Page 77 of The Importance of Being Emma
She let go of my arm to rummage in her handbag, while I remembered the sort of treats she’d given me as a child — disgusting boiled sweets, hideous home-made clothes for my Barbie dolls — and steeled myself for the worst.
My eyes widened as she thrust a small bottle at me.
‘Mother’s sloe gin,’ she twittered. ‘We found her old recipe a few weeks ago and made some, she swears by it for a restful night. I’ve brought one for your father, and one for Mark, I expect he’s not had a decent night since Tamara left . . . Goodnight, dear, Idohope it does the trick.’
And she was gone before I could thank her.
I stayed where I was, welcoming the silence, turning her gift over and over in my hands. With no Flynn around, a little drink in the privacy of my hotel bedroom seemed my best option. Clutching the bottle to me for safe keeping, I went to say goodnight to Dad.
‘You’ll be glad to know that Kate and Tom are taking me home any minute,’ he said, stifling a yawn. ‘And Mary’s given me some sort of fruit tonic to stop me worrying about you, darling. I really don’t like the thought of you spending the night here.Make sure you lock your bedroom door, you don’t know who’s on the prowl.’
I forced a smile. ‘I’m hardly going to be molested by prowlers.’
Or anyone else by the look of it, I added to myself.
As I went upstairs to my room, I couldn’t resist knocking on the door before mine, just in case Flynn was there; but I didn’t get an answer.
Telling myself there’d be a next time, I opened the door of 107, kicked off my shoes, unscrewed the cap of my little bottle and took an experimental sip or two of its contents. Quite nice, like Ribena with attitude. I fetched a tumbler from the bathroom, carefully emptied the bottle into it and sank onto the bed, stroking the smooth glass with my fingers, dwelling on everything that had — and hadn’t — happened during the evening.
After a few mouthfuls of sloe gin, I began to see the positive side. Far better to let my relationship with Flynn blossom — what a peculiar word! — away from the public eye. Away from Mark Knightley’s eye in particular . . . Mmmm, this drink was delicious; there weren’t any obvious effects either, Old Mother Bates must have gone very easy on the gin . . . Another mouthful, and another, and . . . God, this was almost as good as sex! I laughed to myself, a throaty little laugh that came out as a hiccup. Weird. Soon — even sooner than I’d expected — I found myself staring at the bottom of the glass. All gone.
I gave a loud sigh as I took off my earrings and necklace. ‘Time for bed. Time to see if Batty’s silly magic potion works. Bet it doesn’t.’
The thing was, I knew I had to do something first . . . Ah yes, get myself out of this dress. I stood up with barely a stagger and put the tumbler on the bedside table. Would you believe it — just as I did so, someone moved the table and the tumbler fellwith a thud onto the carpet. I swore, reached round behind my back and fumbled with the fastening on my dress. Naturally, this sudden movement threw me off balance and I toppled onto the bed.
I lay there for a while, wondering what to do. There was only one thing for it; find someone to help. I knew Harriet’s room was on the same corridor as mine, but could I remember the number? Never mind, it would come to me. I picked up my room key from the bedside table, which someone had moved again, and navigated my way out; always tricky in a strange hotel room, so many doors to choose from until you got to the right one — I mean, how many bathrooms and wardrobes did this room have, for God’s sake?
At last I was in the corridor, shutting the door quietly behind me. Ouch, perhaps not as quietly as I’d thought. I walked past a few doors and read the numbers out loud, trying to jog my memory. I’d just got to the end of the corridor, when I heard a familiar high-pitched giggle.
Harriet. No doubt about it. Room 115.
The number didn’t ring a bell, but at least I’d tracked her down. Did the giggle mean she had someone with her? A potentially embarrassing situation; although I couldn’t imagine who it would be and, anyway, this was an emergency.
The door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open ever so gently, but it banged noisily against the wall behind and I had to put my hands out to stop it flying back in my face.
‘Oops, must be stronger than I thought,’ I said, with a nonchalant laugh. More of a hiccup again, actually; must do something about that . . .
Once I’d tackled the door and my eyes had adjusted to the low lighting, I took in the scene. Large double bed, undisturbed; desk; two chairs, with a jacket and shirt thrown across them; Harriet, only a couple of feet away from me; next to the bed, aman. The most gorgeous man, in fact. Naked from the waist up; such a beautiful body, all bronzed and nicely toned . . . I had the feeling I’d seen him somewhere before, quite recently, with even less on—
Mark Knightley. Here, in Harriet’s bedroom. At least he wasn’t in Saint Jane’s.
But —Harriet?
I drew myself up to my full height and said haughtily, ‘Sorry, am I interrupting something?’
Nervous giggles from Harriet. An appraising look from Mark.
‘No, you’re not interrupting anything,’ he said, slowly and deliberately, as if speaking to an idiot. ‘Harriet’s just going — she only popped in for a quick word.’
‘To say thank you for rescuing me,’ Harriet put in excitedly. ‘My knight in shining armour!’
Armour? What on earth was she talking about? I stared at Mark, trying to remember if he’d come to the party in fancy dress, then focused my gaze on Harriet. So this wasn’t her room, it was Mark’s. Mark — andHarriet?
Before I could stop her, Harriet edged past me and dashed out of the room. As the door slammed shut behind her, I frowned. Hadn’t I been going to ask her something? Oh yes, to undo my dress.
I turned and caught Mark drinking something ruby-coloured from a tumbler, just like I’d done earlier. Fascinated, I watched the muscles of his throat contract as he drained the last drop. My gaze followed the tumbler as he cradled it in one hand and rubbed his forefinger along the rim, to and fro, to and fro . . .
Oh — my — God. All of a sudden, I knew exactly what I wanted.
