B004M5HK0M EBOK by Unknown Read Free Book Online

‘n’ all. You know it’s only a game?’
    ‘If we put the boys in the front as buffers,’ said Victoria, ‘and we hold on for dear life behind...’ She motioned Jolyon and Kim to take up position, and looked round for the third of her buffers, and there he was, skateboarding along the corridor in his habitual insolent pre-teen boy way.
    ‘Well, with the skateboard,’ said Emily. ‘We can improvise.’
    They put the skateboard, wheels up, on the banister. They laid the suitcase on the skateboard, using it like a tray. They held on and slid the thing down two flights of stairs, then they flipped the skateboard over and used it like a dolly to get the suitcase to the gentleman in the grand hall.
    Emily was very grateful for the assistance of Victoria and her sons – she couldn’t have done it without them – but still, it had been a tougher job than she’d bargained for when she accepted it, and she was sweating horribly by the time they arrived. She looked around for the ‘gentleman’, expecting to see the young man in the top hat with the rouged cheeks who had rushed past her when she first arrived at the party – or any kind of theatrical, dressed-up, amusing type. Anyone but Chris.
    ‘Aha!’ said Chris, when he saw her.
    ‘I was looking for a gentleman,’ said Emily, primly.
    Chris said, ‘Well you’ll have to make do with me.’ He bent down and tapped at the suitcase, very gently, almost tenderly, as if its delivery really was a matter of vital importance. ‘Shall I do the honours?’ he said. ‘Or will you?’
    Emily shook her head. Really, she’d got the thing this far – why couldn’t he open it? But he took a key from his pocket and handed it to her with a bow, and by then a small inquisitive crowd had gathered, so she had no choice but to smile and play her part.
    She bent and put the key in the lock, Chris and Victoria and the boys arranged behind her, smiling, arms on shoulders like the Von Trapp family, and as she flipped open the lid of the suitcase, all of a sudden something lithe and large and unexpected reared up at her like a jack-in-a-box. It was Elise. She had removed her raincoat and contrived to fit her body into that suitcase – it wasn’t that big – and had made the journey with them. She was wearing a lovely, slinky, silver 1930s dress with a tasselled fringe at the hem and at the bust. ‘Thank you,’ she said to Emily. She stepped over the edge of the suitcase, fitted a cigarette into a holder, lit it, and prepared to walk away.
    ‘Wait!’ said Emily. She really didn’t want to go through her questions in front of Chris – but she did want an answer.
    Elise knew what she wanted. She said to Emily, ‘Do you know your Chekhov?’
    ‘The Seagull?’ Emily had seen the same production of The Seagull at The Barbican in London three times in 2003. A friend of her boyfriend had had a small part in it.
    ‘No.’
    ‘The Cherry Orchard?’ Emily was not sure that she had seen The Cherry Orchard . She looked out in the direction of the garden and remembered the small orchard with its apple, pear and cherry trees. Perhaps it was somehow relevant? Zsa-Zsa was buried down there at the bottom of the garden under a cherry tree?
    ‘No.’
    Emily was getting uncomfortable. She saw the faces of one or two of her neighbours in the crowd – the young black man who was always repairing his car. The Indian woman with the disabled parking space and the herb garden at the front of her house. Emily hoped they would think it was part of the show. She said to Elise, ‘You’ll have to give me a clue.’
    ‘You really don’t know?’ Elise gave Emily a look of such contempt. Then she walked away.
    ‘Do you need me to help you?’ asked Chris.
    ‘I really don’t,’ said Emily. Then she walked away too.
    ‘Don’t miss the parade,’ called Chris. ‘We’re burning a witch.’
    Somebody laughed. Then behind her, she heard the small crowd break into polite applause. Someone