Page 23 of Hollywood Games
‘Perhaps. We’re publishing an article about the country’s most eligible earls and found the Kinloch Castle website. Is, ahem, the gentleman featured on the website actually Lord MacGinley?’ Zoe bit her lip and tried not to laugh. This was exactly why she’d taken photos of Rory shirtless and wielding a broadsword. He was capable of raising the temperature of the dead.
‘Yes, that is indeed the earl,’ she said, trying to keep the smirk out of her voice at Cassandra’s sharp intake of breath.
‘Well,’ Cassandra exhaled. ‘And, is he currently unattached?’ Zoe squeezed her eyes shut. All publicity was good publicity, right? But how could she answer without lying? ‘Is he married?’ continued Cassandra, her vocal cords constricting her voice to a squeak.
‘Oh no, he’s not married,’ Zoe replied in a rush. She could hear Cassandra exhale loudly.
‘Ah, that is most pleasing. Can we set a date for an interview and photoshoot?’
When Rory turnedup an hour later Zoe was beside herself with excitement, but the look on his face sucked the joy out of her. ‘What’s happened? Has your mum got the results back?’ she asked anxiously.
Rory shook his head. ‘Has Brad come through yet with anything tangible?’
Zoe bit her bottom lip. ‘No, not yet. But I think it’s going to be soon. What’s going on?’
Rory leaned on the desk. Zoe went to his side and held onto his arm. ‘We’ve gone over the overdraft and the bank won’t advance us any more money. We can’t afford to pay the lawyers fighting the Colquhoun Asset Management case. Fuck, we can’t even afford to pay for food or petrol any more. My card got declined at the post office and Morag paid my bill for me.’ He shook his head. ‘This is the end, Zoe. I’m going to have to sell.’
‘I’ve still got savings. I’ll transfer them now. It’s not much, but it’ll help.’ She squeezed his arm.
‘No. Never. I’m not dragging you down with me. I’ve got to deal with this, try and salvage as much as I can to make sure Mum’s okay.’
They heard the sound of a car screeching to a halt in the courtyard below, a door slam and Barbara yelling, ‘Rory!’ He walked to the window and looked out, signalling to his mother. He stepped back. ‘I think she’s coming up here.’
Zoe sat back down in the chair and Rory stood in front of her, blocking her view from whoever stood in the office doorway. Zoe had only ever met his mother once and hadn’t intended to ever meet her again. She tensed, her heart rate rising with every click-clack of her heels along the corridor. The door banged open, and Hurricane Barbara roared in.
‘What has she done with our money? Where is it?’ She hyperventilated. ‘I’ve never been so humiliated.’ She was struggling to get her words out. ‘I’m trying to do what you say, I’m trying to save money. I’ve stopped shopping in Waitrose and M&S, I, I didn’t even go to Sainsbury’s.’ By now Barbara was hysterical. ‘I finally lowered myself to rubbing shoulders with the fetid masses. But then, in front of all of them…’ she broke off, gasping. ‘My cards were declined! In Lidl!’
Despite her fear, and the fact she was skulking behind Rory, Zoe couldn’t help a little snort escaping at the thought of Barbara even setting foot in Lidl.
Unfortunately, the sound was audible.
Barbara pushed past Rory and stood above Zoe, her arm extended, her finger pointing. ‘You!’ She shook, spittle forming in the corners of her perfect mouth. ‘You,’ she repeated, her eyes bulging.
‘Mum, stop this now!’ Rory shouted, as Zoe held her hands in a gesture of defence.
Barbara was shaking. ‘You!’ she screamed again, her raised arm trembling. Then she staggered backwards, clutching at her chest.
‘Mum!’ yelled Rory, rushing to her side and holding onto her as she crumpled to the ground, her face ashen.
Zoe grabbed the phone and dialled 999.
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12
Rory sat on the fake leather chair by the side of the hospital bed, his head bowed, his body damp with sweat. Barbara was sleeping; an IV in the back of one hand being fed by a drip above the bed, a pulse oximeter on the index finger of the other. He listened to the steady beeps of the machine, the murmurs of voices, the sounds of doors opening and closing, the squeaking of shoes on the scuffed lino floors. He hated hospitals. After he’d been blown up in Afghanistan, he’d spent far too long in them, and there hadn’t even been any pretty nurses to sweeten the deal. The emotional scars from the incident ran deeper than the physical ones, and even though he’d worked through his PTSD, he often felt like he was holding a half-empty glass whilst waiting for the other shoe to drop.
He hadn’t been allowed in the ambulance, so had followed behind, his brain bursting out of his skull, keeping up until they hit traffic outside Inverness. He’d seen enough critical care situations for one lifetime and imagined the scene in the back of the ambulance as they tried to keep his mother alive. When he got to the hospital car park he didn’t bother with a ticket.
Now his mother lay there before him. Sedated? Comatose? What if she never recovered? Would a blazing row with him be her last ever memory? He pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. What a mess. What an utter fucking mess. He wouldn’t blame Zoe if she ran off with Brad Bauer. Anyone was a better bet than him.
‘Mr MacGinley?’
Rory raised his head to see a doctor standing in front of him. He stood automatically, towering above her. She looked so young.
‘I’m Doctor Ferguson, the consultant leading the care of your mother.’
A consultant? Fuck, he was getting old. ‘Is she going to be okay?’
