Page 92 of The Bridesmaid
While I’m thinking over hopeless possibilities, Georgia instructs us to change into bridesmaid dresses for the next photoshoot at Fortune House.
Adrianna wears a tiny glittering silver dress, cut deep to expose her thin, tanned back. She zeros in on me, throwing a narrow arm across my shoulders, with unconvincing bonhomie.
‘You and I haven’t spoken much, have we, Petra?’ says Adrianna. ‘Let’s go back to Fortune House and get a drink.’
Something about the way she says it suggests she means an actual drink. Rather than a lime juice and baking soda mix designed to catch the light in pictures.
We tramp up the path to Fortune House, which is low-lit and atmospheric in the evening shade.
Adrianna heads straight to the main bar, which is unmanned since no one was expecting us.
Opium is decorated with a lush colonial grandeur. Broad plantation shutters, raw teak floor, and an artfully selected assortment of wingback and Chesterfield chairs in deep colors.
The drink service area is a contemporary rendition of a wall-length, Victorian-style English bar, made of polished wood and contemporary jungle-leaf stained glass, showcasing luxury liquors.
Adrianna claps for our attention. We all turn dutifully to watch. I raise my camera.
‘Who wantstequila?’ Adrianna is suddenly making a loud and unconvincing attempt to be the fun-bachelorette.
‘You’ve got a full photoshoot tomorrow,’ Georgia says, walking toward her.
‘Relax,’ says Adrianna. ‘It’s just for the photos.’ She reachesbehind the bar, grabs a bottle and holds it aloft. ‘Could we get some glasses?’ she adds, to no one in particular.
Ophelia obligingly scuttles behind the bar to fish some out.
Adrianna begins pouring shots, with a wild-eyed expression. I think back to my nights out with Leopold, and there’s something sad about how disingenuous her partying is. Like she’s seen fun in photos and is approximating it. She reminds me more of a prisoner at yard time.
‘Who wants one?’ Adrianna holds up a glass.
There’s an eerie silence. We’re all here for photo-ops and to work. There’s a flicker in Adrianna’s light-blue eyes. Like she’s suddenly seen her life through the fun-house mirror and realized it’s a sham.
I leave for a cigarette. Outside Fortune House, I lean against the heavy stone of the wall, and stare out across the island, blowing out a steady stream of smoke.
There are three figures in the distance, low down on the side of the mountain, headed for the beach. I squint against the setting sun, trying to figure out the dynamics. From this vantage point, it looks as though two people are manhandling a third.
I suck in cigarette smoke and finger the camera slung around my neck.
Making a decision, I lift it and zoom in. When I check the display, I’m startled. Holly Stone’s assistant, dark-haired with good cheekbones, is being dragged toward the ocean by two jittery-looking men in ragged T-shirts and jeans.
My pulse lifts. The two men restraining Holly’s assistant are clearly high. There’s a deadness to both of their eyes, which I’ve seen before in dangerous men. Dealers, mainly, who use too much of their own supply.
As I absorb this, Holly’s assistant twists in their grasp, and runs, hands bound, back toward the house. He doesn’t get far. Within seconds a guard is on him, cannoning the butt of a rifle into his back and knocking him to the floor. The second guard closes in on the prone figure and begins administering a volley of heavy kicks. Both men hook their arms under the now-unmoving form and drag him toward the sea.
I inhale several quick sips of cigarette smoke, my long fingers shaking slightly. Should I tell Leopold? His guards have gotten too rough with people in the past. We don’t need any more bodies on the island.
My jaw sets tight. No one ever helped me. Decision made, I turn away.
Chapter Seventy-five
HOLLY
It’s a long slog through hot jungle, avoiding being seen, but I finally manage to get back to the main house, my heart beating fast. I’m trying not to think about Fitzwilliam.
Carefully, I slip in the staff entrance in the undercroft and into the kitchen. I’m about to let out a breath when I see a slim figure in the corner.
‘Hello, Holly.’ Adrianna is standing, watching me.
‘Oh. Hi.’ I touch my hair self-consciously. ‘I was just fixing my make-up. What areyoudoing here?’ I add. She’s holding a bottle of tequila, I notice, and there’s a hazy cast to her sapphire eyes.
