candlelight and it was best not to use the torch unless she had to.
The food Jake had brought the night before was nearly finished and, she realised unhappily, he wouldn’t be back until much later.
Hoping to God she was wrong Rion felt the familiar ache in her shoulders that normally foreshadowed a bout of illness.
She curled up in the sleeping bag and dreamt of her new life in London, of working for Glamourista, of expensive make-up and beauty treatments, of friends, of feathered gowns by Hitherto Williams….
Rion felt the rumbling grow and grow from deep inside her. Her breath constricted in ever shorter wheezes, her lungs expanded to their full capacity until, unable to contain the pressure any longer, she let out a magnificent, yelping sneeze.
Outside it continued to rain.
It was still raining when Ollie turned into the drive of Johnson Ogle’s large house on Heath Road. For an interior decorator, or ‘lifestyle enhancer’ as Johnson insisted on calling himself, he had done incredibly well. Although his many critics complained that the only lifestyle he had enhanced was his own, Johnson nevertheless had a following of loyal, and very rich, clients from Moscow to Mustique who required their various houses ‘doing’.
Often once or twice a year.
He had now reached the enviable stage of being in the same financial bracket as a lot of his clients, a fact represented by the beautiful corner house, with half-a-dozen winding red brick chimneys, that backed onto Hampstead Heath.
A houseboy Ollie didn’t recognise showed him into the hall where Johnson awaited.
“Coffee in the conservatory please,” the lifestyle enhancer ordered before kissing Ollie on both cheeks. “I was so sorry to hear about James.” He took Ollie by the arm, leading him through to the rear of the elegant house, “You got the chocs?”
Ollie nodded. He had never seen such an enormous box of chocolates as the ones that had arrived from Godiva the week of the funeral.
“I thought you would find them more comforting than flowers which are just too
deadly
at such a time.”
The conservatory, a Victorian affair Johnson had snapped up at a Scottish country house sale and had transported down, “at vast expense,” he always said proudly, lined the entire back of the building.
Johnson gestured to the orchids that filled the room. “Cate gave me one when she was here and I’ve since gone
completely
mad for them. Of course you know Meryl has nothing else in her Manhattan bedroom, apparently they do wonderful things with ionisation – no more plugging in ugly little boxes ‘cos these babies,” Johnson surveyed the plants, “do it naturally.”
Upon hearing a gentle rattling Johnson turned to Ollie, “Tell me what you think of the new ‘boy’ although, as you can see,” Johnson smiled, “I use the term loosely.”
The houseboy entered wheeling a trolley upon which was an elegant silver coffee service. Ollie studied the young man in the crisp black uniform of the Ogle household. With his fresh face and tightly cropped hair he was no different from a thousand other personable young men.
Johnson waved the boy away. “We’ll do it ourselves thank you – ” he winked at Ollie, “ – Leila.” Johnson, in that drawlso favoured by the English who travel constantly, made the name sound like ‘Lyle-a.’
Ollie assumed it must be some pet name, either that or he had misheard. He looked after the departing houseboy. “Apart from the fact that he’s not called Gerardo and is not Latin American – ?”
“Lesbians,” Johnson hissed, “they’re the way forward.”
Ollie tried to digest the sentence.
“They don’t want to mother you like straight women do and you don’t want to sleep with them like – ” Johnson fluttered his hand in the air, “Gerardo.”
“Or Eduardo, Rodolfo, Diego ….” Ollie added.
“Exactly. It always ends in tears. Just too much trouble. And so – ” Johnson fluttered his hand again as he
The food Jake had brought the night before was nearly finished and, she realised unhappily, he wouldn’t be back until much later.
Hoping to God she was wrong Rion felt the familiar ache in her shoulders that normally foreshadowed a bout of illness.
She curled up in the sleeping bag and dreamt of her new life in London, of working for Glamourista, of expensive make-up and beauty treatments, of friends, of feathered gowns by Hitherto Williams….
Rion felt the rumbling grow and grow from deep inside her. Her breath constricted in ever shorter wheezes, her lungs expanded to their full capacity until, unable to contain the pressure any longer, she let out a magnificent, yelping sneeze.
Outside it continued to rain.
It was still raining when Ollie turned into the drive of Johnson Ogle’s large house on Heath Road. For an interior decorator, or ‘lifestyle enhancer’ as Johnson insisted on calling himself, he had done incredibly well. Although his many critics complained that the only lifestyle he had enhanced was his own, Johnson nevertheless had a following of loyal, and very rich, clients from Moscow to Mustique who required their various houses ‘doing’.
Often once or twice a year.
He had now reached the enviable stage of being in the same financial bracket as a lot of his clients, a fact represented by the beautiful corner house, with half-a-dozen winding red brick chimneys, that backed onto Hampstead Heath.
A houseboy Ollie didn’t recognise showed him into the hall where Johnson awaited.
“Coffee in the conservatory please,” the lifestyle enhancer ordered before kissing Ollie on both cheeks. “I was so sorry to hear about James.” He took Ollie by the arm, leading him through to the rear of the elegant house, “You got the chocs?”
Ollie nodded. He had never seen such an enormous box of chocolates as the ones that had arrived from Godiva the week of the funeral.
“I thought you would find them more comforting than flowers which are just too
deadly
at such a time.”
The conservatory, a Victorian affair Johnson had snapped up at a Scottish country house sale and had transported down, “at vast expense,” he always said proudly, lined the entire back of the building.
Johnson gestured to the orchids that filled the room. “Cate gave me one when she was here and I’ve since gone
completely
mad for them. Of course you know Meryl has nothing else in her Manhattan bedroom, apparently they do wonderful things with ionisation – no more plugging in ugly little boxes ‘cos these babies,” Johnson surveyed the plants, “do it naturally.”
Upon hearing a gentle rattling Johnson turned to Ollie, “Tell me what you think of the new ‘boy’ although, as you can see,” Johnson smiled, “I use the term loosely.”
The houseboy entered wheeling a trolley upon which was an elegant silver coffee service. Ollie studied the young man in the crisp black uniform of the Ogle household. With his fresh face and tightly cropped hair he was no different from a thousand other personable young men.
Johnson waved the boy away. “We’ll do it ourselves thank you – ” he winked at Ollie, “ – Leila.” Johnson, in that drawlso favoured by the English who travel constantly, made the name sound like ‘Lyle-a.’
Ollie assumed it must be some pet name, either that or he had misheard. He looked after the departing houseboy. “Apart from the fact that he’s not called Gerardo and is not Latin American – ?”
“Lesbians,” Johnson hissed, “they’re the way forward.”
Ollie tried to digest the sentence.
“They don’t want to mother you like straight women do and you don’t want to sleep with them like – ” Johnson fluttered his hand in the air, “Gerardo.”
“Or Eduardo, Rodolfo, Diego ….” Ollie added.
“Exactly. It always ends in tears. Just too much trouble. And so – ” Johnson fluttered his hand again as he
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