Are you going to be bullied by a feeble geriatric forever? Yes, of course you are. Potsy is your boss.'_

"What exactly is it that you want, Pots?"

"I want you in that loo immediately and out by a quarter past three. We'll be taking your birthday cake to share with Henry at tea. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

God! Henry. In my fit of self-pitying I'd neglected poor Henry in the home. "I'm so sorry, Potsy! He'll think I've abandoned him."

She finally lowered her weapon. "He's alright, dear. As sad as it seems, your dad doesn't much know who is at his side these days."

I shook my tousled hair. "I shall do better. Really."

"You'd bloody well better," she said with a great broad grin on her face.

Henry. My champion. My dad. _Flashback_ : I could clearly see him arriving home in his chauffeur-driven Rolls after a rough day at the office where he'd mostly counted money — old money, a dusty, dirty job. Small and spry he sprinted his way into the dining room where Mum awaited with tea.

"Is the strange one about, then?" he asked.

The strange one, being me, was actually hiding with Churchill, my plush toy cat, in our safe haven under the back stairway where we typically spied on teatime discussions, mostly regarding us.

"I wish you wouldn't talk that way, Henry. Sophie is not the least bit strange. She's merely singular. Unique. We should encourage that in her."

"Singular, is it then? Are you not forgetting odd and peculiar?"

"Henry!"

"Sorry, but she is, Liz. You know she is. And we love her dearly just as she is. But where exactly is she now?"

"Hiding."

"Well, of course she is!" He thumped his fist on the table. "Our girl has more hiding places than Hitler."

Mum pushed back her chair. "You need to get over the war, Henry. You weren't there. Your family was living in India at the time if my memory serves me correctly."

"As British citizens!"

"Yes."

"I have every right to the war!"

"I suppose you do, yes. It's just that you do go on and on."

"I have the right to." Molten tears welled in precious Henry's eyes. "And on that note, forget the tea. I'm going to bloody well have a scotch. It's horrible news we have for our Sophie today." With that he hopped to the buffet like a miffed leprechaun and poured himself a brimming tumbler of single malt scotch.

"I'm not so sure it's horrible news," Mum said. "You went to boarding school and you turned out just fine."

"I hated it! Every minute of it. I was beaten by bullies. Tortured. I'm amazed that I survived."

"We have no choice, Henry. Sophie isn't progressing here. She needs to develop social skills. To come out of hiding. The tutors aren't helping her at all."

"That's because she hides from them!"

"Exactly! She won't be able to do that at boarding school."

"Don't be so sure. She may be strange but our lamb chop is undeniably genius. If anyone can duck her way around boarding school, it's our Sophie."

"Don't encourage her, Henry. We need to be stern in this matter."

He leaned back in his chair. They were a handsome couple, my parents, Mum with her grey hair softening a rather stern face and Dad with his kind blue eyes contemplating the enormity of a biscuit. The long walnut table they sat at accommodated twenty-four.

"Naturally, she'll take Churchill," Mum thought.

"Well, she shouldn't do. She shouldn't take anything out of the ordinary. To draw attention to herself. Blending in is what works at boarding school. Being invisible. A female cat called Churchill – and there's no denying the fact she's female, given her flowered collar and the pink bow on her furry orange head – just may cause trouble for our baby. We wouldn't want that."

"Absolutely not! We want this to be a wonderful experience for Sophie."

"Yes, yes," said Dad, eyes twinkling. "But do you think they'll notice that she's somewhat strange?"

Strange, was I? Strange? Possibly I was strange because it was Mum's custom to buy up all the leftovers from her charity bazaars and to actually clothe me in them. I looked like a Cratchett family dinner guest in dresses to my ankles and orthopedic shoes. So, strange was I, then? In the hours to come, and in the darkness of the linen closet in the upstairs hallway, I would proceed to cut off almost all of my own hair and Churchill's left ear. They wanted strange, did they? Well, I'd show them strange.

The windows at either end of the art room were open and a fresh breeze brought with it the sweet scent of late summer flowers. Along the left wall of the room stood a dozen or so easels, several blank canvases in various sizes, and a sturdy wooden cabinet to house painting supplies. Two sinks for washing up filled the end wall while a row of tables ran the length of the room down the centre. The two remaining walls lay heavy with paintings by residents. There were portraits of dogs, some spotted, some not, but all precious memories of a life passed too soon. And flowers, naturally, some blowing in fields and gardens and others a spectacular single bloom. But the splendid part of the room was the lone occupant, an elderly grey-haired gentleman with his wheelchair parked at an easel.

Potsy placed her hand on his arm and leaned over his shoulder. "Sophie is here, Henry. It's her birthday today. She's thirty. Can you believe that?"

He nodded.

She turned to me. "He's painting again. They brought him here on Thursday and it's made a big difference. He's perked up, I think."

Henry turned his head to gaze up at Potsy, a twinkle in his eye. "I could have told her that."

She smiled. "He's good today."

"I could have told her that, as well," he said. "Had anybody thought to ask."

Good days and bad. We could never really predict. I put my arms around his neck. "It's a lovely painting, Henry. She looks familiar."

A three-legged fly limped across the canvass.

"It's you, Sophie!" Potsy squealed. "When you were a teen. Look at the mounds of dark curly hair and the big sad brown eyes."

"I'm flattered."

He'd painted a girl in the corner of a rather large room with only a small window and was just then writing the tiny words: _A girl locked inside herself and trying to get out._

_"_ Isn't that brilliant?"

"Yes, Potsy. It's brilliant. I suppose you told him about David?"

"I certainly did! He needed a reason to celebrate."

"Potsy! Henry loves David! Don't you Henry?"

He vehemently shook his head. "I hate David! I really, really hate David. You should have married Churchill like I told you."

A flashback __ choked a giggle _._ Granted, most five-year-olds know little of Churchill but I, on the other hand, did. Henry had written his dissertation on the man and was prone to dragging the captives trapped at the Whitehead dinner table through a long and smashing war, apparently won single-handedly by Winston Churchill. Then out came the quotes, which Henry applied along with brandy to put his bored-rigid dinner guests to sleep.

"And Churchill said to the female reporter," he'd rhapsodized all too often, ' _I may be drunk, Miss. But tomorrow I will be sober and you will still be ugly'._ " __

But back to the nursing home and Henry saying, "Never liked Churchill myself. You could have done better. Married up."

"You mean David, Dad. I married David."

"Didn't like him either. Mean mouth, that one. Hard. A leader, he was. And not for the good."

Potsy elbowed me in the ribs. "I'm glad you're painting again, Henry. That's brilliant!"

He cocked his head. "Painting? You sound like my father now. That I need a proper job. Fences, he always said. Plenty of money to be made in painting fences."

I smiled. "Not so much as steel, though. Your family has been in steel for generations."

"Steal? I never thought of that, actually. Perhaps I could. I can run fast. Tackle the butcher down the street. Old bugger he is. I could take him. Easier than banks, of course. Too many guards with guns nowadays. Stealing, maybe. Just not banks."

"I love you, Henry."

"I love you too, my darling Liz."
Chapter Three

DURING THE JOURNEY BY RAIL from _London Paddington_ to _Maidenhead_ , Potsy was saying.

"This is just what you need, Sophie. An overnight away. Berkshire. I've made reservations at _The Fat Duck._ You know, Heston Blumenthal...new cookery...the works. __ We'll have a gorgeous meal and stay over at _Hind's Head._ It's all arranged _."_

"Can't wait," I mumbled. "Are we having cocktails at _Windsor Castle_ as well? Liz will be awfully glad to see us."

"Don't be cheeky, Sophie. I'm doing the best I can to get you out of the doldrums."

"Then get my traitorous chauffeur back. I go to _The Fat Duck_ in a Bentley."

"I offered to take my estate car."

"Thanks a lot! I should have taken you up on the offer. You're dead blind and you drive all over the road. You might have ended the misery for us both."

"Think of it as a vacation. You've traveled by rail before."

"When I was twelve."

She raised a penciled eyebrow at me. "I don't suppose you'd consider learning to drive? As part of your new adventurous single life?"

I shot her a lethal look.

"All right, then," she said cheerfully.

She was beginning to irk me. "What then?" I responded like a rotten tot.

_'Shame, shame, Sophie!'_ Evil chastised. ' _David is your disgrace not hers. Potsy didn't raise you to be rude either. What about those walks through the orchard in springtime with bees tickling your nose? What about the talks regarding sex and your requesting birth control pills at age eight? And don't forget the kitchen forever exploding with the aroma of biscuits in the oven and fresh baked bread.'_

"What then?" I repeated in a tiny apologetic voice.

"I have a surprise for you. Waiting at _The Fat Duck_."

"Don't tell me, let me guess. A second birthday cake?"

"Better. Better looking. Low in calories and very, very charming."

I shot straight up in my seat. "You're not trying to fix me up! God! Am I that pathetic?"

"Just a little, Sophie. You're only a little pathetic."

"You don't get it! Nobody gets it. They think that because David deserted me I should hate him. But I don't. I can't! I've been in love with him for nine straight years. There were good times too. Lots of them." I buried my face in my hands.

There had been good times, you see, which made it all the more difficult to hate him: the winter months in Tuscany, summers by the Dorset sea, and everything in between. And beneath that cold, upper-class exterior beat a heart filled with the hopes and dreams of a little boy. He'd wanted to become a firefighter when he grew up, he once confided in me. The problem it now seemed was that David had never quite grown up.

"He was promising to change," I mumbled.

"I see. Was that before or after he ran off with Kasha?"

"I get it, already! You don't have to humiliate me!"

Evil was threatening to kick me in the shin. ' _But you don't though, Sophie. You don't get all those nights you waited up just to hear a car in the driveway and to know that he'd come home. Then, of course, there were nights when he didn't come home at all. Hello! Are you new?'_

"So, David is not a nice person!" I hollered to the myriad turning heads. "So, David caused me a lot of grief. Am I the only woman in the world to have loved a bad man? He was my bad man! My property! And she stole him from me. It's highway robbery and she should be shot." I stumbled to my feet to confront the beady eyes. "My husband ran off and left me for a child. The pervert! He needs to be reported to Scotland Yard!"

Potsy struggled to keep a straight face. "Are you happy now?"

"Mildly."

"We can now celebrate your birthday without further outbursts then?"

I plopped back into my seat. "Kasha is the ultimate betrayal. I adored the girl. She was my best friend."

"She wasn't though," Potsy said staunchly. "When you finally get clear on that matter you'll begin to mend."

He was sitting at the round corner table near the window and under the tapestry, a highly hazardous bloke. God, he was dishy! I mean, Todd Aimes put the S in suave. He was totally G.Q. and not one bit ashamed to flaunt it. The son of Lady Jessica Aimes – former British star of stage and screen – and an elusive Sheik Rajeed, Todd came with a complicated lineage and beautiful blood. I salivated my way to the table.

"Sadly Sophie!" He rose to greet me, seemingly pleased. "I hear you just got chucked!"

Ouch! That hurt. "Todd Aimes," I retorted. "The B-type movie star. Just back from America, are you? I hear you didn't get the part in that porno flick. What was it called? Todd and the Transvestites?"

He flashed that engaging grin at me as he pulled back two chairs. "You can't have it all."

"So it seems." I plunked myself down.

"Children!" Potsy placed her napkin carefully on her lap. "You aren't going to quarrel tonight are you? It's Sophie's birthday, remember."

Todd peered at me through dreamy hazel eyes — glassy hazel eyes with dangerous swirling black pupils. "Of course, it's Sophie's birthday! You didn't have to say, Auntie. I can see it in her eyes. New wrinkles."

I kicked him under the table. "Going for the Hugh Grant look are you, Todd? Longer hair. Died black. I liked it better grey."

His turn to laugh. "I'm only thirty-eight, Sadly Sophie. My hair is naturally dark. Still. Can I buy you a cocktail? A little gin to make you nicer?"

"Truce?"

"Truce. But I want you to know that I'll make every effort to get you sloshed and take advantage of you. It's incumbent upon me as Potsy's nephew. She's paying me."

"I'm thrilled."

Just then a stiff waiter with piercing blue eyes and the long slender fingers of a pianist arrived to fill the water goblets. "Mr. Aimes," he said, with a degree of respect mostly reserved for the elderly. "A pleasure to see you as always."

"The pleasure is mine, Thomas. You know my aunt, of course?"

He vigorously nodded. "Of course. How are you, Miss. Higgins?"

"Lovely, Thomas, thank you. Looking forward to a splendid meal as always."

Todd slipped his arm around the back of my chair. "And this is Sophie. My stocker. She's absolutely mad about me. Can't keep her hands off me, actually."

"Off your neck, you mean." I made great claws with my two eager hands. "Squeezing the life out. Yes. Squeezing. It's beginning to sound exciting to me now."

Thomas laughed politely, as did the party of six at the nearest table. The star-struck patrons were pointing and whispering and gawking in disbelief. I mean, Todd Aimes?

"And your pleasure, Miss Sophie?" asked Thomas.

"Tangueray martini," Todd quickly interjected. "Extra dry with a twist. Double, in fact. Make that two. And a lovely sherry for my aunt, please."

Well, that really irked me. "How do you know that I didn't want Grey Goose? Was I drinking gin the last time you saw me? I believe I was twelve."

He leaned back in his chair to mock me. "You were absolutely sloshed! Plastered, in fact. But I don't suppose you'd be willing to give me a little credit for doing my homework?"

Potsy jumped in. "He knows everything about you, Sophie. I talk about you all the time, naturally, and I see him every fortnight or so, as you well know. He takes me out to dinner from time to time, the lamb, and I have a habit of turning up at one of his charity events whenever I know that his mother isn't coming round."

Touchy subject, that. Todd's mother and Potsy. A family rift to be certain.

Todd mocked me with his despicably-sexy eyes. "I know absolutely everything about you, Sadly Sophie. And trust me, I plan to use that knowledge to my full advantage. So I'd be careful if I were you. There's a big bad wolf on the prowl."

To Thomas, who was in the process of laying my martini down with great care, I said, "Shame on you, Thomas! Wolf are you now?"

Thomas shook his narrow head. "You've got your hands full with this one, Mr. Aimes."

Todd sipped his drink thoughtfully. "How's Spot?" he asked, referring to the Dalmatian I grew up with.

"Spot is dead."

He widened his eyes. "Well that was fast. Sorry."

"Yes, well. He'd be thirty now had he lived past fourteen. In dog years thirty is approximately two hundred and ten I believe."

"Incredible." He gulped his martini. "Is there another Spot in your life perchance?"

"No. David's allergic."

He scrunched his face into a scowl. "David? Has he come home then?"

"Arse."

"Compliment accepted."

Todd had always been a ham, perhaps because he'd grown up backstage at theatres and on set during filming, watching his mother – the original Norma Desmond drama queen – perform.

Seemingly out of nowhere a little girl appeared at the table and inched her way to Todd. She was darling, really, a tiny thing with very skinny legs and a lot of curly blond hair tumbling down her back. "Todd?" she asked shyly.

He flashed her that great broad grin of his and engulfed her in his arm. "You're absolutely right, lovely lady. I am Todd. And your name would be?"

"Sophie."

"Well, that's brilliant! Sophie is my very favorite girl's name ever. And would you believe that there are two Sophie's at this table now? This lovely woman..." he pawed me patronizingly on the head. "Is also Sophie, my adoring fan. She's absolutely crazy about me."

I stomped on his foot. "So nice to meet you, Sophie. And Sophie is my very favourite name as well. You are a lovely little girl, really. Very pretty."

Little Sophie couldn't stop beaming. "I saw your movie, Todd. Where you saved the aliens. The good ones."

He nodded. "Well, yes. I did save them, actually. Not an easy feat." He winked at me. "There's nothing harder to annihilate than bad aliens. They have so many disguises."

Sophie adamantly nodded. "But you did it. And my dad says you're a bloke's bloke. He likes you as well."

Two tables over a set of very proud parents waved as Sophie produced a pen from her little pink purse. "Mum says that if it's alright with you, you may sign my bag."

Todd shrugged at mum who eagerly bobbed her head. "With pleasure. What shall I say, do you think? Would ' _To Sophie with love, Todd_ ,' do?

She thought about it. "Yes, please. But do you think you could write 'Love Todd Aimes. Alien slayer?"

"Done."

She wrapped her arms around his head. "Thanks awfully," she squealed before hopping away like a happy jackrabbit with her prize.

I slipped into a Sophie moment then, to firstly congratulate myself on having escaped, if only temporarily, rampant thoughts of leaping from London Bridge. Bravo! Could it be that a mere four days after being set on my arse I was up, breathing, and even entertaining thoughts of rebound sex? With the playboy of Northern Europe, no less. Would he know that I hadn't had sex in a very long while, not by my own choosing?

' _Jump his bones, Sophie_.' Evil chirped. _'What have you got to lose? So what if he loves you and leaves you? That just happened to you and you lived. Not well, perhaps, but who's counting?'_

Potsy was dripping with ideas now that Todd had gone outside for a cig. "You should mate with him, Sophie. You'd have beautiful children together."

"Great then. Done. I now have another David. Promiscuous to the core."

She leaned back in her chair. "I know you've known Toddy a long time. But you don't know him well. He's a good boy and has a very good heart. Whilst there's a revolving door of women in and out of his life, for the right one he'd settle down. I'm certain of it."

I wasn't. But when Todd arrived back at the table I said, "You don't happen to have morning breath do you Todd?"

He eyed me up like foie gras. "Would you be willing to find out?"

"I'm quite desperate at the moment. Pompous actors just may be the ticket."

He went serious on me then and lowered his sexy voice. "It's actor, Sophie. Not actors. Once you've been with me there will never be anyone else."

Right then. He saw me as vulnerable and wanted to capitalize on my weakness. And I kind of fancied the idea. I was contemplating it a lot, actually. A very lot. What was the harm, really, if I didn't actually commit? When he left me in the end I'd only smart a little, not bleed. __

Evil liked the idea. _'What's the harm, Sophie? He couldn't be lazier than David in bed.'_
Chapter Four

IT WAS ALMOST IMPOSSIBLE TO outsmart Potsy Higgins, as my years of painstaking research clearly proved. So, when she said to me, "Sophie. You need to get back on the horse," I shuddered. You see, behind such a casual statement there was always a plan. She wanted me to do something and she wanted me to do it her way.

"Dare I ask?"

The soft sunlight streaming through the kitchen windows masked her intent. "Well, you could." Her eyes sparkled. "You could but it wouldn't do much good."

I have a remarkable, renovated kitchen: white cabinets with glass doors for exposing Potsy's penchant for keeping things tidy; black granite countertops for checking one's reflection before the dinner guests arrive; a handsome island over which three crystal carriage lights elegantly dangle, plus a polished travertine floor. Posh, if I have to say so myself.

"I see. What's the plan?"

"Ata girl. The Abbotts are having a party on Friday night, as you may recall."

Good old nosey Potsy had been rifling through my inbox again.

"I recall. I emailed my regrets."

She nodded. "You did, yes. And I reversed that I'm afraid."

"You did what?"

"Don't screech, Sophie. You sound like an owl. It's just that I thought it would be good for you to circulate again. You know, show those snobby friends of yours that you're not devastated by David's defection. Not devastated at all."

"But I am devastated!"

"No, you're not. You are doing just fine."

I fought back tears. "Not fine. Not fine at all. In pieces, really."

"Nonsense! Enough wallowing. Get a backbone will you, Sophie? Or do I need to get my tennis racquet out again?"

"No," I said in a tiny voice. "I'm fine now."

She smiled. "Believe it and you will be fine. Fake it, if need be. Now let me see you smile."

I showed my teeth.

"Brilliant! You'll be pleased to know that I've arranged a date for you for Friday night."

"Dare I ask?"

"You're being repetitive, Sophie. But yes, you dare ask. I've asked Stanley Moore to accompany you."

Perched at the kitchen island I almost fell off my stool. "You've done what?"

"Asked Stanley. And he said yes."

Well, yes. Stanley Moore would say yes, given that he'd never had a proper date in his entire boring life. He was a pale bloke with the potential to hugely profit from a blood transfusion. He had skinny legs and bony ankles and didn't wear socks. Besides, he was fifty-three years old and lived with his mum.

"How very kind of you, Pots! I don't suppose Todd came to mind?"

"He did, actually. He was my very first choice. However, he's otherwise engaged. Said he'd try to make the party later on, though."

"And if I say no?"

"You can always try. But Stanley is very respected, you realize. He's written a book and everything."

"A published book?"

"Well, not exactly. But it's very long and apparently a thriller."

"Great."

"It will give you something to talk about," she said staunchly. "And don't forget to ask him about his horrible mum."

Stella and Gordon Abbott have a very grand home. Not an old drafty mausoleum like mine but a modern mansion in Notting Hill with vast lush gardens and such. A great winding staircase greets guests in the marble foyer and Sistine Chapel ceilings smile graciously down.

As previously arranged, Stanley met me in the vestibule. "Ostentatious," he remarked, adjusting the spectacles on the end of his very long and disapproving nose. "Mum wouldn't like it one bit."

I checked my reflection in the huge gilded mirror. Not bad. A little thin but looking quite smashing in red. Stanley caught me smiling at myself.

"Red is a bit bold, don't you think, Sophie?"

I nodded. "Exactly! It's camouflage."

The words zipped over his head close enough to clip his thinning hair. "Well, it's bold." He plucked a spot of lint from his dull tweed jacket.

Stella Abbott came rushing forward. She was a rather large woman with ample breasts and butt and was draped in some sort of black concoction, predictably so, since Stella always wore black. "Sophie, darling!" she wheezed. "However are you doing?" Sympathy spewed from her eyes. "And Stanley! How lovely to see you. And how is your adorable mum?"

He lapped up the question like cream. "Not well. Doctoring, I'm afraid."

"Oh, dear!" Stella lamented before spying new guests coming in. "The Dodds's are here, I see. Go on in and enjoy yourselves, darlings. I'll be along shortly."

Stanley went stiff. "That was rude. Asking about mum and not even caring."

We were moving along with the crowd. "I understand you're a writer," I said, as though I cared. "What's your book about, Stanley?"

Leading question. Stanley lit up like a cigarette. His book, it seemed, was about a serial killer, a very bad one. Not that there were decent serial killers but his 'Kenneth' was the most depraved. Better than Jack the Ripper. Left body parts all over the UK. And the big hook was that his victims were all male. He was a gay killer and a necrophiliac. Stanley guessed the reason publishers had rejected him, to date, was because he was ahead of his time and that British publishing houses were antiquated, really.

"Really?" I said fascinated. There was no possible way this deviant was driving me home. "Thanks, Potsy," I mumbled under my breath, just as a horrifying sight gripped the corner of my eye. Apparently, my worst nightmare had yet to materialize.

"Isn't that your husband over there?" asked nosey Stanley. "And that must be your former chauffeur, or so I presume. If all the talk is true. She's fascinating, really. Looks like royalty."

My heart had gone into some sort of horrible thumping mode. "The tabloids lie, Stanley. She's not a Russian princess at all. Just a husband thief."

He ignored the latter. "She could be a princess though. She looks very regal in that great huge frock."

Yes she did, actually. Quite regal. Standing in the centre of the room she did look imperial in my gold Stella McCartney gown, the little thief. She was tossing her gorgeous mane and for all intents and purposes might have been me – before the devastation. I suddenly felt sick.

"I'm off to the loo," I lied to Stanley and headed for the door.

"Need a lift home?" Todd Aimes clutched my elbow. "That must have been pretty rough. And don't look at me that way, Sophie. I'm not your enemy. I'll be a very good boy and promise not to say a word. I absolutely promise. Not a single word."

Once safely home I crawled into my lonely, king-sized bed and curled into a ball. I hurt. My teeth hurt. My toenails hurt. Even my contact lenses hurt, possibly from holding back the hot tears about to pour down. Oh. Oh. There they came. Torrents of tears splashed down my face and soaked my lovely soft comforter with the green palm leaves on. So, I cried my eyes out. Really? In in the middle of my wailing fit it occurred to me that it wasn't actually possible to cry ones' eyes out and that whoever coined the silly saying didn't know the facts. Eyes can cry forever and still stay put.

Potsy banged on my bedroom door at three a.m., threatening to have me locked up.

"It's all your fault!" I screamed. "You made me go. You forced me to go. And you knew they'd be there! Do you not know how humiliating that was for me? Everyone knowing that poor little Sophie had been dumped? Dumped for a glamorous child who was flaunting her catch to our friends? Former friends, I should say. They fell all over my replacement. Am I not allowed to be angry?" I blew my nose.

She pounded again. "If Henry weren't suffering dementia I swear I'd ask him to take back his sperm. You are a shock to the Whitehead name, Sophie. The Whiteheads were soldiers. Warriors. Heroes. I'm almost ashamed of you, you know. Not quite, but almost."

"Ta."

"You need to get back on the horse, Sophie."

Oh great. I was a disgrace to the Whitehead name now. And I ended up obsessing over horses because she'd planted the beast in my brain. Hmm. Aside from fabled _Arion_ – an immortal, uncannily swift horse – there was _Centaur_ , half human; _Pegasus,_ a winged horse; and _Sleipnir,_ Odins's miraculous eight-legged horse. Horses. I needed to get back on one, thank you very much. It's just that I was terrified of the beast.

Damn Kasha! Standing there in the middle of the room and flirting like Scarlet O'Hara in my gown. " _Ashley!_ " I imagined her saying. " _Oh, Ashley, Ashley! And Rhett! And David! I love you all. But I can't think about that right now. If I do I'll go crazy. I'll think about that tomorrow_." And to think that I'd been stuck in a corner with Stanley Moore who wasn't even related to Roger. I was clearly on the downhill slide.

My adorable dead mum came to me then in her high-pitched and slightly nasal voice. "I'm a bit disappointed, I must say. You used to be a fighter, Sophie. You used to pulverize the neighborhood bullies."

This cheered me up, if ever so slightly. "I beat up on little kids, mum. Remember? Bullies yes, but all a lot smaller than me. I ran away from anyone even close to my own size."

As though hearing this for the very first time, she disappeared.

"Right, Mom," I called after her. "Abandon me too."

Evil tried to help. _'You need to give your head a shake, Sophie. Now repeat after me. I am not a coward. I am not a coward. I am not a coward.'_

I nodded. "I am a coward. I have always been and always will be a coward. By definition."

_'Hmm... Remember_ _the Wesley incident_?'

Ah, yes. _The Wesley Incident_. Great name for a Robert Ludlum novel, don't you think? Wesley had been a red-haired, freckle-faced boy who spent summers with his granddad next door and Wesley was mean. He was the first boy to thoroughly beat me up and to prompt Henry to give me lessons on fighting back. ' _Principled fighting with fists, Sophie. The Geneva Convention and nothing below the belt. Never, ever give up and don't come bawling home.'_ Done. The next time Wesley bloodied my nose I kicked him in the balls so hard he couldn't walk for a week. Geneva Convention phooey! Wesley was not a prisoner of war.

But Wesley had never given up. Now thirty and balding like an eagle he was still attacking me, via Twitter. Easy for him to sit in his posh London office and join in on the Sophie bashing going around. So, after drying my tears, I decided to check Twitter and sure enough, Wesley had been busy.

' _When you're skinny and as ugly as Sophie,_ he wrote, _'your husband has the right to look elsewhere.'_

He was asking for it, by baby George. I twittered back, ' _I now carry a brick in my bag, Tubby_. _Get ready to say sorry and uncle on your knees._ '

Wesley ignored my response. Instead he started a poll. ' _Do you or do you not believe that Sophie Whitehead is an alien?_ To which the overwhelming majority said that they did. Very well, then. I was in good company. According to Albert Einstein's less brilliant colleagues, his Theory of Relativity (E = MC²) was written in Martian. And poor Isaac Newton, in the seventeenth century, was thought to have learned about universal gravity from traveling in space, and not from an apple falling on his head whilst he sat under a tree.

At 5 a.m. I sent out my final message _. 'My spaceship has landed_. _Run_.' **** It felt good to smile.

Feeling remarkably better the following morning I buttered Potsy up when she arrived with tea on my mum's silver tray.

"You make a fantastic mimosa, Pots. The best ever. I'll need something stronger than tea while I'm strategizing today."

"Would a baseball bat do?"

"Go away. If you're not going to support me in my new venture you might want to take a trip. To the home."

She howled. "Yes, well Sophie. You'll be there long before I will, guaranteed."

Don't you just hate older women in incredible shape? And still with their minds? Potsy thought that just because she'd raised me she had some great power over me she could boss me around like a servant. And she could. Authoritatively and irrevocably. Basically, she was my boss. "Tea will be lovely."

It was difficult to write the letters I needed to write over tea but not impossible. First letter:

Dear David.

I want to hurt you. I want to blacken your eyes and bloody your nose. I can't crush your balls, you see, because you haven't any. You are a weak and spineless coward, a worm that slithered away at the first sign of trouble. The problem with trouble is that I didn't even know we were having it. You forgot to tell me. I should have known, you say, but that's history. I'm not going to beat myself up for loving you. I'm going to beat you up instead. With a baseball bat. I'm not going to kill you because you aren't getting off that easy. But trust me, David. You're going to wish you were dead.

Yours truly,

Sophie Whitehead

Warrior

Print.

Dear Kasha:

Thanks, Kasha. Thanks for pretending to be my BFF while plotting to steal my husband. You are a treasure. But where are my manners? I should thank you for something. Oh, yes. That's it. Every woman should have a friend like you so that her neck might grow longer from looking over her shoulder to watch her back. God! I'm funny. But I don't feel funny. I feel betrayed. I adored you! I rescued you from a shelter and brought you to my home. You were part of my family. Well, touché my former friend. It's time for you to watch your back. Ambush! And guaranteed, you won't see me coming. Winning!

Yours truly.

Sophie Whitehead

Warrior

Print.

But why let the enemy know you're coming? With that I extracted a pair of scissors from my desk drawer I cut the papers into confetti.

At the computer, I learned from Google that retaliation is not always a good idea. Take _Hamlet_ for instance. _Hamlet_ was __ out to get his uncle who'd killed his own brother/ _Hamlet_ 's father to nab the throne and to marry his sister-in-law/ _Hamlet's_ mother. _Hamlet_ may have done better not spending all his time talking to himself because in this Shakespearian tragedy almost everyone dies. _Hamlet_ dies and his mother does too _._ And this was a successful play?

_Wuthering Heights?_ Come on, Heathcliff! Get over it!

_The Godfather?_ Personally, I can do without a horse of any kind in my bed.

Evil giggled. _'What? Not desperate enough yet, Sophie?'_

On to _the_ _Iliad,_ then, __ with Menelaus out to get Paris for stealing his wife; the entire Greek army out to get Paris for stealing Menelaus' wife; __ Achilles slaying Hector who never meant to slay Patroclus... And yes, Achilles finally gets it in the heel but that's in another myth and somewhat melodramatic. Let's just say that in any good Greek mythology __ almost everyone dies.

I said aloud, "Well done, you! Homer. You little sadist. You likely fell off your chair laughing while writing this sad saga. Had somebody pooped on your yoghurt, perhaps? Or your spanakopita?"

'That's not funny, Lady.'

I leapt about a foot in my chair at the sound of a deep male voice.

'Poking fun at Greeks is not funny. You started at the pub with Timothy and it seems that you just can't quit. For your information, I am not a Greek Myth. I am Hector!'

__ Eek! What does one say to an apparition in full regalia and wielding a sword? That one only took fencing lessons at boarding school and couldn't slice through a banana with a blade?

"You need to get back in the book, Hector."

He showed his gorgeous teeth. His Eric Bana teeth. _'And just who is going to make me? You and whose army?'_

"Nice armor, Hector. Now get back in the book."

Right, then. Hector was going nowhere. Instead, he hovered over me, trying to help with strategy. He didn't think I should try to wield a sword, my being puny and all. No, he thought I should start with easy things, like stoning, perhaps, deeds I could perform from a distance and run away. Apparently, he didn't think much of me at all.

'No flaming arrows, Lady. You'll just burn the place down. No cannons either. You'll blow yourself up. In fact, don't try anything physical at all. But fortunately for you, you have me. I pity you. And pity is my weakness.'

Remembering how Hector had allowed Paris to keep Helen – even knowing it meant the end of Troy – I brightened.

'I'll be off now. My army over there is waiting for me.'

"What army? I don't see any army."

_'Damn! They've gone off to the orgy without me.'_ He disappeared.

"Very well, Hector," I said, smiling. "Nothing physical." Nothing physical, perhaps, but intellectually I was on firm ground. Even Hector couldn't argue with that. It was his fault, then, that I proceeded to superpose Kasha's face on a porn star's naked body, and to set up a bogus Facebook page in her name. Voila! Thank you, Hector. Kasha didn't look anything like Scarlett O'Hara with huge bought beasts.

Later in the morning I bragged a little to Potsy in the kitchen. "I've started my engine."

"Well done! That's my Sophie. No more brooding over a lost cause."

Just then my iPhone rang. "It's my lost cause."

"Don't answer it! He'll spoil your forward progress. David spoils everything."

"I have to answer it, Pots. He may need me."

She smacked her lips.

He did. "It's about money, Soph. I'm afraid we have to talk about it."

"I see. So, this isn't about 'I can't live without you and I'm desperate to come home' then."

"Actually not."

David. _My_ David with his _Alfie_ good looks and that lazy, sexy drawl.

Evil had never quite taken to David. ' _Don't forget that he passes gas in public and blames others. Or that he nods off at the dinner table and rudely snores._ '

"I understand, David. It's clear to me now that what you can't live without is my money."

