The woman let him up. “We need to get you somewhere safer.”
“I don’t think so,” Vincent heard the wobble in his voice, so he played with his cuffs until his nerves calmed down. “The show must go on and all that.”
Ruslana walked over and picked up the rock, which had a note secured with an elastic band. “Anathea forever,” she read out. “Oh look, they’ve made all the letters from cut up newspapers. Bless.”
Ruslana’s sarcasm in the face of adversity gave Vincent the boost of confidence he needed. He held his arm out to her. “Shall we face the music?”
“We’ll get this cleaned up right away,” the woman said. “And replace the window.”
With no glass in the window, the noise from the plaza came through clearly. The MC was whipping the crowd into a frenzy. Perhaps the crowd was so distracted, nobody had heard or seen the pro-Anathea rock?
The MC put on a strange voice and elongated every vowel “ . . . Pleeeeease give a thumping great welcooooooooome to the band representing Brugel at this year’s PopEuroTube, Baaaaaaattlefrooooooooont!”
The crowd cheered. The band members walked on, waving and blowing kisses to the crowd.
“Hello Venzelemma,” the lead singer boomed out. “Are we ready for a good time?”
“Right,” Vincent adjusted his tie in the mirror. Hmmm. Was this a tie type of occasion or not? Nah, too formal. He wrenched it off and popped open the top button on his shirt.
Melody piped up from behind the sofa, where she must have leapt when the rock came through. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll stay. I can see the stage from here if you need any magic.”
Ruslana went to the phone and dialled.
“What are y –”
“– I’d like a basket of cheeseballs delivered to room two twenty please. Oh, and a bowl of potato wedges with three dipping sauces.” Placing the receiver down, she turned to Melody. “Carbohydrates are on their way.”
Of course. Ruslana was looking particularly attractive today. Her skin looked human, her hair shiny and healthy, her make up classic and understated. Melody must have been using a lot of magic to achieve that, and Ruslana must have been letting her.
“You are the luckiest son-of-a-duke in the world,” Ruslana said as she took his hand and walked him into the hallway towards the lift. “You have me and you have Melody. The best of both worlds.”
There was that.
“Looking at you now makes me appreciate Melody all the more,” he said.
“When we break up, I’m keeping her,” Ruslana said.
The lift made the universal ‘ping’ to let them know the car was at their floor.
“Shouldn’t that be Melody’s decision?” Vincent said as they stepped in. He hit the ground floor button with the knuckle of his non-blue index finger. It wasn’t that he was particularly germ-phobic, but he’d seen stories about pathogens on everyday items such as lift buttons, mobile telephones and supermarket trolley handles. It turned his stomach. Sure, and he’d had his other hand in the toilet cistern only a few moments ago. All part of the sacrifice to get his inheritance back. [320]
Ruslana broke into his thoughts. “Don’t tell me you actually care about Melody?”
It made him uncomfortable. “I care enough not to treat her like a commodity.”
She gave him a single raised eyebrow.
He was saved from saying anything more by the ‘ping’ as the doors opened to the hotel’s reception.
A barrage of media jumped into their way, lights on, cameras running, microphones at mouth height.
“Smile and wave dear,” Ruslana said, giving his hand a squeeze, “I’ve got this.”
As if born to the role of Duchess, Ruslana put them all at ease, her tone at just the right pitch to be heard, but not raucous.
The reporters, however, shouted over one another as they fired fresh questions at Vincent and Ruslana as they headed towards the stage outside in the plaza.
Outside, Battlefront’s lead singer finishing another song to huge cheers. Then, as she looked back and acknowledged Vincent, she turned to the crowd and got them really excited.
“I know the song you want to hear. We can’t wait to perform it for the rest of Europe!”
The crowd made piercing whistles, blasting Vincent’s eardrums. The singer rocked out Anthem, the audience went berzerk in support. If Battlefront performed like this at PopEuroTube, they’d collect dozens of ‘treize-points’. [321]
“Thank you Venzelemma! Thank you Brugel!” the singer cried out to the crowds. “See you at PopEuroTube!”
