Valentine Present and Other Diabolical Liberties (14 page)

     
I open my bleary eyes and groan. My head feels like Jack Diamond had slipped into my room in the middle of the night and walloped it with a hammer. I attempt to sit up and feel so nauseous that I fall back onto the pillows. Obviously I’m not used to the rich life. All that gin, champagne and brandy, mixed with a large portion of Eton Mess has turned my brain into jelly. I lean gingerly across to the bedside table and pour the contents of an Evian bottle down my throat. My mobile says six a.m. and the room is stiflingly hot. I peel off the satin duvet which is stuck to my sweaty body and fall out of the bed. Why do they have the heating on so high? It’s like an oven in here.

     
‘Oh God,’ I groan as I crawl to the bathroom and lean my head over the toilet. Fresh air, that’s what I need. I step into the shower and stand under the water while it stings my tender body. Finally, I squeeze into my jeans, grab my chunky Aran jumper and scarf, and quietly open my door. Everywhere is still and silent and the only sound is the ticking grandfather clock at the bottom of the stairs. I tiptoe down them, ignoring the snooty portraits, and feeling my head thump with every step. There is clattering emanating from the kitchen. I hesitantly open the door to see the cook kneading bread and Cedric sitting on a rocking chair reading the newspaper. They gape at me and I remember I have damp hair and am wearing no make-up. I must look like I’ve just
escaped from
Shaun of the Dead
.

     
‘Good morning Miss Harriet,’ says Cedric, jumping up. ‘Shall we bring you breakfast into the dining room?’

Just the word breakfast makes my stomach gurgle and I fight back a gag.

      ‘Is anyone else up?’ I ask in a croaky voice.

The cook looks at Cedric and smiles.

      ‘No Miss, no one will be up until well gone ten.’

I look longingly at her steaming mug and sniff at the coffee aroma before moving towards the kettle.

      ‘I’ll just make myself a coffee and take it out. I need fresh air,’ I say weakly.

I pick up the kettle and cook utters a little cry.

      ‘Cedric,’ she says sharply.

     
‘Miss Harriet, you must let us make you coffee. Where would you like it?’

Honestly, can’t these toffs make a simple cup of coffee for themselves?

      ‘There is no one else here Cedric. You finish your paper and cook can finish the bread, and I’ll make my own coffee. I’m not bleeding helpless. You don’t have any aspirin do you?’

They watch bemused as I make a mug of coffee. Cook says cheerfully.

      ‘It’s Alka Seltzer you’ll be wanting.’

She plops two into a glass of water. Moments later I throw back the fizzing liquid and, with coffee mug in hand, open the door.

      ‘I can’t get lost can I?’ I ask.

Cedric, stuck for words
, shakes his head. It occurs to me that the Jacks may be at large but console myself that they probably don’t surface until ten either. I emerge into a beautiful garden. Ahead of me is the loch shimmering in the early morning mist. I hug the coffee mug and walk slowly, breathing in the fresh dew-filled morning air. I stroll leisurely around the loch; it is incredibly beautiful. You don’t see this in Battersea at six in the morning. It makes a change from discarded needles, street sleepers huddled in doorways and an assortment of litter from the night before. Mind you, it’s bloody freezing here and the clouds are threatening rain again. I sip my coffee and follow the bank of the loch when I see a lodge ahead. It is surrounded by a veranda and through the mist I can make out someone sitting there. As I approach I see that
the someone
is in fact Brice Edmunds, and he is drinking from a cup and studying me. I turn to go back but am stopped by his voice.

     
‘You’re an early riser. Can I offer you coffee?’

I hold up my coffee mug.

      ‘I’m fine thank you.’

If I had any hopes of bagging Brice Edmunds I can now most certainly forget it. Suffering from a hangover without any make-up and my hair looking a sight must be the most terrifying thing ever. If this were Loch Ness I would be mistaken for the monster. I should have sought out Diamond before I left the house. That would have put him in his place. The cat that is, not Jack Diamond. I think it will take a lot more than me without make-up and scary hair to frighten him off. To top it all, I realise my Aran jumper has a hole in the sleeve.