"You don't have to be so cold, Sophie." His voice was shrill. "You're always so bloody cold!"

"I can't imagine why. Can you?"

"I don't want to get into this just now."

"Why did you ring me up then? There were things never said. You deserted me! And you'd have left without so much as a note had I not caught you in the act. You planned to sneak away like a slithering snake. And in the process, you stole Henry's E-type Jag, which he'd very much like back. Oh, and while you're at it, you might return my chauffeur."

Silence. "Henry willed that Jag to me. It's mine."

"Henry isn't dead."

"He probably wishes he were. Beastly, dementia is. I know I'd want to be dead if I were in his shoes."

"I'm going to forget you said that." Henry had always treated David like the son he wished he'd had in place of me – or so I'd assumed until he recently told me otherwise. "Henry says hello, David. And he wants you to keep the Jag. Stick it up your arse, he says. Apparently you have room."

Silence. "My dear little Sophie! You must think me simple. I am to believe that you're there in the home with him now? And that he's talking to me through you?"

"As a matter of fact, I am with Henry. And he agrees with you completely. You are simple."

Heavy sigh. "This is getting us nowhere, Soph. You had no right to shut the lines of credit and bank accounts down. We were married for seven years, together for nine. Didn't that mean anything to you at all? Not that it matters. My solicitor says the law is the law. That you must support me in the manner to which I've become accustomed."

"I see. I'm afraid I haven't spent much time with my solicitor. And I can't imagine why she shut down that Artesian well you tapped into. Funny that."

"You can't do this to me, Sophie! I need the money. I'm desperate for it. And you know I'll get it anyway, in the end. Even if I have to go to court."

' _Court?'_ Evil was giggling. _'You'll need to get your eyebrows waxed, Sophie. They're very bushy right now. They look like a hedgerow, really. You know, the tall ones. Aren't you supposed to have a forehead?'_

"What about your family, David? Can they not help you out?"

"You know they can't, Soph. They've lost everything in the crash."

I actually knew it well, the crash. The sound of old money having been all used up. "And the Duchess? I thought you were her favorite."

"She has nothing left. Living in two rooms of a twelve-bedroom house now. Pity, that."

"I see. So, you're my responsibility then." So much for arranged marriages. One grows up with old money and one essentially marries it. No pre-nuptial necessary. I threw down my last card. "I suppose a job is out of the question?"

Evil snorted. _'Work? David? Are they hiring any stargazers, do you happen to know? Or professional cloud watchers? Very lucrative, I'd imagine.'_

"That was never part of our arrangement, Sophie. But you can't leave us out on the street, Kasha and I."

"Kasha is nineteen, David. A child. They have names for men like you."

"I don't have to listen to this."

"And I don't have to give in to your demands." Click.

Upon retreating to my upstairs bedroom suite, I headed for my computer to think. In order to win David back I needed to divide and conquer. Not that he was a prize. But he belonged to me. He was my property and I should be the one to tell him when to go. I had only to separate the two traitors. "But how?" I said aloud.

_'Warriors!'_ Hector had returned and was hollering in my ear. _'Ships!'_

God, he was annoying! "Get back in the book, Hector!"

'I'm trembling. What are you, the size of a flee?'

He went off on a tirade then, about armies and attacking castles protected by stonewalls, drawbridges and motes. Meanwhile, I surfed the net for war ideas. Hmm. Sun Tzu of _The Art of War,_ could apparently read and write in the _Spring and Autumn_ period of ancient China — 524 to 496 BC _._ I read aloud,

__**All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when we are able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must appear inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near. Pretend to be weak that he may grow arrogant. Attack him when he is unprepared.**

Funny, but Chief Cochise __ of the _Great Apache_ _Nation_ merely wrote in the sand. **'Attack!'**

Hector turned up his nose. _"I say bring all your ships and a wooden horse. Although I wasn't there for the horse I hear it was a big one."_

Evil was in love with Hector now. _'Every woman loves a big horse.'_

Eureka! I just had to think inside the horse. Trickery. What if I were to invite my enemies into my camp to better plot against them? And yes, some might question my sanity but I wanted David back for two reasons: one, to teach Kasha a lesson; and two, to dump him on his fat fickle face. Capiche? Or was that Cochise? Either way I was ready to attack. __
Chapter Five

MEANWHILE POTSY WAS SETTING ME up to get shagged. Blatant matchmaker! "I'll never sleep with Todd!" I told her in the dining room after dinner. "Absolutely one hundred percent not."

She gathered up the dessert plates. "Don't be so sure. He'll be here around eight. Powder your nose and do put on something pretty. Henry would expect it of you."

Absolutely. Put the blame on Henry, who might have been only too happy to have his only child remain virginal and devote her entire life to him. Dear Henry. His magnificent mural of _The Hunt_ stretched across the entire wall facing me. Oh, _The Hunt._ Erect men and women in splendid red jackets on horses and with lots and lots of hounds eager to sniff out a scrawny terrified fox. I never quite had the heart for it myself.

Later in the sitting room, Todd stood before a marble fireplace filled with early autumn chrysanthemums. He was sipping Remy Martin from a Waterford snifter and looking very at peace with himself. "I suppose we should at least try to engage in small talk, Sadly Sophie, before shagging." He leered at me despicably. "For instance, I could ask you what latest causes you've been pursuing and you might say something like, 'Well, naturally I'm carrying on Di's work. Land mines and all.' How am I doing so far?"

"Wonderfully well. You are an insensitive clod. How am I doing so far?"

He nodded. "Fairly accurate assessment, I must say. But then you might proceed to say, 'Todd. Exactly how many auditions have you lost this past year alone? Seventy?'"

"I'm starting to like you now. What then?"

"You would then bore me with all the details about your poor wretchedly smashed heart. You would go on and on like you have a monopoly on the condition and that no one else on the planet, Pluto, has ever suffered such a cruel fate. In fact, you are thinking of lobbying the government to actually reinstate the death penalty for such treason."

"I am?"

"Exactly! You know.... new law. You break Sophie Whitehead's heart and see what you get. Revenge. That's what you're all about, Sadly Sophie. You are a delightfully spiteful woman."

"I'm warming to the idea."

Todd started to pace in front of the fireplace and to perform perfect circle eights. "So, who is the real Sophie Whitehead then? Let me elaborate, because I think I know her rather well. She likes to read but only the classics – Dickens, Austen, The Bronte sisters... even Shakespeare. She will stray as far as F. Scott Fitzgerald or Joseph Conrad but that's her limit. She has an intrepid intellect but doesn't use it against others. She has never actually said to anybody, 'That's just about the stupidest thing I've ever heard!' Instead she'd say something like, 'You've given me a lot to think about. On my way to Timbuktu.'"

I had to smile. "I'm that obvious?"

"Absolutely. To continue then, the woman does not eat red meat. In fact, she becomes noticeably squeamish when others at the table dive into a rare piece of beef. She hates blood." He raised an eyebrow at me.

"Continue."

"She's a dichotomy. Parts of this old mansion have remained Victorian in style whilst her kitchen is entirely modern. Straight out of _Ideal Home Magazine._ She hasn't quite found her rhythm."

"Wrong. She is merely eclectic."

"Point conceded. Fortunately, she has bags of money because the Renaissance art in this room could sink a ship."

I shrugged.

"She is an absolutely smashing dresser. Great taste in clothes. She must spend a lot of time at the runway."

"Not a lot, no. I have a stylist. A personal shopper, if you will."

"Awe! That's it. This isn't really you at all. It's some sour woman named Vera who is trying to make you into somebody else. She's a _Vogue_ contributor with a very long nose."

"Sissy. Her name is Sissy. She brings things every so often and I get to choose. So, it is my taste. Sometimes I send her away with absolutely everything she's brought along."

"Well, that's not very nice. You've likely hurt her feelings then."

"Not really. She's on a retainer so it actually doesn't matter if I keep anything or not."

"Whew! That makes me feel a lot better." His eyes were sparkling now. "Sophie has terrible taste in music. Plays dismal classical music in her sitting room that actually makes people want to cry. I hope she knows that in almost every one of those depressing operas somebody dies. Except for the _Nutcracker_ , that is. She should play more _Nutcracker_. I see it every December at _The_ _Coliseum."_

"Are you asking me for a date?"

"It could be arranged."

"Perfect. Now may I say on my own behalf that I only play classical music in this room. This room only. I play it because it reminds me of my childhood. I grew up listening to the music we're hearing right now. However, in the library I play music for Potsy because that's where we usually end our day, catching up on things and such. So, in the library I play Tom Jones and Julio Iglesias, not exactly my cup of tea, naturally, but Potsy has secretly fancied those two old blokes for years."

"And in your bedroom?" Todd was salivating. "What will you play for me there?"

"You should be so lucky. But in my upstairs suite I play a lot of _Beatles_ music. _The Stones, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin_ and so on. _Queen_ as well."

"I see. Not your era at all. They're a little elderly for you, aren't they Sophie?"

"So is Puccini. Music doesn't have an expiry date."

"On that note I expect you play that monstrous thing over there." He pointed to the _Steinway_ in the corner.

"Rather badly, I'm afraid. I'm not musical at all. David is the pianist in the family."

"Correction! _Was_ the pianist in the family. Apparently David has fled. Perhaps you're noticed?"

"Arse."

He shrugged. "Compliment accepted. And other than saying that you have very white teeth and a highly contagious smile, I quit." He flopped into the Roaring Lion armchair, a partner to the one I occupied. "Your turn, Ms. Whitehead."

I reached for the decanter that lay on the table between us. "I'll need more alcohol for this, as will you."

I walked to the fireplace where I turned to my eager audience. "Gentleman," I said. "You may want to take a pain pill as this may hurt. A lot."

He leaned comfortably back in his chair, legs crossed. "Shoot, James Bond."

"Very well, then." I took a deep breath. "Who is Todd Aimes, exactly? This is only a guess, naturally, because we are just now re-acquainting after several years of blissful estrangement."

He smiled mockingly. "I am mutually delighted to re-acquaint."

Damn actor. "Hmm. Let me see. Todd Aimes plays polo. And he plays it rather well because he's highly competitive. Todd, in fact, is a very poor loser. He has been known to kick his horse if he loses a match."

"Brilliant! Although I haven't quite kicked a horse I've kicked other things. Like a water bucket."

"I knew it! And possibly your mother."

"Goof!"

"Todd likes to read, as well. But only _GQ UK_ and _Hustler_ , his one American passion, other than for a few LA prostitutes given to him by directors of B type films."

"Ouch!"

"Exactly. Todd is a brilliant actor but he's lazy. He doesn't like to audition. If parts aren't sent to him along with a contract, and a whore, well, they simply weren't for him."

"Ouch, again. Ouch!"

"Truth hurts?"

"I wish I had taken that pill!"

I continued to rant on. "He is a tweed man and wears tweed jackets all year long, even in summertime. And while Todd listens to _David Bowie_ and _The Libertines,_ if he were a rock band he'd probably sound more like _Senior-Citizen Jesus and the Geriatrics_. Sorry."

He nodded. "Quite astute, actually. I'm noticing grey hairs now."

"But there are good things too. Todd has a soft heart. He helps little old ladies to cross the street and still opens doors, a rather chivalrous quality. He regularly gives blood, if only to ease his conscience, but it counts for something nevertheless. He's kind to animals and would own a lot of spotted dogs if he didn't have to get out of his chair to feed them. He stops to help people in trouble on the motorway and even rounds up petrol for those who've unfortunately run out."

He screwed up his face. "I'm not that nice, actually. I do make them pay for the petrol."

"I didn't say you were the _Red Cross._ He hangs out incognito at the _The Fat Duck_ where he meets a lot of lonely women. And only after the third sagging does he tell them who he actually is to get rid of them."

"Sophie! Not cricket!"

"Well?"

"You're being mean."

"Alright. I'll back up. He's an only child and adored by absolutely everybody. Everywhere. He's never known the competition of a sibling; therefore he is automatically number one. This great position carries over into his personal life, which he handles with complete confidence and ease. Life has been so easy for him. I'm envious of that."

He shot straight up in his chair. "But you're an only child, as well! You're talking like I'm from another world."

"Fortunately for you, you are. I was born to parents in their fifties, you see. Very old parents who raised me as an old person. While other girls my age wore short smart skirts, I wore dresses to my ankles and orthopedic shoes. I was different and was mercilessly teased because of it. Tormented, actually. I'm permanently wounded and will never have your confidence or style."

He jumped up and pointed to my chair. "Your turn to sit. Sadly Sophie, that's just about the biggest pile of rubbish I've ever heard. Yes, maybe your parents were old fashioned. But they were well educated and you had the great pleasure of growing up in a cultural environment. And you were loved! God knows, everybody knew that. Your parents adored you! And Potsy did, as well. And look at you! You graduated from Oxford with First-Class Honours. You do huge humanitarian deeds for which you are rarely thanked enough, I suspect. And on top of it all, you are an extraordinarily beautiful woman."

I gave a little cough. Damn actor. He almost had me. It seemed that this gorgeous man could convince almost any woman of anything. Hmm. Kasha was a mere girl of nineteen. And with a little scheming on my part, well, this girl could be history. History. Dust. Toast.

When Todd had gone, Evil started to whine. ' _Do you want to risk that gorgeous man who just walked out the door? Well, you're going to if you don't smarten up.'_
Chapter Six

I NOTICED HIM PACING THE driveway in front of my Kensington home as soon as the limo turned in. He looked as though he belonged there, that he'd always belonged there, and was about to welcome me home with the roses he typically used as bribery for his deceit. He was all too familiar: the easy movement of the body; that careless toss of the head; those deep blue eyes that would lock onto mine and masterfully chain me to him without guilt. He came eagerly forward to open my door.

"It's good to see you, Soph!" He leaned forward to kiss two cold cheeks.

"You, as well."

' _Liar, liar, pants of fire,'_ Evil hissed. ' _David is pond scum. An ameba at best. And the fact that he ran off with your best friend doesn't catapult him on the Jesus scale either.'_

"I'm glad to be home, really I am. We had such good times in this house, didn't we Soph?"

Evil snickered. ' _Not.'_

"It's awfully British of you to invite us back, Soph. I mean, given the circumstances. There are some who might think you're daft. But we're very grateful for your kindness and will do everything to keep under the radar until the settlement is finalized. Then we shall be out of your hair." __ He followed behind me into the house where I turned to say good-bye.

"I've prepared the guest suite for you and Kasha and with any luck we shan't be seeing each other at all. Given this old mausoleum the three of us could likely run around naked here and not trip over one another."

David leered at me despicably. "Really, Sophie! Exactly what are you proposing? An evil game of cat and mouse?"

_'What do you expect when you say such stupid things?'_ Evil lectured. _'You know David is a gutter rat. He'd shag a tin can if he couldn't find a cockroach. But oops! I believe he's found one.'_

David couldn't stop grinning. "Kasha has already settled in. Potsy showed us up earlier. She's very cranky, though. Not speaking to us at all. Only grunting."

"She'll adjust. She always does." Wrong.

He licked his lips. "Well, I have to say that I look forward to our next encounter, Sophie. More than you know."

"Just get your own cook," I hollered behind him as he ascended the wide staircase, two steps at a time. "Potsy has a penchant for ground glass."

David leaned over the railing in the upstairs hallway. "She's been feeding it to me for years and I've survived. You'll have to try harder than that, Soph. Oh, and try to keep your clothes on while I'm in the house, if you'd be so kind. Try not to tempt me, if you know what I mean."

Idiot! I went into the kitchen smacking my head with my hand.

Evil was grinding her teeth. _'You need to do something with your hair, Sophie. It looks like a bramble bush. And if you think Todd is going to be seen with a plant that isn't Robert you need to think twice. And don't forget the tight curlies, either. Yuk. Get it together, hon. And not Attila, although you're looking more and more like him every day.'_
Chapter Seven

NO SOONER WERE WE IN the door of Henry's retirement home then a short, rather wide nurse dressed in green accosted us. She had a face full of makeup and her cheeks glowed a bright fluorescent orange.

"It's about your father, Miss Whitehead. He's becoming difficult. He was quite docile when he arrived here but now he's becoming increasingly obstinate. This morning when nurse Pratt tried to give him his medication he refused it. Told her to shove it up her arse, he did."

I didn't dare look at Potsy but I could sense her reaction. "I'm so sorry!" I blurted. "Please convey my apology to nurse Pratt. And is there anything else I might do to make things right?"

She looked at me quizzically. "I don't suppose. He pays handsomely to live here so I guess we'll have to overlook it this time. But just so you know."

I nodded. "Point well made. I shall take the matter up with Henry."

Potsy and I convulsed our way to the very end of the hall. "Scoundrel!" I elbowed her just outside the art room door. "He's becoming militant in his old age."

"Bloody bounder! That's what he is. He's finally broken the mold. Those long-nosed ancestors of yours will be tossing in their graves."

Inside the art room another surprise awaited. Henry was in the process of completing a new painting and was enthusiastically seeking approval. It was a naked woman, actually, very Rubenesque...potbelly...heavy thighs... breasts. Quite uncharacteristic of Henry, who in the past had been embarrassingly uncomfortable in the presence of well-endowed women. He was apparently emerging from his shell in a scary metamorphosis.

Potsy was laughing now. Howling. In tiny letters he had written across the bottom of his portrait: _My Mother As I Knew Her._ "Isn't that hysterical?"

"They won't be hanging this one on the wall."

"No, they won't. And I don't quite know what to do with it."

"We shall take it home. Hang it in the dining room. Great conversation piece I'd imagine."

"You can't be serious! I wouldn't be caught dead carrying that thing! It's huge! I'd have to tie it atop my little car."

"It will fit into the boot of the Bentley. We'll just hide it under his bed and hope that at least one of the chauffeurs I'm interviewing today is qualified. We desperately need one, Pots."

"Well, be sure to check out all credentials. We don't need anyone cleaning out the silver."

"Or husbands. My last chauffeur cleaned up on husbands, as I recall." A tear rolled down my cheek.
Chapter Eight

I HAD A HENRY MOMENT in the library while awaiting the arrival of potential chauffeurs.

_'I will never be beaten_ ,' he told me, one day at the cemetery when we were bringing flowers to my stillborn sister's grave. I was approximately eight years old at the time. ' _Nothing will ever beat me. Not the accidental death of my twin brother at age sixteen. Not the death of our darling baby Catherine who never had a chance at life. Not the betrayal of people I considered friends. Even if I lost everything material that I own today, nothing will ever, ever beat me.'_

Potsy appeared in the archway. "Now, I'm going to make you a nice gin and tonic. To perk you up and get you ready to interview your chauffeurs."

I did perk up. I absolutely did! I mean, a G and T in the middle of the afternoon? I must have really scared her. "Thanks, Pots. I'll do better."

"Yes. You bloody well will."

Nigerian born Pinto — one name like Cher, he told me — had an incredible face. It was a strong face, lean and angular with prominent cheekbones and a straight magnificent nose. "I am at your pleasure," he began, seemingly eager. He was dressed rather peculiarly for an interview – in loose-fitting attire, gold in colour, and with red threads woven through the fabric.

"Relax, Pinto. Let's make this as informal as can possibly be. I want to learn all about you and I'm sure you want to know more about me. You know, before deciding on the job, and all. To see if we're compatible."

"Oh, we _are_ compatible, Miss Sophie! You are pretty as a picture and I am very handsome. We'll get along just fine."

"It's a start... But I'll need to check your references, naturally. And your driving credentials. And do a criminal record check. Standard procedure."

He reached into the stripped cloth bag wound around his wrist and extracted a wad of papers, which he madly shuffled through. "Here! I needed the criminal check for my last job in London. See? I am criminal free!"

I studied the paper. "Yes, you are. Congratulations. Any accidents? Any traffic violations?"

He looked sheepish as he again rifled through the papers. "Here! Only three. None of them my fault!"

I nodded as I read the tickets. All of them his fault. "And how long did you say you've been in Britain?"

"A long time! Six months!"

"And before that?"

"Canada. And the US. For a few months each."

I sat back to study this strange person sitting across from me. It sounded like illegal border crossing to me. "How can that be? Did you not immigrate to just one country?"

"Oh no! I did not immigrate! Only a visitor."

"A visitor? With a working permit? How can that possibly be?"

"Under the chair!" His eyes were as big as saucers. "Everyone over there just works under the chair. No taxes. They pay you cash!" He pounded his chest.

"Well..." Gosh. There he sat with those hopeful brown eyes begging for some sort of bone. "I'm afraid I won't be paying you under the chair, Mr. Pinto. I shall hire you as an employee and you _will_ pay taxes here. However..."

He leapt to his feet and started to hop around. "I will! I shall! I so shall! Thank you, lovely Sophie, for giving me the chance! Thank you for believing in me!" And before I could tell him that he didn't get the job he'd danced his way out of the room.

' _Nice_ ," said Evil in a flat tone. " _Nice_. _He has kind brown eyes and everything. And I'll bet he could get you a passport into any given country at any given time. Under several aliases, no doubt. My guess is within twenty-four hours.'_

I just sat there shaking my head. "Nice."

Much to Potsy's chagrin two new employees would join the Whitehead staff the following day, the first being my new chauffeur, the questionable Nigerian man.

"His name is Pinto," I told Potsy at tea. "He's a lovely man, really. Relatively new to London and desperately looking for work. I didn't have the heart to turn him away."

She rolled her eyes. "I told you I should sit in on the questions. Does he even have a driving license?"

"He does. He showed me. His picture on it and all. And he had three letters of reference from former employers. One from the US, one from Canada, and one from here in London."

"And did you check them out?"

"Of course! Naturally I did. I called the family here and talked to the father. He said that Pinto had driven his children to school for the past six months but that his wife had taken them back to Africa and they were not returning. He alone did not require a chauffeur."

She raised a doubtful eyebrow. "So, this man is also Nigerian then? Pinto's reference?"

"Yes."

"Sophie! Did you bother to check out the other two?"

"I tried. But the numbers have been changed. I couldn't get through to anybody."

She leapt from her chair. "I'm hiding the silver is all I can say."

"Stereotyping!" I called behind her. "Very bad, Potsy."

In the curved archway she screeched to a stop before turning to confront me. "You know I love you, Sophie."

"I love you too."

"But sometimes you are an absolute div."

I sat there sipping my tea and feeling that all too familiar child surfacing again, the one that just got her fingers smacked at the biscuit jar. Damn biscuit jar! They should put it right out of sight to remove temptation. "I'll show you, Potsy!" I hollered behind her. "Pinto will be the best fucking chauffeur I ever had!"

Little did I know that David and Kasha had returned to the house and were listening at the bottom of the stairs.

David interviewed employee number two in the upstairs guest suite with little interrogation, since he happened to be the single candidate for the job. Following this process the new fellow appeared in Potsy's kitchen to announce himself. It seemed that Rocky (Harold at birth) was David and Kasha's new cook. Apparently, the couple had been somewhat leery of Potsy – and a jagged piece of glass to the jugular.

Potsy rang me upstairs from her bunker in the kitchen, all in a flap. "David's brought in his own cook. And he's brutal, he is. Nasty. He's drawn a line down the middle of the kitchen floor and says I mustn't cross it. Unless I need the cooler or the cooker. It's bloody outrageous, that's what it is. He's taken half of everything to his side. Pots, dishes, cutlery. The works."

"I'm sorry, Potsy. But I don't know what to offer. I suppose sympathy won't do."

"This is no time to be funny, Sophie. I'm very upset!"

"I can tell. I just don't know how I can help you. Can I think on it?"

"Just don't think too long. But you'll see him when you come down to dinner. He's a nasty one. Skinny little man with a handlebar mustache and beady eyes. He may have learned cooking whilst doing porridge."

"You're a tough one, Potsy. You could likely take him if you had to."

"I don't want to have to."

"I can't wait to see him."

"Oh yes, you can. Trust me."

Shortly before seven that same evening David appeared at my bedroom door where he leaned his sexy body against the frame. "We need to talk, Soph."

"I don't suppose you've ever heard of knocking?"

"The door was open. Why would I knock?" He leered at me with his half-closed eyes.

"Because I'm in the process of dressing for dinner and it would have been polite." I pulled the slim black dress over my head and straightened it in front of the mirror.

"You should keep your door closed if you're dressing for dinner. There's a man in this house who still finds you most desirable."

"Thanks awfully. I needed to be reminded of that."

He just stood there, leaning on the door jam, crossing and uncrossing his legs. "I'm sorry for the way things unfolded, Soph. I never meant to hurt you and it bothers me that I have. I love you. I will always love you. As does Kasha. We didn't plan for this thing to happen, it just did. And while this may sound a bit ridiculous I was hoping we might put our personal problems aside for now and be civil to one another, since Kasha and I will be joining you for dinner."

Joining me for dinner? I shrieked to myself. Had anybody got an axe? "You can't be serious! The guest suite is set up for dining there."

"I am serious. You have houseguests, in case you've forgotten, and it would be rude not to include them in your plans. We shan't be a lot of trouble as I've followed your advice and got us a cook."

"So I heard. He's causing a lot of trouble in the kitchen, thank you very much."

David laughed. "Potsy will adjust. She's had that kitchen to herself far too long. Rocky will broaden her horizons, I think, and she'll very likely thank him in the end."

Not in this lifetime. I wisely changed the subject. "Better get a pre-nuptial, David. I know I certainly should have."

"Sarcasm."

"Oh, I'm just warming up. You crash my table and you'll see sarcasm dripping like a leaky faucet. Nonstop."

He started to laugh. "It's what I've always loved about you, Sophie. That intrepid tongue. But I know you, you see. I know the real Sophie Whitehead and she's a softie. Soft as a marshmallow. See you at dinner." He sauntered out of the room.

Shortly after David's cocky exit, Kasha appeared at my door, still in her fluffy pink bathrobe at seven p.m. "Can we talk? Please, Sophie? Can we please talk?"

Well, it had to happen sometime. I did it to myself, I realized, all too painfully. What had I expected after inviting the two infidels back into my home? Roses? Well, David had brought roses, actually. Guilt roses, now in the trash. But I needed to stick to the plan, a plan I'd better have the guts to carry it out. "I have a few minutes. Come in Kasha."

She plopped down in the stuffed chintz chair while I perched on the arm of the matching sofa. "You have something to tell me?"

She looked like a girl who'd just smacked a ball through a plate glass window. "Well, yes. I do. But I'm afraid you might be mad." Kasha spoke in a musical Slavic accent, the problem being all the prickly thorns on every piano key.

"Madder, you mean. Surely you know that I'm very angry with you."

She nodded. "Yes, of course. But I just wanted to explain."

Dilemma. I didn't know whether to claw her eyes out or hug her. I _so_ wanted her back as my friend. I needed her back and I wanted to take her to lunch: _Franco Manca_ for pizza, _Pipel_ for falafel, and _The Wolseley_ for oysters where Kasha once said to me,

"Do you think people wonder about us, Sophie? About our relationship? We're a strange looking pair, don't you think? I mean, you in your elegant dresses and me in a chauffeur's uniform. I know most people recognize you from the papers but what do you think people think about us, really? They stare a lot. Do you think maybe they think we're lesbians?"

I mulled it. "Perhaps. You're better looking than David, certainly."

Shortly thereafter our waiter returned with the drinks. "Ladies," he said, as he laid down the iced tea with care. "You will have only the best service this afternoon. You will not want for a thing." He first winked at Kasha and then at me. "I'm one of you, you see."

So, back to the present and Kasha saying, "Promise you won't be mad?"

"I can't promise. But I will listen."

' _This is going to be good,'_ Evil __ chirped _. Got any popcorn?'_

Again, Kasha shook her long auburn hair. "You probably won't agree with me but I don't think I did anything wrong." Her cheeks glowed a healthy crimson.

"Really!"

"Really. And I don't know why you're so mad at me."

"You don't."

"No. From what I saw you were miserable with David. And he was unhappy with you. I waited up nights with you remember, Sophie? Until we heard the car in the driveway and then you'd shoo me away. Is that what you wanted for the rest of your life?"

I said nothing.

"You see? I did you a favour!"

"By stealing my husband."

"No. For taking him off your hands! I know you don't want to hear this, Sophie, but David is happy with me."

"Really! I'm trying to understand, Kasha. Really I am. But quite frankly, I don't."

"With David gone, you have a chance to find happiness. With the right man. You can have any man you want now, Sophie. Someone like yourself. Someone who likes to read."

Evil giggled. ' _Doesn't Uncle John's Bathroom Reader count for anything?'_

"So, what are you saying, Kasha? That I should thank you?"

"Yes! If not now, later. I'm going to bet that one day down the road you'll thank me. That one day you'll be glad David's with me."

An awkward silence allowed Evil to jump in. ' _Moron... superior in one degree from imbecile and two degrees from idiot.'_

"You don't look happy, Sophie."

"I'm delirious."

"You don't look it. You look angry. And your face is getting lines from it. I'd watch that if I were you. Early aging does not look good on a woman, all wrinkles and such."

I narrowed my eyes.

"Did you ever think I'd be as rich as you?"

Patience, Sophie. She's just a girl.

_'A bad girl,'_ said __ Evil. _'A very bad girl.'_

"As I said, I'm delirious. Is there something else that you want, Kasha? Besides my husband, that is..."

Kasha leapt from her chair and stomped to the door.

"Good luck with David," I called behind her. "Statistics prove that once a cheater, always a cheater. He'll leave you just like he left me."

Shortly after Kasha's angry exit my solicitor rang. "I'm trying to speed up the process," she droned. "But it's time consuming, as you may well appreciate. A few more days, I'm afraid. The agreement, some funds, and the promise of more to come."

I called downstairs to order an extra-large martini to be followed by another one after that. Ah, just bring the shaker, I told Potsy. I needed to drink up a little courage. How else was I to face the horrid houseguests at my own dinner table? And to think that I'd done it to myself! __ At my desk I typed with thick martini fingers, mostly striking two keys at a time. _Sophie's Art of War._

I nodded. "My very own doctrine. I'll show them. I just have to think below the belt." __ But it was hard to concentrate with someone breathing on my neck. Hector was back and peering over my shoulder.

'Really? Not that pathetic Sun Tzu again!'

I stuck out my chin. "Why not? Generals have followed his blueprint for centuries."

Hector killed himself laughing. _'You're right, of course. They have. But Sun Tzu was actually a coward.'_

"It says here that he lived in the 6th century BCE."

_'I was dead by then so in the afterlife I followed him around to see if anything new could be learned. You know, so that in my next life I'd still be the greatest battle hero ever. The Art of War was supposed to be a big deal, you see. But what a disappointment! What a big phony! Let me tell you about the real Sun Tzu. I actually saw him send his army off to the slaughter whilst he hid in a cave writing a book on war. His men were Guinea pigs. And when only a few hacked-up survivors managed to drag their bodies back from battle he berated them with his silly principle:_ If your enemy is superior in strength evade him. And then he hollered at his few remaining soldiers, the wounded and dying, "You morons! Didn't I tell you to run away?"'

Well, that cheered me up. I even snorted a martini snort. "Funny. You're really funny, you know."

"I am not funny! I am Hector!"

I poured a third martini from the shaker. It wasn't like Potsy to be so generous. Hmm. She wanted something, for sure. "Apparently, you are Hector. You have credentials, I assume?"

He wielded his sword. _"Will this do?"_

I nodded. What choice did I have?

"Do you want to know what's wrong with you, Lady?"

"No. I definitely don't. But I have a feeling you're going to tell me anyway."

_"You're thinking defensively. You're on the defensive, a vulnerable place to_ _be. You need to attack."_

"Attack. Great. What do you suggest?"

_"You'll need ships_. _A lot of ships. And weapons.'_

"I think we can rule out ships for obvious reasons. And weapons too. No weapons."

Hector sadly shook his head. _'What kind of idiot fights a war without weapons? Cyclops Jeff?'_

I switched gears. "I could use your help with this, Hector. Since you seem to know the author so well. What about his first point?

• **If your opponent is temperamental, seek to irritate him.**

Hector: _That's what was so lame about this guy. What are you going to tell your enemy from the other side of the battlefield? That his wife is ugly and his mother passes really bad gas? Jeez Louise._

• **Pretend to be weak so that he may grow arrogant.**

Hector: _It's always a good idea to go limping onto the battlefield. Get his hopes up before slicing off his head._

• **If he is taking his ease, give him no rest.**

Hector: _Good idea. Play the bagpipes. If that doesn't get on his nerves, nothing will._

• **If his forces are united, separate them.**

Hector: _Piece of cake. Send over a goat. Some may want to eat him while others may want to use him for selfish pleasure. A fight will break out over the goat, guaranteed._

• **Attack him when he is unprepared.**

Hector: _Irrelevant, since enemy warriors are unlikely to simultaneously take a dump. But you'll slay some of them with their pants down, also guaranteed._

• **Appear where you are not expected.**

Hector: _Here's the kicker. Where exactly are you not expected? If not on the battlefield? Maybe you could hide in a big wooden horse before attacking but that's been done before. How about a wooden pig? And maybe the enemy is going to hide in something wooden too, like a giraffe. Wouldn't it be funny if both sides hid and nobody wanted to fight? But I think that's Italian, not Greek.'_

In the end Hector made a sour face. _'Lame, if you ask me. No weapons, Lady? You should at least have an axe. In fact, I think it would be nice if one day down the road you and your former friend, the girl, could bury the hatchet. In each other's head.'_ He vanished giggling.

With Hector's advice in mind I decided to up my game. I squeezed into a smashing black dress with a row of silly ruffles ending upper thigh. I slipped my feet into Vivienne Westwood five inch heels and started down the stairs, clinging to the railing. 'If your opponent is __ temperamental, seek to irritate him _.'_ God, I was good! Even sloshed I could remember things, like words.