The MC revved the crowd into pure mania, gearing them up for Vincent’s appearance. “And now, it’s my absolute pleasure to introduce our next guest on the bill.” The MC said. “He’s the reason we’re here today, to show our support. Ladies and Gentlemen, I bring you the next Duke of Brugel, Lord Vincent!”
The crowd went completely insane. Fried cheese balls flew through the air.
He turned to Ruslana and held out his hand. “You coming with me or staying here?”
“Oh sweetheart,” she gave him a cold wink, “we’re in this together.”
He helped her take the stairs first, then followed. She waited for him on the side of the stage, before taking his hand again and holding it aloft, like a winner.
The crowd was delirious, taking five minutes to quieten down enough to listen to anything he had to say. The clouds parted. A brilliant shaft of sunlight played upon Savo Plaza. Wild and passionate applause broke out. He hadn’t even said anything yet.
“Thank you,” he said, waving with both hands to the crowd, who cheered again. Beside him, Ruslana took a respectful step backwards, demonstrating that he was the important one here.
“How fantastic is Battlefront, right?” It wasn’t in the speech at all, but it matched the mood. Adoring whistles and cheers filled the plaza.
“I want to thank everyone for coming out today, your support is humbling and I’m incredibly grateful. As you know, I have dedicated my life to Brugel and will continue to do so for as long as the people of Brugel will have me.” The goodwill from the crowd told him he was saying all the right things. Movement to the side caught his attention. He looked over and felt stones pour into his gut at the sight of Ondine and Hamish in the crowd. For the briefest second their eyes locked. They weren’t here to support him; he knew that much. But he wasn’t going to let them ruin his big moment. They were but two people in a sea of supporters. It was important to stay positive.
“I appreciate everyone being here today. Thank you Venzelemma. Thank you Brugel.” He stepped back from the microphone and waved as the crowd made crazy noises. Groups of people were stamping their feet on the cobblestones to make a drum roll sound. The cadets from Fort Kluff, looking resplendent in their military uniforms, set up another precise drum roll that lead into the start of a classic marching beat. The MC rushed to the empty microphone “Let’s hear it for Lord Vincent!” People cheered and whistled so loudly, Vincent could barely hear what the journalists were asking him as he stepped off the stage.
Oh, they weren’t asking him anything. It was for his bride-to-be.
“Ruslana, what’s it like being engaged to Brugel’s next Duke?”
“It’s wonderful,” she said without missing a beat. “Because he is a wonderful, caring, considerate man.”
Laughing out loud would expose them both. Vincent blushed and looked to the ground in an effort to compose himself. Who knew she’d be such a good blagger? [322]
“When we met I didn’t know who he was,” she added.
That was true.
“Where did you meet?” A woman asked.
“We meet at a charity function in Norange,” she said.
That wasn’t a lie either, really. If he had to describe how he was feeling about Ruslana right now, Vincent came perilously close to admiration.
“When is the wedding?”
“Late summer,” they both said on top of each other.
Chapter Nine
On the first Sunday in April, the clocks moved forward by two hours to herald the beginning of Brugel Summer Time, even though it was still spring, and only just if the weather outside was any guide. Ondine loved having hours of light in the evenings, but it came with a price of woefully dark mornings. And two hours’ less sleep that first night.
“Up you get darling, it’s already nine o’clock.” Ma shook her shoulder to rouse her from her bed. “Even though it’s really only seven.”
Defensively Ondine slapped the pillow over her head. “Lemme sleep in.”
“You say that every year. Come on lazybones, get up.”
“Not lazy, sleep deprived.”
“You say that every year as well. Come on. We have guests for breakfast.”
