Killing the Emperors by Ruth Dudley Edwards

Author:Ruth Dudley Edwards [Edwards, Ruth Dudley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9780749013356
Publisher: Allison & Busby
Published: 2012-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

The food was mostly cold meat, cheese, and bread, but it came soon and was plentiful and everyone except the baroness fell on it. Still feeling slightly nauseous, she picked at a few bits of cheese, but concentrated on the accompanying reasonably decent claret. Having remembered uneasily that she had once held forth to Sarkovsky on the evils of Surf ‘n Turf, the baroness decided that since he seemed to have gone mad, in the foreseeable future it might be prudent to keep her mouth shut about what she didn’t like. She also resolved to obey instructions with the minimum of fuss.

When they had eaten, they were instructed to look in the hatch, where they found ten sports bags with their names on them. Instructions were to change their clothes quickly and throw what they were wearing in the bath. If their spirits lifted slightly at seeing basic toiletries, they fell when they saw their changes of clothing, but there were no protests.

They reconvened in the living room wearing violently-coloured shell-suits that made everyone except Anastasia look ridiculous. They were hardly relaxed, but the tension dissipated slightly as the wine bottles emptied. Even the hostility towards the baroness had somewhat abated. She had, after all, succeeded in her task.

By now inmates were dispersed more evenly on the sofas and conversation was general. They were too scared of Big Brother to discuss what might happen, so they engaged in cosy chit-chat about the cosmopolitan nature of their world. Anastasia, Charlie Briggs, and the baroness, who had had little to do with this glittering scene, had nothing to contribute to the orgy of reminiscence.

Marilyn Falucci Lamont, it emerged, was a legendary patron of contemporary art who gave mega bucks to famous art galleries and museums and had distinguished collections of her own in her various houses. Her diary was constructed around major art events around the world. She had first met Fortune at a Venice Biennale, Pringle in Madrid, and Thorogood in Morocco. Herblock, her long-term adviser, was as peripatetic, flitting around the globe finding new artists for his eager collectors. He had formed relationships with many art colleges, which is how he had come to know and trust Gavin Truss and Hortense Wilde.

The baroness remained silent and listened keenly, but the conversation was too general to give her an opening, so she seized the opportunity of a pause to look at the group with what she hoped was a humble expression and speak to Fortune. ‘Henry, when Jason arrived you were just about to tell me about the art in our bathroom.’

Perhaps forgetting that his dignity was undermined by his lime green shell-suit, Fortune turned towards her and put the tips of his fingers together. ‘Ah, me,’ he said. ‘The bathroom. Yes, what we have…or appear to have…are a Piero Manzoni, a Terence Koh, and Wim Delvoye’s sketch of “Cloaca.” Magnificent! And how witty to locate them there!’

‘Would you be kind enough to dilate a little on them for me?’

He looked at her pityingly and sighed.

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