      ‘Can I tempt you with a top-up then?’ he calls and I can hear laughter in his voice. Actually, a top-up would be rather nice. I edge a little closer to the veranda.

     
‘Well that’s it. You’re definitely trespassing so you might as well have a top-up and some toast,’ he says lifting the cafeteria. The veranda has an awning and although it’s a little chilly I can see the attraction of sitting here. The stunning scenery around Glenwood is truly breathtaking.

     
‘Beautiful isn’t it? This is the best time of day whatever the season.’

He pushes a chair towards me. I hesitantly sit and wonder why he is being so friendly. He is smiling but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes and I can tell he is suspicious of me. He studies me closely and hands me the mug. I take it from him and meet his eyes. His hair is damp and there is a soft smell of soap emanating from him. He’s wearing a brown woollen jumper and a pair of faded jeans. He pushes a plate of toast and a jar of marmalade towards me. The walk has made me hungry and I spread a layer of marmalade onto the toast, and am about to take a bite when he says,

      ‘You know, something has been bothering me all night. Do you know what it is?’

Holy shit, I’ve got a good idea. I shake my head and try to look innocent.

      ‘Why Hamilton didn’t introduce you to me at Silvia and Hugh’s wedding.’

I sip
my coffee and feel my face suffuse with blood. Why didn’t my soon-to-be bloody fiancé listen to me yesterday when I said we needed to talk to Brice? I’m such a bloody awful liar.

     
‘Perhaps it slipped his mind,’ I say stupidly.

Like your soon
-to-be fiancée slips your mind. Although it’s not that hard to believe is it? I mean, I seem to have completely slipped Julian’s mind, unless of course he really is hanging upside down in someone’s freezer and no longer has a mind to slip.

     
‘And, why you don’t seem like the same Harriet I met at the wedding and then later at the dress shop.’

His voice is hard and with every word his eyes narrow. Christ, I wish I could think of a snappy answer.

      ‘I don’t like people deceiving my grandmother. If I find out that you …’

At that moment a truck drives manically towards the lodge. Brice jumps from his chair and almost leaps from the veranda. The truck screeches to a halt and a breathless well-built man jumps from the driver’s seat.

      ‘Sorry Brice, I would have phoned but I didn’t …’

The man has a thick Scottish accent and wild wiry red hair and a beard to match. Brice rushes round to the passenger side and helps someone out.

      ‘What happened?’ he asks sharply.

     
‘I’m not sure. We were sawing the logs and the next minute he stumbled upon us. He passed out and I saw his jacket and all this blood. It looks bad. He wouldn’t let us take him to the hospital. He’s well drunk. I’ve seen him in the woods but …’

     
‘Can you help me Angus, he’s fighting me.’

I watch as they struggle with the person in the passenger seat. I then see it is a tramp and the fumes from his breath reach me before they even get him to the veranda and I thought I had a hangover. God, I bet he’ll feel pretty rough later. There is a deep gash in his right arm and his old tatty suede jacket is soaked with blood.

      ‘Harriet, would you fetch my medical bag. It’s on the floor by the kitchen table. Let’s get him into the bedroom and if you’re not too squeamish can you bring a bowl of warm water. There’s a small bowl in the cupboard under the sink,’ he says brusquely.

Bleeding hell, quick with
his orders isn’t he? Squeamish my backside. What a sodding cheek. Do I look like a stupid squeamish blonde? Honestly, the presumptuous bugger. I fumble around the kitchen cupboard resisting the urge to nosy about, and fill the bowl with warm water before opening the medical bag and removing bandages and tape. I see he has medications too, and find the antibiotics. Squeamish, I’ll show him. The other man offers to take the bowl from me but I shake my head and walk to the other side of the bed which is neatly made with sheets, blankets and covered in an ethnic bedspread which he’d obviously brought back with him from abroad. I stare at it enviously for a second and remember all my dreams. I feel a little stab of loss knowing that now those dreams are just that and are unlikely to become a reality for some time now, thanks to Julian’s irresponsibility. The room stinks of alcohol and the man’s unwashed body. Brice has removed the man’s jacket and now rips at the sleeve of his shirt. At the sight of the wound Angus gasps and turns to the door. The wound looks a few days old and is already turning septic. I soak cotton wool in the water and hand it to Brice. He begins cleaning the wound gently and I watch fascinated as his large hands work swiftly and deftly.