Why did her parents take bookings for the first weekend in April? It was always chaos in the morning as everyone felt the effects of the time change. Bumping into the doorframe on her way out, Ondine staggered from her bedroom and turned down the hall, finding herself outside Hamish’s bedroom. Huh? Her brain hadn’t consciously decided that, she’d just found herself here. Oh well, now she was here, she may as well see if Hamish was up.
She rapped on the door, “Has Ma come and shouted at you yet?”
No reply.
Another rap and repeat question. Another bout of silence. Curiosity eating at her, Ondine half-covered her eyes with her hand and turned the handle. “I’m coming in, hope you’re decent. No reply at all. She pulled her hand away and looked at the bed. At first it appeared empty, but then she saw the hint of movement. Pulling back the covers, she found Shambles the ferret curled into a knot of fur where Hamish the man should have been.
“How dare you!” The words flew out in a burst of disappointment.
The ferret didn’t move. She picked him up by the middle, and he sagged at both ends like gloppy pizza dough. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me!”
The ferret twisted and spun in her hand. “I’mawakeIpromise,” he jumbled and then dived under the covers. As he transformed into his gorgeous Hamishness, Ondine grew more and more furious. “You don’t need to sleep as a ferret. You’re not sick, you’re not injured. Why are you doing this?”
“Awww lass, it’s too early.”
He mustn’t have adjusted his clock. She’d caught him before he’d had the chance to wake up and change himself back. “You slept all night as a ferret, didn’t you?”
Being so tired, his accent sounded thicker and even less understandable than normal. “Mustae had a wee tummy ache in the night and turned in mah sleep, so I did.”
“In your sleep? Then where are your pyjamas?” They should have been mushed up under the covers somewhere, but instead they sat there like the incriminating evidence they were, folded on the side chair.
Normally when Ondine was right, she felt victorious. Now she felt hollow. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m sorry lass, I didnae mean to. Honest. I just panicked a wee bit.”
“So you were sleeping as a ferret?”
“Aye, I was. But I did it fer you! You’ve seen me grey hairs and all. I’m turning into an old man in front of yer eyes. Between you and me, I think Old Col’s magic is warping out of control. I’m scared that if I don’t sleep as a ferret every night, I may not wake up at all!”
WITH SO MANY STRESSFUL scenarios about her like spinning plates on bamboo canes, Ondine had to get at least one of the worst worries off her list. That afternoon she made a personal visit to Duchess Anathea. [323] After that, her conscience would be clear about state matters and she could get back to more important fretting about her great aunt losing her magic and her beloved Hamish turning into a wrinkly old prune.
“Ondine dear, how lovely to see you,” Anathea said, as if they were old friends.
They were in a private room on the southern side of the building, to make the most of the light. At least, that’s what Ondine assumed as there were no curtains at the windows. The room had a two-bar heater sitting in the hearth of an open fireplace, but only one bar was active.
The last time Ondine had been in the ducal estate in Venzelemma had been summer. She’d come with her father and Shambles – the ferret wrapped around her neck like a scarf – to warn Duke Pavla about a threat to his life. This time it was to warn the Duchess of something much worse. Vincent was about to overthrow her, of that Ondine was certain.
“Thank you ever so much for seeing me.”
“I assume you’re here because you have news?”
“Yes, and it’s all about Vincent I’m sorry to say. I have been sending you regular reports but I’m not sure you’re getting them?”
“Marvellous,” Anathea said as she walked to her desk and began flicking through a diary. Not the reaction Ondine expected. Anathea carried on as if she’d simply been told the lunch menu for the day. “Has all your school work been finished for the term?”
“Err . . . My finals will be in a few weeks. I’m going to Business College, which starts in September. I want to run the family pub when my parents retire. But that’s not important. You must know what Vincent’s up to. You saw the rally, didn’t you? And all the cadets?”
Flicking a page in her diary, Anathea looked up and said, “Summer will be a busy time for you.”
It was like they were talking about completely different things. “You don’t seem worried?”
