was preparing for the tinpot festival at Huntsford. Oswald had been in a terrible mood ever since her arrival three hours earlier, solidly grumbling and moaning about the soaring costs of the evening. There had been a dramatic surge in ticket enquiries since the papers had reported that Serena was going to make a public appearance, but she doubted it would be enough to balance Oswald’s gluttonous outlay on the event. And the torrential rain forecast for the following day would surely keep the crowds away on the day. Not that she wanted him to lose money; what use was he to her then? But mostly she was furious that all the attention had shifted away from herself to Serena.
When Oswald had told her that his youngest daughter was going to be involved in the Musical Evening a few days earlier, Maria had been incandescent. Maria had been sure that the talentless little tramp was out of the picture for the time being. Her scandal-filled lifestyle had made Oswald purple with rage at the reflected shame it brought on the family name, yet now he was prepared not only to let Serena lead the event and become the star attraction, but also to pay her for the privilege. Maria almost admired Serena’s gall for her ruthless bartering with her father, were it not for the clear indication of the influence she had over him. Well, that was going to stop. As long as Serena could manipulate her father, she controlled Huntsford, and Maria was not going to stand for that. She wanted to snuff out Serena’s influence once and for all.
She crunched her heels into the grass as she stalked angrily towards the trailer she would be using tomorrow. The sun had sunk behind a line of forest-green trees, so the evening was lit like a partial eclipse, the birds still singing in the eerie greyness. Maria glanced at her watch: 7.40 p.m. She cursed again. Dinner was due to be served at the house at eight and it would take fifteen minutes to walk back there. Her trailer was a standard issue twenty-five-foot Portakabin with a long seat and table at one end and a row of chairs and mirrors at the other. In between was stuffed with rails of clothes, hairpieces and vases of flowers. She knew better than to turn on the huge mirrors that were circled with Hollywood-style bulbs, and instead flipped on a little overhead light that gave the cabin a soft glow. There was a man sitting at the long table smoking a cigarette. ‘Oh, you’re here,’ snapped Maria, looking at her watch again. ‘On time, well done.’
‘We’d better keep this quick,’ said the man. ‘There’re about fifty people still milling around the stage. We’re not going to stop until midnight.’ He pushed an envelope over the table like a poker player folding his cards. Maria picked it up and began counting the crisp fifty-pound notes inside with her long fingertips. The feel of large amounts of money still never failed to give her a sexual thrill, and the poor girl from Puglia in her wanted to feel every last note. She felt the cool gaze of the man at the table and stopped herself, stashing the envelope in her black velvet clutch bag.
‘OK, listen,’ she said. ‘We’ll be starting dinner in fifteen minutes. Oswald never allows a dinner to be finished in less than two hours. He likes to luxuriate over every course and insists his guests do too. There are only three staff in the whole house, so it will be easy for you to avoid them.’ She tossed a plain brown envelope onto the table with a thud. ‘Here is the key to the back door. Her room is straight up the main stairway, the third door along the large corridor at the front of the house. I’m sure you’ll find everything you need in there.’
‘You’re sure?’ asked the man.
‘The girl takes cocaine. I saw it with my own eyes at her party in March. She’ll almost certainly have some on her. It wouldn’t surprise me if she wasn’t drinking spirits and taking pills too. She’s such an irresponsible little bitch.’ In Maria’s Italian accent the word came out ‘beach’. The man smiled in the darkness. He could feel himself becoming turned on as he imagined the glorious shirt-tearing catfight that would be had between these gorgeous, dominant women.
‘Well, we’d better find what we’re looking for,’ he said finally, dropping his cigarette into a plastic cup, where it fizzled out with a hiss in the dregs. ‘The newspaper is paying a lot of money for this.’
‘Oh, you’ll get what you want,’ said Maria Dante, nodding so vigorously that a strand of hair fell across her dark brown eyes. ‘Serena Balcon never fails to disappoint.’
Oswald Balcon sat at the head of the Louis XV table in the Red Drawing Room with Maria and Serena flanked on either side of him like two concubines, each gently picking at their asparagus spears.
‘Oswald Balcon,’ chided Maria lightly, looking up at him with glossy chocolate eyes, ‘I think this is the smallest dinner I have ever attended at Huntsford. What happened to the other girls? I thought it was going to be a family affair tonight.’
Oswald placed down his silver knife and fork pointedly, looking more than a little disgruntled. ‘Neither Cate and Camilla nor Venetia and Jonathon will be attending until tomorrow,’ he said, pursing his lips with disapproval. ‘As you are well aware, I can never rely on family support for anything.’
The comment echoed around the room, which was indeed empty, being large enough to seat twenty. The situation was not helped by the frosty atmosphere between the two women, who were pointedly not looking at each other except when passing condiments. A rumble of thunder could be heard far away, like a growl coming from the core of the earth. The sound brought an anxious look across Oswald’s face; he immediately tried to disguise it.
Collins came through the door pushing a silver trolley laden with cloches. He placed Serena’s dinner in front of her, pulling off the silver dome with a flourish. A seared tuna steak was accompanied by a plateful of potatoes and vegetables.
‘What’s this?’ snapped Serena, looking up at Collins, throwing her napkin down angrily. ‘Look at it! It’s practically raw!’
‘But that’s how you always like your steaks, Miss Serena,’ said Collins, looking a little flushed in the face.
‘That was before I became pregnant,’ sighed Serena, not hiding her irritation.
‘Serena! Stop making such a fuss!’ said Oswald, banging his hand on the table. ‘It’s been such a hot day, I asked Collins to serve something light.’
‘Well, obviously you’ve never been pregnant either,’ said Serena, flashing him an icy stare and pushing her chair out from under the table. She was tired and bad-tempered. Exhausted in fact. She felt as if she would melt into the floor at any moment. All she could think of was her room and getting some sleep. She certainly couldn’t stand another two hours being bored to death by her father and Maria cooing at each other.
‘No, neither of you will understand how I am feeling,’ said Serena, standing up now and placing her napkin beside her plate, ‘but I can tell you, it’s pretty awful.’ She fixed her gaze on her father. ‘If I’m going to be in any fit state to do a decent job tomorrow, I need to get some sleep. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’
Knowing the wisdom of having Serena as her fresh dazzling self the next day, Oswald nodded and gave the familiar wave of his hand to let her know she had been dismissed.
Maria glanced at the grandfather clock behind her: 8.45 p.m. She stood up suddenly.
‘Serena, please,’ said Maria, giving her the most sincere smile she could, ‘I would feel so offended if you went to bed now.’ She opened her arms like a Madonna. ‘Please stay. We need to get to know each other so much more now. Collins can cook you a nice, well-done steak, can’t you Collins? Then you can stay and relax at the table.’
‘As I said,’ smiled Serena, trying her best to look gracious, ‘I really don’t think you understand how tired a woman in her third month of pregnancy can get. Daddy, maybe we can meet in the morning so we can go
