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Becker looks at me out the corner of his eye, humming his agreement, as Lucy and Mark hop in, all excited. Our conversation is brought to an abrupt halt. ‘Evening,’ Lucy sings, getting comfy in the back.
I turn in my seat, finding my friend dressed in a lovely pink cocktail dress, with thin straps and a high neckline. ‘Went for legs tonight, then?’
She glances down on a smile. ‘I googled Andelesea. I’m guessing tits and legs wouldn’t go down well. Though judging by the length of that red number, I shouldn’t have worried.’
Becker laughs as I reach for my dress and wriggle it down my thighs.
‘I wouldn’t have complained,’ Mark pipes in, grinning. He looks dapper in a black tux, too, though his bow tie is fastened neatly, and he’s shaved, unlike Becker. He’s also styled his hair, unlike Becker.
‘You both look great,’ I say, turning back in my seat as Becker slams the car into gear and shoots off down the road.
He looks up at the rear-view mirror. ‘Are you going to behave tonight?’ he asks Lucy.
‘Hand on my heart.’ She grins, and I turn into Becker.
‘Are you?’ I ask.
He chucks me a roguish smile. ‘Why, princess. I’m a saint.’Chapter 32The huge elaborate mansion set in the middle of nowhere has the same effect on me it did the last time I was here, except it seems more foreboding in the dark, all lit up by floodlights. I shiver and peek up at all of the cherubs keeping watch as we roll slowly up the gravel driveway.
After a few noises of awe from the back passengers, we all get out, and Mark and Lucy gaze around in wonder. ‘Wow,’ Lucy breathes. ‘This is some posh shit.’
I roll my eyes and accept Becker’s hand, and he leads us up the endless steps, Lucy and Mark following. When we breach the grand entrance hall of Countryscape, I feel a very different atmosphere to the last time we were here. It’s bursting at the seams with toffee-nosed aristocracy, all draped in ball gowns and tuxedos, sipping from cut-crystal champagne glasses. A woman in the corner is strumming a giant harp, providing soft, rhythmic music, and a waiter is hovering on the threshold of the doors, a tray resting on one palm, his spare arm folded neatly behind his back. I take a glass when he offers the tray, but Becker ignores him, strolling straight through the crowds. I check behind me for Lucy and Mark. Both have helped themselves to a glass of champagne, both gawping around the mansion with wonder in their eyes. I flick my head in indication for them to follow, stalling when Becker is intercepted by an old woman. Her royal blue gown is elaborate but stunning and her multi-coloured beaded purse a total colour-clash, but actually quite quirky. She looks familiar. Her harsh black bob, her feline features that suggest way too much sur—
I physically recoil. Oh my Lord, it’s Lady Winchester!
‘Becker.’ Her eyes light up like diamonds.
‘Lady Winchester.’ Becker confirms my fear and slaps a smile on his face, greeting her politely. He takes her hand and kisses each of her taut cheeks. ‘You look as ravishing as ever.’
She chuckles and gives him a playful knock of his arm. ‘Nonsense. I look like my face has been run over by a bus.’
Lucy squawks loudly, nearly spraying the old lady with her champagne, and I give her a jab in the side with my elbow. ‘Sorry,’ she blurts.
‘Don’t be, lovely.’ Lady Winchester brushes Lucy’s rude gesture aside with ease. ‘My endeavour to retain my youth has backfired on me.’ She points to her chin, which I notice now is particularly hooked. ‘My cheeks are stuffed with sacks of liquid, and I’ve had more stitches in my face than it would take to sew a leg on.’
Lucy and Mark laugh loudly, while I study Becker, trying to read the situation and his persona. He looks entirely comfortable.
‘So, who are these fine young people?’ she asks him, waving a bent finger at us.
Forced into pleasantries, Becker makes the introductions. ‘This is Mark, Lucy, and Eleanor.’ He waves a hand casually to each of us as he pulls his mobile from his inside pocket and frowns down at the screen. ‘Excuse me a moment, Lady Winchester.’ He strides off, answering the call, without another word or a second look at me, so he can’t see my stunned expression. Who’s that, and where is he going?
Lady Winchester gives all of us the once over with her sparkling eyes. ‘Into threesomes?’
It’s me coughing over my champagne this time. Did I hear her right?
‘Don’t look so shocked, kids,’ she says off-hand. ‘I might look like a train wreck, but I’ve still got the moves.’ She winks, and Lucy and Mark fall apart, along with Lady Winchester, while I stare at her, shocked. ‘Come, let me lavish you with tales of London in the sixties. I was a sex siren.’ She beckons them into her personal space, and both of them go, fascinated.