     
‘It will need …’

     
‘Suturing,’ I finish for him.

His head snaps up and his eyes meet mine. He nods at me. Ah, a bit of respect at last. About bloody time too. Just because I don’t talk posh and didn’t go a fancy school doesn’t mean I am plain Jane with no brain thank you very much.

      ‘Can you pass the scissors from the bag?’ he asks softly.

I remove the scissors but instead of handing them to him I begin to gently cut away at the dead skin. I feel his eyes on me. The man groans. The stench of urine reaches my nostril and I fight the urge to throw up the toast I’d just eaten. I lean over him and the fumes from his breath practically knock me out. I wouldn’t like to be his liver and he certainly couldn’t sell his kidneys.

      ‘It’s okay,’ I say quietly. ‘We need to clean the wound and then we’ll close it up.’

I look up at Brice.

      ‘He should go to hospital,’ I say. ‘He’ll need a tetanus jab.’

     
‘He won’t go. I can give him that,’ he says, closely watching me at work.

     
‘Where did you learn to do that?’ he asks.

     
‘During my nursing training,’ I snap.

He raises his eyebrows, bites his lips and then gently places his hand on mine.

      ‘That’s fine, I’ll close it up.’

My body shivers and I feel sure he must feel it. His hand seems to linger on mine longer than it should.

      ‘You and I should have a proper talk,’ he says quietly.

I slide my hand away from under his and stand up.

      ‘Actually, seeing as you’re capable, perhaps you could fetch the tetanus vial from the fridge.’

     
‘I think I can find it,’ I say confidently.

The kitchen is a bit messy with a few unwashed mugs in the sink and a scattering of newspapers over the small kitchen table but the fridge is scrupulously clean. The top shelf has several boxes of vials and I search for a
tetanus and take it to the bedroom. He takes it from me and nods.

     
‘He has a small gash on his foot, perhaps you can clean and dress that,’ he says abruptly without looking at me. I nod and check the foot. Ten minutes later after cleaning and dressing the wound I go out to the veranda.

     
‘Thanks, I appreciate your help,’ he mumbles. Angus is sitting nursing a mug of coffee. He turns sharply.

     
‘Is he okay?’

     
‘I’m sure he’ll be fine. Brice seems to know exactly what he’s doing.’

He smiles.

      ‘Yes, he’s brilliant. He never turns anyone away.’

Oh, I think he would like to turn me away pretty quickly if he could. He taps his head with his hand.

      ‘I’m sorry, I’m being very rude. I’m Angus. I have a place along the road there. Are you here from London?’

     
‘Yes, I’m visiting the family,’ I say.

I take his outstretched hand.

      ‘Nice to meet you,’ I say politely.

Brice walks out onto the veranda and gives me a curious look.

      ‘I’ve given him a sedative. He can sleep here for a few hours. I’ll try and talk him into going to the hospital when he wakes up.’

Angus stands to leave. I take my cue and walk towards the steps leading down from the veranda.

      ‘I’d better get back,’ says Angus. ‘Thanks Brice, I appreciate it.’

I go to follow when Brice’s hand stops me and his eyes, sharp and bright lock onto mine. There is something raw and powerful about him and he almost commands me with his eyes not to turn away from him. I feel a mild throbbing between my thighs and fight back a gasp. God, what’s happening to me? He removes his hand and I fall into the nearest chair. Surely he felt something too, but his eyes give nothing away.