' _You're about to fall on your arse,"_ Evil warned. _'Sit down fast.'_

To set the scene for a bizarre evening we must first picture a grand dining room. In the centre of the room, twenty-four ladder-back chairs flank an extensive walnut table. On the wall to the left stands a sturdy buffet, home to an antique silver tea service, several crystal decanters, and a commanding arrangement of late summer flowers. The wall to right, as we already know, is home to _The Hunt_ , a mural painted by Henry, and the end wall is a bank of windows framed by silver, Shantung-silk draperies and affording a splendid view of the gardens below. Three place settings grace the table, two on the right and one on the left. Enter Sophie trying very hard not to fall down.

"Woe is me!"

Potsy is on her heels. "Woe is you, be damned! Woe is me! I'm the one sharing my kitchen with a letch. He grabbed my arse."

"Likely the most fun you've had in years."

"Don't be cheeky! He swears like a sailor, as well. Says he's taken cooking classes from Gordon Ramsey but I say all he learned was how to swear. I don't know what he's making in there but it looks dreadful. A horrible mess, really. Just be glad you don't have to eat it. Entrails and everything."

"Thanks for sparing me. What am I having?"

"Chicken a l'orange. Your favourite."

I hiccupped. "Not my favourite. My favorite is sticky pudding."

"Sophie!" Potsy's eyes grew wide. "You're drunk! Stinking drunk."

"Yip. And it's all your fault. You're the one that sent up three martinis."

Just then David and Kasha appeared with David magnanimously offering to open the wine. My wine. Kasha and I took our places at the table, directly across from one another. "Nice dress, Kasha. Turquoise, my favourite colour. I believe it's mine."

She looked me dead straight in the eye. "You gave it to me."

_Déjà vu_. "Did I? That was very generous of me. The price tag is under your arm, by the way."

David returned from the buffet to pour the wine. "Excellent vintage. Absolutely one of my favourites!" He was looking his usual smashing self in a light-coloured jacket and trousers and was altogether too happy to be anywhere near me. He was, in fact, glowing.

"I can't thank Kasha enough, David. While sorting through the guest room closet – where co-incidentally I store new things – she chose a few items for herself." My head bobbed.

Zing. The dig went over David's head so close he ducked. "I know she'll do everything she can to help out while we're here. Won't you darling?"

His darling gulped her wine. It was only then that I spied the gold bangle bracelets.

"The bracelets look familiar, Kasha."

"You gave them to me! But I knew you'd forget, just like you always do. I'll likely be half-daft when I'm your age too."

"You've got a good start."

"Ladies, ladies." David intervened like the social director on a senior's cruise. "Let's lighten up and have some fun. I'll pour more wine."

"Not for the kleptomaniac," I said. "It may stunt her growth."

Kasha thrust her defiant chin in the air. "I will have more wine, _darling_. Thanks."

Darling. It sounded hollow to me. "I've heard that alcohol may interfere with pelvic bone development." I giggled hysterically.

' _I can't believe you, Sophie!"_ Evil cheered. ' _You're being mean. I love it.'_

Following this first round of pleasantries Pinto came into the room. He had donned his very best metallic suit and was looking rather Eddie Murphy-ish, Jinnah hat and all. "Is it time for dinner?"

David hopped up. "There must be some mistake! You are not invited to dinner. I believe you are the new chauffeur and you'll be dining in the kitchen." He snatched up the bell from the table and rang it viciously.

Funny how life takes a sudden turn. Just when the dark clouds are gathering with some determination one happens to see a way out. Lucky that. I jumped to my feet, wobbled towards Pinto, grabbed his two hands and kissed him on both cheeks. "Of course, he's coming to dinner! I invited him. When he hadn't shown up I told Potsy to remove his place setting."

Potsy just stood in the archway looking stunned.

"Potsy, please re-set the table so Pinto may join us for dinner." I took his hand and led him to his chair. "Pinto is more than just my chauffeur. He's my friend." I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek."

Pinto grinned from lobe to lobe. He did resemble Eddie Murphy, actually. He had an intelligent face and round brown eyes that positively sparkled with trouble. An agile muscular body didn't hurt him either.

David's mouth fell open. "Your friend? Like, what kind of friend? _Boy_ friend?"

"Aren't you the nosey one!" I moved my chair closer to Pinto, stroked his head gently, and sang _Darling je vous aime beaucoup_ to his nose. I whispered in his ear. "Quid. Big quid. Bank notes. Shares."

Potsy, in the process of laying the new place setting, spoke into my other ear. "I thought that Pinto was a horse."

"There's more than just one kind." I couldn't stop giggling.

"You'll not get another martini from me," she hissed. "Never. Ever."

I thought that extremely funny and almost fell off my chair laughing.

Kasha was not amused. "I don't know what's so funny, Sophie, but Pinto's not your boyfriend. He's your chauffeur."

"So? You were a chauffeur and you moved up. Although some might question the direction. Up or down."

Kasha's round green eyes blazed. "That wasn't very nice!"

"Husband stealing isn't nice either." I plastered a silly synthetic smile on my face.

' _Seek to irritate,' Evil_ coached. _'I didn't get that point in the beginning but it's killing me now.'_

I pinched Pinto's cheek. "You're just so cute! Pinto will have some wine, David."

Trapped. Xenophobic, but a gentleman, the acting head of the house reluctantly rose from his chair to pour Pinto's wine.

Evil giggled.

"Where did the two of you meet?" David asked icily.

"On the Riviera," I said quickly. " _Côte d'Azur_. We had such a marvelous time there, didn't we, darling?"

Pinto put his arm around my shoulders. "I have loved this girl since day one. She is Winnie Mandela to me. All good. So very good." He kissed my cheek. "She smells like Costus Spectabilis, Nigeria' _s_ national flower. She has stolen my heart."

Rocky came wobbling in with the first course, plopping the bowls down in front of Kasha and David. "Fish chowder. Gordon Ramsey style."

Great broad smiles from the lovebirds as they nodded enthusiastically. Potsy proceeded to present a lovely plate of prosciutto and melon for our side of the table and the meal began.

David made a sour face. "This is awful! Dreadful, even. How's yours Kash?"

Kash. Soph. Well, that was David. Yet he freaked if anyone dared to call him Dave.

She shook her lovely head. "I can't eat it. It tastes like shit!"

Open door for Sophie. "Apparently shit is high in protein. Or perhaps that's just Russian propaganda."

David threw down his napkin. "Sophie, I've had just about enough of you!"

"You're scaring me, David. I'm trembling now." I held out my two steady hands.

"You are a beastly woman, you know." Jude Law was looking quite Barney-ish now, turning all purple and puffy.

I snuggled against Pinto's shoulder. "David is calling me names, Pinto. What do you think about that?"

He nodded for quite a while. "I think David is hungry. He'll be happier when he has something to eat."

Kasha scowled. "You sit there all so superior, Sophie. Yes, I don't have your education. But I have something you will never have again." She reached over and patted David's hot cheek. "I have David. He's mine now and you will never be able to get him back. Ever."

Pinto leaned over and whispered in my ear. "Good thing."

I nodded. "He snores like a sonic boom. A lot of sonic booms, actually. Kasha will be sleeping in a bedroom down the hall soon."

David sadly shook his head.

The meal progressed in silence to the second course with no better luck for David and Kasha then the first. "Ragout!" Rocky proclaimed. "Gordon Ramsey style."

David, obviously ravenous at this point in the evening, was salivating. "Ragout is my favourite! I can't wait to taste it. Yum." And then, "This stuff is putrid! Absolute rubbish. Not fit for a dog."

Rocky raced from the room.

"You should have ordered the chicken a l'orange," I quipped. "It's divine."

"Divine," Pinto reiterated. "Even better than my own."

"How do you make yours?" I asked politely.

"Well, first I kill the chicken. Then I pluck the chicken and remove his guts. And where the guts were I put in an orange. Then I roast him on the fire. He's delicious, especially his head and his feet."

Kasha's mouth fell open. "That sounds barbaric to me!"

Pinto pounded his fist on the table. "Barbaric, yes! It is a great compliment. Thank you very much."

David was gobbling his dinner roll. "I think you can do better, Sophie. I don't mean to be rude but this man has no.. . And he's... he's..."

"African?"

Silence.

"That sounds a bit racist to me."

"But I didn't say anything about..."

"Africans?"

"Damn it, Sophie! Why are you putting words in my mouth?"

I leaned over to kiss Pinto's fleshy cheek. "What do they call men who run off with children, Pinto? Perverts? Yes, I believe it is. If that's as high as one can possibly go. Hmm. Let me think." I scratched my chin as all great thinkers do. "Is there such a thing as Super Pervert? Or Ultimate Pervert? King Pervert, perchance?"

David jumped to his feet. "That's disrespectful! Come on, Kash. Let's go out and get something to eat."

"What?" I said, with only a little tinge of victory ringing in my voice. "You mean you won't be joining us for cognac?"

I needed cognac like I needed a hole drilled straight through my forehead but I planned to enjoy a snifter or two just the same. Gently warmed by Pinto, my new BFF.

' _I like The African,'_ Evil said after I'd crawled into bed. ' _He's cute. Smells nice and has very white teeth. Red flag though. Jungle life and White Strips?'_

I was not shocked to discover Hector standing in a corner. Good thing I'd undressed in my walk-in closet.

' _I say get rid of him, Lady. You've used him now so kill him. Kill the African.'_

"Get back in the book, Hector. I'm doing alright without you."

'Not from where I stand.'

"You're standing in a corner, Hector."

'You don't see my army?'

"No. You're by yourself."

He looked over his shoulder. _'Crap! As soon as I turn my back they run off to party. They're supposed to wait until we pick a battle and win.'_ With that he disappeared.

Evil was whispering me to sleep _. 'Pinto. Passports, as many as you like. Counterfeiting, smuggling, art forgery... But I wouldn't eat his chicken. And I'd recommend Miss Manners book on etiquette providing he can read. No, skip the book entirely. Go straight to the DVD._
Chapter Nine

THE DOWNSTAIRS OF MY KENSINGTON home has four bedrooms at the back of the house, all designed and built for servants in 1904. Today, Potsy, the chauffeur of the day, and two maids occupy those rooms. The upstairs of my historic home is divided into two distinct areas – a large suite plus four generous bedrooms on either side of a wide dramatic staircase. I was correct, in fact, when I said that we could likely all live there copacetically – until someone scratched someone else's eyes out, of course. Around eleven that same evening Kasha appeared in the doorway of my cozy master suite. I put down the book I'd tried to read but dozed through.

"Is this a social call?" I walked over to stoke the fire.

"I don't know what that means."

"Come in, Kasha."

She plopped down on the chintz chair. "I wish we were still friends."

"I wish we were still friends, as well. I miss you as my friend. It's too bad."

"I know. It's way too bad. You were so much fun when you were my friend. Do you remember, Sophie? Do you remember how we'd fix each other's hair and put makeup on together? And do you remember how we used to hide on David? Not always, but sometimes, just to punish him when he'd been bad. You'd tell him you were going to _Hix_ for a late supper and he'd go there to meet you and wait. But instead you'd go to _Fish Club,_ perhaps, or _The Savoy Grill_ and have me join you in the restaurant. One time you gave me too much red wine and we had to take a limo home. Do you remember, Sophie? We had so much fun!"

"I do." That was the difficult part, you see. So much fun.

"Gordon Ramsay always came to say hello to you at _The Grill,_ remember? And you'd always tease him about needing a new image. You told him he needed new hair."

"Well, he didn't listen. He still looks exactly the same. And they blame women for keeping the old hairstyle. Jeez!"

"That's what I miss! I miss your humour. David's not that much fun."

"Oh, really! And you didn't know that before you stole him from me?"

She shrugged. "I guess I did. It's just that you were so much more fun."

"Well, then. You should have run off with me."

She looked at me quizzically.

"It was a joke. Don't worry though, Kasha. You'll find another Sophie. There are a lot of us around."

She vehemently shook her head. "There is only one Sophie! The woman who rescued me."

A tear looming in my eyelid was threatening to make me look weak. "I can't help wishing that you hadn't stopped hiding on David."

She cocked her head. "You've changed, Sophie. You're a lot meaner now."

"I suppose. I have to protect myself, you see. I've been hurt a lot."

Her jade green eyes grew wide. "You have hurt me too! You've said things. Things that have really, really hurt me. I was your friend!"

"You stole my husband, Kasha. That's not what friends do. It's an unforgivable transgression."

"I just wanted what you have, that's all. I wanted a house like yours. I wanted fancy clothes like yours and jewelry. Is that so bad?"

"Yes. It is bad. You're a very beautiful woman. You could have gone after a number of single wealthy men and gotten what you wanted. Instead you chose to go after a man who was taken. Married. The husband of a woman who befriended you. It is bad."

Her voice went cold. "You called me a kleptomaniac!"

"I'm sorry. Kleptomaniac is a strong word."

"You embarrassed me in front of David! You made me look bad!"

"That was not my intention. I was just surprised you chose to wear my things to dinner at my table. Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

"Oh, I thought you would notice. I wore them to show you that they looked better on me."

"I see."

"You have lots of money. You can buy more."

"You also have money now."

"It hasn't come yet. And even when it comes we'll only have half of what you have."

"Much less than half. But it is a generous amount. You won't want for anything, Kasha. But you weren't going to be wanting with me, either. Before you ran off with my husband, you may recall, I was taking you on holiday to Italy for a month. To the Italian Riviera. After your permanent resident status was granted. We were going there to celebrate, remember?"

She jumped to her feet. "Oh, I will still go! Only now I will go with someone I like." In the doorway she turned to me. "And the next time you accuse me of stealing in front of David there will be consequences." With that she thumped her way down the hall.

Great then. Gratitude accepted. It's not like I wasn't warned. Potsy said on day one that Kasha was a mistake. 'Out for herself', she said. 'Up to no good.' Bleeding heart that I was, or bleeding idiot, it now seemed, I wanted to give her a chance. A new start at life. I just didn't know that my husband was to be part of the equation _._
Chapter Ten

"THEY'VE INCREASED IN NUMBERS." Potsy made the comment as we pulled out of the winding, gated driveway. She waved to old Charlie who was brandishing his came in the gatehouse. "The reporters, I mean."

"It's Kasha they want. The authentic Russian princess."

"What a load of cobblers!" And then in a loud voice she said, "Run them over, Pinto! They're violating a restraining order so all are fair game. Floor it! Split them like bowling pins!"

Pinto grinned into the rearview mirror. "Sorry madam. Cannot do. Wounding people could hurt my deportation order."

She kicked me in the calf.

They came at us then from everywhere, a sea of locusts sufficient to cause even the skin of a cadaver to crawl. "Miss Whitehead! Miss Whitehead!" they jeered and pounded on the glass. "Is it true your husband has brought his mistress home?"

I ducked down in the wide back seat where I covered my face with my hands.

Potsy shook me hard. "Sit up and behave yourself! You mustn't let them bully you. Blood suckers!" she hollered and pounded back. "Bloody pond sucking scum!"

"Give it to them, Pots!" I giggled. The woman was a tiger. I sat up and behaved myself as told.

Tomorrow's tabloid headlines went screaming through my head. _Happy Kensington Threesome – bigamy alive and well._ Or perhaps, _Murder in Kensington; Husband Slain by Wife and Mistress – lesbian couple free on bail..._ And oops! _Wife Dead of Mysterious Causes..._

With my new eager chauffeur clutching the steering wheel we sped down the alley of shadows and into the light of day. "Damn!" he shouted. "This is the best damn job I've ever had! This is way fun!" Pinto was about the absolute worst driver on the planet, possibly the world. He weaved back and forth through the lanes of traffic as though painted lines were made just for crossing. "Whoops!" he said. "Didn't see that one coming."

"It's a one-way street, you ninny!" Potsy hollered. "And just ahead is a round-about. If you get us killed I'll strangle you with my two bare hands." She turned to me. "My advice to you, young lady, is to get your driving license and put this one out to pasture. He's not much good for anything else."

It was a good day for Henry, though. Propped up in his bed, and wrapped in his favourite grey cardigan, he was quoting Churchill and everything. We were barely seated, in fact, before he started in,

" _A lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on."_

"That's wonderful, Henry!" I said excitedly. "You're very sharp today."

He enthusiastically nodded. "As always! I'm better now, Sophie. And I want to come home."

"You sound better. And we'll see what the doctor says today."

" _A pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty_."

"Excellent!"

" _A prisoner of war is a man who tries to kill you and fails, and then asks you not to kill him."_

"I can't believe you, Henry! You sound like your old self."

"It's a miracle!" Potsy raved. "I can't believe it!"

Henry believed it. "What did I tell you, Sophie? I'm cured. Just listen to this. ' _Speak softly and carry a big stick_ '."

"Well, you're almost right. I think that was Theodore Roosevelt, Henry. You're just one war away."

"War? Did you say war? Not that Hitler chap! I've been warning people about him but nobody will bloody well listen. I think we're all doomed, Liz my darling luv."

Pinto aimed for potholes, I swear he did. On the bumpy and precarious ride home I dared to quiz Potsy,

"I don't suppose Todd has been asking about me?"

"No. He hasn't been asking at all. He told me to tell you that by the way. Emphatically. Not asking about Sophie. Absolutely not."

"He has then?"

"Not less than several times a day. He's become a droning pest, actually. 'Is Sophie asking about me?' I'm tired of him, really. I love him to pieces but he's becoming a nuisance. He's getting in the way of my career."

If my smile were any broader it might have cracked my face. Todd. Splendid dark head, possibly one day on my pillows. The scent of pine needles and jasmine and homemade soap. "I need to see Todd. I need his help, actually. I realize there's months on a waiting list but do you think he might use his influence to get us into _The Fat Duck_? We're half way there, really, and can perhaps luck into a cancellation."

She extracted her mobile from her bag. "I could try. How urgent is your need?"

"Yesterday."

"Do you actually think this alien behind the wheel could drive us there and back?"

"I thought you said he was a horse."

Todd was already seated at his customary table so I therefore took it as a positive sign that he'd raced to meet me there.

"My two favourite people in all the world!" He kissed two sets of hands before pulling back our chairs. "I'm all yours."

I turned up my nose. Todd Aimes irked me more than anyone on the planet. Did he have to be so bloody gorgeous without even trying? "I wish that interested me in the least."

"Oh, it will. Believe me. You are in for a gorgeous meal. I've arranged for eight small courses. Each one orgasmic." He tossed me his take-no-prisoners grin. "Knickers remover is what I say."

Potsy straightened in her chair. "No sex-talk, please. I'm elderly and alone. And the Nigerian in the Bentley is not my type at all. I'm unlikely to show the least bit of interest in that lunatic without a vast amount of wine."

"Done," Todd said jokingly. "We'll get you sloshed and shagged in the back of a Bentley. Bet you've never done that before."

Potsy's eyes sparkled like a distant constellation. "There's a lot you don't know."

"I'll bet there is, Auntie." He turned to me. "Have you missed me Sadly Sophie?"

"Like a tooth ache."

"I knew it. You can't live without me now, can you?"

"I can't believe it was so easy. I hardly remember you at all. In fact, I can barely remember your name."

"Not a problem. In future it will be Darling. Oh Darling! Oh god! Oh, oh, oh!"

"Arse!"

Potsy choked on her sherry.

"We have to order a plate for Pinto," I told Todd. "He gets hungry at this time of night."

His eyes grew wide. "What? You've brought a horse along?"

"No," said Potsy. "Just a bad driver."

Todd shook his head. "The two of you are absolute crackers."

"We try." I looked up to see Pinto arguing with the maître d' and pushing straight past him.

"Miss Sophie!" he cried. "I went into the pub for only a moment. For just one brew. I was so very thirsty. Just one dark ale is all I had. And when I came back out, the Bentley she was gone."
Chapter Eleven

I KNEW ABOUT TODD'S VAST car collection, given that Potsy was prone to bragging about it a lot, and I looked forward to riding home in perhaps a vintage Mercedes SL. Not to be. Todd's newest toy was a _Smart_ car, an electric drive at that. After filing a missing vehicle report with the police service we stood around it, discussing at length the possible seating arrangement, or not.

"We're going home in a sewing machine," I said to the other three victims of crime. "I'm sure we'll all have new outfits by the time we arrive there. I hope mine is black with a balaclava because I won't want to show my face."

Todd elbowed me in the ribs. "You're not funny. And yes, I do own a vintage Mercedes or three, assorted Jaguars, and a Porsche 911. I just thought I'd bring my baby out tonight. It was given to me as a promotion and I love that little car."

Pinto didn't. "In Africa we step on little cars when they get in our way." He stomped his foot hard. "We crush them."

Todd nodded. "I understand that. Given that your family is a band of wild horses."

Pinto showed his sparkling white teeth. "We have Arabian horses. Very fast. Faster than sewing machines."

Todd grinned. "Tell you what, Pinto. If we make it out of here alive I'll have you a race. You against my car."

Potsy was growing cranky. "I don't see any humour in this at all. It's late. I'm tired. And I have to work in the morning. My boss is a Stalin. A dictator. Need I say more?"

"Well," I said indignantly. "In my opinion she's actually better looking than Stalin and her mustache is regularly trimmed. That's in her favour, I think. While she may have a 'cult of personality', which requires you to hero-worship her from time to time, she never, ever complains about her eggs when they're raw. Only when they have hair."

Pinto nodded. "In Africa we have hairy eggs. They are rare and coveted."

Todd's mouth fell open. "You're joking!"

"No, I'm not. I'm just pulling your leg!" He laughed for half an hour.

Finally, Todd opened the passenger door. "We'll be alright inside there, we four large things. Just nobody breathe."

So now came the dead tricky part because the matter of timing left me no choice. But hmm... What to say to Todd, who was seated across from me in the library, sipping cognac and looking disinterested. 'Todd, I am an evil person and I need someone of similar status to assist me in skullduggery. You can take it out in trade.' No... That wouldn't do. Instead I said,

"Todd, I am an evil person and I need someone of similar status to assist me in skullduggery. We can work the finances out later."

He yawned. "Sorry but I'm going home."

"You can't go home!" It sounded like an order. "Not until you've heard me out, that is."

"Heard me out?" he mocked. "What kind of language is that? Celtic? I'm half Anglo Saxon myself."

"Be serious for a moment, will you? I'm trying to say something!"

He grinned at me. "You are absolutely beautiful, do you know that Sophie? You could probably talk anybody into anything."

"Great, then. You'll no doubt be up for a philosophical discussion."

He shuddered. "I knew it was too good to be true! I knew there would be a price to pay for this booze." He slammed down his snifter. "There isn't a god after all."

Well, here came the delicate part and I had to tread softly. I needed to draw Todd closer to me, not scare him away. I poured a generous amount of cognac into his snifter. "I was wondering." I cleared my throat. "What exactly your views are on stealing."

Todd almost fell off the sofa. "Stealing? Exactly what do you have in mind? The Bank of England?"

"No. I was wondering about it more on a philosophical level. Would you, in fact, steal if you had to? Like for survival. Or survival of your family."

His eyes sparkled. "I see. Like Jean Val Jean, you mean. _Les Misérables._ That sort of thing."

"Exactly!"

"Then my answer is yes. I'd steal if I had to. To survive. Doubly so for my family. In fact, for my family I'd likely steal before we got to the survival stage, so we wouldn't have to get there. Does that make sense?"

"Absolutely!"

"Is this some sort of weird marriage proposal, Sophie?"

"No. As I said, it's just a philosophical discussion. And how do you feel about murder, Todd?"

"My god, woman! What do you want from me anyway? I am not a murderer!"

Even Todd's shadow on the wall beside him looked stricken. Perhaps I'd gone

too far.

"If you had to, I mean. Would you murder in self-defense?"

"It's not called murder if it's self-defense. It's called justifiable homicide. Huge difference."

"Point conceded. But would you murder to avenge a crime, then? If somebody murdered me, for instance. Would you murder them?"

His eyes flickered mischievously. "You're not that important to me, Sophie."

"Thanks a lot. What about your mother? Would you murder somebody who murdered your mother?"

"Sophie! That's morbid. Where exactly are you going with this conversation?"

"I'm testing your moral fibre."

"What about your moral fibre?"

"Need you ask? I'd steal and kill in a flash. And for no apparent reason."

"That's a lot of rubbish and you know it. You have very high morals and standards. Possibly to your own detriment. If you want something from me, Sophie, why don't you just come out and say so? I can sense it all around."

"You can?"

"Yes."

"All right, then. I'm prepared to make you a deal."

He shot straight up on the sofa. "I love deals! Exactly what's in it for me?"

Big deep breath. "Me. If you succeed."

"I see. Do you mean sex, then Sophie? Is that what you're proposing?" He was salivating.

I turned all red. "Yes." Well, he couldn't be bought since he didn't need the money. Thirty million a film assured him of that.

"And if I fail? There has to be something for failing too. If you weigh the odds I believe chances of either are approximately fifty-fifty and I'm not prepared to walk away empty-handed. I'm a businessman through and through."

"Me. The prize for failing is also me. Sex. That's about all I have to offer at the moment, since you don't need material things, such as money or property."

Silence. He was thinking. "Do you mean that I'd have you either way? That you would be my sex minion and do absolutely everything I say?"

"Yes." I suppressed a giggle.

"You little liar! But you must want something desperately to offer up yourself. What is it, Sophie?"

I stumbled a little. "Well... it's relatively simple, really. Simple for you, that is. The only requirement is that you use your irresistible charm and deadly good looks to lure Kasha away from David."

Todd choked on his cognac. "Are you insane?"

"Yes. Absolutely. But I need your help. I just don't see another way out."

"You want David back that badly?"

"I can't answer that question honestly right now. I only know that I don't want David and Kasha together. They don't deserve to be together. They don't deserve to be happy."

He mulled the matter over. A lot. He shrugged. He stretched his neck and shook his head from side to side. Big Ben in the corner of the room was making his usual fuss, with a lot of tick-tocking. Tick tock. Tick tock.

Finally, Todd said, "I don't know that I like the idea. In fact, I don't like it at all. But I don't like what David has done to you either. And the good news is that I don't have to murder anybody."

After Todd had gone I dragged myself up the great staircase, all the way listening to droning Evil.

'Great deal for you. You get to sleep with the gorgeous actor either way. How subtle! What about decorum and composure? Could you have been more obvious? Sure, you want David back now. David looks like a garden gnome next to Todd. Please! Who are you trying to kid, kiddo?'

__ Shortly before eleven a.m. the following morning Hector reappeared. He was making a habit out of showing up whenever he pleased now which was starting to irk me.

"Did you happen to find your army, Hector?"

'Well, you know Greek armies. They were out celebrating yet another of our great victories. And all that Spanakopita, Moussaka and Ouzo... Well, they just couldn't quit. Especially with the Ouzo. As much as I hated to urinate on their bonfire I finally had to shut things down. Enough with the gluttony.'

I was sitting at the computer mulling over my next step. __ "I keep thinking about **Attack him when he is unprepared."** __

Hector snorted. _'I can't believe you, Lady! You're still trying to make sense of that drivel? Even tigers know enough to sneak up on their prey. Without having to read a bloody book on it. Can you believe this guy? Three years in a cave and that's all he can come up with?'_

He had a point. But before I could tell him he vanished, leaving only a degree of disappointment in the air. I was actually starting to like Hector, which didn't say a lot for my sanity.

The following morning __ I knocked on the guest suite door. "Time to get up."

Nothing.

"Are you in there? Because if you are you may be interested in my plans. I'm inviting you to a benefit concert tonight. A gala evening."

That did it. David's tousled head appeared at the door. "Go away, Sophie. You're making too much noise."

"Really? It just may be the sound of old money landing in your bank account. My solicitor says an agreement will be ready for consideration tomorrow. And after signatures, you'll have your settlement in just a few days."

He shook his sleepy head. "Really? That's good news, Soph. Hopefully it's what we discussed."

Oops. The offer. A bit puny I had to admit. But my legal advisors told me to start low so it would be their fault when David's blood pressure went skyrocketing and he dropped frightfully dead. What? Might I be the merry young widow then? Or would Kasha be the widow? Or better still, Kasha and I could be joint-widows and pretend to be sad at the funeral. "You remember David?" I might say. "David Jones?" to which she may reply, "Well, I never really knew his last name."

Instead I said to David, "You remember Todd Aimes, don't you? Potsy's nephew?"

He rubbed his eyes. "The actor, yes. Action hero, isn't he"

"That's him. He's just finished shooting a film in America and has several more offers on the table. He's a hot commodity just now."

"What has that got to do with me?"

"Well, they've managed to book him for the charity gala tonight, as busy as he is. Booked him a year ago, in fact. It's a fundraiser for children with disabilities _._ Potsy and Pinto are going and I wondered if you and Kasha might like to come along as well. There'll be loads of celebrities. And Kasha would love the gowns."

Kasha, who'd been eavesdropping, as I clearly knew she would be, poked her head around the door. "We'll be there."

In the kitchen Potsy poured us both a steaming cup of coffee. "They called about the Bentley this morning."

I parked my bottom on a stool at the kitchen island. "They've found it then?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, they did. They found it abandoned. Nosed into a pond. Whoever took it wasn't good at driving."

"Teens?"

She nodded. "They think so. It could have been anybody since Pinto left the keys in the ignition. Anyway, it's being towed to the garage for inspection. You'll have to use the Rolls for a few days I'm afraid."

The Rolls. Henry's car. I couldn't manage it. "I'm not old enough for the Rolls."

"I don't quite know how to tell you this, luv, but you absolutely are. You're thirty now. A grown up."

Thirty. Oh my god! In twenty years I'd be fifty. Soon I'd be in the home. "If I have to go out I'll perhaps call Todd. He likely wouldn't mind running me around in the sewing machine."

Her eyes twinkled. "On that note did the two of you have a good time together last night?"

"Potsy! What a rude thing to ask!"

"Morbid curiosity. It's a genetic weakness."

"Well, it's rude. But since you asked, no. Nothing to write about." What a little liar I was! After Todd sped off in his _Smart Car_ I wrote in my journal: _New fears. I'm still a train wreck over David but starting to fancy Todd more and more, the problem being he's just too high risk, given his assignment. What if Todd, like David, prefers Kasha to me? Twice a loser? OMG._

Potsy smacked her lips. "You allowed Pinto to moon all over you at the dinner table so I'm not sure what you're allowing these days."

"It was just a game. Pinto isn't interested in me."

"I wouldn't bet on it. Pinto is a man."
Chapter Twelve

AFTER A ROUSING DEBATE WITH myself in the end I could not, in good conscience, let Pinto drive Henry's Rolls. I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to the car that housed a plethora of precious memories: Henry and I in the wide back seat, heading out for ice cream on a sticky summer night; Henry and I going off to the cinema on a blustery winter day, snow pelting down all around; my wedding day with Henry fussing over my train which he held with a degree of fear on his lap; and to be honest, I never gave up hope that one day my precious Henry would come home.

En route to Henry's room at the end of the corridor I said to Todd, who looked smashing, by the way, in a light coloured jacket and casual summer trousers, no tweed, "This is very kind of you. They called early this afternoon. Henry is causing trouble today so I really must see him. I was ringing up a taxi service when Potsy said that you were on the way. It's really very sweet."

"My pleasure, Sadly Sophie. And since you finally need me for something non-devious I'm going to give you a break. I'm going to call you SS from now on. It will be your code name." He was mocking me through those dangerous dark eyes and he nudged me with his hip. I found myself wondering if any woman on the planet could resist the irresistible Todd Aimes. I sincerely hoped not. I had a lot riding on it.

"And I shall call you Toad. As in pond creature. Has a ring to it, don't you think, Toad?"

"I think you are a goof, SS. An absolute goof."

Henry was propped up in his bed sleeping when we entered his room, quite a large room as a matter of fact. Potsy and I had gone to great lengths to make it familiar by hanging many of the paintings he'd done throughout the years, as many as could possibly fit in. We 'd also brought along his trophy table, heavy laden with memories of an illustrious polo career. A dart board was propped against a corner wall and on the bureau sat an assortment of family photos: the wedding of Henry and Liz; the arrival of baby Sophie; Sophie's convocation and Sophie's wedding.

Todd picked up the latter. "You were an absolutely breathtaking bride, SS. Can't say the same for the groom, though. Droll little bloke. Got a stick up his arse, has he?"

"You've met him before."

He nodded his gorgeous head. "He was easy to forget, that's all."

Henry opened his eyes just then and smiled. "Sophie!"

I scuttled to his bedside and clutched his hand. "Yes, Henry. It's your Sophie. Your strange little Sophie."

He really smiled then, a great broad smile that engulfed his little face. "My strange little Sophie!"

"Potsy wanted to come but she's prepping for an elaborate dinner tomorrow night." I turned to Todd. "She has an assistant, though. She and Rocky have formed some sort of alliance. He's going to make the dessert." To Henry I said, "Tonight we're going to Todd's charity gala. __ It's at the _Royal Albert Hall_ with performances by _U 2_ and _Sting_ , to name a few. _One Direction_ will be there for the younger set. All the bands are performing with the _London Symphony_ , something very grand and exciting. And before the performances we'll mingle with the children."

" _Royal Albert_ , you say? Been there a few times myself." Henry pulled his soft grey cardigan tight around him and narrowed his eyes. "Who's this chap, Sophie? Don't believe we've met."

"This is Todd, Henry. Todd is my friend." No point in trying to dredge up memories from the past where Henry could no longer go.

