Page 30 of Hollywood Games
‘They wouldn’t do that.’
Zoe reached to the sides of her head, tugging at her hair in frustration. ‘Yes, Rory. They would. It happens all the fucking time. So, if he wants to swan around pretending to be your grandfather, indulge him. If he wants the castle moving an inch to the left, you do it. If he says jump, you ask how high, and if he decides my hair is his sodding muse then that’s the way it’s going to be. You can’t be looming over me every second of the day, protecting my non-existent virtue.’
’I don’t want him anywhere near you.’
‘For fuck’s sake, Rory. I’m not going to frigging shag him!’
A melodious Scottish voice cut in. ‘Ah, there you are.’
They whirled around to see Barbara, her eyes glinting with equal amounts of disdain and amusement. She was wearing a long, fitted dress of pale blue silk, the same outfit she had worn thirty-five years ago for her portrait in the great hall. The dress shimmered as she moved. Diamond earrings, an ornate sapphire necklace, and a tiara completed the look. The effect was dazzling and Zoe felt like a complete frump in comparison.
‘Apologies for interrupting your scintillating discourse,’ Barbara said, ‘however, dinner is served. Shall we go and collect the Americans?’ She didn’t wait for a response, but turned on her heel and glided down the corridor in front of them. Rory reached for Zoe as they followed, but she crossed her arms in front of her, furious with him, and wondering if she would ever have an interaction with his mother that wasn’t utterly hideous.
As Barbara entered the sitting room, Brad and Crystal leapt to their feet.
Bentley’s voice rang out from the corner of the room: ‘Lady Kinloch.’
Brad’s eyes widened. Crystal blinked rapidly and gave a wobbly curtsey. Barbara walked over to them both and extended a hand to Brad.
‘Mr Bauer,’ she began in honeyed tones. ‘What an honour it is to entertain you at Kinloch Castle.’
Brad bowed deeply before her, brushing his lips across her knuckles. ‘My lady, the honour is all mine.’
A tiny flush crossed Barbara’s cheeks and she disengaged, turning to Crystal. ‘And Miss Goldberg, welcome.’
Crystal curtsied again. ‘Your Majesty,’ she replied breathlessly.
‘Shall we adjourn?’ asked Barbara. She gave her arm to Brad and stared pointedly at Rory who stepped forward to escort Crystal. Barbara and Brad walked to another door, opened by Bentley, and they passed through into the dining room. Rory offered Zoe his free arm, but she shook her head and brought up the rear, still cross.
The dining room also had a roaring fire, and the table set with silver cutlery, antique porcelain plates, lead crystal glasses, candelabras and a long centrepiece of white roses and heather running down the middle. The light came mainly from the fire and the candles, casting everything in a soft golden glow. The table was long enough to seat forty, so only one end was laid. Barbara sat at the head and gestured for Brad to sit next to her on the side closest to the fire, Crystal next to him, and Rory to her right with Zoe next to him. After doing her research on the castle and social history, Zoe knew full well Barbara had given her ‘the cold shoulder’, the lowest-ranked place at the table, furthest away from the fire. But right now, she didn’t care, she wanted to get this meal done with and go back to the cabin.
As Bentley brought out different courses, Zoe sat back to admire the artifice. As far as Brad and Crystal were concerned, he was the butler, and in the kitchens were the cook and housemaids, who’d spent the whole afternoon preparing the feast. What they didn’t know was that Bentley was a family friend, not a servant, each course was a ready meal courtesy of M&S, and the centrepiece was there to hide the fact that Rory was either eating something different from everyone else, or nothing at all. Even the wine bottles had been given a makeover, with the labels scuffed and aged with strong tea by Bentley after he’d bought them earlier at Lidl in Inverness.
However, none of this was apparent to Brad and Crystal who had bought in one hundred and ten per cent to theirDownton Abbeyexperience. Brad’s Hollywood dietary requirements had been abandoned for the evening and he appeared completely captivated by Barbara. She was the ultimate hostess, making him feel like the centre of the universe, asking him questions she knew he would love to answer. Brad shone in her spotlight, regaling them with stories from his past about films Barbara pretended to have seen and blinding them with his looks and charm.
Zoe was grateful Barbara had taken the pressure off her. She was exhausted. She’d been working non-stop, and time that should have been dedicated to sleep and recovery was now almost entirely given over to indulging her and Rory’s never-ending sexual appetite. As she ate and quietly listened to the conversation, she replayed the afternoon, questioning her reaction to his behaviour, and decided she’d overreacted. Even if he did piss off Brad, hopefully she and Barbara would be there to smooth his ruffled feathers.
Rory watched his mother perform.He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her this relaxed and happy. His father had been hard work.Did he ever make her laugh?As he watched her giggling behind her napkin at something Brad had said, an oily unease slid down his spine.
After the chaos of war and his father’s death, Rory had chosen a simple life to help manage his PTSD. Now anxiety gnawed inside him, unravelling any control he felt over this situation. It was as if he was lost in the middle of the Atlantic, watching the USS Brad Bauer sailing off into the sunset with the two women central to his life. As his heart rate spiked and he fought to control his breathing, he tried a new calming technique of imagining all the different ways he could end Brad’s life. His hand clenched around his steak knife, and he lasered in on a point in the centre of his Botoxed forehead. Everything about Brad profoundly irritated him: his features so plastically perfect it appeared as though he’d been made in a lab, his approach to Scottish history, every word that came out of his mouth, and each look he gave Zoe. Six months ago, he wouldn’t have cared if a multitude of Brad Bauers had arrived in Kinloch. He would just have shrugged his shoulders and carried on, completely indifferent to them. But Zoe had torched that equanimity. He now had the irresistible urge to punch Brad in his pretty-boy face, turf him out on his perfectly formed arse and carry Zoe upstairs to bed.
‘So, my lady,’ said Brad to Barbara. ‘If you were to re-marry, would your husband become a lord?’
Rory looked at his mother, his body thrumming with blood lust.
Barbara smiled demurely. ‘Only if he was a lord in his own right. However, on remarrying, I would retain my title, so I would still be addressed as ‘Lady’, but it would be followed by my new husband’s surname.’
Rory changed the grip on his steak knife, readying to throw it. He felt Zoe kick him under the table.
‘Brad’s been telling us how he was one of the Earls of Kinloch in a former life,’ Zoe said loudly. ‘It’s really helped him get into character.’
His mother looked at her, as if reminded of some dog mess left on the carpet by a guest’s incontinent pooch. ‘Really now? I’m fascinated,’ she said, sounding anything but.
Brad, unattuned to the subtleties of British upper-class sarcasm, took this as an invitation to launch into his second favourite subject, and being that it also entailed talking about himself, it was also his first.
‘Yeah, His Holiness Vladyka Mirov confirmed it. I’ve been the earl at least three times. It’s why I was drawn here, and the spiritual connection I have to Zoe as my former wife.’
In the shocked silence that followed this statement, Zoe pushed down on Rory’s hand, clamping it and the knife to the table.
