Chapter 28
William
I’d rather made a hash of things. It was the last day of filming for The Love Manor, and Petey had barely said two words to me since our silly little argument.
He’d been coming in late, leaving early, and spending the precious hours in between downstairs, bashing away at his laptop.
Which made today jolly uncomfortable because Indira had invited me, Mum, and Bramley to watch the filming of the big climax.
We were sitting on the Great Lawn in front of the monitors, alongside Indira.
Petey was marching back and forth in his trademark boiler suit, headset on, clipboard in hand, having what looked like a very serious conversation with Jonty and Armando.
“When do you think I should give them the acorns?” Mum asked.
“Who?”
“Jonty and Armando.”
I looked around. Indira was distracted by her walkie-talkie. On the Great Lawn, Jonty and Armando were rehearsing. They were standing twenty paces apart, pointing pistols at each other, while Petey barked instructions.
“I should go now, I think.”
“Right you are, darling.” She slipped out of her seat and started heading towards them.
“Be sure to stand in between them,” I called after her. “Ideally, you want to get caught in the crossfire!”
“Champagne, my lord,” Bramley said, presenting a bottle of Tesco’s Finest Prosecco.
“Not yet, Bramley. Let’s save that for precisely the right moment.”
“Who wants an acorn!” I heard my mother cry—immediately before two loud cracks of gunfire and a scream.
“Now, I think, Bramley.”
All three of us got a dressing-down from “the armourer,” who looked and sounded like a character from a Guy Ritchie film.
For someone whose entire job is firing munitions with pinpoint accuracy, he wore Coke-bottle glasses and had a surprising number of missing fingers.
Which was perhaps why both Jonty and Armando had missed my mother?
In any case, we were confined to quarters for the rest of filming.
Indira had to be talked out of duct-taping us into our chairs.
“She could do with a few days at your Aunty Karma’s retreat,” Mother whispered into my ear. “A good aura cleanse and kidney detox would do her the world of good.”
I have to say, I was inclined to agree. Something about Indira smoking three cigarettes at once suggested not all was OK.
Finally, the moment had arrived. Dusk was, for the show’s purposes, pretending to be dawn.
Jonty and Armando were dressed in knee-high boots, black breeches, white shirtsleeves, waistcoats, and era-inappropriate safety goggles.
They were standing back to back on the Great Lawn, paintball guns (which the show’s art department had tinkered with to look like pistols) held upright in front of their noses.
Standing between them, and well back, was Queen Dorinda Carter—in a gold-embroidered dress of purple silk, her hair braided and piled up on her head in a spectacular African beehive.
Behind her sat the entire cast of The Love Manor.
Petey appeared at Indira’s side and muttered something I couldn’t hear. I glanced at him hopefully. His eyes briefly caught mine, but he looked away.
“And action!” Indira called.
Dorinda was imperious. “Gentlemen, you are here to settle a matter of honour. Are you prepared to proceed? Or will either party offer satisfaction?”
I leant over to Indira and whispered, “They can yield?”
“Petey Boy’s idea,” she murmured. “If they both yield, they split the winnings evenly. If they don’t, the duel is on. Fucking brilliant TV.”
“How do you know they won’t simply split the winnings?”
“Because I’ve read their psychological profiles.”
Dorinda reached a hand up in the air. “If you are prepared to offer satisfaction, turn around when I drop my handkerchief. If not, then remain as you are—but understand the consequences of your actions.”
“Close-ups on Lola and Ridhi,” Indira whispered into her headset.
Dorinda dropped her handkerchief.
Neither man turned.
“Let there be blood,” Indira murmured. I can’t be sure, but I thought I heard Petey say “Piss and blood.” The two of them bumped fists.
“Gentlemen, take your positions.”
Jonty and Armando each took a stride forward, then another, until they were twenty paces apart.
A sharp growl came from beside me. Indira was crouching, hands on her knees, eyes forward and squinting, face almost as purple as Dorinda’s dress.
She was bouncing on her heels and breathing heavily, like you see women on the TV doing in prenatal classes.
“I don’t think she’s OK, you know,” Mum said. “Do you think—”
“Gentlemen, cock your pistols,” Dorinda began. I couldn’t have been more on the edge of my seat if the hem had been sewn into my arsehole. “Rules are, first blood wins. If you both draw blood, we go again. You will fire on the count of three.”
Indira let out a squeak that started audibly enough but quickly escalated into “dogs only” territory.
“One.”
I glanced across at Petey, who was staring fixedly at the action playing out on the lawn.
“Two.”
I looked across at Indira, who thumped her chest with her fist, her face purpled and constipated.
“Three.”
Bang! Jonty and Armando fired their shots. Figuratively, everyone let the smoke clear. The armourer assessed both men, then delivered the results to Dorinda.
“Gentlemen, neither of you have been hit.”
“Fuck yes,” Indira said beside me. She had a fist to her mouth. She was bouncing up and down on the spot. Petey was looking at me, but when my eyes caught his, he looked away.
“You will fire on the count of three,” Dorinda said. “One. Two. Three.”
Bang! Bang!
Silence.
The armourer did his thing and reported to Dorinda.
“Gentlemen, neither of you have been hit. This is your third and final shot.”
Indira was bouncing up and down on the spot like this was a Zumba class, her face so purple now it was almost black.
“Is she still breathing?” Mum muttered in my ear. “I’m worried about her.”
“If one of you draws blood, you will win the full prize pool of one hundred and twenty-three thousand pounds,” Dorinda said. “If neither of you draws blood, then you both go home empty-handed. If you both draw blood, then you split the prize pool. Are we understood.”
Both men nodded.
“Gentlemen, cock your pistols. One. Two. Three.”
BANG!
The whole scene seemed to happen in slow motion.
Red paint burst across Armando’s waistcoat, sending his shoulder back and knocking him to the ground.
In the same instant, Ridhi was on her feet, running towards him.
Jonty was checking himself over, hands patting down every part, looking for any signs of paint.
A second later, Lola was throwing her legs around him and he was swinging her around on the lawn.
Beside me, Indira’s hand was clutching her chest, and she was crumpling to the ground.
“Medic!” I heard Petey shout. “Medic!”