Page 25 of Kissing Games
He looked at Bandit. ‘Shall we?’
Bandit gave a bark of approval and Charlie opened the door with his skeleton key.
The curtains were drawn and the room was dark. It smelled like someone had eaten all the sprouts at Christmas dinner, then been locked in a room to sweat and fart it out till new year. Bandit whined.
Charlie ruffled his fur. ‘Yes, I know it’s rank, but if we open a window, he’ll know we’ve been here.’
He flicked on the light and looked around. It was a tip. Clothes were discarded across the floor and an empty wine bottle poked out from under the bed. He began a systematic search. He’d been trained for it and knew every trick. Ten minutes later the room had only revealed that Vlad was an alcoholic slob who had red and black budgie smugglers for underwear, some adorned with the image of fire. Maybe Valentina’s reference to him as ‘Vlad the Impaler’ was to do with his sexual practices? Charlie’s stomach rolled. If there was any fire in Vlad’s crotch, it was most likely due to a combination of poor hygiene and venereal disease.
He moved to the bathroom and in less than a minute had hit the jackpot. Taped to the inside of the cistern was a plastic bag. Bandit barked excitedly as Charlie pulled it out. Inside was another bag for extra waterproofing, containing pills and powders. Charlie didn’t bother attempting to confirm what it was. He stuffed them into the back pocket of his trousers, then dried the first bag.
Back in the bedroom, he gingerly pulled a pair of Vlad’s used underwear out from under the bed. Bandit put his head to one side and whined.
‘If we need to find him one day, we need a scent. Okay?’
Back in his own room, he lit a fire in the grate, opened all the windows and burned Vlad’s stash. It was highly likely Vlad had more drugs in the man-bag he carried with him, but Charlie was confident he’d just destroyed the motherlode.
Charlie hadn’t seenValentina since she’d thrown him out of her room earlier. He lay on his bed, listening to the distant banging of doors, the whooshing of water through the old pipes as people turned in for the night. Then silence. His body was tired, but his mind was awake, revisiting the conversation with Valentina’s abuelas, imagining what their advice might be for making amends to their granddaughter.
He closed his eyes. What would they say?
He wished he could speak to them.
A noise woke him.
He opened his eyes and checked the time: 2.00 a.m. He listened intently. What had he heard? He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Still dressed, he put on his shoes and left, closing the door quietly behind him.
The first floor corridors were clear, so he moved to the sprawling ground floor. At the back of the castle, he saw a sliver of light ahead, coming from the door to the kitchen of Brad’s personal chef.
He knocked.
‘Yes?’
He pushed the door open and stopped in the entrance.
Valentina was standing at the stove, wearing a white towelling dressing gown, her long black hair tied in a loose braid. It dropped over one shoulder like a dark river cutting through snow. The only light came from above the hob, illuminating her softly in a room full of shadows. He knew he should make his excuses and leave, but the moment felt out of time, as if they were the only two people in existence.
‘You okay?’ he asked.
She shrugged. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’
‘What are you making?’
She turned back to the stove. ‘Chocolate caliente.’
Charlie rubbed his face.Come on, use your words.
‘I want to apologise,’ he began hesitantly.
She didn’t respond, just continued stirring.
He cleared his throat. ‘At the photoshoot. I was looking at you and shaking my head.’
‘Yes, I saw. You were judging me.’
‘No, no, I wasn’t. I was pissed off about the costume and the knife and the throwing stars being right next to your skin. The whole set-up was dangerous. I didn’t want you to get hurt.’
‘Oh,’ she replied softly, turning to look at him. ‘They’re fine. They’re made of plastic. I thought you were criticising me. For my costume. I am very sensitive about it.’