Henry readily shook Todd's hand. "Always liked the name Todd. Manly name. Not like David." He winked at me.

"You're funny today, Henry. And very sharp."

He vehemently nodded. "Do you think I can come home today? I feel rather well. I'd like a sherry, actually."

I pointed to the cabinet by the window. "There's sherry in there, Toad. Would you mind doing the honours? Three glasses, please. We'll celebrate with Henry. This is the best day he's had in a very long while."

I sobbed all the way home in the car. "It's just so sad!"

Todd agreed. "It's awfully sad. He seems so very normal."

"This morning he struck a male nurse. Called him a pervert."

"What had the male nurse done?"

"He was lifting him into his wheelchair. And what makes it so troubling is that it was Robert. Robert has been Henry's protector from day one. He adores Robert on good days. Asks me to give him money for his many kindnesses and everything. It's just so sad!"

To be truthful I was a hurricane of emotions regarding the gala event. I fussed in my closet for ages while deciding upon, then deciding against, my entire summer wardrobe. "Good luck, Kasha." I said to the mirror, which in the end was kind enough to reflect a lovely gown of apricot and gold. "We'll be competing for oodles of testosterone tonight."

The grand old _Royal Albert Hall — h_ ow wonderful was that? Henry had been right in that he'd attended a few performances in the historic dome-like structure, hundreds, to be exact. So many that on his eightieth birthday he joked to our dinner guests that he was finally old enough to work there since, like most of the stiff-faced ushers, his childbearing years were behind him.

I missed him though, as I shuffled along with Potsy and Pinto and the throngs of patrons making their way up the steps. Inside, the great architectural landmark stood in classy elegance with its lofty ceilings and opulent gold and red décor. The strange red mushroom lights dangling from the ceiling welcomed me home. But home wasn't the same without Henry.

"John McEnroe played here," I told Pinto.

"I know," he said. "He was with _Moody Blues_ , no?"

"Tennis."

Pinto gasped. "They let people play tennis in here? Isn't that just like the British! No rules. They let their children play anything and everything in the house."

Potsy looked regal in a soft blue brocade gown.

' _It irks you when she does that to you, doesn't it, Sophie?_ ' Evil chided. ' _She looks like the queen while you look like poor Princess Anne, traipsing along behind her with disappointment glued to your face. She needs to stop doing that to you.'_

"I saw Beethoven's Last Symphony here," Potsy bragged.

Pinto's eyes crinkled at the corners. "Not to be rude but was Beethoven on the piano bench?"

"That's rude."

"Sorry."

"You don't know me well enough to be so familiar."

"Sorry."

Fortunately, gorgeous Todd was milling about waiting to save us and no male specimen looked better in a tux. He kissed my cheek. "David and Kasha are just up ahead. We've already met and hugged. They seemed to remember me from somewhere. I don't quite know where."

"Funny."

"They said they'd meet us down on the floor. Apparently, David is going to sign autographs as well."

Potsy gasped. "He is? Exactly whom does he plan to be?"

Todd shrugged. "Beats me."

I offered an excuse. "Well, he is the son of a lord."

"Lovely," chimed Potsy. "He can sign _Son of Lord Ashley Jones_. His incarcerated father would like that. Or... perhaps he can simply forge his father's signature. _Lord Ashley Jones. Prisoner_. Has a ring to it, doesn't it?"

"My god!" Pinto shouted. "What did he do?"

Potsy smacked her lips. "It's what he didn't do. He didn't pay his taxes."

"Well, David can pay them now," I said bitterly. "With my money."

Todd changed the subject. "Let's go find the children. I've got tickets to _Chelsea_ and _Arsenal_ Football Club games to hand out with the programs. They're like pulling hen's teeth so should be of some value."

Now, if anyone could cure anybody from the woes of the world it was the children, some in wheel chairs, some not, but all with radiant faces. This was their special night. Exuberant cheers and applause greeted Todd as he moved effortlessly amongst his biggest fans, signing autographs and playfully bantering and punching.

Evil started to nag. ' _David and Kasha, remember. Get your arse going. You don't have forever, you know. Your biological clock is ticking. Tick Tock. Tick Tock.'_

"Stop it!" I said with some vehemence.

Just on the scene, David looked perplexed. "Are you talking to me, Soph?"

Evil tittered. _'Say yes, butthead. I was talking to you. I just forgot to call you a creep, creep. It's shorter than pedophile.'_

I suppressed a giggle. "No. I was actually talking to Pinto but I think he got lost in the crowd. Lovely gown, Kasha." She looked radiant in a soft, body-hugging gown of olive green. Alexander McQueen. My Alexander McQueen.

Kasha's gorgeous green eyes were fixed on Todd. "Ta."

Ta? Ta? Who was she now, David? Was she now a Russian-Brit? I wanted to smack her. But instead I said to David, "And you, you rascal." God I was good! "I thought you were going to sign autographs tonight, as well."

He looked shifty. "I wanted to. But they said I wasn't famous enough."

' _Does infamous count_?' Evil was now a comedian. ' _He hasn't paid his pub bill in years and he's been passing bad cheques. Fortunately, it's only hookers he's been screwing and they can't really sue.'_

"Too bad, David. Their loss." I bit my lip. This wasn't about me, after all. But then again, it absolutely was.

He shot me a squinty look. "You're buttering me up, Soph. Does this mean you're going to cheap out on the financial settlement?"

I tried to look hurt. "Cheap out? You're not overloading on American cinema again, are you David?"

Kasha couldn't take her eyes off the celebrity signing autographs. "He's gorgeous," she whispered. "Positively gorgeous! On the screen he's a hunk but in person he's to die for. I just want to paw him to death."

"Join the club," I whispered back. "He's available, as well. The most eligible bachelor in Britain. He's friends with David Beckham."

"Really?"

"Really. Very picky, though. He's looking for Cinderella, I'm told."

She straightened her stance. "I could be Cinderella."

"Yes, you could. We're all going to _Bistro One Ninety Queen's Gate_ afterwards so you'll get to chat him up. Put your glass slippers on, Kasha." Bad Sophie. Waving candy in front of a baby.

_'Hopefully enough to choke her,'_ said someone I knew and loved _._

On to the _Gore Hotel,_ then, __ and _Bistro One Ninety Queen's Gate_ , a little slice of London heaven: clattery ambiance, crystal chandeliers reflected in gilded mirrors, and fabulous fresh food – not to mention a parade of celebrities on the prowl. Where better to test my evil ingenious plan? The six of us piled into the restaurant hungry.

"Calves liver!" Potsy pressed the menu to her nose. "With bacon rashers and baby onions. Yum... And sautéed potatoes. Just the ticket."

Todd screwed up his face. "That's disgusting, Auntie. Take it to the kitchen, will you?"

"I absolutely will not. I'm a Londoner through and through and I shall have liver. No fancy French food for me. Snails are bottom feeders, you realize. They eat shit."

Todd howled. "I've never actually heard you say that word, Auntie. But it sounds lovely coming from you. Shit. Only you could turn a foul word into a symphony."

Pinto came alive. "Potsy knew Beethoven. Imagine that."

She elbowed me I the ribs. "I'm going to kill him now, I swear. With my two bare hands."

Pinto winked at me. "Sophie went to the loo this afternoon."

David choked on his scotch. "The loo?"

"Yes, the loo. You English talk about it a lot. And with all the paintings in Sophie's house, I assume she is a lover of art. So, I asked myself, where would lovely Sophie go for an entire afternoon? And the answer was the loo. I'm a very good guesser, you see."

Alright, then. The loo. Artwork. "Oh, I get it!" I said, pleased with myself. "You mean the _Louvre._ "

"For art."

"Yes. Of course. _Du Louvre_ is in Paris, Pinto. Would you like to go there one day? I'd be happy to accompany you."

"Mona Lisa?"

"Yes. Mona Lisa."

"Very well. It's a date. And could you sing me the song please?"

"I'm afraid not. I'm not musical."

"You are my Mona Lisa, lovely Sophie. Very lovely smile. I shall sing it for you then, since you cannot.

"Please don't!"

Pinto pushed back his chair, stood up straight, and unabashedly broke into song.

Mona Lisa, Mona Lisa men have named you.

You're so like the lady with the mystic smile.

Is it only cause you're lonely they have blamed you

For that Mona Lisa strangeness in your smile

Fortunately for our peculiar little party, faces around us began to crack smiles. Pinto could actually sing. Not exactly Nat King Cole but soft enough to conjure up an image of a smoky bar and glamorous people.

Are you warm, are real Mona Lisa

Or just a cold and lonely lovely work of art.

Clapping all around. Even polite whistling.

"Apparently, we're not to be stoned," I told Pinto after he plunked down.

He clutched my leg. "I know more than you think. You should probably let me help."

I slapped his hand.

' _Careful, Sophie,"_ Evil warned _. This may very well be a bloke who loves with his heart not his penis.'_

"I suppose it's time for toasts." I raised my glass. "To Kasha. I want to thank you Kasha for ridding me of this dreary man."

Potsy's sherry spewed from her nose.

Pinto chortled. "I have a toast, too. To lovely Sophie. The Margaret Thatcher of her time."

" _I am not in the business of appeasement!_ " I said in my best Thatcher voice and glasses clinked. We were off to a scorching start. "I think Todd should tell us about his latest adventure in America. About his latest role. International action hero, are you now?"

Todd, who'd turned down the minor part, picked up the cue. "Well, not exactly. I'm this bad guy, actually, in an action flick. A Gene Hackman, of sorts. Character actor and all. I wear a beard and look ghastly but that's what bad guys do, really. Look ghastly." He shot me a quizzical look.

Kasha was on the hook. "I can't imagine you looking ghastly! Not even close."

"Well, it comes and goes," Todd admitted. "It takes a lot of make-up, naturally."

Polite titters. It would take a blast of dynamite to ruin that gorgeous face.

"Who's the lead actor?" asked David, bored. "Chris Pratt?"

"No. Sylvester Stallone. They've brought him out of the mothballs, actually. He's looking rather well, though. Pumped."

"And the lead actress?" asked Kasha, wide-eyed.

"Jennifer Lawrence. Not paired off with old Stallone, thank Christ. Some Auzzie guy who dies in the end. Hemsworth, I think. Anyway, he dies. But Jennifer lives." His eyes pleaded with me for help. Poor honest bugger.

"You're kidding!" Kasha squealed. "I love Jennifer Lawrence! She must be so beautiful up close."

I shook my head at Todd.

"Actually, no. She's disappointingly not. Beady little eyes and very large nose. Honker, really. They do a lot with camera angles these days."

"Oh," said Kasha deflated. She idolized the young American film stars, particularly Jennifer Lawrence.

"Not like you, of course, Kasha. You're absolutely gorgeous. In fact, with everyone's permission, I'm going to call this girl Gorgeous from now on. You wouldn't be offended, would you David?"

David's narrow mouth had taken to twitching. Only a fool could miss the infatuation sloshing in Kasha eyes.

Pinto kissed my cheek.

I punched him on the shoulder. "You're pushing it, buddy."

"Sophie can speak American now," he announced. "She just called me buddy. I take it as the highest compliment."

Just then the waiter arrived with something obscure on a tray. "Appetizer!" he proclaimed. "Gordon Ramsey style!"

"It's an omen." I warned David. "Don't touch it!"

But David had slipped into another world, a world of uncertainty – an entirely new and daunting terrain – and he didn't hear a word.

Later that same evening a soft knock on my master suite door announced a visitor. "Can I come in, Sophie?" Wrapped in her soft pink bathrobe, Kasha was looking coy.

"Yes, of course." I gathered the magazines from the sofa and stacked them on the table.

She plopped down. "I need to talk to someone and David won't do. It's about him, you see."

"I see."

"You won't tell him, will you?"

It was like old times, really, sharing girl secrets and keeping things from David. I could hardly wait. "Hardly."

"David and I aren't getting along."

"I noticed."

She tucked her legs beneath her bottom. "I don't know where to start but I'm just not that sure about David anymore. I know I should be and everything but I'm just not sure now."

"I see. Is there someone else, do you think?"

She giggled. "Maybe."

"Someone I know?"

"Yes."

"Todd?"

"Maybe. I just don't know. I've been thinking about him all night."

_'I told you the girl was simple,'_ said a familiar voice _. 'And I told you to buy her off. Had she left town you'd have both David and Todd now. Not that David is a prize but you could have had him stuffed and mounted above the mantle. And you could point to him at dinner parties and say, 'Alas. That's the poor sod that tried to leave me'. Just tell the hunter no wounds on the face. You'll want him looking his very best.'_

"That's sick," I muttered. "Really, really sick."

Kasha turned all red. "Is it? I suppose it is. But I should get to choose, shouldn't I? And Todd said tonight that I could be a movie star. What do you think about that?"

"If that's what you really want."

"Oh, I do! I really do. Todd said he could get me a screen test. Isn't that exciting, Sophie?"

I faked a smile. "I suppose it is. As I said, if it's what you really want."

"You don't sound that excited for me."

I threw up my hands. "Kasha! You just don't get it, do you? You betrayed me. Had this happened before you ran off with my husband I'd be ecstatic for you. As it is, I pretty much don't care."

That did it. She jumped up and stomped to the door. "You're just jealous, that's all! You envy my great beauty. You are jealous and spiteful because you, Sophie, are just a plain Jane."
Chapter Thirteen

TODD AMBUSHED ME IN THE kitchen the following morning and ushered me to the sitting room. He smelled all spicy, all masculine, and dangerous.

"I'm worried about you, Sophie." He pointed to a chair. "This must be torture for you. With your ex and his girlfriend sleeping under your roof. It's insanity, really, and I want you to come stay at my place."

From my chair I could see the portraits of my ancestors in the hallway, knowing that I'd be joining them there in the end. Had I been the only long-nosed Whitehead to shoot myself in the foot? "It was my own doing."

"And you can't change that?"

"Not even if I wanted to. It's done."

"Your heroism is admirable given that you're talking to a hired assassin. Your hired assassin."

"And my plan is working, you see. I know from Kasha that you've already made great strides. Good work."

"I don't like this, Sophie. I don't like it at all. I'm not good at deceit."

"And I am?"

"I didn't say that. And I don't believe it for a second. What I believe is that you're desperate to regain some sort of order in your life. But this is absolute madness. Insanity! And I'm worried about you."

"What are you saying, Todd? That you want out?"

"Yes. I absolutely do want out. Having said that you know I won't abandon you. If you're holding me to my contract, then..."

"I'm holding you to it."

He was pacing in front of the fireplace now, weaving his circle eights. "I'd feel a lot better if you moved in with me for a while. You could have the run of my smashing condo, really. Your own room with lots of windows overlooking Hyde Park. What would you say to that?"

"It sounds wonderful. But my answer would be no. I realize that my situation here seems bizarre to you but insanity runs in my family and apparently it doesn't skip a generation."

Todd just shook his head.

Shortly after Todd left, the settlement arrived by courier, and David came storming down the stairs waving papers and screaming. "What is this? What kind of fucking nonsense is this?"

I met him in the foyer. "I assume it's the settlement."

"What settlement? This is utter rubbish! There's nothing here at all. Do you take me for a complete fool?"

Evil __ was convulsing. _'He said it, not you.'_

"It's what my solicitor deems fair and equitable."

"Well, your solicitor is crackers. I know your net worth, Sophie, and this is nothing. Not even a drop in the bucket." Tears sprang to his eyes. "I can't believe you'd do this to me! I have Kasha to support."

_'Not for long_ ,' Evil chirped. _'Not for long, you bleeding fool.'_

My mind went whirling. "Well... I guess it's somewhat negotiable."

"Somewhat?" he screeched. "Somewhat? Let me tell you how negotiations work. You've insulted me. You've angered me now. I not only want my half but I want yours as well. And I want this house for Kasha."

' _Stay calm,'_ Evil coached. ' _It will drive him nuts.'_

"This house is mine. It has been in my family for generations. It's not yours to bargain for."

"It's an historic property, Sophie. Invaluable. Prestigious. And Kasha shall have it."

"Over my dead body."

"If you insist."

"You're very angry, David."

"Oh, I'm just warming up. You make me a decent offer or things are going to get messy around here. Very messy."

Evil was giggling. _'Go ahead. Make the mistake of asking him how.'_

"Would you care to elaborate?"

"I'd be delighted!" he hissed. "Your friends, the paparazzi, would be absolutely thrilled to learn of your nasty little drinking problem... the tax evasion... mistreatment of servants. You know, the new Queen of Mean."

"That's ludicrous! Preposterous. Insane. Nobody would believe it."

"That's where you're wrong. People gobble that stuff up like candy. Why do you think the papers print such trash? Because people buy it. Millions of them buy it because they like to read dirt. It makes them feel better about themselves and their pathetic little lives, in some weird sort of way. And reading about rich little scandalous Sophie Whitehead's downward slide will turn them ecstatic. Believe me, it will rock the whole UK."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Try me." He threw the papers towards me and they fluttered to the floor. "Now make me an offer I can't refuse."

Right-o, then. It had been a puny offer as David so nastily stated. But to be truthful I didn't want to give him any money at all, given that he'd be sharing it with Kasha. Soon they'd be traveling the globe, buying villas on the Riviera, and yachts. It was my money and I deserved to keep it. Damn it! I wanted to keep my own money. Was that so bad?

Back at my computer I must have been thinking aloud because Hector was suddenly back and being less than helpful.

'What would happen if you didn't give him any money? It's your money, after all.'

"He'd take me to court and get it anyway."

'Could you kill the court so he couldn't take you there?'

I smiled. "Not likely. The odds are against me and you know all about odds, Hector. There'd only be one of me, and dozens of them. Some with guns."

'I see. Do you have a gun?'

"I do. A little pearl-handled pistol. Not enough fire-power to take on a court of law though."

'It's simple then. Just kill him. Kill him and you don't have to share. You get to keep your money.'

"I don't think so. I'm the one person in the world with a motive. I'd rot in jail. I think it best to try something more civilized first, if you don't mind." I sat slumped at my computer organizing my thoughts.

_'I'll help.'_ Hector volunteered. _'And trust me, Lady, you need help.'_

I typed,

(i)Todd in reluctant, cold feet mode.

Hector: _'Todd is a wimp.'_

Evil: ' _Todd is a gorgeous wimp. I'd overlook a lot to have him in my bed.'_

(ii)David threatening to hurt me even more than he already has.

Evil: _'Not acceptable_. _Tell his mother.'_

Hector: _'Drop a rock into a sock and smack his balls hard. Then eat an apple during a victory ceremony. He'll be on the ground for quite a while, guaranteed. And it will be the best damn apple you've ever eaten, also guaranteed.'_

(iii)Kasha closing in on Todd while stringing David along. Throwing her great power in my face.

Evil: ' _Take back your power. Start wearing skimpy skirts. You have great legs while Kasha's legs come out of her armpits. She's an evil alien but you can't really call her that – in case she has several more sets of arms and legs. Eek!'_

Hector: ' _I say, again, kill. Kill both men and you won't have a problem with the girl. I'm in the books for killing, remember. I'm a hero. And I don't understand what happened to modern man. He's such a bloody coward.'_

(iv)The idea of killing was growing on me, I had to admit, maybe because Hector kept whispering it in my ear. The power of suggestion? It was worth mulling over. I mean, who would ever believe that innocuous little Sophie Whitehead had the guts to kill? I didn't, actually. Blood made me sick. But I did have the resources to hire someone to do my dirty work. On that note, I asked _Google_ to find me a hired killer.

Hector: _'I'm not sure about a virtual killer. Just make sure he guarantees his work. Naturally he'll say he does but what can a person do if he doesn't in the end? Hire a killer to kill the killer?'_

Hum... First hit. On a website, I mean. Very well, then. Instanthitman.com. ' _Professional Contract Killing at Prices You Can Afford. At Instanthitman.com we realize that in today's fast paced world, planning the murder of a friend or family member can be a daunting task._ _That's ok because we're here to help. At Instanthitman.com we pride ourselves on our ability to set up and execute a 'hired hit' which exceeds your expectations. Whether you're looking to exact revenge on a cheating spouse or simply to turn down the volume on that noisy neighbor Instanthitman.com can arrange a contract killing which is both efficient and friendly._ Disclaimer. _This is obviously a joke and please don't kill anybody.'_

Next website. _Hitman.us. 'Hitman is a cruelty-free organization. None of our services have been tested on animals.'_ Funny.

Ask _Yahoo i_ f it's even possible to hire a hitman online and _Yahoo_ answers, ' _Yes it's possible, but usually illegal and always bad.'_

(v)Somehow lost my thirst for blood.

(vi)Call my solicitor and tell her to up the ante.

Later that same night Evil came nattering into my dream. _'I'm trying to write a novel about you, Sophie. And I'm trying to create tension. A heroine is supposed to have something at stake. What do you have at stake, do you think? Is somebody trying to kill you? Yes. I think I shall write that in. David is going to have you killed. It makes more sense to me that he should have you killed, rather than the reverse. That way he inherits the works. Kasha would like that, I know... although inheriting your jewelry and clothing may not be nearly as exciting to her as stealing them. What's that you say, Sophie? That your dignity is at stake? That right now you are the laughing stock of London? You want to hold your head up high again? Well, I could likely accommodate you. With a noose.'_

When I knocked on the guest suite door the following morning, David barked, "Did you come here to humiliate me again?"

"You don't have to growl. I came to say sorry." I bit down on my tongue like a bull shark. It had been a puny offer and I knew it. It's just that it was hard to pry my fingers off my own money. "I'm making you a new offer. One I think you'll accept. Not my house but enough compensation to buy a castle if you want one."

He opened the door. "Thanks, Soph. I was a bit cruel, I'm afraid. I'm sorry too."

"I suppose we could hug."

He laughed. "Do you think that one day we might be friends? I suppose it's a lot to ask, really, but I do miss your humour."

"What? Kasha isn't funny?"

"Not really."

"Well, laugh _at_ her, then. That should be fun."

"You're mean, Soph."

"I've had practice."

I found Potsy in the kitchen she shared with Rocky. "Todd has invited us all to _The Fat Duck_ tonight, Pots. To celebrate your birthday. I've asked David and Kasha along as well, since they're houseguests and it would be rude to leave them behind. I hope you don't mind."

"I absolutely do mind! I have no intention of spending my birthday in the company of that wretched pair."

"And if I told you that I had a plan?"

"I would say you're daft. Absolutely daft. You're not good at plans, Sophie. Mostly they just backfire in your face."

"This one's different." Well, it was. And she needn't stand there looking at me all incredulous and such.

"Remember when you plotted against Mary Beth Adams?"

I could feel red creeping into my face. "Yes. And it almost worked. I was eleven, remember, not exactly a seasoned plotter." I parked my bottom on a stool at the island. Potsy wasn't going to give up until my whole body turned red.

"You were getting even, as I recall. As I recall, Mary Beth had pulled a chunk of hair out of your head during a spat and you were getting even by throwing a lavish party with mutual friends and not inviting her."

"Yup." Boy! She was going to tell it all and Rocky's Doberman ears had perked right up.

"You went to great lengths, as I recall. You decorated elaborately with flowers and balloons and streamers and had me fancy cooking for a week."

I hung my head.

"And when it came time for the party no one showed up. Mary Beth had learned of your attempt to shut her out and trumped you with a party of her own. If my memory serves me correctly she held a couple of aces. Prince William and Prince Harry."

I screwed up my face. "Thanks, Potsy. I needed that. I feel a lot better now."

Rocky, who'd been scrubbing a pot at the kitchen sink, convulsed. "You missed a party with the lads? That's very funny!"

"Ha, ha!" I said facetiously. "And because Potsy was kind enough to humiliate me I won't feel one bit guilty about having invited a couple of unpopular guests tonight. They'll go in the Jag and since the Bentley is back, Pots, you and I shall ride along with Pinto. He's been invited to dinner as well."

She threw up her hands. "I don't know anything anymore! I don't know whether Pinto is going to be a dinner guest or a chauffeur or your date. And I don't know whether he'll have the common sense to take the keys out of the ignition or not. It's all too confusing to me."

"Todd has also invited a surprise dinner guest. He wouldn't tell me who."

"Blimey!" said Rocky. "I'd love to go to dinner at _The Fat Duck._ Heston Blumenthal and all. What? One hundred fifty quid a head? It's my dream."

"But he's not Gordon Ramsey," I said wryly.

Potsy shot her long haughty nose in the air. "Am I allowed to bring a guest along?"

"Of course! It's your birthday."

"In that case I'm going to bring Rocky. He'll liven up you lot."

"Absolutely. We'd be honoured."

Rocky's smile started at his handlebar mustache and spiraled up his narrow craggy face. In his mind he'd just won the Euro Millions Lottery.

I mouthed the words to Potsy. "Nice catch."

"I know what you're up to."

"No, you don't."

"Yes I do. And it won't work. It never does with you."

Continuing on then, we now have a party of six heading for Berkshire with Todd awaiting us there. Over my shoulder I said to Rocky, who was madly chewing gum in the back seat of the Bentley, "Todd has ordered the tasting menu. It's a four-hour feast."

"Blimey. I could likely teach those lads a thing or two."

Oh. Oh. "I'm sure you could. But let's get through tonight and you can make notes. Email them tomorrow. I'm certain they'd be impressed with your creativity."

"Heston would. Bloody bounder. Stole my recipes, he did. His new cookery has my stamp all over it."

I choked back a giggle. "That trifle the other night was brilliant. What's your secret, if you don't mind sharing?"

Pinto reached over and clutched my leg. "Love! The secret to good food is love."

I slapped his hand. "If you wouldn't mind sharing, Rocky?"

"Well, the secret to trifle is drink," he said. "Any fool can make a pound cake so I just order one from the bakery. And I use prepared custard and berries drenched in sherry. Then I lace the cake with everything in the liquor cabinet and top it with aerosol whipping cream. At that time of night nobody bloody well cares. They'd eat dung in Cointreau."

"That's very reassuring, Rocky. I hope that's not what we ate."

"With me you never know."

The birthday party for my dear friend was destined for failure from the beginning, I now realize. It was a recipe for disaster, Sophie style, as the chemistry was all wrong: David and Kasha, quarrelling lovers, with their backs to one another; Potsy and Rocky, aficionados from different parts of the brain; Sophie and Pinto, a world apart, one from the Louvre the other from the loo; and lastly, lone wolf Toddy who kept circulating like a hawk. He barely sat in his chair.

"You want me," he whispered in my ear as he rounded the table. "You're madly in love with me, SS."

"What is it that he's saying to you?" Pinto asked. "He sounds like a bee. Buzzzzz is what it sounds like to me. Does he not speak human?"

Sandwiched between Pinto and Potsy I had to be careful. "He has a little trouble. It's a birth defect. He's not comfortable in social situations. Where there's noise."

"But he's an actor!"

"Well, yes. That's what saves him, you see. It's rather like someone who stutters yet can manage to sing. He can actually read lines without buzzing."

Potsy drove her pointed shoe into my calf. "Not funny."

Across the table, Kasha, the budding movie star, was occupying two chairs with her great huge gown and was leaning into Todd like the Tower of Pisa, drinking in his every word. He winked at me.

Potsy smacked her lips. "I saw that. And like I said before, I know what the two of you are up to."

"No, you don't. You're only as good as a guess."

"Better. And I hope I don't have to testify against you in court."

Rocky leaned around her. "Court, you say? I've been there a few times myself."

"I'll bet you have," I quipped.

The plot thickened. Todd was seated between Kasha and an empty chair and he suddenly rose to his feet. "I've told you all there is to be a surprise guest this evening."

Pinto couldn't contain his excitement. "Could it be Sir Paul McCartney?"

"No," I said. "He's sitting right behind you. So, it's not Paul."

Paul stood up, tapped Pinto on the shoulder, and they shook hands.

Pinto beamed. "I could die now!"

"Don't. You won't want to miss tonight."

Enter the lovely Lady Aimes. An absolute stunner, a Joan Collins type, she strode into the room full speed, like an assured mare amongst a herd of stallions. She stopped briefly to plant a soft kiss on her sister's forehead before rounding the table to join her son. Dripping in diamonds, she adjusted the heavy jeweled bracelets anchoring her arms. I doubted she could to hoist a glass of wine without wincing.

"I hate her," Potsy hissed. "I absolutely hate her! I can't imagine why Todd's brought her here tonight. He knows how I feel."

I knew how Potsy felt as well. She'd told me often enough. Her sister, Jessica, had stolen the man Potsy loved, rendering her a spinster. A striking woman, Potsy fell just short of her sister's great beauty.

"She stole my title." Potsy whined.

Oh dear. She was now going to bore me with a story I'd heard a thousand times before.

"And he died just days after the wedding, leaving her incredibly wealthy. She pretended to be sad but I knew better. Shortly after the funeral she met sheik Ali Baba and Toddy came along nine months later. And I'm here to tell you that dark-skinned Toddy looks nothing like the man she tried to pass off as his father, a pale-eyed albino of a man. She finally gave up on that story after discovering that nobody cared. But the point is, I loved Herbert. He was mine and she stole him away."

I woke up from my nap. "An absolute thief!" Well, what was I to say? That she needed to get over it? Not if I wanted to live. And it was difficult to eat without a tongue. "An absolute thief," I reiterated.

"We have a lot of thieves in Nigeria," Pinto volunteered. "Internet thieves. They give us a bad name."

What did I tell you? Potsy elbowed me in the ribs. Meanwhile, Rocky was arguing with the server regarding the third course. "Where's the quail? Jelly of quail, the menu says. This is not quail. This is cheap chicken liver from a tin. And what the fuck is oak moss? We're supposed to have crayfish cream for the fourth. What are you trying to pull here?"

The restaurant quieted to a hush.

"Get your date under control," I said to Potsy, through grinding teeth. "Or I'm going to smash him in the face." I then flashed my best plastic smile to the other guests at the table. "Why don't we drink a toast to Potsy on her birthday. Happy Birthday, Pots. Happy fifty whatever." I raised my champagne flute.

"Happy eighty-four," said her sister. "That's what she is today."

"What a lot of rubbish!" shouted Potsy. "I'm only seventy-three."

Jessica proudly beamed. "You see? I'm the only one that can get the absolute truth out of my sister."

Potsy turned all red. "I hate her. I absolutely hate her."

"So you say."

Having given his chair to his mother, Todd now slipped his arm around the back of Kasha's chair and was whispering in her ear.

"No!" she squealed. "I don't believe you!"

"Believe it gorgeous."

"Really?" Her eyes frosted over like fresh ice on a pond. "You would do that for me? You've given me lots to think about." To her left, David – never in his gorgeous aristocratic life having been ignored – had fallen into a sulk.

"Todd is such a hog!" I said. "Look at poor David. He's white as a ghost."

Pinto liked that. "In Africa we eat hogs. We rip out their bellies and cook them on a spit."

"How quaint!" Potsy shot her long naughty nose in the air. "I'm sure you'll have us all over to Africa for a lovely hog roast when you marry Sophie."

My turn to kick. I was going to kill her, I swear.

Just then Vanessa Redgrave stopped by the table to chat. She put her long perfect arms around Todd's neck and spoke into his ear. "My dear delicious man! You're not getting any uglier, it seems. You must be fighting the girls off with a stick."

"With a log," Todd said playfully. "It takes a log now, Van."

Van? Well, she had played his mom in a movie or two. But my dear delicious man? Why wasn't he _my_ dear delicious man? I felt left out. Across the table, Kasha was basking in celebrity aura while I was left to contend with the paws of Pinto, a certified letch. He leaned over and started to lick my neck.

" _Mona Lisa, Mona Lisa_ ..."

I pushed back my chair. "Todd! Outside! Tout de suite."

"This isn't working," I said under a sky that was clouding over and with storm clouds brewing about. "We have several courses to go and by that time Pinto will have licked me like a new born calf. I can't take it anymore."

"You're the one who wanted to play house, Sophie. I'm afraid you've got poor Pinto horny as a Billy goat. Shame on you!"

I slugged him on the shoulder. "You're not helping! I need a solution, not an accusation. I'm miserable. You're happy as a clam shamelessly flirting with Kasha and signing autographs and talking to important people while I'm being licked to death by a scratchy tongue. It isn't fair!"

He wrapped his arms around me then and held me tight. "Do you want to call it off, Sophie? I mean, I'm willing. Can't wait, in fact. Done. This whole silly thing is done. We can now resume a normal life. And you can move in with me and stay as long as you like in my comfy king-sized bed."

It was tempting, I had to admit. Dim lighting... soft music... Todd pouring champagne into icy flutes while I in my fancy nightgown hid in the bathroom. There should be a law against starting all over again. "That's quitting, I'm afraid. And I'm no quitter."

"It may seem like an eternity."

"Yes, an eternity. Keep up the egregious flirting then and I'll go back to my lowly station and get my neck licked. Unless you have any other brilliant suggestions? I mean, I'm stuck, really."

"Yes. I do have a suggestion, as a matter of fact. Get absolutely sloshed. Drink a barrel of wine and soon you won't know who's licking your neck or if it's even being licked at all. It's called wine amnesia and it works every time. Trust me, I've tried it." He held my face in his hands and kissed me – slowly, deliberately, for-everly – just as David came hurrying out the door for a cig. After an awkward pause he said,

"Well, you're a busy girl this evening, aren't you Soph? Pinto _and_ Todd?"

"I'm trying to stay ahead of Kasha. She seems to be cleaning up." Zing.

"You're not funny, Soph. Just mean. Very mean spirited."

"I see. And what were you just now?"

He sighed. "Defensive. Rotten. I'm sorry."

"Me too." With that I made a mad dash for the door.