Anathea nodded. “Walk with me, I am to be fitted for a dress in ten minutes.”
They left that marginally-warmer-than-an-igloo office and stepped into a chilled hallway. As they walked, Anathea fired questions at her. “What sort of following does he really have?”
So she had been listening. Perhaps she was worried about somebody else listening to them?
“His popularity is getting bigger every day, and you know how Mrs Howser is free. She’s training cadets at Fort Kluff and I’ve got to tell you they terrify me. They’re totally mutated by magic.”
Anathea grabbed a door handle to lead them into a new room. Strange that nobody opened the door for the Duchess of Brugel. Perhaps she’d had to cut back on staff? They walked in to find a dressmaker with a tape measure for a scarf, and a wardrobe on castors, with racks of clothes inside zippered bags. She wore a heavy fur-lined cloak and matching hat with the earflaps turned down, which she quickly turned up as Anathea neared. There was no heating in here at all.
“Ondine, you may keep talking as I have pins stuck in me by Luminita here. Be careful, Luminita, there is padding to be had, but it is not to be pricked at.”
“So I guess you need a plan to counter Vincent’s popularity?” Ondine offered.
“Do I? I can’t do much about other people being popular with the mob, can I?”
A twig snapped in Ondine’s brain. This was not the Anathea of old. “Yes you can. Making you popular is all we’ve been doing for the past few months. Why are you slacking off now?”
Anathea glared. “You forget your place. I will not be spoken to in that way.”
Ondine shrank at the rebuke. The dressmaker ducked out of the way, pretending she wasn’t there. Ondine wanted to say, “You’re not nearly as worried as you should be and I’m starting to think there’s some kind of magic spell on you. Vincent suddenly has loads of money and is incredibly popular and people are taking to the streets to show their support.” Instead, all she could manage was, “I’m sorry, Your Lordship, but I’m worried about you, and I’m worried about Brugel.”
A slow smile spread over Anathea’s face. “So you do care.”
Ondine blurted, “Of co
urse I do.”
“Good.” Anathea’s expression softened. “Then you will understand why I need to look my best at all times. I can tell by the way you’re locking your hands together that you’re cold. The circulation in my feet may never be felt again. But to the outside world, I look the part. Plus, the law is on my side.”
“But he’s loaded and you’re broke!”
The dressmaker’s mouth dropped open. Pins fell to the threadbare carpet.
“You will be paid,” Anathea assured her.
“Cash,” Luminita said.
“Of course.” Anathea shook her head.
“Today,” Luminita said.
“The bursar will be given your invoice on the way out.”
Luminita asked, “Which one is the bursar?”
Anathea quietly cleared her throat. “The one behind the desk.”
Luminita began packing her things. “You mean the one who drives your car and opens doors and answers phones and makes your tea as well?”
Anathea sighed. “Yes, that’s the one.”
“I will go now,” Luminita said.
Anathea held her hand out. “The dress will be ready in time for the opera tonight?”
“When I get paid, I’ll come back.” With that, Luminita zipped the duchess’s jacket into a protective clothing bag. “I’ll see myself out.”
“You’re going to the opera?” Ondine gulped with worry.
“The premiere of The Cholera Tourer. An historical piece loosely based on the story of Black Sonja.” [324]
“You will be safe, won’t you?”
“I have my earplugs at the ready.” A dreamy look clouded her features, “and I shall have Valentin at my side.”
“Is he the handsome man you brought to dance rehearsals?”
Anathea’s face glowed. “He’s such a silver fox, don’t you think?”
If she were into older men, Ondine would agree. She nodded anyway, just to be diplomatic. Strange thoughts drifted through Ondine’s mind as she looked at the Duchess’s expression and realised how very lonely Anathea must have been all these years. Then her gaze drifted to the peeling wallpaper, the dust-encrusted furniture and worn carpets. For a moment she wondered if being the Duchess of Brugel was more a burden than a blessing.
The Ondine Collection Page 66
