Chapter 22 #2
‘I don’t even know what a dirk is,’ replies Sabrina in a dignified tone.
‘And, for your information, Dante, I was in my room all night, trying to pull together the details for the launch party tomorrow night. We were thinking of doing a big countdown to midnight, at which point we’ll officially be into opening day for the hotel.
So, it’ll be like New Year’s Eve, except, in this case, we’ll be counting down to the hotel’s first day of trade, rather than the first day of the year. ’
She looks around at us all, as if she’s expecting a round of applause for this idea but, unfortunately for her, every-one’s still too focused on the goings-on to pay much attention.
Sabrina’s shoulders slump. For the first time, I notice shadows under her eyes, which she’s tried to cover with foundation; she must be under more pressure with this launch than I realised.
‘Anyway, that’s what I was doing,’ she says. ‘Luna will vouch for me, if you need an alibi. Won’t you, Luna?’ She gives a brittle kind of laugh, and turns to her assistant, whose eyes widen in terror.
‘Um, that’s right,’ Luna says, her eyes very large behind her glasses. ‘Sabrina was in her room all evening. I saw her.’
‘She’s lying,’ says Zara in a whisper from beside me. ‘I can tell. She doesn’t have a clue where Sabrina was.’
I glance round at her, remembering what she said yesterday about how every one of them lies about something. I never did get around to asking what it is she lies about. And now it looks like I’ll have to add Luna and Sabrina to my list of potential liars.
Is everyone in this hotel lying about something?
And, if so, do I have to include Hunter in that, too?
‘Er, if no one has any objections, I’d quite like to get back to the subject of the hotel doing business with the village again,’ says Ian, clearing his throat.
‘That’s why we’re here, after all. This business with the turnips and the invisible woman is all very interesting, but it’s not going to help us farmers, is it? ’
‘The Village People,’ says Millie, snapping her fingers triumphantly as she stares at him. ‘It’s the Village People.’
‘That’s right, lass, we’re people from the village,’ says Callum gently, as if he’s speaking to a very small child. ‘We met you earlier, remember?’
‘The who?’ interrupts Zara. ‘What are you talking about, Millie?’
‘No, not The Who; I said it’s the Village People.
That’s the seventies rock band the angry mob reminded me of earlier.
You know, they had, like, a cop, and a cowboy, and stuff?
Well, this lot has a witch, a farmer, a .
. . I’m sorry,’ she adds, looking at Callum apologetically.
‘I don’t know what you’re supposed to be. I really like it, though.’
Callum turns so red his tattoos almost disappear.
‘To come back to the discussion in hand,’ says Ian. ‘We would really like to speak to the Laird.’
‘Well, you can’t,’ says Hunter bluntly. ‘I already told you, he doesn’t accept visitors.’
‘He accepts visits from Dante,’ says Izzie unexpectedly. ‘I had tea with his mother last week – Dante’s, I mean, not the Laird’s – and she told me Dante and the Laird were as thick as thieves. Dante’s his right-hand man, apparently. Well, according to his mum, anyway.’
Two bright spots of colour appear on Dante’s high cheekbones, giving him an almost human appearance.
‘I wouldn’t say that,’ he begins, but Ian interrupts, obviously wanting to get this meeting back on track.
‘What if we put our request in writing?’ he suggests. ‘Would that work? Then maybe Dante here could make sure he gets it?’
Dante looks like he’s about to say no to this, but then Izzie catches his eye.
‘I suppose I could take him a note,’ he says reluctantly. ‘I can’t promise he’ll read it, though. He’s not exactly the easiest person to deal with.’
‘OK,’ says Izzie briskly, wiping her hands on her skirt. ‘That’s settled. We’ll hold off on the curse for now, until we can get a letter together outlining our complaints. I think we can give you twenty-four hours; maybe forty-eight.’
‘Is this how curses always work, then?’ asks Zara, raising her eyebrows.
‘No, I normally go straight in with a curse, personally,’ says Izzie. ‘So they don’t see it coming. I never let my enemies know rest.’
‘Neither do I,’ agrees Yasmin.
Everyone starts getting to their feet, Izzie and Ian squabbling among themselves over who should get the last piece of toast from the rack that came with breakfast, and the influencers chattering excitedly about the upcoming trip to the fair, my drama with the dirk already forgotten.
‘Wait,’ I say, raising my voice above the chatter, even as my nerves threaten to stop me. ‘We didn’t really talk about the goings-on, and what to do about them. Don’t you think that’s important? Someone put a dirk in my room – what if it happens again?’
But no one hears me; and, before long, the room’s starting to empty out, everyone making their way to the door, the mysterious goings-on at the Chrysalis resort completely forgotten.
‘You know what?’ says Millie, distractedly, as the door swings closed behind them all. ‘I actually think it was Fleetwood Mac they reminded me of . . .’