Page 64 of Hollywood Games
‘Why should I be? He’s rich, clever, well connected. A thoroughbred of a man with superb stamina.’
‘He’s not a bloody horse! And you’re old enough to be his mum.’
If looks could kill then Rory would have gone up in smoke under Barbara’s withering gaze. ‘Are you implying I gave birth to him when I was twelve?’
‘But… He’s…’
‘There are twelve years between us. There were over twenty between me and your father.’
‘But he can’t keep his dick in his pants!’
Barbara lashed out with a stinging slap. ‘Watch your tongue! Out of anyone in this castle right now you should know not to believe everything you read in the papers. I’m fully capable of making my own judgements and decisions and taking care of myself. I’m more concerned about the influence that woman has had on you.’
‘Enough! Her name isZOE,’ Rory yelled. Barbara didn’t flinch. ‘And she’s the sole reason you’re romancing that American idiot. She’s the only reason we aren’t having to sell the castle and actually have a future. She doesn’t even want to be the countess. She fell in love with me, not the Earl of fucking Kinloch. And it wasn’t her that told me about you and Brad, it was Vlad. I’m sick to the back teeth of this ridiculous vendetta of yours against the woman I am begging to marry me. Now, you’re going to come with me, we’re going to find her, and you’re going to apologise for everything you’ve ever said or done to her.’
Barbara drew herself up against the raging wall of Rory; David against Goliath. ‘I will do no such thing!’ The standoff was interrupted by the castle fire alarm going off. Rory bolted to the door, threw it open and ran down the corridor. He followed the smell of smoke, grabbing a fire extinguisher on his way, panic flaring through him. He kicked open the door to a room being used by the lesser actors, filled with acrid smoke. An armchair was on fire, a figure slumped back in it. Rory aimed the extinguisher, dousing the flames, as Barbara and more of the production team rushed in behind him. He ran to the figure, lifting them off the chair. Their head rolled out of his grip to the floor and their body flopped in his arms. He stepped back, dropping it, realising what he was rescuing was far from human.
Someone had taken jeans and a jumper and stuffed them with clothes, then placed one of the heads from the hair and make-up truck on top. A crude approximation of a face had been drawn on, and it was wearing Kirsten’s wig. Rory noticed with chilling horror the clothes were very familiar.
He turned to his mother. ‘These are Zoe’s clothes.’
His mother surveyed the scene; the curly red hair of the wig black with soot, the ‘body’ lying askance on the floor, water everywhere. She looked furious. ‘This is appalling.’
Rory nodded in agreement.
Barbara was shaking her head. ‘That chair was two hundred years old, and look what the water has done to the floor.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
The people who had followed them into the room were now fighting to vacate it before Rory lost it completely.
‘I said,’ his mother began, then stopped. She stared at the clothes, the head, the wig, then back into the face of a man pushed over the edge. ‘Oh, I see… Wait, where are you going?’
Rory paused in the open doorway. ‘You know where I’m going and what I’m going to do. And this time, Zoe or Charlie won’t be there to stop me.’
He walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Whilst Rory’sday was straight from hell, Zoe was in heaven. Entering the bakery, Margaret had run around the counter and enveloped her in a hug. ‘Oh, Zoe, my dear! We can’t keep up! Donald’s been working all night and we’ve had to go to an agency for extra staff.’
‘The shortbread? Is it selling?’
Margaret was vibrating with excitement, her soft cheeks bouncing as she nodded. ‘Better than hot cakes! If orders don’t slow down we’re going to have to take on another premises. We can’t keep up with demand and run the shop.’ She led Zoe out to the back office and sat her in front of a floury computer. In the chaos of the last few days, Zoe hadn’t even checked sales. She sat in front of the screen in shock, at the thousands of orders pouring in from around the world. ‘I reckon we can only fulfil five per cent of these in the next week, and we’ll have run out of packaging by then too,’ said Margaret, starting to fret.
‘Okay. I’m on it. Can I use your office for an hour?’
‘Yes, of course, love. A cup of tea? Sausage roll? Custard tart? Whatever you want, it’s on the house.’
Zoe’s mouth watered. ‘Yes, please. Anything and everything.’
She got her laptop out, and for the next hour attempted to get on top of the spiced shortbread sensation. She placed another order with the packaging company for an express turnaround, then searched for units that could be used for production outside of the bakery. She found an industrial estate a twenty-minute drive from Kinloch, and arranged with the landlord to take a look that morning. After loading up with the best pastries the bakery produced she set off with Margaret, texting Rory to let him know the news.
Rory was pleasedto know Zoe was leaving Kinloch, but had failed to find Vlad. Charlie had thundered down the main stairs after hearing the alarm, and the two of them had searched the castle from top to bottom in an attempt to track him down. Two hours later, they still hadn’t found him. They made their way back to his room and Rory packed his bags, leaving them in the middle of the bed. A pair of muddy boots were left on the floor. Rory picked them up and sniffed them.
Charlie recoiled. ‘Jesus, Rory, think you’re Sherlock Holmes? Going to lick them as well?’
Rory picked at the mud and pulled out a small stringy mushroom. He held it out. ‘I think he’s gone searching for these.’
‘How powerful are they?’
