Page 36 of The Black Trilogy

On Saturday morning, I went for a run while Susie did the horses. We’d swapped so I’d be doing her Sunday shift instead, working on the assumption that she and Hayley would be unconscious after the ball while I planned to stay sober. I made use of the woods, using tree branches to do pull-ups and logs to do tricep dips, and got back in time for a shower before we left for Susie’s at three.

I didn’t see how we could possibly need four hours to get ready, but when we got there, all became clear. Susie’s mother took the Hunt Ball very seriously. The beautician, make-up artist, and hairdresser waiting for us when we arrived demonstrated that fact.

Normally, I couldn’t be bothered with all that stuff. People poking and prodding made me shudder. Bradley used to pull stunts like this with annoying regularity, but after he got sick of me turning up late and sending the assorted style gurus home, we’d compromised. If it was an important function, he did my hair and make-up, I had a manicure and pedicure once a fortnight so my nails stayed presentable, and some dominatrix waxed my legs every month when I was home.

I only let him bring in the big guns for special occasions, like meeting the president or another important dignitary. Even for the president, I couldn’t always be bothered to dress up. He’d seen me in sweats in the gym; his view of me wasn’t going to change if I was wearing eyeliner.

Today, as a sadist plucked my eyebrows, I realised how much I missed Bradley. He might drive me nuts, but at least he didn’t try to insist I had a spray tan.

“You could do with some colour,” Susie’s mother said.

Sure, I’d faded a bit, but Hayley had just been dyed a frightening shade of orange and there was no way I wanted to look like that.

How were the rest of my friends getting on back home? Bradley wasn’t the only one I missed. I’d been watching the news for any signs of trouble, but everything seemed quiet in our little corner of Virginia. The most notable item this week had been a shoot-out and car chase through Richmond, but that was drugs related. Oh, they didn’t say that, but I knew. I’d recognised “Suspect A” as he legged it from the police helicopter. What a drama. Last time I’d gone after the little git, I’d shot him with one of those tranquilliser guns they use at the zoo, but the cops had all these pesky rules and it didn’t look good if they broke them on live TV.

No, Virginia was calm. It was just my mind that was in turmoil. Part of me longed to return home, but I knew from the way my chest tightened every time I thought of getting on a plane that I wasn’t ready.

The three of us passed inspection just before seven when the stylists declared us ready.

“You look lovely, darlings,” Susie’s mother gushed.

Her father had arranged for his chauffeur to drive us, and better still, pick us up. At least we wouldn’t be fighting for a cab later.

The ball was being held at a country hotel fifteen miles away. Its drab stone façade was at odds with the raucous guests parading up the steps, and as Susie and Hayley beamed and pouted for the official photographer, I ducked to the side. No, I didn’t want a mugshot.

In a stuffy anteroom, white-jacketed waiters offered around trays of champagne. Well, prosecco more likely, but the guests seemed to prefer quantity over quality. Susie and Hayley skipped the bubbles entirely and started on the hard stuff while I sipped a glass of orange juice—one of us had to stay upright.

I studied the partygoers out of habit and spotted a few people I recognised, including Portia and Arabella. What were they doing here?

“Aren’t those two underage?” I asked Hayley, jerking my head in their direction.

“Sixteen and seventeen-year-olds are allowed in as long as they’re accompanied by an adult family member. They’ve got to wear a pink wristband to show they shouldn’t be served alcohol.”

The bands of shame would be lucky to last five minutes. If I’d had one, it would have been snipped off the second I got through the door. As if to prove my point, a piece of jailbait wandered past holding a cocktail and tripped over a chair. Yes, this evening promised to be carnage. Someone save me now. The icing on the cake came when I spotted Henry-the-turd from the corner of my eye. You know, that disgustingly thick icing you peel off and hide in a napkin?

He swaggered around with his mates, beer in hand. This evening, he’d swapped the cravat for a wonky bowtie and a tuxedo that might have fitted once, but it hadn’t kept up with his expanding waistline. Nice.

With nothing better to do, I worked my way around the room, chatting. I’d always treated gatherings like this as a challenge to find out as much information as possible while revealing as little as I could myself. I’d become pretty skilled at it, but it was always amusing when I went to a work function where everyone else was playing the same game. This evening was good practice, although I had it easy because this crowd loved to talk about themselves.

Then at eight o’clock, we were called into the dining room. The three of us from Hazelwood Farm were at a table with another girl and four guys.

The new girl was obviously with the short, ginger-haired guy—the way she kept searching for his tonsils with her tongue was a giveaway—and two of the others paired off with Susie and Hayley. That left me with one man to talk to, and I quickly realised he was gay. He didn’t mention it, but I’d spent enough time with Bradley to know the signs.

Gay dude was nice enough, but we had nothing in common. There was only so much I could talk about with an accountant who spent his weekends fly fishing.

By the end of dessert, boredom had set in. Hopping into a cab was oh-so-tempting, but Susie and Hayley were past three sheets to the wind and well on their way to double figures. The responsible part of me said I should stick around to make sure they got in the right car at the end of the night.

Once the tables were cleared away, the DJ came out and the dancing started. Not a good idea for me to join in. I always drew attention when I set foot on a dance floor, no matter how much I tried to tone it down, and I wanted to keep a low profile tonight. I’d slunk back into the shadows by the bar when I felt a presence behind me and hot breath on my neck. Breath that reeked of whisky. Delightful. As I turned, Henry ran his hand up my bare back.

“Managed to lose the boyfriend then? How about trying a real man?”

“I assume you mean yourself? It was just that the ‘real man’ part confused me.”

“Yeah.” He reached out and stroked my hair. “Girls always get confused.”

Idiot. Too drunk to pick up on the sarcasm?

I tried again. “Not even if you were the last man on earth, there were no more batteries, and my fingers were paralysed.”

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