Todd was absolutely, one hundred percent correct about wine barrels. Once you fall into one you simply don't care to climb out. It's like floating on a cloud, although I've never actually met anybody who successfully floated on a cloud. I've thought about it a lot though, especially on airplanes when a bank of clouds seems just within my reach. I think about leaving the plane and simply coasting to my destination on a cloud.

Evil was drunk too and talking drivel in a Scottish accent. She sounded like Sean Connery. ' _This is heavenly, Lassie! Cloud floating_. _I can't remember when we've had quite so much fun! Phooey on David and Todd and The African horse. What do they know anyway? How to scratch their balls? We know how to float on clouds, an exact science. Professional cloud floaters, that's what we are, Lassie.'_ She giggled. ' _Nobody knows how to do this but us, you realize. We'll need to patent ourselves when we sober up.'_

"Sophie!" I felt a sharp elbow to my ribs. "You're talking to yourself." Potsy was looming over me. "Now sit up in your chair and stop talking poppycock. Enough nonsense about clouds."

I rubbed my eyes. "What course are we on?"

"Nine."

"What is it?"

"Macerated strawberries. But don't fret about it. Pinto will eat it for you just as he has done all the rest."

"What? Pinto ate my food?"

"You weren't going to. You were too busy talking to clouds."

"Where's Pinto?"

"He's outside with Rocky."

"Why are they outside?"

"Rocky got evicted. He can't come back inside. Ever."

"Whatever for?" I asked in a little girl voice. I was so ashamed!

"He went into the kitchen to accost Heston. Told him how to cook."

"Oh, no!"

"Oh, yes. He did. Our name is mud here now."

"Where's David? And Kasha?"

"They've gone. Had a terrible row. I think over Toddy but I'm not sure."

"And Todd? Where's he gone?"

"To take his mother home. We sort of made up tonight, Jessica and I. Not completely, but sort of."

"You did? And I missed it?"

"Not all of it. At one point you sat up in your chair and hollered, 'Spot on! It's about time. You two old ducks have three feet in the grave."

"I didn't!"

"You did. You absolutely did."

"I'm so ashamed!"

"It gets worse. Or better. Depending on your outlook."

"No!"

"You invited Jessica to dinner next Saturday. To your Kensington home."

"I didn't!"

"You did. There are witnesses."

"What did she say to that?"

"She accepted. There was nothing I could say. Toddy will bring her around in the afternoon."

"I'm a rather hospitable drunk then, it seems."

"Well, yes and no. You waffled back and forth."

"I'm so ashamed! I'll never drink again."

"You were our entertainment for the evening, I have to say. But you missed the best part of all when you nodded off. You know that American film chap, the pulpy fiction lad?"

"You don't mean Quentin Tarantino!"

"Yes! That's him. He came by the table to chat with Toddy. Told Todd to ring him tomorrow. Has a part for him in mind. A big part. Leading man. In America. It's the big role he's been waiting for."

I deflated like a sagging balloon. "I missed Quentin Tarantino?"

"You did dear. You were busy with the clouds. But it looks like we may get the chance to see him again if all goes well."

Pinto came into the restaurant then and plunked down beside me. "I have a question for you, lovely Sophie. When does hell freeze over in London? Is it in the wintertime?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because that's the day we get married, you said. You've promised yourself to me!"

Just then the waiter wheeled Potsy's cake in on a trolley and Pinto rose to lead the Happy Birthday serenade. Sir Paul McCartney joined him.

Having safely delivered us home with only minor traffic violations, and several potential accidents successfully avoided, Pinto sprinted around the car to open my door. "Do you want to walk off the wine, Miss Sophie? A tour of the back gardens perhaps? I have yet to have the pleasure."

"I'll come, too." Rocky had sulked during the trip home but suddenly came alive. "I have yet to have the pleasure either."

Pinto shook his head. "No you won't. We've had quite enough of you tonight. Go to bed."

"Well!" Potsy was indignant. "I guess we know when we're not wanted. Come on, Rocky. Leave the lovebirds be. I'll make tea in the kitchen and we'll celebrate your last night."

"I suppose I'm to be sacked, then?" he squeaked.

"It's more than suppose. You're lucky your things aren't on the lawn."

I grabbed my jumper and pulled it over my head. "I think a moon walk is in order. I'm so ashamed I won't be able to sleep."

Pinto held out his arm and I locked mine through it. "Miss Sophie. I am honoured." Just inside the back gate he whistled. "Wow! It's magnificent! Never have I seen such great beauty. Lush hedges. Rose gardens. Huge trees. Statues with penises."

It was magnificent, my garden, and on that early September morning we were greeted by a soft gentle breeze and the sweet scent of freshly clipped grass.

"You're very fortunate, Miss Sophie, to come from such wealth."

"I am. Absolutely. And I try to give back. I sponsor many charities but it's hardly enough. I still feel guilty most of the time. Especially knowing there are people in the world with so little. Some with nothing. I'm always looking for ways to do more."

"Might I be a cause?"

"What is it that you need, Pinto?"

"You."

"Well, you can't have me. I'm not available to anybody at the moment. I'm mending a broken heart, you see."

"I do see. And he's not worthy. I am worthy. You should pick me."

"You're a lovely man. But I don't think so."

"You are not seeing the real Pinto! The real Pinto..."

"Yes?" The real Pinto was magnificent, really, of muscular build, erect carriage, and with incredibly secretive brown eyes. "Yes? The real Pinto? What does the real Pinto love?"

"Everything! Absolutely everything! The real Pinto is a lover of life! He loves good food and wine, music and beautiful women. Especially beautiful women."

I smiled. " _Mona Lisa_? Obviously, Nat King Cole is a favorite."

He beamed at me. "I like all kinds of music! Do you know that I can do the moonwalk?"

"No!"

He released his arm and backed away. "Michael Jackson! Watch carefully." He proceeded to power his feet backwards across the grass with great style and grace.

People always told me be careful what you do

Don't go around breaking young girls hearts

I clapped. "Bravo! Encore!"

Like a tightly wound top he spun around several times before sliding his way backwards to me. "A kiss for that, Billy Jean?"

"Not a chance. A powerful performance, nevertheless. I'll book you for an upcoming charity event."

He hung his head. "I'd rather have a kiss."

"Very well. On the cheek."

He delivered on his word. A very soft, gentle peck. "Sucker!"

I punched him on the arm. "That's not very nice!"

"You have a soft heart, lovely Sophie. It's what I like about you most. And I'm going to sing for you now." He removed his hat, placed it on the statue of David's knob, and fluffed up his dark curly hair. He took me in his arms, held me close, then twirled me away. "Remember. Listen to the words. Very important."

Well, it's a marvelous night for a moondance

With the stars up above in your eyes

A fantabulous night for a moondance

Neath the cover of October skies

He picked me up by the waist and swung me high in the air.

Oh, I wanna make love to you tonight

I can't wait till the morning has come

"In your dreams, Pinto!"

"Don't be so sure."

The two of us went swaying together on slippery grass as he crushed me against him. "I mean it, lovely Sophie. In time you will come to desperately love me."

With sufficient effort I managed to push him away. "Desperate is the operative word, Pinto. I would have to be bloody well desperate."

He tackled me then and we fell laughing to the ground together in a heap. And high above us a lone star twinkled while a couple on their bedroom balcony stood glaring disapprovingly down. David and Kasha were shaking their heads.

Journal Entry, September 29

Damn Todd. He knows I'm subject to suggestion. Wine amnesia. I missed a dinner I'd been dying for. Kasha got to eat it and I didn't. Yet another of her victories. I must have looked a dunce, talking to clouds and sliding down in my chair. What an idiot! Well, at least I got to sing happy birthday with Sir Paul McCartney, who is now on my list of prospective husbands, I think. Our children would be born old but at least they could sing. Pinto can also sing. He's precious. And about Todd's kiss...

Evil was not feeling well at all. _'You made us drink too much, Sophie. I have a terrible headache now and I think I'm going to be sick. Wine is meant for sipping, not guzzling like a pirate. But we need to keep our secret from the Russians and Chinese. Can you imagine what might happen to planet Earth if ever that got out? War of the Clouds? I think I'm going to be sick._
Chapter Fourteen

INTUITIVELY, I WAS SENSING THAT somehow something was going to go wrong. Why? Because it always did. It seemed to me that Todd was becoming overly-intrigued by the overly-intriguing Kasha and he was not that great an actor. Not Olivier, you understand. No, all Todd could manage to do was slay aliens and he had a stunt double for that. I had every reason to be edgy. With Todd now performing the mating dance of the black-footed albatross I had everything to lose.

Plan B. Could it be less effective that Plan A? What I needed, it seemed, was a back-up man. A wealthy back-up man, since Kasha's great greed ruled her. The problem? Not too many wealthy men wanted into such a scheme. And I refused to proposition, as I'd done with Todd, to no avail it now seemed. Hmm. Back-up-man didn't actually have to be wealthy, he just had to act wealthy. Exactly! I needed a man willing to play wealthy, to fake it. A man who could lie through his molars. Light bulb! Perhaps under my own roof was this back-up-man, if he wanted to keep his job. I decided to assert my authority.

Evil jumped in. ' _Keep hammering on loyalty, Sophie. Loyalty. It's his Achilles heel. And don't expect much.'_

"Please sit down, Pinto," I began in a squeaky voice. "And I shall pour the coffee."

Pinto plopped down in the opposite Roaring Lion armchair where he leaned forward, curiosity exploding in his eyes. "Coffee? In the sitting room? To what do I owe this great honour?"

I cleared my throat. "I've been negligent as an employer, I'm afraid, Pinto. While I've included you in social events, as I did with Kasha too, we haven't really spent much time together on business matters. Just the two of us. I was wondering how you are liking it here and such. What changes you might like to see from your point of view. As an employee."

' _You forgot loyalty,'_ droned __ Evil _. 'You were supposed to start with loyalty'._

Pinto accepted his coffee – three creams and four sugars – his hand engulfing the little cup. "Well," he began. "I desperately like it here. Desperately like it. And I like to get to kiss your cheek in the moonlight. A lot."

Guess I should have started with loyalty. "There's nothing you'd change then?"

He vehemently shook his head. "Not a thing. It is died and gone to heaven here. I have died and gone to heaven."

So far, so good.

"And you?" he continued. "Are you happy with me?"

"I am. You're driving is improving daily."

'Your nose is growing, Pinocchio.'

He slurped his coffee. "It is a small car, the Bentley. I am used to a stretch limousine. More people."

"Oh, really? It seems to me you'd do better with something on a track."

He laughed. "That's the second thing I love about you. You have a kind heart and you are funny."

Evil kicked me.

"And you are very loyal. That's what I like most about you."

"I am loyal!" he shouted. "Growing up in Nigeria we were taught to be loyal! Always loyal! Yes, loyal."

Big deep breath. "I'm wondering if you'd like to expand your job description here, Pinto. Like taking on other responsibilities. You could make more money, really."

He smacked his lips. "Such as? Helping Madam Potsy, perhaps? Helping Edward in the garden? I could definitely do more. I'm tired of playing chess with Charlie and having him beat me. I'm supposed to be smarter than a centenarian. Yes! I could definitely do more."

'Red flag, Sophie. Centenarian is a big word.'

"Very well, then. I'm thinking of making you an offer."

"What kind of offer?"

"An offer of money. A rather large sum, I was thinking, in exchange for a favour. What would you say to that?"

He tossed me an evil grin. "Is this favour legal?"

"Yes, of course." Well, in my mind there was a clear, albeit thin, line between what was devious and what was illegal. Devious simply meant underhanded and one couldn't possibly go to jail for that. One could only go to jail if this devious underhanded behavior led to a crime. I again cleared my throat, crossed my legs, and put my sweaty palms together. "It's an unusual favour, I realize. But one for which you'd be paid very well. You could name your price, really."

A look of astonishment crossed his handsome face. "I could name my price? And it's legal?" He leapt up from his chair and crossed the room to the crackling fireplace. He looked commanding in his grey chauffeur's uniform. "I could name my price?"

"Within reason."

"I knew there was a catch! There had to be. Within reason you say. What is this _in reason_ amount do you think? One hundred pounds? One thousand pounds? Ten thousand pounds? One hundred thousand pounds?"

"Somewhere in the middle."

"In the middle of what? I gave you four figures and there is no middle. Three figures has a middle. Four cannot."

"All right, then." This man was work. "Somewhere in the middle of the middle two."

He nodded satisfactorily. "Five thousand pounds. Why didn't you say so in the first place? You could have saved me a lot of thinking. And this favour is legal? You swear to that?"

I nodded.

"Do I get the money first?"

"No. Absolutely not. You have to trust me on that. You know I have the money. You know that I'm an honest person and will pay you in full. But only in installments. You give me a report, I'll pay you for it. I'll pay you per report."

"Does it have to be in writing, this report?"

"No. It will be a meeting. You will tell me your successes and I'll pay you accordingly."

He rolled his eyes. "What if I invent these successes, lovely Sophie? I could just tell you what you want to hear and take your money. Did you ever think of that?"

"Not if you want to continue your employment here, you won't. And don't ever think that I'm stupid."

He violently shook his head. "Oh, no! I think you are very smart. And beautiful too. And talented. And funny. Friendly..."

"Yes, Pinto." I cut him off. "Thank you, but your flattery is not required. Loyalty is, however. We need to be loyal to each other. There's much at stake here."

He narrowed his eyes. "Mind sharing?"

Hmm. "I'm wondering..." God. This was harder than delivering an address to an angry political mob. "Do you happen to like Kasha at all? I'm wondering."

Pinto again shook his head and turned his back to me. "I do _not_ like Kasha. Kasha is a husband thief. I do _not_ like her at all."

"But if I paid you to like her, what then?"

He scratched his ear. "That's what you're paying me for? To like Kasha?"

"Yes. There's more to it than that but basically, I'm paying you to like Kasha. To make friends with her and... to entice her away from David. And perhaps Todd too."

Pinto turned to face me then. And roared, I mean roared, with laughter. "That's so funny! You are so very funny, lovely Sophie. David _and_ Todd? Do you mean to tell me that Kasha has both your men now?" He was holding his side with his free hand and howling.

"I'm sorry but I fail to see the humour."

"David _and_ Todd?" he reiterated, his cup rattling on its saucer. "Do you pay double for two? I think you should, you know."

I was losing patience. "Mathematically and scientifically, you are wrong, Pinto. There is only one task at hand. One. You are to attract Kasha. To entice her and to lure her over to your side. Even if Kasha has twelve men in her camp you have only one task. To bring Kasha to your camp." Whew! I wiped the sweat from my brow.

"Twelve men, you say?" He nodded. "I could take Kasha away from twelve men. No problem. But you're forgetting just one thing. What if Kasha, like David, doesn't like Africans?" He aggressively slurped his coffee. "And there is still the matter of that Todd boy. He is not in love with Kasha. Todd boy is in love with you. He drools like a fool every time he sees you. In Nigeria we lock drooling fools away. But trust me. You are not in danger of his preferring Kasha to you. Do you not have eyes?"

I didn't see it at all. "I'm not sure where exactly Kasha stands on the matter of Africans, Pinto. I've never heard her say anything bad. Have you?"

He shook his magnificent head. "No. Never."

"And she likes money. And money trumps colour. It speaks to her as only the best drug can. Money excites her. Money controls her. And assuredly she can be bought. We have only to convince her that you have a lot of it."

"How?"

"I have a plan, actually, but first I have to ask a question. Are you any good at acting, Pinto? Could you act out a role, like in a play, do you think? Or a movie?"

"Acting?" He again rolled his eyes. "Acting? Lovely Sophie, you have no idea how great I am at acting. I am the best!"

The next step was a bit tricky. "We have a little work to do first. And please don't take this the wrong way, Pinto, because you are a very dear, precious man. And you have loads of personality although it needs a little fine-tuning. Would you be cross with me if I suggested that we work on your table manners a bit? Just a bit. You're almost there, really. And we don't have time for formal etiquette lessons but I can teach you the essentials, if you'd consent."

He cocked his head sideways at me. "Etiquette lessons? Is that like tennis? I think I would very much like tennis!"

"It is a bit like tennis. Just with forks and knives instead of a racquet. Learning to use them and such."

' _And not to call your beverages from six inches away,'_ Evil added. __

Roadblock. A game involving cutlery management didn't sound thrilling to Pinto. "Forks and knives?"

"Exactly! Table etiquette. It's actually quite a lot of fun."

He pawed his foot on the floor. "I only wanted tennis lessons."

"I appreciate your loyalty," I called behind him as he stomped from the room.

Potsy bitterly complained as she laid the table in my master suite. "I don't know why you have to have a special dinner here tonight with Pinto."

"I told Pinto I'd help him with table manners and we may as well begin tonight, since there are no other plans." It was a rainy evening and the corner fireplace was crackling in readiness. "I'm sure you'd agree he could use a little help."

She couldn't keep a straight face. "I wouldn't count on the Royal Standard if I were you. Just supply him with a bib. And a pitchfork."

"You know it's not going to be intimate, Pots. You won't discover anything shocking if you want to deliver our meals. Or just send them up with one of the maids if you prefer. If you're getting too old for the stairs."

She cracked me on the head with a spoon. "Don't be cheeky. I'll race you up the stairs anytime you like and, rest assured, I'll win."

Pinto was standing in the doorway, all smiles. "You likely would, Madam Potsy. Would you like to race me now?"

Potsy left the room in a huff.

I pointed to the stuffed armchair where Pinto plopped down. "She's confused. It's not personal, really. Potsy prefers a hierarchy. It's how this house was run for many years. Servants were servants. Chauffeurs were just that, chauffeurs. She was not pleased at all when Kasha came along and was given a family status, such as dining at the table with us, hanging out with me in my quarters and such. She feels the same about you. You are supposed to be in the garage or in your room at the back of the house and to serve as chauffeur. Period. I don't know that you understand her thinking but it's absolutely the way she feels. Old fashioned, I guess you'd say. But definitely not personal. Potsy has a huge heart. A strict heart, but huge."

Pinto's eyes salivated towards the bottle of Beaujolais on the table. "Hmm. I will maybe forgive her after a little wine. Do we have only one colour?" In searching the room he happily discovered a silver ice bucket containing Dom Perignon and Chablis, with a bottle of Remy Martin anchoring the little buffet.

"We're going to open the champagne first, Pinto. Have you ever done that before?"

"Oh, yes!" he exclaimed. "With a sword. It's how we do it in Nigeria."

"That sounds like fun," I said patiently. "But have your ever done it with a tea towel and a slow turning motion of the bottle?"

"That doesn't sound like much fun," he said with a down-turned mouth. "Swords are fun."
Chapter Fifteen

THE FOLLOWING MORNING WHEN THE number appeared on caller display I knew that my life had forever changed. I texted Potsy in the kitchen and asked her to come upstairs. "Henry's gone. He passed during the night in his sleep."

"Oh, my god!" she cried. "Oh, my god!" She locked me in a bear hug. "I'm so very sorry, Sophie."

We stood there clinging to one another and holding each other up. "Well, he was eighty-eight," I finally said, retrieving a tissue box to share. We sat down on the opposing chintz sofas in my cozy suite. "And the last eighteen months were very difficult for him, sometimes knowing where he was and sometimes not. But always wanting to come home. Now he has. He'll be here with us now, Pots. Henry has finally come home."

"He's been released from his prison. He's finally free."

David came running as soon as he heard. "Potsy just told me about Henry. I'm so sorry, Sophie!"

I sunk into his arms. "The Jag is legally yours now, David. And he also left you money. We never had the will changed."

His eyes filled with hurt and he looked like a little boy. "Do you think this is about money? Or possessions? I can't believe you think so little of me!"

Hmm. Let me see. "I'm sorry, David. I don't know what to think. I'm numb."

He pulled me tight against him. "Let me help you, Sophie. I can help with the arrangements. I helped with your mum's and I can help with Henry's as well. We'll just repeat the process. You're in no condition to make decisions by yourself."

"It's all planned. Henry and Mum planned it. But there are final arrangements to make, for certain. Potsy said she'd help."

"Potsy is in very bad shape. She's literally bawling down there in the kitchen. And she's by herself because I've sacked Rocky. He was a major mistake I now realize. However, I think we should allow Potsy the proper time to grieve and that you and I should head out to finalize the arrangements. We'll take the Jag for old time's sake. What do you say to that?"

"What about Kasha?"

"We're not exactly speaking at the moment. Bit of a tiff. It will pass, I think. It usually does."

Just as we were about to pull out of the driveway, Todd came roaring up in his Porsche. He jumped out and rushed to the passenger side of David's inherited Jag.

"I came straightaway, Sophie! Straightaway! I'm so very sorry about Henry. I can't believe he's gone. He looked so good the other day!"

"Thanks, Todd. He did look good, yes. David has generously offered to help with the arrangements. We're off now. But Potsy could use your support. She's a bit of a mess, I'm afraid."

"I shall attend to her straightaway. And Kasha, too," he said with a glint of the devil in his eye.

"I hate that chap," David barked as we drove away. "Despise him, in fact."

"Loathe and detest him too?"

We managed to share a laugh on the worst day of my life.

"I'm going to mow down a few reporters if you don't mind, Soph. The bloody fools."

"Be my guest."

At the gatehouse white-haired Charlie hollered, "Take good care of her, David. She'll need you now. It's not too late to behave, you know." His eyes twinkled.

"I shall." He managed to drive through the mob, careful not to permanently wound anybody. "I don't know why I did it, Soph. It's you that I love I now realize."

"Funny that. A little late, don't you think?"

"You may be right. But I can't help remembering the good times we had together. I remember the first time I saw you at the Folgers's party. You were about thirteen at the time, just a skinny little thing. Very skinny legs."

"Ta, David."

"You were standing alone while most of the other girls were dancing. You looked scared, actually. Your knees were knocking."

"I _was_ scared. I'm an only child, remember. Even at boarding school my only friend was Churchill. The girls made fun of me there."

"Yes, you've told me. And that's too bad but I suspect there was an element of jealousy involved. You're very beautiful. Daunting, in fact. It would be difficult for any girl to be your friend." He grinned at me with those incorrigible blue eyes.

"We did have some good times, David And bad times, too. So, I hope you'll understand my confusion. It was like a disappointing book, actually, our relationship. It started off fantastically while the middle was mediocre at best. And the tragic ending spoiled the whole damn thing."

"I love you, Soph. You know I do. And I miss you. I miss your sarcasm, believe it or not. And I especially miss your eccentricity. I mean, nobody sits in the dark and plays _Pink Floyd_ before midnight. It's sacrilegious. Blasphemous. It's three a.m. music if it's anything at all."

"You don't see the irony in that? _Wish You Were Here?_ I was usually waiting for you to come home. Worrying about you. Miserable without you."

He shook his head. "I don't know, Soph. Given a second chance I'd likely do things differently. I never quite grew up somehow. Even after we got married I continued on in the same old reckless pattern. I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you. Genetically I'm weak, I guess. And I know you'll never understand this but I have a strange fascination with Kasha. It's not deep. But it's you that I love."

"Oh, that explains everything! I feel so much better now.

"I just thought it might be worth a second try."

I looked over at his beautiful blond head. "You have no idea how much you've hurt me, do you David? None at all."

We rode the rest of the way in silence.

Journal Entry, September 30

_Dear Henry is gone. He is at peace. No longer will he wake up not knowing where he is or how to get home._ _He is home. Today I buried his floppy hat and his pocket watch in the garden where he'll forever be with his robins. And they'll know he's there with them and stop looking for the treats he would bring from the kitchen. Henry is at rest. It is an era past._

I awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of someone crying. It was Evil, sobbing. _'There will never be another Henry, Sophie. There isn't another person on the planet even remotely in his league. He was so very precious. So caring and kind. So generous of spirit and giving. I understand that he really had to go but I miss him. I don't know what we'll ever do without him. Who will we be without Henry?'_

Evil and I sobbed ourselves to sleep.

As per Henry's request, there would be no great fuss over his passing, just a simple ceremony at the funeral home and his ashes taken to the cemetery. He would be buried next to Mum and Catherine, their stillborn child. I was to be buried next to my sister and the plot beside me had been reserved for David, although I presumed that the cemetery manager allowed for variables.

Potsy agreed to deliver the eulogy. She'd delivered Mum's when I was unable to put a thought on paper so I therefore had every faith in her to deliver Henry's as well. It's just that she hadn't stopped weeping in three days. "I shall pull myself together," she assured me as the mourners came trickling in. "I shall do Henry proud."

An interesting assortment of people flooded the chapel to pay their last respects: former business partners – very old gentlemen with (what had I said under the influence, three feet in the grave?) a lot of money, right the way through to former gardeners and old Tommy from the butcher shop whom Henry, in his dementia, had planned to rob. Todd sat between Potsy and I in the front pew, clutching our hands, while David and Kasha occupied the pew to our right. When the time came, Potsy slowly walked to the pulpit.

"Henry Whitehead was my employer," she began. "I came to work for Henry and Elizabeth when I was just nineteen years old. And I'd like to begin by saying that they were the most wonderful people I've ever known. Kind. More than generous. They always treated me as family and that's exactly why I'm here today. I'm here not as Potsy Higgins, family cook, but as Potsy Higgins, family. I was with the Whiteheads through everything imaginable, through tragedies, and through the happiest moment of their lives, the birth of baby Sophie."

"There were many wonderful celebrations in the Whitehead home – most typically the grand dinner parties they'd throw where Henry would play host. Now, those of us closest to Henry know how very much he admired Winston Churchill. (laughter). And some of you here today were actual dinner guests in his home and were privy to the Churchill Quoting Hour. Sorry, but I stole that line from Sophie who grew up imprisoned at the Whitehead table. (laughter). I doubt there was ever a person who knew more Churchill quotes then Henry. He spewed them out like a gusher and Liz claimed that he continued on in his sleep. She eventually purchased earplugs to shut him out." (laughter).

"Regarding Churchill, though, I want his friends to know that Henry never stopped quoting the man, right to the very end. Even in his last, difficult days, he remembered his hero. And Henry Whitehead was my hero. He was a kind, gentle man. And as you know, he was a philanthropist, with hospital wings in his name – in his name, Elizabeth's name, and Sophie's name. There is also a burn unit named for Catherine, the Whitehead's stillborn child."

"We shall miss Henry terribly. We shall miss his wry humour. We shall miss that mischievous twinkle is his eye when he was about to pull our leg. And most of all, we shall miss him loving us as only Henry can love."

Potsy stepped down from the pulpit and Todd dragged me from the chapel.

They followed us to the limousine like bounty hunters. Press. Paparazzi. The stuff of my continuing nightmare. "Miss Whitehead!" someone hollered in a raspy male voice. "Is it true you are the wealthiest woman in England now that your father has gone? Next to the queen, that is." Cameras clicked all around.

Todd held me tight. "Ignore them, Sophie. Lock them out of your mind."

It wasn't possible. "Miss Whitehead!" A female voice this time, the horrid purple woman who'd stocked me like a cheetah for years. "Is Mr. Aimes a part of your future or will your husband want you back now, given your extreme wealth?"

"I hate them," I said to Todd's shoulder.

"Ignore them. It's a poor way to make a living but it's a living nevertheless. They have families to feed."

"Yes, I agree. But why feed them me? Feed them Kasha. Or David. But please leave me alone during the worst days of my life. Please?"

Henry came to me then, out of the blue, smiling and shaking his head. ' _You can only ignore them so long, strange little Sophie. Then you have to take a stand. They aren't bad people. Just poor working sods. Say something to them and they'll go away.'_

I nodded. And I released myself from Todd's grip. "I'm going to speak to them."

"You know what's best." He backed away.

"I'd like to make a statement." A lone sparrow flying overhead pooped on a cameraman, which I took as a positive sign. "Firstly, I'd like to thank all of you for coming here today to pay your respects to a dear, dear man. There was no finer man on earth than Henry Whitehead, my dad. His passing has left a great void in my life and this is an extremely difficult time for me, as you may well appreciate. Most of you have fathers of your own and some, like me, may even have lost their dads. Others are parents, with children of your own who will one day stand here, on this very spot, with a heavy heart because you've left them. You've gone. And they'll grieve for you as only a child can grieve a parent. That's all I'm doing today. Grieving. And I hope you'll respect me in my time of sorrow and choose a more appropriate time for questions. Having said that, if any of you care to join me for tea in Henry's honour, at my Kensington home, you are entirely welcome. Apparently, I don't have to tell you the address."

Polite laughter.

"And to answer your question," I continued. "I have a lot more money than Queen Elizabeth. She is now a pathetic second."

Cheers. Clapping. I'd won them over for the moment. Potsy slapped me on the back.

Standing nearby, next to their own long black limousine, David and Kasha were shaking their heads. How was it that introverted little Sophie, so allergic to the press, had stolen their show?

Back at my Kensington home people were milling about, lingering around a caterer's buffet and sharing their own treasured memories of Henry. It was a solemn affair.

Hector had returned from his travels to pay his respects. _'Your funerals are quite morbid, Lady. And it doesn't help that everyone stands around with long faces whispering. Why? Why are they whispering? I'm pretty much sure that Henry knows he's dead. I'm dead too and loud cheering rocked the battlefield when I bit the dust. And the Greeks broke their vocal cords when Achilles dragged my dead ass behind his chariot, around and around until his horse dropped dead, although the horse may have been thirsty from its three-year voyage... even though horses got to sail first class. Is that Greek to you? Barbaric, you English might say, although I do believe that at one point in history you boiled your own in oil. Tasty. What you need to understand about corpse dragging, though, is that it doesn't actually hurt. If anything, it made me a greater hero than ever. Maybe the greatest. Yes, I've been accused of narcissism. But how many dead people actually get Homer to write about them? Or Eric Bana to play them in a movie? I am Hector!'_ With that he vanished.

I was aware of someone tapping me on the shoulder.

"Miss Whitehead?"

"Robert! How nice of you to come! Henry would be so very pleased!"

Robert was a strapping young man, no more than twenty-four, blond haired and with pale blue eyes. He held a large canvass in his hands. "Your father was a fine man. And I know he would want you to have this. I took it down from the wall this morning. It's a painting of you, miss."

I nodded. "You mean the girl locked inside herself and trying to get out?"

"Exactly! I thought you might want it. I mean, some of the things disappear, you know, when the residents leave."

"That's very sweet of you, Robert! And yes, I'm delighted to have it. Any memory of Henry is precious to me. And Robert?"

"Yes, miss."

"I'm so very sorry he struck you. I'm sorry that's the last memory you have of him. He adored you."

Robert smiled. "Well, miss. You'll be happy to know that that's not the last memory I have of your dad. When I finished work on his last night I went in to check up on him and he was sitting up in his bed watching telly. He said to me, 'Robert. There's a bottle of sherry in that cabinet. I think you and I should have a drink together. It may well be our last.' I was dumbfounded, naturally. I'd never had a drink with Mr. Whitehead. Not a single drop. But that night something was different. I can't put a finger on it but it wasn't the same."

"And?" I asked, eager for anything of Henry to cling to.

"Well, I poured a sherry for us both and we had a talk. He told me about his father."

"What? Henry never ever talked about his father! He hated the man. He was brutal and ruthless. Cruel."

Robert vigorously nodded. "He told me that, actually, miss. But he also said that from his father he'd learned valuable lessons. On how to be the exact opposite. Henry said that without the brutality and the selfishness of the man he never would have tried to make the world a better place. To help those less fortunate. He told me he owed his father for that."

"My god! He was so lucid on his last day. And two days before when I visited. It was like the last eighteen months had never existed. He was his old self."

"He was. He had days like that, though. Not many, but a few. Do you want to know what he said to me after we finished the drink?"

"Of course. I can't wait to hear."

"He said, 'Let's kill the bottle, Robert. Unless they stop making it there'll be plenty more where that came from'."

"He didn't!"

"He did. We polished it off."

"I can't believe it! Henry had a party on his last night."

"Believe it. And you know what else, miss? He started to quote Churchill. A lot. _'An appeaser is one who feeds a crocodile, hoping it will eat him last'_ was my favourite. And just before he fell asleep he told me to tell you something."

"What? What?"

"He said to tell his strange little Sophie that he loved her."

I bumped into Todd at the buffet table. "You're looking pale, Sophie. I'm worried about you."

"I'll be alright. Just a bit of a shock, that's all. In a way I'm relived for Henry. His quality of life wasn't very good in the end."

He slipped his arm around my waist. "I realize this isn't the time or the place to discuss our agreement. It's crass of me, really. It's just that I wanted to be with you today as more than just a friend. I wanted to be the man in your life. I want us to be a couple, you see."

I couldn't see it at all. I couldn't feel anything. I just wanted to be alone.

"In many ways I'm sorry that I ever became a part of this foolish game." He seemed to be talking to himself. "But you were so very sad. So hurt. I had to help you in whatever way I could. I knew it was silly, as, I suspect did you. But David had been such a clod. Oh, well. They'll be gone from this house soon and out of our vastly improved lives." He looked down at me with mischievous eyes. "And I don't mean to put pressure on you today, or anything, but down the road... well, you did promise yourself to me, one way or the other."

"I did?"

"You certainly did. And I'm not about to let you forget it either. As soon as you've got that black veil off your face you're going to be in serious trouble."

Funny but Todd's teasing and trying to cheer me up actually worked. Henry had lived a long and fruitful life and I had nothing but warm memories in the end. "It's too early yet. We don't know the outcome."

"It doesn't matter. It's sex either way, according to our deal. And when I return from California I'll be collecting. Rest assured. I'm off to LA in the morning and when I'm back it's done for me, Sophie. No more games."

