Page 31 of The Moon Sister
The entire party laughed and I presumed that the man walking towards me was the host. As he drew closer, I saw he was shorter than average, broad shouldered, with dark blond hair, aquiline features and unusual deep-set green eyes.
‘Thank you.’ His eyes swept over me in appraisal. ‘What is your name?’
‘Tiggy.’
‘That is unusual, is it Scottish?’ he asked as he held out his champagne flute for me to fill.
‘No, it’s a nickname. My real name is Taygete. It’s Greek.’
I was surprised to see a fleeting glimpse of recognition cross his features.
‘Right. Is that a French accent I can hear?’
‘It is, although I’m Swiss.’
‘Are you indeed?’ he said thoughtfully, studying me again. ‘Well, well. Do you work here?’
In any other circumstance – for example if we’d met in a bar – I could understand why he was asking me all this, but here, where he was the host and I was ostensibly the ‘help’, it felt distinctly odd.
‘Yes, but not normally in this capacity. I’m just helping out for the night because the maid is off sick. I’m a wildlife consultant on the estate.’
‘I see. Are you sure we have not met before?’
‘Quite sure,’ I said. ‘I never forget a face.’
‘Where’s that champagne?’ one of the guests called from across the room.
‘I’d better go,’ I said with a polite smile.
‘Of course. By the way, my name is Zed. Good to meet you, Tiggy.’
*
I arrived home at two in the morning, hardly able to put one foot in front of the other, and decided that all waitresses were totally undervalued.
‘Give me lions and tigers to care for any day,’ I groaned as I stripped off my clothes, put on the thermal pyjamas Cal had bought me for Christmas and fell into bed.
The good news was that the dinner had gone like clockwork. Between us, Beryl and I had pulled off a successful evening that had flowed seamlessly from one event to the next. I closed my eyes gratefully as my pulse slowed down, but sleep wouldn’t come. Instead, I kept seeing Zed’s green eyes, which – although maybe I had imagined it – I’d felt had followed me around the room all evening. Just before midnight, when I’d arrived with further champagne and whisky, Beryl had pressed a piece of coal into my hand.
‘Get round to the front door, Tiggy. Here’s an egg timer and it’s set for eleven fifty-nine and fifty seconds. When it buzzes, knock as hard as you can on the front door. Three times,’ she’d added. ‘Jimmy the Bagpipes is positioned there already.’
‘What do I do with this?’ I’d asked her, studying the coal.
‘When the door is opened, Jimmy will start playing and you hand the coal over to the person who’s opened the door. Got that?’
‘I think so, yes. But—’
‘I’ll explain later. Now shoo!’
So I’d joined Jimmy the Bagpipes outside; he was swaying slightly after one too many drams, and waited until my timer had gone off, then knocked loudly on the door. The bagpipes had rung out into the frosty air as the door opened and I saw Zed standing behind it.
‘Happy New Year,’ I said as I handed him the piece of coal.
‘Thank you, Tiggy,’ he smiled at me, then reached forward and kissed me gently on the cheek. ‘Happy New Year to you too.’
I hadn’t seen him after that, because I’d been busy in the kitchen clearing up with Beryl, but now I thought about the kiss, it felt like an oddly intimate gesture to make to a complete stranger, especially one masquerading as a maid . . .
*
