Bonfire Night [Callan 5] by James Mitchell

Author:James Mitchell [Mitchell, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn House
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Nine

The hotel lounge was packed – well, say fifty or so – and the applause began as soon as she appeared, Ellie and darling David two steps behind. Her PA and her minder. Autographs and snapshots and blowing kisses, and the applause like music. Well – maybe some of it was for Melissa. Dressed like a maid in a French farce, that girl was lethal. Again Callan mopped his forehead.

‘Are you alright?’ she asked.

‘Fine,’ he said, ‘but now we’re going to have to make the ruddy movie.’

For the life or her, she didn’t know whether he meant it or not.

The Lagonda snarled and raved its way back to the hut that she now called home. Long, cool rooms, and lazy-swirling fans, while outside, the sun raved worse than the Lagonda. But outside was where they ate: shady trees, the sound of the pool, and roses everywhere. There were even a couple of Labradors with pedigrees far, far longer than mine, she thought. Even so, mingle, Fiona, mingle. You’re the hostess, after all. Another marvel, but that one would keep. She would gloat later.

Callan was alone, delighting in what he saw: pretty girls, elegant young men, the two fiesta guitarists playing as if happiness was for ever, and Ellie, Carmencita, Melissa would always be there, and John, William, Angel always glad of it. Then Ellie joined him, and Callan signalled to one of Esteban’s minions. Esteban himself was deep in conversation with Fiona.

‘Getting to know each other?’ said Ellie. ‘Forget it … Getting to know who’s boss.’

Callan chuckled. ‘He’ll soon learn,’ he said.

Fiona and Esteban talked of food.

‘Quite simple, My Lady,’ Esteban was saying. ‘Shrimps in a chilli and garlic sauce, grilled swordfish, baby pig … and fruit.

Our own, of course.’ .

‘Of course,’ Fiona said.

‘And to drink; champagne.’

‘Anything but the FD label,’ said Fiona, and Esteban bowed.

‘Diamante and our own Rioja. Simple, as I say, My Lady. I regret there was no time to consult you.’

‘Not to worry,’ said Fiona. ‘Not this time. It will give me the chance to see how you and Emilio work together.’

Esteban bowed warily. ‘Just so, my Lady. My Lady is the correct way to speak to you?’

‘My Lady will do very well,’ Fiona said.

Now the guitars were sad, moody. And quite right too, Callan thought. They’re reminding me that nothing lasts. ‘When did I know? Really know,’ he said aloud. ‘Is that it?’

Ellie nodded.

‘Guy Fawkes Night,’ he said. ‘The night she saved my sanity. Some of it, anyway. Even my life.’

They moved to garden chairs, and sat as another minion brought more Cava, and Callan relished his kingdom, roses and music and laughter, and even in the Lagonda it was a long way from Potsdam.

‘We saw each other every chance we got,’ Callan said. ‘Dr Rabin reckoned we were good for each other. When one was down, the other was up. But sooner or later we were together. Helping. Caring. We knew each other. Like twins.’

Ellie said, ‘Not love, you mean?’

‘Nothing but love,’ said Callan. ‘It filled the room.

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