"It may very well be over by the time you get back."

Todd just shook his head.

Across the table, Pinto was burning a hole right through me with his narrowed, piercing brown eyes, his forehead rippling like corrugated cardboard. Oh, to be reading his mind.

But barely had Todd moved along before the Whitehead family gatekeeper of sixty-plus years came limping along on his cane. "Miss Sophie!" old Charlie barked. He communicated by hollering now that deafness had settled in. "We shouldn't be sorry about Henry. It's what he would have wanted after he'd lost his mind." A shock of white hair glistened above the bright blue eyes of a boy. "Your father was a genteel man, as everyone knows. And he was kind enough to hire me when I was just a lad, as was he." His eyes twinkled. "I was a bit of a bounder, you see, and had gotten into trouble. But I told Henry about it straightaway and do you want to know what he said to me?"

"Of course!" I hollered back. "Henry loved you dearly."

"No, no. Henry never wore a beard. Only a mustache."

I smiled. We'd had this sort of conversation before. "What did he say?" I yelled.

"Well, he said, 'Charlie, it's alright to steal once. That's how we learn. But twice is too many times. And if you ever try to steal from me I'll break your bloody fingers'."

I found this hilarious, given that Charlie, even bent a bit with age, was 1.83 metres tall and would have towered over little Henry.

He leaned forward and hollered in my ear. "I was with Henry through troubled times, too. When little Catherine was stillborn it almost broke him. I've not told this to anybody before but he came out to the gatehouse and cried like a baby for nearly an hour." Charlie cleared his throat. "His little shoulders just shook!"

"Oh, dear."

"But there were good times as well. Especially twenty years later when you came along to the shock of everyone. Elizabeth was fifty-one, as I recall, and Henry fifty-eight. Childless is what we thought the Whitehead's would be. And then poof! As if by magic there was news of an impending you. They never talked about your coming, though. Never. It was as if they dared to hope for anything at all, something bad might happen." He scratched his Cary Grant chin. "But you arrived healthy and shortly thereafter Henry came out to the gatehouse carrying a leather case. Inside was a fifth of Glenfiddich, two finely cut glasses, and a box of Cuban cigars. And may I say that within a relatively short period of time your dad and I were singing old war songs, badly, like _The White Cliffs of Dover,_ and would have let absolutely anybody through that gate. We were lucky not to be robbed blind."

I locked my arm through Charlie's, careful not to knock him off his cane. "I can picture it, actually. You two bloody bounders. But I'm glad that I was wanted, as I've always suspected. I feel rather well about that."

"Well? No, no. We didn't dare go near the well. Might have fallen in."

There you have it, then. Charlie telling new old Henry stories to be tucked away and savoured on a chilly winter's night before the fire.

"A healthy little baby you were, too," Charlie continued. "Good lungs. I could hear you crying from my post way out at the gatehouse. Music to everybody's ears."

"I'm still crying," I mumbled matter-of-factly.

Surprisingly, Charlie heard. "Less and less, though. You're looking better every day."

I gave old Charlie a hug. "Will you stay for supper?"

"Thanks, no. It's senior's dart night and we're in the finals, Emily and I."

"Shall I send a car?"

"No, no. Never smoked cigars. Always smoked a pipe."

Like Potsy, Charlie had the financial resources to have retired years earlier, yet he chose to linger on in the gatehouse where he watched _Coronation Street_ on telly and readily accepted bribes, such as pipe tobacco and scotch, from the paparazzi who viewed him as a surrogate grandfather when he wasn't chasing them down the street with his cane.

"Must get back to my post," he hollered. "Those Korean gardeners Henry hired in his dementia are out there checking credentials and god knows who they've been letting in. They've got manure on their boots."

After Charlie had gone I found Potsy fussing in the kitchen. __ "What are you doing? You'll be joining us in the dining room as planned."

"I'm trying to keep busy. I should have been allowed to cook."

"You don't ever have to cook again, if you don't want to. Henry has left you a very generous sum, you realize."

She poked her nose in the air. "As did Liz. I don't have to work at all but it's what I do. It keeps me sane. And in case you haven't noticed it keeps me near you. As difficult as you are at times you are my family. I bathed you as a baby. You were a shared child. You were Elizabeth's, Henry's and mine." Tears streamed down her cheeks.

We wrapped our arms around each other just as Todd came into the kitchen plugging his ears. "If you ducks are to go on and on, well, it's just too bloody noisy. I can't hear myself think." He joined our circle of hugs. "If it's any consolation, I barely knew Henry and I miss him too. Bloody awful, old age."

I wiped my tears on my sleeve. "We're going to have the wake, now. To celebrate Henry's life. He would expect no less of us. Stiff upper lip. On to the library."

David and Kasha were standing chatting up Pinto as we arrived, the three of us intertwined. "It's time for toasts," I announced. Several bottles of Dom Perignon awaited in tubs on the table. "Potsy is to sit in Henry's chair by the fire tonight. She has justly earned her place."

Nods all around. "The rest is up for grabs so you need to choose."

They were like children then, looking for a grown-up to guide them. Since David and Kasha weren't exactly speaking they moved to opposite sides of Potsy, which allowed Todd to sprint to Kasha's right and to seize the loveseat beside her. He winked at me.

Pinto shrugged. "In Africa..."

"Just choose a seat, Pinto." I kicked off my shoes and punted them under a chair. "Join David on the sofa or take the chair next to Todd, thanks." Neither charming prospects, it seemed, as he took his precious time. "I choose David!" Finally, he plopped down beside him on the sofa. "That Todd boy is a weasel."

Evil had spent a quiet day in mourning but was not about to miss a good wake. _'Todd is not a weasel. He looks more like a hedgehog than anything to me with all that hair. This is going to be some wild party with all Kasha's men in one room.'_

I headed for my mum's knitting chair in a far corner of the room and as I passed by David I whispered in his ear. "Pinto will likely lick your neck but it doesn't mean anything, really. It's some kind of ceremony from _Lord of the Flies._ " I waved to Potsy from my chair in southern France. "How's the weather over there?"

I slipped into the worn blue velvet wing chair and curled up my legs. The library was one of my favourite rooms in the house. It was a real library with rows of books in tattered jackets, not all leather bound volumes meant to please the eye. It contained pairs of chintz sofas, several stuffed chairs, two gorgeous wing chairs, and various collections of coffee table books, mostly on birds, piled here and there throughout the room. And Henry's polo trophies were about to come home.

"You're your father's daughter!" Potsy hollered. "Although you don't necessarily know it, he's very proud of you right now."

"Any gales in the forecast?"

The others were not amused.

"It's a bit rude, don't you think, Sophie?" David whined. "Leaving us out in the cold?"

"Put on an overcoat. And batten down the whatever. Hatch, I think. Or hatches. It's sea terminology. Whatever the case, it's time to have some fun. To remember Henry. Let's all enjoy the evening and the champagne. We'll have toasts to the wonderful man from whom I've inherited this very old and drafty house."

Silence.

"Talk amongst yourselves," I barked. "Champagne!"

The stewards came marching in.

Pinto opened the door to questionable conversation. He said in a very loud voice, "I am going to marry your wife, David. When hell freezes over."

David's champagne came up through his nose.

I sat back in my mom's favourite chair to inhale thirty years of memories as they came to me, one by one. I had no need to recant or reclaim them, they came to me effortlessly and with the absolute ownership that no one could take away. Not even Kasha. They were mine.

Kasha spoke up next. "I suppose you inherited all the money, Sophie. Did he leave it all to you?"

David shook his head. "Inappropriate, Kash. Not the time nor the place."

Well, she was just a girl, really. "He provided for the people he loved, Kasha. And his charitable foundations, naturally. It wasn't all left to me."

She threw back her long auburn hair. "Sophie's so lucky! She's never wanted for a thing. She doesn't know what it's like to have been through a war."

Todd patted the manicured hand resting on her lap and mumbled just loudly enough for everyone to hear. "That must have been beastly, gorgeous. But why don't you keep that for later? I'd be happy to hear it as a bedtime story."

David's face turned red. "As bedtime stories go, sir, I have access to a very good set of dueling pistols. It could be arranged."

"Children!" I yelled. "Drink your champagne."

Pinto was not to be silenced. "In Africa we have dueling pistols. But we split up the set and just call them guns."

Potsy couldn't stop laughing. "Pinto, you're a godsend! You've brightened my day."

He rose to his feet, produced a pistol from his pocket, and fired three shots in the air. His smile went right around his face.

"That's a starter pistol," David said dismissively.

Pinto nodded. "Now you're getting the idea. Don't start with me, Dave. Don't even think about starting with me."

"Well done!" Potsy cheered.

Pinto beamed. "You will be at our wedding in Africa, Madam Potsy. I have an uncle for you."

She shrugged at me.

"You couldn't do worse than Rocky," I said in a hoarse voice. God, that was a long room!

With second glasses of champagne successfully poured, I rose on my shaky legs. "The time has come to say a few good words about Henry, my precious Henry." I walked towards the others. "And I shall start by saying that Henry was many things, actually. Some of you may not know this but he was a bird watcher and this very library houses a fine collection of bird books, which I shall cherish in memory of my dad. He was especially fond of robins. He grew sunflowers just for them and sometimes he'd bring a piece of stale cake from the kitchen so the birds could have a party. Robins have a sweet tooth, you see. And, of course, they'd nest in the trees and shrubbery, often just low enough for a girl to be hoisted by her father to peek in. In the spring there'd be speckled eggs and in about two weeks-time beaks, open and hungry for worms. And robins are especially lucky because they have grandparents, did you know?"

Heads shook all around. "Well, they do. Older robins share the burden of raising the young and will fetch food from their perches nearby. But regarding Henry, Henry could warble like a robin in springtime and the birds would warble back. And he was very much like his robins, in that he was fiercely territorial in defending his family, his family being me. I never, ever felt frightened when Henry was here in this house. He was my protector. And he was my hero, as well. Sorry, but I'm going to need more champagne." I shamelessly quaffed my drink.

"And he was quite odd, actually. Very strange habits. It was his custom to draw his bath every night following the evening news. He would then proceed to the kitchen to prepare a rather large bowl of ice cream and lace it with sherry. Now here's the odd part, if that isn't odd enough. He would then take this special treat upstairs and eat it the bath." I raised my eyes to the ceiling. "I'm sorry Henry but that's just a bit odd." And to the others, "Please join me in a toast to my rather odd dad, Henry."

Furniture surrendered their occupants as people stood and glasses clinked, "To Henry." The room went still.

"Well done!" David stayed on his feet. "My turn, I suppose." He cleared his throat. "I, like Sophie, adored Henry. Who didn't? He was a gentle man and a gentleman. The ultimate gentleman, I must say. I only heard him swear once. He wanted me to play polo and was trying to teach me how to ride a horse. Rather unsuccessfully, I'm afraid. He was trying his best to show me how to mount the beast but I didn't immediately master the knack of it. After about three sad attempts, Henry said. 'Ah fuck! Let's walk'."

Laughter. "To Henry!" Glasses clinked.

Todd's turn next. He stood up, glass in hand. "I didn't know Henry well, as of late. Most of my memories of him are from when I came to visit here as a boy. But luckily, I did get to spend some time with him the other day. And I'm now confident in saying that I do know two things about the man. He liked his sherry and he liked me better than he liked David."

Laughter. "To Henry!" Clinking. David was not amused.

Potsy stood. "Well, I've said a lot today already. So, I'd just like to drink to all the wonderful memories of Henry in this house. He was a gracious host. And a boring one."

Laughter. Clinking. "To Henry!"

Kasha stood up and her eyes filled with tears. "I loved Mr. Whitehead! He was still living in this house when I came here. He was the one who said I should learn driving. He taught me. And he rode with me around and around the driveway until I got it right. That's how I came to be Sophie's chauffeur." She thought for a long moment. "But then he started to pee his pants. That was very funny, Mr. Whitehead peeing his pants." She giggled. "Hilarious. To Mr. Whitehead!"

David flared his tonsils. "Not funny! Not funny, Kash."

"Beastly," Todd said. "Although I suppose it's what we'll all be remembered for in the end."

Potsy froze over like a traffic light in an ice storm. "Inappropriate." It was her one and only acknowledgement of Kasha's existence since her defection to David.

My turn. I raised my glass. "It's alright, Kasha. Henry adored you, as well. To Mr. Whitehead!"

Relieved, the others joined me.

It was the truth, you see. Henry did adore Kasha. 'Such spunk!' he used to say. 'That girl will go places one day. Mark my words.' As always, my darling Henry had been right. Kasha was indeed going places at the speed of light and with no end in sight.

Pinto raced from the room. "I'll be right back!"

Potsy raised an eyebrow at me.

I shrugged. "More champagne, please."

The stewards came forward as Pinto reappeared in the doorway, a Cheshire cat grin on his face. In one hand he held a bouquet of purple violets, in the other a blue velvet box. He strutted to my side.

"I did not have the great pleasure of knowing Mr. Whitehead. I can only guess that because he was Sophie's father he was a wonderful man." He puffed up like a Mongolian Ring-neck pheasant. "Because Sophie is a wonderful woman. A woman who has stolen my heart." He handed me the violets before dropping to one knee. "Sophie? Will you marry me?"

I gasped. Everyone gasped. Inside the box was the largest diamond I'd ever seen. "Is it real? Or is it a doorknob?"

He laughed. "It is real. In Africa my family owns diamond mines. And my uncle for Madam Potsy, he has a diamond mine too."

Kasha squirmed in her chair.
Chapter Sixteen

PINTO WAS ON BOTH KNEES begging now, while the room screeched to a stop. I thrust the rock, still in its case, forward for everyone to see. "I am honoured. Honoured that you think so highly of me as to offer this. Elizabeth Taylor will surely be tossing in her grave. It's bigger than anything she had, I'm certain."

Pinto lit up like the Christmas tree in Trafalgar Square. "You didn't say no!"

"No. I didn't. But I didn't say yes, either. It's very sudden. Do you think I might sleep on it for a day or two?"

He eagerly nodded. "Of course, lovely Sophie! Sleep on it as long as you like. Just not longer than two nights. Or maybe a week. Just don't say no."

With that he rose to his feet and pounded the Queen Anne side table with his fist. "She loves me!" he yelled. "Sophie loves me. She is going to accept!"

Skepticism raced around the room. The jury needed to deliberate. A lot.

Todd wasn't happy, if upper lips curling into a snarl meant anything at all. Steam came exuding from his nostrils.

Hector suddenly appeared, if only to compete. _'How lame! I could give you a castle large enough to house a city, protected by a stonewall and a mote. And loyal armies to fight for you should you be kidnapped by a handsome Barbarian and cause us to slay thousands to bring you home. I would, though, Lady. I would fight for you. And I wouldn't be offering you a shiny piece of glass either. How insulting!'_

Kasha's greedy eyes were glistening like snow crystals. "It's huge! Do you think I might have one like that, David?"

"Only if Pinto wants to give you one. It's a little rich for my pocketbook, I'm afraid, darling. And a bit tacky, if you ask me."

"I didn't ask you, David." Kasha couldn't take her eyes off the ring. Or Pinto. She was scheming.

Evil __ snickered. ' _Tacky?_ _What about those plaid nightshirts? Talk about tacky! Scrooge had looked sexier than David on his way to bed.'_

I ran my fingers over the precious ring. "It's very beautiful, Pinto. You are a dear sweet man."

' _Henry is here for his wake,'_ Evil said excitedly _. 'He's drinking sherry and celebrating, having escaped his lockdown in the home. He can see diamonds dancing in Kasha's eyes. And he's saying, 'Well done, strange little Sophie. Bloody well done!' Except that in your deal with Pinto I don't recall you mentioning diamonds.'_

I hadn't, actually. I'd suggested oil wells but Pinto couldn't see himself as an oil baron. He wanted to be a diamond magnate instead. Pay cheque well earned, my new BFF.

So, shortly after the proposal, Scotland Yard arrived. Potsy led them into the library, two officers looking very proper and stiff.

"Sherlock Holmes and Watson," she chirped. "Come to investigate. I've checked their credentials."

They were an odd pair, really, the younger of the two being fair-haired, light-skinned and stocky, while the older chap spoke through a thick red mustache in a broad Scottish brogue; he carried the distinguished belly of uncontested success. Both gentlemen wore black.

I stood up to defend my group. "He died of natural causes. He was eighty-eight years old with dementia."

"My condolences, miss," said the older chap whom I shall refer to as Bad Bobbie, although he did say his name. McDuff, perhaps, or Macbeth. "But it's not about your poor dead dad that we're here, rest his soul. It's about a computer."

Todd was the first to spill. "I don't live here, actually. I live in Hyde Park. Naturally you're entirely welcome to follow me home and confiscate what you need."

Good Bobbie piped up. "You're that film bloke, aren't you? _Revenge of the Good Aliens_! I saw it three times."

David screwed up his mouth. "That doesn't mean he's innocent."

Perhaps not but Todd seemed pleased. "I can provide you with a DVD, should you like one. You'd have to want one, naturally."

Bad Bobbie grunted. "Note that celebrity in the room is offering bribes, Whitney. Write that down."

Embarrassed Whitney produced a small black book from his pocket and proceeded to write. "Done, Chief Inspector. Celebrity bribe. A misdemeanor."

I rose to my braver self. "Exactly what computer are you inquiring about, gentlemen?"

Bad Bobbie pawed his anxious oxford on the hardwood floor. "All computers in this house must be confiscated. We have a warrant." He did indeed have a paper, which he waved in the air. "All computers."

Potsy rushed forward, shoulders poised. "All computers? Even mine in the kitchen with the recipes on?"

"All computers," Bad Bobbie repeated. "There is a computer in this house that has broken the law."

"Oh, my!" Potsy hissed. "Broken the law, you say. To my way of thinking computers don't break laws. People break laws. Who do you think you are, barging in here and thinking you can take my recipes away? Frederick Porter Wensley, the weasel? Or were you the idiot bobby that killed the poor sod carrying a table leg in a plastic bag, mistaking it for a gun? And what about the young Brazilian you shot several times because he looked like a terrorist? I look like a bloody terrorist, for god's sake! And look at Toddy over there with his dark skin. Is he not a terrorist as well?"

Dark-skinned Todd looked shifty, I have to say. "Auntie! What are you doing? You're not helping things you know."

"Well, they _will_ shoot us." Potsy was adamant. "They always do. Have done since they were allowed to carry guns. And they don't leave witnesses either." She was about an inch away from Bad Bobbie's nose and not backing down.

Pinto came forward. "What is on this computer you want so desperately? Pornography?"

"Not pornography. No."

"What then?" He was an imposing figure, our Pinto. "What could be so important that you would take Madam Potsy's computer away? She really needs it, you know. She needs it for her job. Cooking. Let me see what's on that paper."

"Sit down, Pinto," she scolded. "Or you'll be shot."

Bad Bobbie cleared his throat. "There is a matter of somebody in this house using a computer to try and hire a killer. On the Internet."

"A killer?" Pinto had no intention of backing down. "How do you know that, sir?"

"It has been traced here. To this very house. There is no mistake."

I held my breath. Damn Instanthitman.com. It was supposed to be a joke. "Is it actually illegal? Trying, that is. If not successful?" I regretted the words even before they escaped my mouth.

"Highly illegal!" Bad Bobbie barked. "Someone in this house will inevitably be going off to jail."

David looked accusingly at me. It was you, Sophie, said his sexy, half-closed eyes. You wanted me dead.

Hmm. I didn't know how I'd spend my time in prison since I'd already earned two degrees. Knit? Potsy did need a new tam, really. And Pinto had holes in his socks. But I supposed they wouldn't allow needles...

Pinto finally broke the silence. "It's me, I'm afraid. I am the one you want. I am the criminal in this house."

"What?" I shrieked.

"It's me. I am the criminal." He held out his two hands for cuffing. "Sophie doesn't know it but I used her computer. Several times, in fact. Yes, I tried to hire killers. It's what we do in Nigeria. We hire killers to keep thieves away from our diamond mines. We just shoot them, that's all. No torture. Nobody ever complains."

I heard a little gasp, which seemed to be coming from me. "Pinto!"

"It's alright, Sophie. They'll only deport me, I'm sure. Then I can go back to hiring killers in Nigeria where it's legal." He seemed sad though and as they led him away he called back, "I'll show them where the computer is. And my proposal still stands." He then mouthed the words, "You owe me now. Big time."

Potsy turned on me. "Are you going to just stand there or are you going to do something? They're taking poor Pinto off to jail. And from what I know about our police service he'll not make it there. They'll just shoot him and roll him into a ditch."
Chapter Seventeen

DURING THE DRIVE TO THE police service in Todd's _Mercedes,_ Evil spoke up. _'That's really very low of you, Sophie. Letting Pinto take the blame. You should have blamed David. He spent a lot of time_ _on your laptop before he chucked you. If they dusted your keyboard for fingerprints his would still be there.'_

"This is awfully kind of you, Todd. I'm a bit upset right now. The funeral. My chauffeur going off to jail."

He smiled over at me. "I usually have time on my hands. Time I've set aside for bailing people out and so on. And I'm happy to be of service since I highly suspect that Pinto took the rap for you."

"You do?" Gulp. "I plead no contest."

"I thought so! And I hope you know that you're even more exciting to me now, you little killer. Trying to knock off your husband and his lover. You're truly multi-dimensional, you realize. Sophie-the-Ripper are you now?"

"I wasn't trying to knock them off! I was simply investigating. God! It's like Big Brother out there now. They're spying on us from everywhere. Invading our lives. It's not fair."

"Not much in life is fair, Sophie, as you well know. And I know you rather well. You couldn't kill a fly. I've known you since you were very little, you see, so there's not much I don't know. Hmm... Let me think. You had a boy doll named Wesley that you beat up, poked in the eye, kneed in the groin, and apologized to, profusely. You had a huge Dalmatian dog named Spot – not much originality there – and you rode around on his back. Henry had a dog ceremony in the evenings, after dinner, as I recall. Something about a lot of sherry and biscuits. I smiled. "There's a story behind the story, you realize."

"I'd love to hear it. You know. Since we're on our way to jail and everything. Might cheer us up."

"Well, Henry bought Spot for my second birthday. I had no one to play with, you see, so he thought a dog would be just the ticket. And he was. I adored Spot but I couldn't say his name. I called him Scott. This was thrilling to Henry since Scott was the name of his twin brother who'd been killed in an automobile accident when he was just sixteen. To Henry this was some sort of a sign. A reincarnation. That Scott had come back in the form of a dog. Thus the nightly biscuits laced with sherry for Spot. And trust me, when the day came for Spot to be put down, Henry cried. In fact, several nights later I found him alone in the kitchen, sipping his sherry and wiping tears."

Todd reached over to squeeze my arm. "You're so very lucky, Sophie. To have had a dad such as Henry. A remarkable dad in every way. I never had a father, you see, so I'm envious of that. I always wanted a dad. And sometimes when I was little I'd pretend I had one. I'd make him up and tell the other kids at boarding school that he was the captain of a very important pirate ship and was sailing around the world robbing people so we didn't get to see him very much at all. Or, when I was older, that he was in the secret service so nobody ever knew where he really was, not even my mother and me. He couldn't tell us anything, of course, or come to see us lest the Russians discover his identity and we'd all be killed. Our safety was his first concern. Things like that. Excuses for why he never attended any events to which parents were invited. I sometimes pretended too that my dad was Omar Sharif, since the picture of my real dad that sat on Mum's bureau looked a lot like him."

I rested my hand on his. "I know it's a bit late but I'm willing to share Henry with you now. He can be your dad, too."

"If you really mean that, Sophie, you'll make me a very happy man."

"I mean it."

"You looked like that little girl today. The girl I named Sadly Sophie due to the big sad brown eyes. As a child you were so eager for the company of anybody under the age of sixty. And always delighted when my aunt brought me round." He killed the engine and turned to face me. "You know that I'm done with the silly game now. I'm out. So exactly how are you going to play it without me?"

"Well, Pinto did propose."

Todd giggled. "Yes, he did. And there's something about the whole thing that doesn't quite add up. Something you're not telling. Would you like to fess up?"

My mobile rang just then. "Well. That's strange. Pinto posted his own bail and has gone home."

"Why is that strange? The diamond magnate obviously has resources."

Potsy accosted me before I could close the front door behind me. "Pinto's waiting for you in the library. He's taking great liberties with this house now. He's treating it like _his_ home. He, if fact, asked me to make him tea. Can you believe the audacity?"

Strange, that. "So, you're no longer worrying about him dying in a ditch?"

She squinted her right eye at me. "Something isn't making sense, Sophie. Pinto has his own computer in his room at the back of the house. Why would he sneak into your quarters and use yours? It makes no sense to me at all."

I found Pinto in the library slurping tea, legs comfortably crossed, and gloating. "You owe me big time." He looked very handsome in his civilian clothes — a soft yellow cardigan and brown trousers. "You are indebted to me now, lovely Sophie."

I plopped down in the armchair facing him. "I guess I am. I just don't know how innocent Internet surfing got me into so much trouble. I mean, most of the websites were jokes!"

"Maybe yes. And maybe some were for real. Did you ever think of that?"

I shook my head.

"Could you tell the difference?"

"Apparently not. The authorities seem to think not. I'll have to tell them the truth, you know. You are a dear sweet man but I'll have to tell them the truth."

"Let's not rush, lovely Sophie. The judge said that a date will be set for a hearing later on. Can you imagine that? I get to speak in court!" He sounded very excited.

"Did the judge say anything about a date?"

His chest fell. "It won't be soon. Several months he thinks, since I didn't actually kill anybody. Something about a log back. But you owe me for something else too."

"Such as?"

"Kasha was here just now. She wanted to speak with me."

"About what?"

"Oh, just things. Like Africa and diamond mines and what kind of house I lived in there."

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her that I live in a hut."

"You didn't!"

"No I didn't. But you should have seen your face just now! It was stricken."

"Not funny, Pinto. We practiced this."

"We did. And I told her what you told me to say. That I lived in castle with a hundred bedrooms and a lot of black servants."

"Pinto! I didn't say _black_ servants, I said servants. And I didn't say castle either. I said a mansion. We practiced this."

Evil was cracking up _. 'He's not exactly an astronaut, you know, Sophie. More like a test pilot. For paper airplanes.'_

"I really did try. It's just that I forgot the lines." He looked like a huggable little boy.

"I'm sure you did very well, Pinto," I said softly. "It didn't have to be exact. And knowing Kasha she'd be more thrilled with a castle than anything. Did she ask about the diamonds? I'm glad, by the way, that you thought of diamonds, as opposed to oil as I'd suggested."

He impishly grinned. "Tell me, lovely Sophie. Do I look like an oil baron?"

"As opposed to a diamond magnate?"

"Yes! I look like a diamond magnate! And the engagement diamond is going to go on your bill."

"I gave you an advance to cover things like cubic zirconia."

"But not diamonds."

"No. Not diamonds. Kasha was impressed with the ring, though. Her eyes were dancing like stars."

"She wants one just like yours."

"She asked for one?"

"She came right out and asked for one."

"And what did you say?"

"Well, I said that the only way she'd get one was if she was going to marry me. And she said that I'd already asked you. So I said, 'In Africa men can have as many wives as they want as long as they have diamonds for them all' _."_

"You didn't!"

"I did so. And she believed me. But she doesn't want to be in a wives' club, she said. She would like to be an only wife."

"Your only wife?"

"I don't know because we heard you talking to Madam Potsy and she ran away." __
Chapter Eighteen

YOU KNOW WHAT THEY SAY about red flags, don't you? Apparently, if you wave one in the face of a bull he won't like you very much or for very long. The following morning when I met Kasha in the upstairs hallway she was livid.

"Naked!" She was screaming and shaking a paper. "I'm naked! You did this to me, Sophie!"

"I did what?" I asked, heart racing.

"You put my naked picture on Facebook! Only, it isn't even me! It's my face on another girl's body. She has huge implants and she's gross!"

"Can I have a look?"

She crushed the paper against her. "No! Never! I'll never show anyone!"

Oh. Oh. It seemed to me that when I vengefully created that Facebook page I also invited a number of friends to join Kasha. Several hundred, to be exact, from her address book, my address book, and Hugh Grant's.

Evil __ was cracking up. ' _She's going to kick your arse, Sophie.'_

She looked stunning, actually, standing there in my claret coloured two-piece and with her green eyes blazing. "You set this whole thing up!"

"What makes you think that?"

"I know the picture! David took it on your digital camera when we were all in Wales last summer. I know the picture, Sophie! It was of you and me together. You just lifted my face and pasted it on another woman's naked body. How could you do this to me?"

' _How could you?'_ Evil ribbed. ' _How could you do that to such a lovely innocent girl? She has poison, by the way. I'd stop drinking fluids if I were you.'_

Big deep breath. "When did you learn about it, Kasha?"

"Today! Just now. From my mother!"

Oh, oh. Bad Sophie. She'd crossed that fine white line. "Your mother?" I squeaked.

"Yes, my mother! We have Internet in Odessa too, you know. And my mother is in my address book. I am a disgrace now!"

Very bad Sophie. Horrid little Sophie. "I'm so very sorry, Kasha. I can't imagine who'd do such a terrible thing."

' _Nor can I,'_ said sarcastic Evil _. 'Nor can I.'_

Kasha drew herself to her full Herculean height. "I can imagine. And that person will suffer, believe me. If that person doesn't take down that page she will suffer."

Yes, well. In short order Kasha put her special stamp on payback. While I was busy texting Todd she was happily hacking. And not into computers.

Todd texted: _Am at LA International catching limo. Suddenly noticing a lot grey hair. 2 old now. Unless to play Sean Connery's dad. xoxo_

I texted back. _With Charlton Heston gone u might want to try out 4 Moses. xoxo_

Miss you.

I giggled like a girl. _Miss you 2._

C u Sat. xoxoxo

In the kitchen fussing over oatmeal on the stove, Potsy rose to her shrew-like self. "I don't know why Pinto's still here if he has all those diamond mines. It doesn't make sense to me at all."

Perched at the island I sipped my bitter coffee. "He'll not give up until I've made my decision. You should know him well enough by now, Pots. He's afraid I might escape."

Just then the doorbell chimed and nosey Potsy scurried from the room. "Sophie! It's for you. It's Robert."

Blond-haired Robert stood in the foyer, a large canvass pressed to his chest. "I found this under your dad's bed, miss, when we were clearing the room. It's a bit controversial, I'm afraid."

"Of course. Any painting by Henry is precious to me. May I see it, please?"

Slowly he turned the canvass for Potsy and I to view.

"Oh, my god!" I shrieked.

"The naked Blue Boy!" Potsy rasped.

Pinto arrived on the scene. "It is a naked boy! Very naked."

"It's a classic!" Potsy said proudly. "The Blue Boy."

I shrugged. "It could be The Red Boy. You can't really tell. Without clothes, and all."

Robert grinned. "Yes, well. Your dad recently told me that his paintings were selling for quite a lot of money, the problem being he just couldn't remember where he put it."

I wanted to hug him. "What do you suggest we do with this disgraceful thing, Pots? I doubt it's dinner conversation."

_'It could be,'_ Evil piped up. _'If Stanley Moore comes to dinner.'_

Pinto bit his lip. "You should ask if somebody wants it."

"Do you?"

He laughed a deep guttural laugh, one that seemed to begin in the bowel and to forge its way up. "In Africa we have pornography. It's just not legal."

"Here either." Robert smiled a bit devilishly. "But I could dispose of it if you'd like, miss. Put it in the incinerator."

"Would you please? Destroy the evidence and I shall be forever indebted."

Pinto lingered in the foyer after the others had gone. "You will always be my Mona Lisa, Sophie. Kasha will never own my heart."

"It isn't your heart I'm concerned about. It's your penis."

"Oh, no!" The contents of my walk-in closet had been slashed to bits. Everything in shreds. And my jewelry lay in a tangled heap. Luckily, the good stuff was locked away in a safe.

Evil shuddered. _'It appears the slasher has been here. I say up the Facebook wars. Paste Kasha's head on a horse or a donkey. Or better still a pig.'_

War? Bring it on! But at times I wonder if I'm operating on all eight cylinders. Only a fool would dare venture into enemy territory at two a.m. Alone.

' _Not a good idea,'_ Evil whispered. ' _She's bigger and stronger than you are. And, oops, sorry, younger.'_

Drat. Exactly what was that floor lamp doing there on the floor? Ouch.

"Someone is out there, David."

Silence.

"I didn't hear anything."

"That's because you sleep like a log."

' _Logs don't actually sleep. Quick. Hide behind that huge mahogany desk, Sophie. And don't breathe.'_

"Aren't you going to check it out?"

"No, Kash. I'm not. I'm going back to sleep. There's a night guard on duty, you understand. And an alarm system greater than The Bank of England. Go back to sleep, for god's sake."

"I'm not going back to sleep, David. I heard something and I'm going to check it out."

Oh. Oh. Lights on. Footsteps approaching. Sophie crouching behind desk, doomed.

Kasha looming large.

Sophie not breathing. Feeling heat from dragon's breath. Praying a lot.

"Come back to bed, Kash," said David from the doorway. "There's nobody here."

Footsteps retreating. "Maybe not now but there was. I know what I heard."

The following morning on my way down to the kitchen I met Kasha on her way upstairs. She was carrying tea on my mum's silver tray, which really irked me.

"Good morning!" she chirped.

"Morn," I mumbled. Pleasantries. Don't we British just love them? What I really wanted was to smash her in the face.

' _Try it."_ Evil tittered _. 'I dare you.'_

"Isn't life great, Sophie?"

I rolled my eyes.

"I may be giving David back to you now. He's quite boring to me really. Probably after I marry him, though. After I get my hands on your money, I mean. Then I'll divorce him."

"How very clever of you, Kasha. Did you decide that before or after you slashed my clothing to shreds? And ripped off Henry's portrait of me in the hallway?"

She looked me dead straight in the eye. "I don't know what you're talking about."

I shrugged. "It doesn't really matter, you see. I'm insured. And looking forward to an entirely new wardrobe, one you can't steal, since you'll soon be gone from my house. Never to return."

Silence. Well, almost. Evil __ wouldn't shut up. ' _You're pushing it, Sophie. And it's a long way down those stairs.'_

"What about commitment, Kasha? You plan to marry David but only for the money? I thought you were in love with him."

"Well, I used to be. But now I want to have fun. Todd is a lot of fun." She waited for my reaction.

Nothing.

"Oh, I know you like him, Sophie! You can't deny it. You go all silly when he's around."

"Todd and I are friends, Kasha. That's all. But if you're taking David's money before giving him up for Todd then I hope you like Todd for himself."

She blushed. "I do like Todd! Not just because he's a major movie star. Or, because he's promised to arrange a screen test for me. I like him more than anybody knows."

Ouch. That hurt. "Well, you'll be happy to know that Todd has only been helping me with a decision. He thinks Pinto is perfect for me and I now realize that he's right, the diamond aside, although his diamond mines may have been a factor... since I've finally met someone with more money than I have. A lot more, in fact. That's not easy, you realize, with what Henry's left me."

' _Good shot!'_ cheered Evil _._

"And I've made a decision at last. I'm going to accept Pinto's proposal. You can have David and Todd, Kasha. They're small potatoes, to be colloquial. Just stay away from Pinto because he's mine."

"Is that a challenge?"

"No. It's a threat."

Her eyes went as cold as an iceberg. "Then again, Sophie, it would be a shame if you accidentally fell down the stairs and broke your scrawny neck, wouldn't it?"

Oh, oh. Heeding the warning sign, I sped down the stairway like an ostrich, only to hear footsteps gaining behind me and to feel the effects of a good hard shove by a foot. (In some countries this is called a kick.) I must have looked like tumbleweed rolling down the stairs and landing unspectacularly flat out on the foyer floor. And as I lay there dazed I looked up to see the foggy face of Kasha glaring down.

"I don't think you know who you're dealing with, Sophie." She started up the stairs then, mum's silver tray in hand. "You might want to ask Todd what happened after the funeral and the police and you went to bed like an old person. Todd stayed for a while. And, well, you might be very surprised." With that she giggled her way to the top of the stairs and all the way down the hall.

_'Didn't I tell you?'_ Evil scolded. _'But, oh no. You never listen to me.'_
Chapter Nineteen

THAT VERY SAME AFTERNOON THINGS were brewing in the David/Kasha camp. When I arrived to announce the dinner on Saturday night the two were embroiled in an argument.

"I'm going to kill her," Kasha was screaming. "I'm going to kill her!"

I stepped back into the hallway to eavesdrop.

"You're being dramatic, Kash. Tell me again why you're going to kill Sophie, exactly. What is it that you think she's done?"

"She took the jewelry! It had to have been her last night. I can't imagine who else would take keys from the drawer."

"What drawer?"

"The desk drawer. In our office. Right there. There were two keys on a chain. And there's a secret hiding place behind that picture of those ugly red birds. I found it by accident and hid the jewelry there. I doubt anybody else knew about it."

"Kasha! Sophie knows every nook and cranny in this house. According to her parents she grew up hiding in most of them. What is it that you think she took?"

"The jewelry! All of it."

"What?" David shrieked. "What jewelry?"

"Don't _what_ me. It was my jewelry and she stole it."

Pause. "Ok, Kash. Let's sit down and you can tell me all about the jewelry."

She started to sob. "I don't know how she knew it was there!"

"From the beginning, Kash. You've left me in the dust, actually. I have no idea what you're talking about. To my knowledge, most of the jewelry you wear today was given to you by Sophie. As well as the pieces she gave you as gifts. Am I right about that?"

"Yes. Mostly."

"Mostly? Did Sophie take any of the pieces given to you as gifts?"

"No. I keep those pieces in my jewelry box. In the bedroom."

"I see. I'm trying to understand, Kash. Really I am. You kept some jewelry in your jewelry box and some in the wall safe. Why?"

Silence.

"Kasha?"

Continued silence.

"Kasha? Does the jewelry in the wall safe actually belong to you?"

Evil was snickering. _'She's pretty much screwed.'_

"Kasha?"

Nothing.

"I'm going to assume then, since you refuse to answer my question, that the jewelry in the wall safe actually belongs to Sophie."

"Not all of it! She gave me some of it."

"I see. Some of the pieces were given to you and some were not?"

No reply.

David was many things but not stupid. "I have to wonder why the pieces belonging to you were not with your other jewelry in your jewelry box. And I have to wonder why you stored some of the jewelry given by Sophie here in the den. It makes no sense to me at all. Did you store it without her permission?"

_'How kind,'_ Evil spouted. ' _He's basically calling her a thief but sugarcoating it.'_

"But what I hear you saying, Kash, is that __ Sophie is a thief. That she stole jewelry belonging to you. Am I correct in that assumption? I suppose we could call the authorities if you feel strongly about all of this."

"No! Don't call the authorities, David. It isn't worth the trouble. I'll have money soon to replace it. I just don't know how she knew it was there."

"She likely went to hide something there herself," said David dryly.

"You're not funny! She had no business in these rooms. They're ours."

"I'm not going to argue the point, Kash. It's immaterial. What you did was not exactly above reproach so..."

Evil chuckled. ' _There's nothing wrong with being a thief if you do it well. Kasha's problem is that she isn't good at it. She'd be better at prostitution.'_

"You would defend her! You always defend her! What about me? Do you ever think about me? No. It's only your precious Sophie that you defend. You still love her. And I'm just a play toy to you."

Silence.

"And you're stupid David. You signed off with Sophie knowing that Henry was on his deathbed and you didn't ask for more. We could have had tens of millions more. We could have been filthy rich!"

"Henry left me a very generous sum. I'm happy with it."

"You're happy with anything, David! That's because you've never been through a war. I have been through a war. I have seen people dying. Others running for their lives. I barely escaped."

"I see. Not to understate your tragedy, Kash, but as I recall, when you first came here you told us that the fighting was just moving into your region. That you had actually escaped before the soldiers arrived. Am I wrong in that?"

"Very wrong. I saw people killed. Family."

"But your family wasn't harmed, as I recall. I believe, and correct me if I'm wrong, that your family is very much alive and well. That you are in contact with them almost daily via the Internet. I believe your mother emailed you about some sort of picture the other day, didn't she? You were very upset, as I recall."

"My mother did not upset me. Sophie did."

"I'm sorry, luv. But we won't be living with Sophie very much longer. We'll have our settlement in a couple of days and can leave on holiday. Wales is beautiful in the autumn. It will be good to get away, just the two of us. And when we get back we can hunt for that fabulous house you so desperately want."

Long pause. "I'm not so sure that I want it anymore. I'm not sure about anything at all. I'm thinking of moving down the hall for a few days. Just to figure things out."

Loud gasp. "What? Moving down the hall? Am I hearing you correctly? You want to figure things out? It's a little late for that, isn't it Kash? I think we're pretty much in this thing together."

Silence. "I want some time to figure things out, that's all. Can't I just do that?"

"Why?" he demanded. "What is it that you have to figure out? I thought we had everything figured out. I thought we had plans."

"You had plans. I'm only nineteen, David. I want to have fun. I don't want to be tied down just yet. I'm too young."

"But you did. You were more than delirious in the beginning, parading our relationship in front of Sophie."

"I'm sorry but I had come to resent Sophie. And you can't blame me. She had everything, I had nothing. And I wanted to show her that I could have things too. Loads of clothes and jewelry. And even my very own chauffeur if I wanted. Is wanting things so bad?"

"If you want things you can have them, Kash. With me. I've inherited money from Henry. And Sophie has made me a very generous offer. You'll never want for anything, rest assured."

"I'm going to move down the hall," she said calmly. "To one of the guest rooms for now. Until I figure things out."

"I see. It's Todd Aimes, then. The great film star. I imagine that's who you were with the other night when you didn't come to bed."

"I came to bed."

"At four in the morning. After Henry's funeral, at that. Have you no respect for anybody?"

"He was an old man, David. Old people die. It will happen to us all. I just wanted to party and have fun. You hardly ever party anymore!"

Pause. "Ironic, isn't it? I finally want to settle down and you want to party. Fine then, Kasha. Take a room down the hall. You can stay there until you have a place to go. But I'd speed things up if I were you. I'm not going to be happy with you in this house. Quite the contrary, in fact."

"I haven't been happy here," she whined. "It's been awkward in Sophie's house. I feel like a second-class citizen."

"This was your idea! You couldn't wait to accept Sophie's offer to move back in. I didn't want to."

"Well, I was wrong. I'm young, David. I'm going to make mistakes."

"Mistakes like Todd Aimes, you mean?" His voice was screechy.

"It was only once. I only slept with him once."

David raised his voice. "Right, then. Take a room down the hall until you find a place. But I'd be quick if I were you. I really don't want to see your mutinous face around here anymore. I'm not that fond of whores."

Before I could choose a hiding place, Kasha came bursting into the hallway, almost toppling over me. Her eyes were blazing. "Yes, Sophie. I slept with Todd Aimes. Your real boyfriend!"

In the kitchen on Thursday morning Potsy was saying, "Perhaps it's a good thing Jessica is coming on Saturday. We'll get it over with and not have to bother with her again."

"I'd completely forgotten! I've had so much on my mind with Henry's passing, solicitors, Pinto's proposal... It's been a week now and he's expecting an answer. He told me so this afternoon. I just don't want to hurt his feelings."

' _Your nose is growing again, Sophie.'_ Evil quipped. _'It looks better, actually. You wear wood rather well.'_

"I hope you're considering it." Potsy cocked her head. "I dearly want to meet the uncle with the diamond mine. Can you imagine? Diamonds forever."

"Has a James Bond ring to it, don't you think?"

"Indeed. You look very tired, Sophie. You should probably get away for a while. When the dust has settled, I mean. Go to New York. See some Broadway musicals. Central Park is beautiful in the autumn. Go soon so you don't miss it."

"I'll think about it. Perhaps a house exchange. Kate Winslet managed it in _The Holiday_ so why not me? Do you good to have someone new in the house."

"I think we've had quite enough excitement for the moment. Pinto's a surprise, though. Imagine him posing as a chauffeur. And having thieves killed. He doesn't seem the murdering kind to me."

"Well, we knew he wasn't very good at his job." I walked to the windows and lowered my head. "Hopefully he's a better killer than driver."

She narrowed her eyes. "What are you saying, exactly?"

"I'm just trying to understand Pinto. He says that most women are after his money. He just wants someone to love him for himself, that's all, and he thinks that someone is me. He's very determined. Hasn't given up on me yet."

Evil smacked her lips. __ ' _You will atone for this, Sophie. Picture a big roaring fire.'_

"What about Todd?"

"Nothing. Not anymore."

"What? I saw sparks flying. A lot of sparks, actually."

"History. Done. He's apparently slept with Kasha. And it's all my fault, you see, because I set them up."

Through perfect peripheral vision I watched Potsy's mouth fall open.

"Don't look so shocked, Pots."

"You set the two of them up?"

"It's a long story."

She was giving the side of my head that lethal Potsy glare. "You set them up?" she screeched.

"I did. I shot myself in the foot."

"How do you know that Toddy slept with Kasha?"

"I heard her tell David. Just before she moved into a guestroom down the hall. Big confession amid a lot of turmoil. And she also told me in a bragging sort of way."

Oh, oh. Potsy's mouth froze into a hard, thin line. "I'm almost not wanting to feel sorry for you, Sophie. If you shot yourself in the foot. Personally, I'd have given you credit for a lot more intelligence than that."

' _Me too,'_ chirped Evil. _'Me too. A lot more.'_

"Why? Because Todd is your nephew and you're bound to take his side?"

She threw her hands in the air. "No. Because you, my darling Sophie, are an absolute div."

"Insult accepted. I'm a div. Is there anything else?"

She had to smile. "Lots, actually. But I'll save it for another time. What shall I prepare for dinner Saturday night, do you think?"

"Have it catered. It's your sister. I'll expect you to join us. And something else. I want you to begin the process of finding a new cook for us. You've certainly earned your place at the table. A proper retirement and all."

She shook her head. "You'll have to put up with me a bit longer, Sophie. I'll dine with you, certainly. But this kitchen is my domain. I love it and I love what I do here. Whilst you're off globetrotting I'll holiday in Spain, perhaps. Or the Greek Islands. Unless, of course, the two of us are off to Africa."

"When hell freezes over."

She finally laughed.

"Not that I don't love Pinto. He's adorable. I'm just not _in_ love with him. Huge difference."

"Huge. My sister stole the man I loved." Her eyes glazed over and she gave a little cough.

"Well then, I'll just be rude to her at dinner."

"No you won't. And stay out of that wine barrel, Sophie. No talking to clouds either." She walked over to me then and gave me a hug. "You annoy me terribly but I do adore you. You know I do, you little bulldog."

"I'll take that as the highest compliment since only a short while ago you accused me of cowardice."

"Well, that's because you were a bit cowardly. But you're not anymore. You've morphed, so to speak, into your own person. A lovely person, I must say, which you always were, but now a strong one as well."
Chapter Twenty

I ONCE READ THAT AS a child Jane Goodall had been given a stuffed chimpanzee named Jubilee by her dad, a toy that aroused a keen and lifelong interest in the species. I, too, had received a plush toy from my dad on my third birthday – a green-eyed orange cat so ugly that I buried it in my closet, never daring to open the door without the backing of my parents, who thought me somewhat strange anyway. Henry hadn't helped matters by chasing and ticking me with the horrid thing. Desensitizing, he called it, and it painfully worked.

But now elderly, the one-eared and docile Churchill did little more than doze in her rocking chair confused. I lit a candle under her nose.

"Tonight's the night," I said to a somewhat vague response. "Tonight is the night I get my revenge."

She opened one eye. "Right," she implied.

"You needn't sit there all disbelieving and such. I'm finally to win a long and tedious war. I've divided the enemy and am closing in for the kill."

She yawned.

"You're a little disappointing I must say. I thought you'd be happier for me."

' _She's old,'_ Evil scolded _. 'Just leave her be. Besides, she doesn't like you very much. You cut off her ear remember? Then you called her Van Gogh. Sometimes you're not very nice, Sophie. Sometimes you're a bully.'_

Churchill rolled over in her chair and presented her backside to me.

' _I rest my case.'_

I approached Kasha's bedroom door with caution. Tiptoeing.... Mustn't alert the dragon down the hall. Soft knock. Where exactly was Hector when I needed him? Was there no one to give me bad advice?

"Who is it?"

"Sophie. With a peace offering. I've brought wine."

She poked her head out. "Two bottles?"

"Well, yes. I thought we might do the girlfriend thing again. Drink and dance and gossip. Run people down."

"Really?" Her eyes lit up. "You're not mad at me anymore?"

"Just a little. But I was remembering how much fun we used to have together. You know, before David came between us."

She opened the door. "I don't trust you, Sophie. After what you did to me on Facebook. So just know that I'll be watching for your dirty tricks."

She looked gorgeous, really, like she was just about to step out to a fancy ball. Blue. I hated blue. I must have purchased that gown especially for Kasha to steal.

She opened the door wide. "No more dirty tricks. No more naked pictures of me on the Internet."

"Well, if you choose to believe it was me... However, I didn't come here tonight to argue with you. Just to be friends."

Evil snickered. ' _Your Pinocchio nose is sprouting like Jack's bean stock. Or is that obscene?'_

"I miss the fun we used to have."

Kasha produced two wine goblets from the credenza and dusted them with a cloth. "We used to have so much fun!" she said. "Do you remember when we pelted old man Saunders next door with crab apples? He was such a turd!"

"Chased us down the street, as I recall. Pulling up his trousers because he'd been doing bad things on his veranda. So much for a camouflage of trees."

She poured two generous glasses of wine. "And what about the time we shoplifted at _Harrods?_ Was that not insane? Do you remember when you slipped a bottle of _Roja Dove Scandal_ into my pocket and we giggled our way out of the store? I was sure we were going to get caught but you just shook your head. You said, 'Kasha. Henry always told me that you have to try everything once. But the next time you try it, expect to be caught.'"

"I remember. You reeked of _Scandal_ for months. Do you remember when you tried to sell me on the street? I asked you to, of course. It was my game."

"I do! Oh, Sophie. That was so much fun! You dressed up in your skimpy little skirt, a bikini top and a lot of makeup. And you kept toppling over in your six-inch heels. You could hardly stand up, since you'd had a lot of wine. We went to Basildon and you smoked cigarettes on the street. I stood beside you in my chauffeur's uniform **** taking bids **.** I wore my hair pulled back and sunglasses at night and tried to look like a man. But you looked hot. And guys wanted to buy you. We talked to quite a few."

"We did. Remember the guy in the Hummer? He was cute. He could have had any girl he wanted in any pub in town."

"Except that he had a wedding ring on. He wanted a hooker. And a lot of bad things. He mentioned a couple of them, didn't he?"

"Yes. I'm not going to repeat them but it sounded exciting to me."

"I miss that, Sophie. We had so much fun!"

"Let's do it then Kasha. Are you ready?"

She gulped her wine, laid her glass down, and joined me on the floor. We hooked our arms around each other's waists and started to dance sideways.

Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit, rabbit, rabbit, rabbit, rabbit

You got a beautiful chin,

You got beautiful skin,

You got a beautiful face,

You got taste

You got beautiful eyes,

You got beautiful thighs,

You got a lot, without a doubt, But I'm thinkin' bout blowin you out,

Cos, you won't stop talking,

Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit, rabbit, rabbit, rabbit, rabbit ....

I collapsed into my chair. "Now you tell me. Did you ever have this much fun with David?"

"Never. He's sort of...well, dull. Really dull, in fact. He doesn't do crazy things like you do, Sophie."

Girlfriends. Kasha had been like a sister to me, the sister I never had. Such a shame it had to end badly.

She narrowed her gorgeous green eyes. "David thinks it was you, you know. It was you that wanted us dead."

"That's too funny, Kasha. But remember whom we're talking about here. David. Droll little David who speaks with a lisp. He sounds like Sylvester the Cat."

She giggled. "He does! He does lisp! I never really noticed until you mentioned it just now. He could even be Daffy Duck."

Giggles. Girls gone goofy. David was going down.

"We'll have manicures and pedicures tomorrow, Kasha. It will be my treat."

"No! I'll treat you, Sophie. I have a little saved."

_'Right!"_ needled Evil. _'Don't forget that she sole your husband in broad daylight. And she dragged your fake leopard coat behind her like some sort of trophy. How rude!'_

"What about David? A chance for reconciliation there?"

She shook her head.

"Todd? Do you see a future with Todd, perhaps?"

"Of course not! He's in love with you, Sophie. Anybody with eyes can see that."

Right. I was not the one Todd had so greedily shagged. "What about Pinto? He's very attractive and has diamond mines too."

She squinted at me. "You told me to stay away from him."

"And you suddenly listened to me?"

"You don't love him. You love Todd. And he loves you."

"But he had sex with you."

She looked away. "Love and sex are not the same thing."

"Perhaps not. But that very much puts Todd out of my future, I'm afraid." And then quickly, "Pinto is leaving in the morning. He's going back to Nigeria for a while. Has to attend to his diamond mines I'm afraid."

She widened her gorgeous green eyes. "And to his thieves. Can you believe that Pinto has thieves to shoot? It's unreal. I just can't picture Pinto standing there with a gun picking off the people stealing his diamonds. He doesn't seem like a killer to me."

"I doubt Pinto is actually a killer at all. My guess is that he was stringing us along. He likely had a good laugh at our expense. But he is worth billions. And apparently he's leaving to attend to business. Something urgent he said."

She squinted. "You're not going with him?"

"I can't go just now, Kasha. Potsy's not well, you see. She told me so today. I can't possibly leave her. You know she's like a mother to me."

_'For your own protection,'_ nagged a familiar voice _, 'you should stop lying about Potsy. You know she has a vile temper and can kick your arse to the curb, blindfolded and with her two hands tied behind her back. If ever she finds out about what you've been saying... Well. She can really hurt you.'_

Kasha thought about it. "She _is_ like a mother to you. You're so lucky, Sophie! Potsy loves you. And she hates me."

"She doesn't hate you, Kasha. She just disapproves of the way you've handled things. But you are liked, you know. By a lot of people, actually. Pinto likes you. I'm sure he'd like to say good-bye before he leaves us."

She looked lovely, really, sitting there in the candlelight dressed to the nines and with no place to go. "I am not the woman Pinto likes. I am not the one he gave the huge diamond to. He wants you, Sophie. He moons over you like a lovesick dog."

"He likes you too. You're his type, he said recently. Not a brilliant revelation since you seem to be every man's type."

She stood up then and started to pace the floor. She was hilarious, really, in her long dramatic gown and was taking the acting thing far too seriously now. "Todd can get me a screen test. That's important to me. I could become a movie star. A big one. Bigger than Jennifer Lawrence." Her head bobbed as she mulled the matter over. "But you're the lucky one, Sophie. Pinto's cute. He has diamonds and he's probably good in bed."

My wine came spewing forward. "I couldn't say." I mopped my face with my napkin. "But if he's hopeless in bed there are diamonds to compensate. Diamond mines. The Jet Set. I know that I'll be off to Nigeria just as soon as Potsy's feeling better."

"You do have the diamond."

I opened the second bottle of wine, all the while watching Kasha through perfect peripheral vision. "Yes. I do. He's mine, Kasha. And I'd better not read the headline _Authentic Russian Princess Brings Diamond Magnate Home._ I'd just better not."

We laughed together as I was pouring the wine but from the corner of my eye I caught Kasha screwing up her face. She was scheming.
Chapter Twenty-One

KASHA WENT OUT IN THE Bentley with Pinto early Saturday morning and by cocktail time the two had yet to return. An anxious chap paced the floor in the library, drink in hand and guilt dripping from his brow. "I hope she's not going to do something rash," David told me. "I was hard on her the other night. I hope she doesn't go out and get herself hurt or anything. Run off with a rapist, that sort of thing."

"I gave her an advance. She's likely gone off to a spa."

He thought about it. "And Pinto?"

"Pinto is likely at the spa too. Apparently, he goes regularly in Abuja."

Evil was grinding her teeth. _'You've turned into a pathological liar, Sophie. You're a lot more fun now.'_

"She's not answering her mobile. Or returning my text messages. I'm worried, Soph. I was awfully mean to her, really. I've apologized, naturally, but..."

"I'm sure she's alright."

"That's very kind of you, Soph. Giving her an advance."

I applied my best synthetic smile.

"You're not going to marry Pinto, are you? I really don't think he's your type."

"I haven't decided. You know, Henry and all. I'm not ready to make major decisions."

Todd was leaning against the fireplace mantle patiently awaiting my attention. "You're ignoring me, Sophie. I'm deeply hurt."

I sauntered towards him, my generous martini sloshing from side to side and escaping over the rim. Not exactly an engineering feat, the martini glass. "Oh, I'm sorry! Have we met before?"

"Todd Aimes. Brilliant actor. Star of stage and screen on both sides of the Atlantic."

"Don't tell me, let me guess. You got the part."

"I did! I absolutely got the part!" A broad smile engulfed his face. "I absolutely got the part! International movie star now. I'll expect you to curtsy in my presence. You and the queen."

"I'm happy for you, Todd."

"Well, it could be us, Sophie. Happy for us. We could be spending a lot of time together in California where the winters are warm and dry. Can you imagine that? Warm and dry. You'd adore it there. The climate was made for you."

"The climate, yes." Hard to be happy when Todd Aimes had abandoned me just like everyone else. "Lovely in winter."

"You don't sound that enthusiastic."

"Enthusiastic? Yes. Very."

"That's if you're not going off to Africa with Palomino."

"Not funny. Your mother is lovely. She and Potsy are making up for lost years it seems."

Potsy and Jessica were perched on a Chippendale sofa, backs to one another. Poor Pots had chosen to wear her favourite colour purple and her sister had done the exact same thing. They looked like dueling twins.

Todd nodded. "They seem a bit stiff to me. I'm going to make them each a rather potent G and T. But don't go away. We have a lot to discuss."

Watching Todd cross the room with the grace of a gazelle I was reminded of Henry's words. _'In the bird and animal kingdoms the males are the magnificent specimens. Take the male robin, for instance. Red-breasted. Brilliant. And mother robin could be a sparrow, for all that matters. Drab. Nothing to remember at all. In the animal kingdom, as well, there is the lion with his huge gorgeous mane intended to attract more than just one female to join his pride, bear his offspring, and to hunt for his food. I just don't know what happened to the human male with his great ugly penis. I've never wanted to paint him at all. The female, on the other hand, with her beautiful curves and perfect round breasts has been the fascination of artists for centuries. If you think about it, it isn't entirely fair'._

Funny that. In the end Henry had, indeed, painted a penis. It's just that it was on a boy.

At eight o'clock I called the dinner guests to the table. "Kasha and Pinto have yet to arrive. However, I think we shall begin without them. Pinto will undoubtedly return the pair unharmed." With that I placed Todd at the head of the table with his mother to his left, his aunt to his right. I sat beside Jessica and across from David. Two additional place settings lay in readiness. It was to be a last supper, of sorts.

David screwed up his face. "Why is that white sheet hanging on the wall? It's a bit morbid don't you think, Soph?" He checked his watch.

Morbid? Yes, why not? It was a blustery October evening with rain pelting against the windowpanes and gushing down the glass in torrents. _The House of Usher_ , perhaps? "There will be an unveiling later tonight in my father's honour," I announced. "I'm not quite finished with the tributes yet. I hope my dinner guests will humour me just one more time."

Heads nodded.

"Well..." I raised my wine goblet. "Let's have a party tonight. What have the caterers prepared, Pots?"

As we are all humanly capable of errors in judgment, Potsy said, "I've cooked the meal myself, for the most part. Edward has agreed to assist me in serving this evening."

Perfect. Edward-Smuggled-In, my Korean gardener, had no cooking credentials to my knowledge. "Marvelous!" I shuddered.

Lady Aimes raised her lovely head. "I don't know why Potsy doesn't come and cook for me. I'm her sister, after all, and would pay her handsomely."

Hmm, I thought. Pay well? What exactly did that mean in miser terminology? Millions there, if only she'd pry her stingy fingers off the loot. "Sorry Lady Aimes. I couldn't do without her."

She nodded. "I understand. I'd just like to see her get ahead, that's all."

Potsy rolled her eyes.

David again checked his watch. "I can't imagine what Kasha's up to. It's almost eight-thirty."

"Up to no good, no doubt." Todd laughed too loudly.

"You ought to know!" David barked.

"Children!" I intervened. "Mustn't fight. The first course is about to arrive."

Asian Edward was on his way in with the trolley. "Soup!" he announced. Bristly dark hair stood straight as a brush atop his head. "Who first?"

"The esteemed ladies," David said. "There is a hierarchy here."

Edward rushed to my side to present the first bowl of soup. "Lady. You are a lady." He looked around the room. "Any more ladies?"

I pointed to Jessica next to me. "That lady. Her."

"Oh!" He looked sheepish. "Old lady. You should have said."

It got worse. When Edward laid down the final bowl, Potsy said. "What is this green material floating on top? I made garden soup."

His eyes lit up. "Yes! You did! But you forgot the grass!"

I nodded. "Very creative, Edward. No bird droppings in it, then? No worms?"

"That costs extra." He laughed his way out of the room.

Todd playfully threw up his hands. "What have we got to lose? We live such utterly boring, unspectacular lives. Let's cross the line." He dived into his soup. "Spectacular! Delicious. Yum."

I followed suit. "Henry would have approved. He was always in favour of using grass clippings for purposes other than mulch." I winked at Potsy who was skimming the green bits from the top of her bowl and plopping them into her water goblet.

"I absolutely never drink water. Water is to bathe in."

"It's only chlorophyll." David was obviously hungry. "We can all use greens now and again." He checked his watch.

In the end Jessica was the only one to refuse the first course. She shot her haughty long nose into the air. "My own cook would be ashamed to serve such rubbish. She'd be sacked if she did."

We ate in silence, everyone at the table being fully aware that no such cook existed.

"Brilliant!" I said to Potsy. "What is the secret ingredient if you don't mind telling?"

"Well, it's really no secret. I think it's quite obvious. Grass is the new cookery. I'm going to email my recipe to Heston in the morning."

Eyes twinkled all around.

David checked his mobile. "I'm worried. She should have at least sent a text message by now. But there's nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"I would have heard from Pinto had anything gone wrong. He'll be watching over Kasha like a hawk. I'm certain of it."

"I'm not."

Potsy stood up to collect the plates and I followed suit. "Edward is to be doing this little chore, is he not?"

She shook her head. "Edward who?"

In the kitchen we discovered Edward at the computer playing games.

"Where is the fish course?" Potsy demanded.

"In the cooker," he said without looking up. "Almost done."

"It was already done! You were only to reheat it for ten minutes. I thought we'd got that straight." She pulled seven servings of shriveled shellfish from the oven. "God! Rubber. They've snapped!"

Edward couldn't have cared less. He didn't take his eyes off the game.

"Is there melon?" I asked hopefully.

She nodded. "Melon and prosciutto will be the second course. And Edward will be the third. On a spit."

He hopped right up. "Roast beef!" he cried. "And Yorkshire pudding. Third course. Chicken for Sophie."

Potsy walked to the door and opened it up. "Third course is called gone. Edward gone. And never to set foot in Potsy's kitchen again. Ever!"

He sulked his way to the door. "Just trying to help. Only trying to help."

"Buy yourself a computer. You're soaking us enough." She slammed the door behind him and secured the lock.

I couldn't stop laughing. "I told you to hire a caterer. But you never listen to me."

She shot me the Potsy look. Shut up, it said. She didn't have to say a word. "They're out there, you know. After promising to give you the proper time to grieve, the reporters are back. Even more than before. Vultures, they are."

Hmm. "Perhaps the vultures are sensing that something big is about to break."

"You don't say!"

"I do say."

"What is it that you're not telling me, Sophie? That maybe you know where Kasha and Pinto have gone?"

"You figure it out, Pots. Greedy girl. Man with diamond mine."

Her grey eyes grew wide. "You don't say!"

Over dessert David accosted Todd. "I have this horrible gut feeling that you know where she is. You do, don't you, you slimy bastard!"

Todd scowled. "You must be mad! I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Oh yes, you do! You're her goddamn lover! You should goddamn well be worried about her. "

Jessica gasped.

Todd slicked back his gorgeous hair. "That's a bit brazen, don't you think, old boy? I don't know where you'd possibly get such a preposterous idea."

"From her. She told me. She confessed."

Dead silence. Todd was fighting for breath. "I don't believe you! What a lot of rubbish!"

David raised his hand. "Don't. Haven't you done enough?"

Todd leapt from his chair. "Alright, old boy. I've had just about enough of your totally unfounded accusations. Outside."

David seemed only too happy to push back his chair. "Outside it is then."

Well, they didn't exactly make it outside. In the front foyer, David tackled Todd from behind and down the pair went into a tangled heap from which there was no escape. Over and over they rolled like bear cubs, each one not daring to let the other go for fear of being punched. Potsy, Jessica and I stood in the dining room archway.

"Hit him, Todd," Jessica screeched. "Don't be such a bloody coward!"

Todd tried but David's head was buried in his clothing and couldn't be found.

"Gentlemen," I called. "A proper fistfight uses fists." Well, it did. But by now the reluctant gladiators had rolled themselves into a corner.

Trust Hector to arrive back from yet another great victory. _' This is the saddest thing I've ever seen! Are those two actually human? Surely mice can't grow this big."_

The mice had taken to name-calling. "Slut." David muttered in a muffled voice. Still no evident head. "You'd shag anybody, anywhere, anytime."

"Wrong!" Todd hollered. "I'd never shag you. You're a creep."

"I am not."

"You are too. And I didn't shag Kasha. Not even close. She lied to you, Dave."

Oh, oh. Dave? That ought to net Todd a punch on the nose. Well, not really. Todd was now sitting on David's chest.

"Kasha doesn't lie," David whined.

Potsy hooted. "Oh, yes she does! She lies like a sidewalk. Get up the two of you and behave yourselves. You're a disgrace to the male gender!"

"And the female gender," I added.

Hector was fed up. _'I'm going to take an axe to the two bloody cowards. They don't deserve to live.'_

"Do you give up?" Todd demanded.

"Never!"

"Give up, for god's sake, David. Our dessert is getting warm."

"Never!"

I'd finally it with the spineless pair. "Get off him, Todd! You'll be sitting on him all night if it's left up to him."

Reluctantly, Todd hopped off. "Very well then but I didn't shag Kasha."

Quick as a blink David tackled Todd at the knees. Down he went like a sack of melons and David scrambled onto his back. "You shagged Kasha!" He was heartily thrashing away on round two, even landing a few pathetic blows.

Oh, oh. Todd was angry now, his face growing dangerously red. In one great effort he grabbed David by the head and flung him over his shoulders. Splat. That must have really hurt. Silence. David didn't move.

Todd looked stricken. "Are you all right, old boy?" He was on his knees assessing the victim.

"No. I'm not all right. You broke my bloody back."

"I'm sorry, David."

"No, you're not. You're not the least bit sorry."

"Yes, I am."

"No, you're not. You shagged Kasha."

Potsy and I were at David's side helping him to sit up.

Todd wasn't any help. "I did not shag Kasha. Will you please get that through your big thick head?"

"Give it up!" I screamed. "Will you two bleeding idiots please just give it up? Nobody cares. We don't care who slept with Kasha or when. Or where. We just don't bloody well care."

Todd's eyes were watering. "I care! I care because it isn't true. And because this lie is going to cost me a lot."

Hector started to laugh. _'Oh sure. Cry because somebody told a lie about you. I'll give you something to cry about, you shameful sissy. Crawl back into your mama's womb, why don't you? You, and that mouthy albino you miraculously managed to silence, are a disgraceful pair. And god knows what will happen to the world if your generation is allowed to reproduce.'_

David at last struggled to his feet and came limping along with the rest of us back to the table. Silence. Nobody cared to communicate. Only spoons clinking against ramekins cut the silence, as the crème brûlée disappeared.

Potsy finally spoke. "Absolutely delicious!"

I smiled. "You would think that. Since you made it."

Lady Aimes said, "Todd has been offered so many parts lately. Mostly in American cinema. I'm so very proud of him. He's such a wonderful actor!"

"Yes, he is," I mumbled under my breath, "more than you know." Just then my iPhone rang. "I apologize. I have to get this. I believe it's about our missing guests. Somebody please pour the brandy."

Anxious faces greeted me upon my return.

David jumped to his feet. "Surely she's not dead! Please don't tell me she's dead. I couldn't live with the guilt."

"No. The good news is that Kasha isn't dead."

"Thank god!"

"And the bad?" asked Todd, who seemed to be looking for more trouble.

"Well, I'm afraid there is a bit of shocking news. It seems that Kasha has gone off with Pinto."

Stunned silence.

"What?" David tripped over his chair. "What? I don't believe it!"

"Believe it. She's gone off to Africa. Apparently in search of diamonds."

David's eyes filled with tears. "I don't believe it! It's not possible. It just isn't possible."

Hector had been standing in his favorite place, a corner. _'Now the other guy is crying. What a bunch of weaklings! I suggest sterilization as a long-term solution. Anyway, I've seen enough. I'm off to slay a few dozen real men on the battlefield. Why? Because I can.'_

"You're not the only one who's been hurt here, David." Whew, I was good. "Pinto and I were practically engaged."

Todd showed his teeth.

Potsy pointed to the brandy on the table. "I think we shall have another. That's if everyone hasn't already died of shock. I know I'm teetering on the edge of it."

Lady Aimes pushed her snifter forward. "I'll have another. With you lot I never know who's with whom or who's about to be with whom. It's all too confusing to me."

Still on his feet, David reached over to pour. "I'm sorry, Soph. It's your loss too."

"And Todd's," I said facetiously. "Todd will surely be missing his piece of the action." God. Where did that come from?

"Ouch!" Todd's face went as red as his cashmere pullover. "You're very cruel, Sophie."

"Yes, well. I accept the compliment."

That did it. Todd shot out of his chair like mortar. "A word with you, Ms. Mouth? In the hallway, please?"

I trailed along behind him. "Yes?"

He stood there looking like a boy unjustly punished for someone else's crime. "I can't believe you! I can't believe that you believe such complete and utter rubbish! I cannot believe you think so little of me!"

I bit my lip. "I don't want to believe it. Really I don't. But apparently there's evidence to the contrary."

"What evidence?" he shrieked. "Where? Surely you don't believe Kasha after what she's done to you! She knows you love me. Everyone on the bloody planet knows you're crazy about me, for god's sake. You're the only one who doesn't seem to know it yet. Kasha is still trying to take things away from you. She's obsessed with you. Do you not see that?"

"I want to believe you. It's just that..."

"Just that what?"

"I don't trust."

"I know you don't! And your lack of trust in me is about to destroy our relationship before it even gets started. I love you, for god's sake!"

"You do?"

"I do, actually. And you would let a blatant lie destroy all of that?"

I wanted to say something profound but my words got tangled up. "Well, historically on the matter of trust there was the gift of the Trojan Horse."

Todd's mouth fell open. "Are you mad, Sophie? Quite mad? What kind of garble is coming from your mouth?"

I couldn't stop it. It just came spewing out. "About the Trojan Horse. That was just plain lunacy. I know I'd never have let the monstrous thing inside my gate. However... I let you into my heart, against my better judgment. Axiom: does this make you, Todd, a Trojan horse? Or do you merely use Trojan condoms? Don't worry if I'm confusing you. I'm absolutely confusing myself."

Todd just stood there shaking his head. "Do you know what, Sophie? There's something wrong with you. You're not balanced. So, I'm going to go back in there and try to forget all about you, you crazy thing. I'm going to erase you from my mind, if at all possible." With that he turned and strode back into the dining room.

I wanted to call after him, to say sorry, but the word got stuck in my throat. "Surrey," I rasped but he was already sitting down. Well, I guessed that was that. What was sauce for the gander was just plain sauce. I wanted alcohol. Back in the dining room I veered toward the white sheet on the wall before turning to my captive audience. "Honoured guests. And Todd. And David."

Potsy started to laugh. "Not funny, Sophie."

"Then why are you laughing?"

She coughed into her napkin.

"Out, out, damn spider!" I said to the creepy critter crawling across the sheet. "This is not your party. It's Henry's, actually, and what better time to unveil the latest addition to the Whitehead art collection, painted by Henry himself?" I gave a sizeable tug. "Ta da!"

There wasn't a straight face in the room, other than for David who was still quite grey.

"Looks familiar," said Potsy. "I actually remember helping you lug home _My Mother As I Knew Her._

Todd had somewhat recovered. "Great thighs. Was she a dancer by chance?"

I offered my best phony smile. "She may have been. She'd have been anything Henry wanted her to be because he never actually knew his mother. She left when he and his twin brother were babies. But why don't we drink a toast to my dearly departed dad, Henry Whitehead, artiste extraordinaire? Cheers!"

Waterford snifters clinked. "To Henry."

I motioned to a maid hovering in the archway. "Yes, please. Please do bring in the telly." And to my dinner guests I said, "I hope you'll humour me just a bit longer. I know we've all had a trying evening so, in my essentially warped mind, I wanted to make it just a bit longer."

Not funny. Nobody laughed.

"I've therefore decided to show my most recent submission to _Britain's Funniest Home Videos._ Just to cheer us up."

After the cart came wheeling in I turned the television on.

"Sorry, no popcorn." I stepped away. "Surveillance cameras prove useful in many ways, as you will shortly see. And I hope you enjoy the show."

Dead silence as the camera zooms in on _Kasha at the top of the stairway, silver tray in hand, talking to Sophie, who is on her way down. Faces turn red and mouths wag. Sophie turns to head downstairs and starts to run. Is overtaken my Kasha who kicks her hard and sends her flying, arse over elbow. Sophie lying on the marble floor at bottom of stairway, winded. Mouth moving, possibly uttering cuss words. Kasha retreating up the stairs, laughing all the way._ Cut.

Potsy howled. "That's hilarious! Absolutely hilarious. We have to submit it, Sophie. We'd win first prize."

Jessica didn't see the humour. "There were no words. You'd think that with modern day technology there would be words."

David didn't agree. "You wouldn't want to hear them, Lady Aimes. Believe me." And then to me, "I can't believe you showed that, Sophie! It was in very poor taste."

"She's not dead, David. Just gone away."

Todd pulled back Jessica's chair. "Mother, it's time to push off."

David yawned. "I should probably retire as well since I'm away early in the morning. Off to Cardiff. By myself, it now seems. A word, Sophie?"

"Yes, of course. Why don't you build a fire in the library and we'll have a nightcap. I'll just see my guests to the door."
Chapter Twenty-Two

BRANDY SNIFTER IN HAND, DAVID was pacing by the fire when I finally dragged my feet into the room. "I've made such a mess of things, Soph! I'm such a bloody fool!"

"Well, I can't argue with you there."

"I'm such a fool!"

"Next." I curled up in a fat flowered chair and picked up my snifter.

"Can you ever forgive me?"

"I already have. I forgave you some time ago. I had to, you see, to continue on without anger eating me up."

He sighed. "That's very generous of you, Soph. I don't deserve forgiveness, really."

"I'll relieve your guilt then by saying that I didn't do it for you. I did it for myself."

"Do you have to be so bloody honest? You could lie a little, you know."

"I could. But I don't quite see the point. If we're going to have any kind of relationship in future perhaps honesty might serve as the basis. No more lies."

He took a deep breath. "I didn't realize what I had. I didn't value the institution of marriage because I never quite grew up. I foolishly gave in to excess. I guess you know it all."

I nodded. Well... Now came the time for celebration. I was supposed to be ecstatic. I was supposed to be over the top with sheer, unadulterated joy. I'd won. I had divided and conquered the enemy, hands down. So why did I feel so awful? Had it had been a pyrrhic victory, after all, the cost too high?

"I'm going to change," David lisped. "I'm going to become a better person, just you wait and see." He stopped then to search my face. "I love you, Sophie. I love you so very much. And I may be presumptuous but I think that you still love me."

I nodded. "I do love you, David. And I always will, I expect. Although that love has changed in nature, you were my first love and I doubt that memory ever goes away, no matter how circumstances change. But if you're asking what I think you're asking the answer is no. There is no chance for reconciliation. Too much damage."

He nodded. "I didn't think so but I thought, no harm in asking. I'm sorry for the damage, Soph. I broke a lot of things."

"Shades of Humpty Dumpty, I think."

After David had gone upstairs Potsy and I settled into the library to warm ourselves by the fire, just the ticket on a rainy October night. Potsy reached for the floral hassock and hoisted her feet. "I've decided to help my sister. She's not well, you see. She told me so tonight."

"No! I'm so sorry, Pots. Whatever can I do?" There was no question that I owed her something.

Evil jumped in. _'A Jaguar. Give her a Jaguar, you big fat liar. If she finds out that you said she was sick... Well, a decent car would be nice.'_

"Just name it and it shall be done."

Potsy thought for a moment. "Well, I was thinking that since her place is pretty run down and she won't spend the money to have it repaired, and Toddy will be in America. I thought that if you go abroad perhaps I'd invite her here with me for a while. Would you be opposed to that?"

"Absolutely not. The two of you can have the run of the house. Throw wild parties with lots and lots of men. As many as you like. And the wine cellar is getting dusty. You might try to clean that out as well."

"My pleasure. And I'm thinking of bringing her to Spain with me. We could take in some sun whilst it's rainy here." Her eyes dug deeply into mine. "And now, if you don't mind, I'd like you to tell me the truth."

"I have no idea..."

"Oh, yes. You do. And I deserve to know the truth, damn it. For Henry's sake."

I leaned back in my chair. "Oh, sure. Throw my poor dead dad in my face. I'd expect no less from you."

"Sophie?"

"Yes, Pots?"

"Spill."

Big deep breath. "Well... I've done a bad thing."

Her cold stare pierced right through me. "How bad?"

"Very bad. I hired Pinto to lure Kasha away to Nigeria."

She shrugged. "I thought that may be the case. The diamond and all. I knew you were up to something even though you chose to shut me out. And when the two of them failed to show up this evening I saw your hand all over a deeply-flawed plot."

"I'm really very ashamed of myself."

"From the beginning, if you don't mind."

"Well... as you know I invited David and Kasha to live with me here until a settlement could be reached. Not because I'm good person and wanted to supply a roof over their heads but because I wanted them under my roof to plot against them."

"I understand. You wanted revenge."

"Exactly. I wanted to make them suffer like I had done, only more so."

"And that was easy for you having them here?"

"You know it wasn't. But I sucked it up and proceeded by asking Todd to do me a favour. He didn't want to do it at all. He protested a lot, in fact. But I was desperate to even the score and didn't see any other way."

"And?"

"You know most of it. I asked Todd to lure Kasha away from David. And with his charm and deadly good looks it wasn't all that difficult. Soon she was running after Todd like a mad dog. And David was toast."

"But?"

"But Todd was becoming too involved in his work, from my perspective at least, so I hedged my bet."

"Thus Pinto."

"Thus Pinto."

She narrowed her eyes. "And the computer? The hired killers?"

"Pinto took the rap for me."

"I thought so! It made no sense to me at all that he'd sneak into your quarters and go online when there was a computer in his own room at the back of the house. It made no sense at all. Were you actually trying to bump off David and Kasha then?"

"Not really. I was just exploring my options. I sort of thought about it though."

"I'll bet you did. And where is Pinto now, dare I ask?"

"Well, that's where my shame comes in, I'm afraid. Pinto and Kasha landed in Abuja tonight. When Pinto called me they were on the tarmac, on schedule. They were about to go through customs where Kasha would be arrested for illegally entering the country on a false passport. Pinto has connections, you see."

Potsy's eyes grew wide. "Sophie! That's very cruel! Whatever will happen to her now?"

"She'll be deported back to The Republic of Georgia, I'm afraid."

"Sophie!"

My face was growing hotter by the minute. "I know. I know. It's very bad. It's just that at first I thought I wasn't doing such an awful thing because her family is there. She wouldn't be alone, you see."

"I don't see. If she wanted to be with her family she'd be with her family. Kasha escaped a war, as I recall, and sneaked into the UK. You rescued her from the shelter, remember, and brought her home. England is her home now. She belongs here."

I finally had to smile. "You don't even like Kasha, Pots. Why are you defending her?"

"I never said I didn't like her. I disapprove of her in so many ways but that doesn't mean I don't like her. She's just a girl, really. A silly girl but a girl nevertheless."

_'A very bad girl,'_ Evil added. _'A girl who ran off with Sophie's husband and her two boyfriends.'_

"Well, don't think that I'm not agonizing because I am. I wanted revenge, yes. And I was able to pay David back by destroying his relationship, although I take no pleasure in it now. And as for Kasha, well, I'd chew off my right arm if I could undo what I've done. I'm worried about her, Pots. They were about to go through customs at nine this evening and it's nearly one a.m. I should have heard from Pinto by now. He agreed to keep me posted but nothing for almost four hours. His phone is off...

"You'd better hope that no news is good news, Sophie."

Skype chimed just then and I reached for my iPad. "It's Pinto, Pots! Thank god! It's Pinto!"

"Hello Sophie. Miss me?"

"Yes! Yes! I miss you. And Kasha, too. How's she doing?"

"Well, lovely Sophie. I don't quite know how to tell you this but she's doing just fine."

Oh. Oh. Pinto was speaking with a soft British accent now, sounding like the queen. He was looking like the queen, actually, except with a happier face.

Potsy's mouth fell open. "Pinto! Why are you talking like that?"

"Because I'm home. It's how I speak here in Nigeria. This is my Nigerian accent."

"Pinto!" Potsy and I croaked in unison.

"What kind of game are you playing?" I demanded.

He laughed. "I don't think you're quite the person to accuse me of game-playing, Sophie, since you seem to have the monopoly on it yourself. Almost, but not quite."

"Who are you, exactly? And what, exactly, do you want from me?"

"Money. Ransom money. I've kidnapped Kasha, you see. I'm holding her hostage until such time as you come up with ten million dollars. Tomorrow, that is. By Monday that amount will double. And by Tuesday, triple."

Silence. Finally, I said, "She's not worth that much to me, Pinto. You can keep her."

He laughed. "No bloody way! She's far too much trouble for me. Would you like to speak with her? She's sitting right here beside me."

"Yes, I'd like to speak with her. But only after you tell me about the British accent."

"Oxford educated."

"Chauffeur's degree?"

"Well... MBA actually. And a doctorate in something or other."

"I can't wait to hear how you came to be my chauffeur."

"It's complicated. I'll tell you soon. As a bedtime story."

"In your dreams."

"No. In your dreams. When you come to live with me here. But I'll let Kasha explain. She made it through customs, you see. Then I had to do something with her so I brought her home. To my hut."

Kasha's gorgeous face came into view. "Sophie! Oh, Sophie! It's just as Pinto told you! He has diamond mines and everything and this house is like a palace. Gold everywhere. Gold bathrooms, even. I've never seen such great wealth!"

"Eek!" Potsy squeaked. "Eek! Does this mean his uncle actually has diamond mines too? For real? Hurrah!"

"Pinto has a young brother," Kasha continued. "And he's gorgeous! He's away at Harvard right now but I've seen lots of pictures. And tomorrow I'm going to ask him to be my Facebook friend. Wait until you see him, Sophie. He's a football star and I don't think I'm going to be able to keep my hands off him when he comes home for Christmas."

"Home?" Potsy whispered. "That was fast!"

"You're going to stay there then?" I squeaked.

"Of course! I have my own guest suite here and it's huge! And guess who Pinto is friends with? Iman. Pinto thinks I'm model material and is going to introduce us. Isn't that fabulous?"

I gave my head a shake. "Fabulous, Kasha. You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth."

Evil couldn't stop laughing. _'She's like a cat. She always lands on her feet. And the more you try to harm her the luckier she gets. You should try hardier, Sophie. Make her the ruler of some foreign country. Or the first female pope.'_

"But I have something to tell you, Sophie. And I hope you won't be mad. Please don't be mad."

"I'll try not to be. What is it, Kasha?"

__ "Well. I took the portrait Mr. Whitehead painted of you. It's in the linen closet upstairs under some blankets."

"I thought as much. It's already back on the wall."

"And I told lies to deliberately hurt you!"

"No one's completely truthful."

"But I told a bad lie! I told David that I'd slept with Todd and it wasn't true. I told you too. I knew you liked him and I... well, I just said it to upset you. I'm so sorry! You're such a good person and I've hurt you."

Good person? I coughed. But I was remembering fast. "You were up late with someone that night. What were you doing exactly?"

"Smoking weed with Edward. We broke into the guesthouse."

"Weed with Edward, you say?"

"You're smiling, Sophie. Does that mean you're going to forgive me?"

"It means that I'm willing to work on it."

"Yes! Yes! Anything will be good. Yes!"

Hmm. Weed with Edward. Why was that music to my ears?

She turned to Pinto. "She's going to forgive me. Sophie's going to forgive me. I just know it!"

Pinto came back into view. "I obviously owe you an explanation, Sophie. Is it possible to meet with you Thursday night? I'm in London on business but must fly back here early Friday. It's my only chance this trip."

"Yes, of course. You've rescued me from tremendous guilt. I suppose you'll want a dog now."

He laughed. "Not a dog. Just to explain."
Chapter Twenty-Three

I LOVE THE CRACKLING AND snapping and popping of burning logs in a fireplace and the accompanying smokiness of the great outdoors that permeates a room. On Thursday evening I anxiously awaited Pinto's arrival in the library and exactly, as promised, he appeared at 9:39.

"Chicken a l'orange, you say? That's what Madam Potsy made for dinner? It was likely almost as good as my own." He plopped into the matching stuffed armchair where a warmed snifter of Remy Martin awaited him there.

I squinted at him. "But you pluck you own chicken before stuffing an orange into its gut and roasting him over a fire."

"You're right, lovely Sophie. It's how we do it in Nigeria."

"I'm not used to you speaking like that. I think I liked you better before."

"As a chauffeur?"

"You are an absolutely dreadful chauffeur. I should have guessed that you were just playing at it. You drive all over the road."

"So does my own chauffeur. He drives all over the road too. I've escaped death several times with him behind the wheel, as a matter of fact. He's just dreadful."

"Stop mocking me!"

He grinned. "I love it when you're angry. When your eyes blaze. You're very haughty, you realize."

"Ta, Pinto."

"My name is actually James. Would you believe it?"

"I'd believe anything you say. Joke. Since I now believe you to be a master criminal."

"I'm impressed. Mafia, perhaps?"

"Is there a Nigerian Mafia?"

"Need you ask?"

"I suppose you had a lot of time to conduct business here. Given that I hardly went anywhere."

"Twenty-three hours a day. It's the digital age, you realize."

I nodded. "Well, you really had me fooled, I must say. And I don't know exactly why. But why, exactly? Why me? You didn't even know me. Did you pick me out of a telephone directory?"

"Well, almost. It's a long story. So why don't I pour us more cognac and we'll settle in by the fire?" He rose to perfectly pour the second of several nightcaps. "You're already looking angry Sophie, with your twisted mouth, and I don't blame you. And I doubt you'll even believe what I have to tell you, although I swear to tell the truth."

"Yes Pinto-James. The truth would be a refreshing change."

"Hmm... Where to begin." His eyes glazed over and he leaned back in his chair. "I was at a London cocktail party a few weeks back. It was a very large party and as is my custom I navigated between groups of well-dressed, snobby people, being bored to tears and such. Until I came upon a particularly stylish little click where the subject of conversation was you."

I nodded. "I can imagine. I'm not very popular in the inner circles of London. I'm an outcast, really. Unless there's a charity involved and I can do some good, I don't attend functions. It's as simple as that."

He cleared his throat. "So... a woman named Daphne was talking about 'poor Sophie Whitehead' and what a shame it was that her husband had run off with her young chauffeur. There was quite a buzz about it, really. One of the men said that with your great beauty you'd be snapped right up, given the line-up about to begin at your door. So... I said to myself, 'James. This may very well be a woman you'd be interested in meeting.' I suspected that a formal introduction would fizzle, you being an heiress and all, so I researched you online. That's where I first saw your beautiful face in the tabloid pages. Kasha's too. I even entertained the idea of going after you both. But then I read an advertisement for a chauffeur in the London classifieds and my assistant tracked you down through your agency. The rest is history, I'm afraid."

I leapt out of my chair. "I don't understand any of this! You came here dressed in a tribal costume. You spoke like an immigrant. I felt sorry for you!"

He laughed.

"Don't you laugh at me! Don't you dare laugh at me! I trusted you!"

He tried to keep a straight face. "Was I not trustworthy?"

"No! You misled me. You lied to me like everybody else. You're an imposter and I want you out of my house. Go!" I pointed to the doorway.

"I shall go," he said softly. "But only after I make you understand." He slowly sipped his cognac. He looked very handsome in his casual trousers and soft blue pullover. Cashmere. I might have known. "It was unfair of me, I know, but there was no other way to meet you. Without being instantly dismissed by your long haughty nose."

Evil yawned. _'Loyalty_. _He did everything you asked of him.'_

I flopped back into my chair. "This is likely the most fun you've had in years."

"Well, yes. I have to say now that it was. I especially liked the etiquette lessons."

"You are a monster! A bloody monster!"

"But your loyal bloody monster, don't forget. There isn't anything in the world I wouldn't do for you. You know that, don't you, Sophie?" He was silently laughing at me.

Myriad thoughts went racing through my mind with only a small percentage being legal.

" _He took the rap for you, don't forget Sophie. On the hired killer matter. You owe him something. For that and for Plan B.'_

"I suppose before I kick your traitorous arse out the door I should thank you for your __ loyalty. You did take the hired-killer rap for me and you did lure Kasha away to Nigeria, an act of which I'm very much ashamed of myself for now. So hopefully we can just put that little faux pas behind us."

He shook his head. "You're not getting off that easy, Sophie. On either count. But in all fairness I should explain the hired killer incident, if you'd like to know the truth."

What had I to lose exactly? Apparently, fools were back in vogue in the 21st Century. "I can't wait to hear. Since you've played me like a drum."

"That was a bit of a ruse I'm afraid." His curved face had no eyelids to speak of at all.

"What?" I shrieked. "What?"

"I'm sorry but it was a hoax. I was just having a little fun."

"Fun?" I rasped. "Fun? What sort of monster are you! The police and all. Making me think I'd done something bad. Just after my dad had died."

He sat there mocking me. "Well, you _had_ done something bad, theoretically. Trying to hire a killer is a crime. You knew that much yet you decided to try it anyway."

Tears sprang to my eyes. "But I didn't plan to follow through! I wasn't going to actually hire anybody. I was just frustrated. David and Kasha had got all the friends and I needed someone on my side. Anybody."

"A killer, perhaps?"

"How did you find out?"

"Piece of cake. You left me alone during my online etiquette lessons on your computer. And Sophie? If you want to do illegal things via the Internet you need to erase your history. It's relatively easy to do."

"Bastard."

"Your confiscated computer is in the closet of my room here, by the way. The chauffeur's room at the back of the house."

"Bastard."

"You're being repetitive."

"And Scotland Yard? What about the police?"

"A couple of friends."

"Oh, don't tell me, let me guess. Pretend chauffeurs."

"No. Actors. A couple of friends of mine. I thought McDuff might fancy Potsy and he did. He's going to ask her out."

Oh, great. Yosemite Sam was about to become my new surrogate dad. "I just don't understand, Pinto. Or James. Or whoever you propose to be. You staged a stunt for your own selfish pleasure. Just to laugh at me. Why?"

He reached for my hand but I slapped his away. "You're not even sorry, are you Pinto? It was a very inappropriate stunt, given the timing. Like my dad dying."

"I am sorry. Really I am. But I was a bit pressed for time, you see, with my having to win over Kasha and getting her to Abuja on schedule. You were playing so many games and I wanted to play too. You were playing against everybody. Against David. Against Kasha. And even Todd in the end. It was so much fun to sit back and watch but then, like a little kid, I wanted in. You invited me in, on one level, but still you controlled the game. So, I sneaked in some fun of my own to even things up. Was it such a crime, Sophie? Pretend Scotland Yard, I mean?"

Our eyeballs locked. "You thought I was having fun?"

"Yes, Sophie, I do. What you've been through destroys a lot of people but in no time at all you've come back to life. Look at you tonight. You're about the most beautiful woman on the planet and you're glowing. You're radiant. You've made your peace with Kasha and have sent David packing, which you should have done years ago. Not to guilt trip you but there isn't anybody who isn't thoroughly delighted that he's gone. And my sin, therefore, would be? Loving you, likely. You are the most precious being to me. And anyone ever, ever daring to hurt you will have to answer to me. You will no longer be fighting alone, Sophie Whitehead. Ever."

Hot tears sprang to my eyes. "I hate you, you know."

He handed me his neatly folded handkerchief. "Join the club. It's envy of my great wealth, I presume. Diamond mines in Africa and all."

"I really hate you now."

He nodded. "What can I say? That I live to be hated? I do if it's by you. Any attention at all is blissful."

"Go away, Pinto. Leave me to my sad tragic life. Go on the Internet and find somebody else to play with."

"Play with? Call me Wesley then. I learned a lot about him whilst reading your files. Your stories. You should publish them, you know. Tell everybody about Wesley and the boy doll you named after him. I absolutely loved it when you decided to knee the real Wesley in the balls. You were seven, I think. And then you did Voodoo things to the doll to make him suffer more. You're brilliant, by the way. A brilliant writer."

"Six. I was six. If you're going to read my private documents then you need to read them properly."

He grinned. "I realize that I'm not the great Todd Aimes, Sophie. Although he's actually a very decent guy. Funny, that. You see him on the screen and he's this great action hero and you expect him to walk through walls. But he's just a normal guy in real life, really. He wears a ball cap backwards and looks extremely happy just to be lounging about. He's a bit American but a whole lot British. And he's a handsome devil, damn him. If I were the least bit gay I'd go after him myself."

"What are you saying, Pinto-James?"

"I'm saying go for it. The man adores you. Kasha may have caused a ripple there but now that you know the truth I say go for it."

Evil giggled. ' _So, Pinto is now your psychologist?'_

"It's just that I don't trust."

He wrinkled his nose. "I don't see that as a problem. You know you don't trust. Todd knows you don't trust. Accept this and shag your brains out. Go from there. Historically, good-looking blokes are lazy in bed. You may not want him for very long at all, in which case you'll be calling on me. On second thought, hurry bloody well up! I don't want to have to wait forever."

I finally smiled. So what? So what if I'd been played by a master gamer? I lived. "We'd have beautiful children, you and I, Pinto."

He eagerly nodded. "And they'd be filthy rich! With the Whitehead money and my diamond mines. And talented, too. Film and stage, I'm willing to bet." He blatantly ogled me. "Just promise me that I'm your second choice, Sophie. That's all I ask. No new Nigerian chauffeurs getting in the way or anything. Just me as backup. Me alone."

It was a strange proposition but not entirely out of the question.

"Just one last question, Pinto. I mean, James. You never did plan to have Kasha arrested in Abuja, did you?"

He shook his magnificent head. "Never. I knew you'd have a change of heart and that I could save you from yourself. It wasn't about Kasha at all."
Chapter Twenty-Four

POTSY AND I WENT BARRELING through the streets of London in an estate car tied together with rope.

"You might want to practice driving the Bentley, Pots. Or the Rolls. Since I want you to be my new chauffeur."

"Don't make me laugh, Sophie. It's pouring out there! I can hardly see the road."

"Not that I drive but if it were me behind the wheel I'd likely turn the windshield wipers on."

"Brilliant! I thought of that actually but only one of them works. The one on your side."

"Well, turn it on then and I shall tell you where to go."

"Don't be cheeky. It's impolite to tell your elders where to go." She turned the wipers on and miraculously they worked. "I forgot. I asked Pinto to fix them last week."

"I'm getting out the needle. And saving you from the home."

We blistered around a corner burning rubber.

"Can't you go any faster? I have a man to catch."

She had had it with me by then. "Sophie. Just sit back and shut up."

"You always told me it was impolite to say shut up."

"You're absolutely right, I did. What I should have said is shut the fuck up."

Oh. Oh. The F-bomb. I was in trouble. She was insane now, straddling lanes and running other motorists off the road.

"That was a panda, you realize, Pots. Soon we'll hear sirens."

"Exactly. A police escort is what we're looking for now. That way I can just follow the lights."

With a bit of luck on our side we finally pulled up in front of Todd's posh Hyde Park building unharmed and I splashed through the puddles to buzz his flat.

"Not home," he answered.

"It's me. Sophie. Can I come in, please?"

"Sophie? Really? Whatever do you want? The last piece of my manhood?"

"I want to say sorry. I've treated you badly and I want to make it up." I was being pelted by rain.

"I'd really like to help you out, Sophie. To ease the guilt you're suffering. But, alas, I cannot. You see, I'm presently shagging my rubber tree and she hardly argues at all. She trusts me, actually. And that's what's important to me."

"I do trust you!"

"No, you don't. And you never will. So, rather than spend a lifetime with somebody who thinks that I'm out robbing banks I'm choosing Stella. Stella Plant. Robert's ex. Her marriage to a rock star tree fell apart because she didn't trust. But Stella's learned her lesson. And she very much wants to prove herself to me now. That she can, at long last, trust. A giant step for her, as well as for all mistrusting vegetation worldwide."

"I'm sorry."

"I know you are. And I wish that that, in itself, was enough. But it's not. It's simply not good enough, Sophie. I need you to go away."

I sobbed my way back to the car. "He doesn't want me anymore, Pots." Sniff. Sniff. "He hates me now."

The streetlight's decision to shine on her face didn't help matters either. Pity. It bounced off her forehead like an echo. "Did he actually say that?"

Sniff. "He did. He told me to go away."

"I see. I see."

"No, you don't see! You don't see well enough to drive the two of us across the street. I'm going to call a taxi."

Just then a tap on my window caused me to roll it down. It was Todd wearing a silly grin. "I said to go away. But I didn't say how far. This is way too far for my liking." He opened the door and pulled me out of the car. "You are the most exasperating woman on the planet, Sophie Whitehead! And I have no idea why I like you at all. But I do. I honestly do like you. A lot. I don't want to scare you with the 'love' word since you seem to equate it with horses but would 'like' do?"

I giggled. "I like you too. Even more than horses which I don't really like at all."

"Not even the Trojan horse?"

"No. The Trojan horse I like least of all."

Todd lifted me into the air then and swung me around like a rag doll. And with monsoon force rain soaking the two of us he shouted to Potsy in her car, "We're in like! Can you believe it? We're absolutely one hundred percent in like!"

Potsy thrust her fist into the air. "Spot on! Now get back into the car Sophie before you catch your death."

Todd poked his head through the window. "Sophie is going to stay with me tonight, Auntie."

Right. Had he just undergone a lobotomy? "Over my dead body! If the two of you are going to move forward in this relationship you'll do it properly. There'll be no sleeping around. At least until Sophie's divorce is final. Then we'll see."

Todd turned back to me. "The queen has spoken. I supposed it best to comply."

I shrugged. "Heads will roll if she's not obeyed."

Together we pleaded through the window. "Is it alright to kiss?"

She just sat there with a sour look on her face.
Epilogue

BACK HOME IN MY OWN comfy bed I was just nodding off when Hector decided to throw an orgy.

_'Three cheers for Lady!'_ he shouted. _'She sent her husband packing and the girl, indirectly, too.'_

Beer mugs clinked. _'And she landed the actor, as well, which I find rather boring.'_

More clinking. _'Boring'_ was the consensus.

'S _he might have had The African. The African is a lot more fun.'_

Clinking.

'I've never been to Africa.'

'You should go, Hector.'

'I should. Apparently, there's a lot of fighting in Africa. I could be a hero there.'

'You're already are a hero. And you don't know how to fire a gun.'

'I'm not stupid. If I can kill fifty men with a sword in a single battle how many do you think I could kill with a gun?'

'A lot.'

'A hundred?'

'Maybe.'

'A thousand?'

'Maybe. Unless you run out of bullets.'

'I won't.'

'Lady won't go to Africa.'

'I wouldn't wager a chariot on it if I were you. I have my ways. I am Hector!'

And right then and there it hit me like a boulder, smack on the head. Perhaps it wouldn't be Pinto-James. Or Todd Aimes either. But I knew one thing for certain. I'd be perfectly fine facing the future alone.
