Octavia

‘Now put your hand on Octavia’s shoulder,’ he said. I jumped away as I felt her fingers.

‘No!’ I screamed. ‘No! I won’t do it, I won’t!’

‘Cut it out,’ said Andreas. ‘Do you want two grand or not?’

I looked at him mutinously; then I remembered Xander and nodded.

Angelica looked about as cheerful as a cat with toothache. She’d obviously never had bread like that from him.

Andreas ruffled the sheets round us, and gazed into the viewfinder.

‘Very nice,’ he said softly. ‘A bit more amiable, both of you.’ Cy took over again.

‘Put your hand on Octavia’s throat, Angelica,’ he said.

I steeled myself, feeling the tense hatred in her fingers. The sweat was glistening on her black moustache.

‘Lovely,’ said Cy. ‘Now slide your hand down a bit Angelica, and down a bit further.’

I couldn’t bear it, even for Xander, I couldn’t take any more. I shot a despairing supplicating glance at Andreas and was appalled by the expression of suppressed excitement on his face. I felt the tears coursing down my cheeks.

Then suddenly there was a tremendous crash outside. Everyone jumped, as someone started pummelling on the door.

‘It’s the fuzz,’ squeaked Gabriel in excitement, patting his curls.

‘You can’t go in there,’ screamed a female voice. ‘The studio’s booked.’

‘Oh yes I bloody can,’ shouted a voice.

There was another tremendous crash, the door seemed to tremble, then suddenly caved in. I gave a gasp, half of relief and half of horror, for in the doorway, fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell, stood Gareth. Slowly he looked round the room, taking in first Cy, then Andreas and his hood cronies, then finally me on the bed with Angelica. With a whimper I pulled one of the satin sheets round me.

‘What the bloody hell’s going on?’ he howled, walking across the studio towards me. ‘You whore, you bloody cheap whore! I might have known you’d end up like this. Get your clothes on.’

Andreas moved towards him.

‘Take it easy, big boy,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t get so excited.’

Gareth turned on him.

‘You lousy creep,’ he hissed. ‘I know how long you’ve been scheming to get your dirty hands on her. I’ll get you for this. Go on,’ he added, out of the corner of his mouth, to me. ‘For Christ’s sake, get dressed.’

I stood up, still too frightened to move.

‘How on earth did you know she was here?’ asked Gabriel, looking at him with admiration.

‘Andreas shouldn’t go round boasting in restaurants,’ said Gareth. ‘These things get overheard.’

‘Look, wise guy.’ Andreas was talking slowly and patiently now, as though he was dictating to an inexperienced secretary. ‘You’re gatecrashing a very important party. Cy’s booked for the day, and so’s Octavia, and neither of them for peanuts. She needs the money, don’t you Octavia?’

Gareth glanced in my direction. I nodded miserably.

‘So you can’t come barging in here making a nuisance of yourself,’ said Andreas.

‘Oh, can’t I?’ said Gareth with ominous quiet.

There was a long pause; then, suddenly, he went berserk. Turning, he kicked Cy’s camera across the room, then he smashed his fist into Cy’s face, sending him flying after the camera. The next moment he’d laid out Cy’s assistant with a punishing upper cut. Then Vic the hood picked up a rubber plant and hurled it at Gareth, who ducked just in time and, gathering up another plant, hurled it back.

Screaming like a stuck pig, still in the Nun’s headdress, Angelica dived under the bed, followed immediately by the two minions and Gabriel.

‘Oh dear,’ sighed Gabriel as two more plants sailed through the air. ‘Burnham Wood came to Dunsinane, now it’s going back again.’

Ducking to avoid more flying vegetation, I shook off the silk sheets, ran across the room, dived behind the curtain and started to pull on my clothes. By the sound of it Gareth was still laying about him like a maddened bull. As I looked out he was having a punch-up with Mannie who wrong-footed him and sent him crashing to the ground. The next moment Gareth had got to his feet and thrown Mannie into the middle of the remaining potted plants.

‘Oh my poor jardiniere,’ wailed Gabriel’s voice from under the bed. ‘What will the plant shop say?’

As I crept out from behind the curtain, a silver teapot and two glass paperweights flew across the room, none of them fortunately hitting their target.

Gareth paused; he was breathing heavily. Cy was still nursing his jaw in the corner. Mannie was peering out of the plants like a spy in L’Attaque. Vic was shaking his head and picking himself up. Cy’s assistant got to his feet. As he started edging nervously towards the door, Gareth grabbed him by the collar.

‘No you don’t,’ he said. ‘Where are those rolls of film? Come on or I’ll beat you to a pulp.’ His fingers closed round the boy’s neck.

‘Over there on the trolley,’ choked the boy in terror.

Gareth pocketed the rolls. As I sidled round the wall towards him, he glanced in my direction and jerked his head towards the door. He was just backing towards it himself when Vic moved in, catching him off guard with a blow to the right eye. Gareth slugged him back, sending him hurtling across the room, then, trying to right himself, tripped over one of the light wires and cannoned heavily into a pile of tripods. It was getting more like Tom and Jerry every minute.

Next minute, Andreas, who’d been watching the whole proceedings without lifting a finger, picked up the champagne bottle and, cracking it on the underneath of the bed, moved with incredible speed across the room towards Gareth. Cornered, Gareth scrambled out of the tripods, shaking his head. His right eye was beginning to close up. His forehead, just above his eyebrow, was bleeding where Vic’s gold ring had gashed it.

He backed away from Andreas until he reached the wall.

‘Now then big boy,’ murmured Andreas, his voice almost a caress. ‘I’ll teach you to get tough with me.’ He brandished the jagged edge of the bottle in Gareth’s face. ‘Give me back that film.’

Gareth stared at him, not a muscle moving in his face.

‘You lousy cheap punk,’ he said.

Then I froze with horror as I saw that Mannie had extracted himself from the potted plants and, armed with a flick knife, was moving relentlessly in from the right. Without thinking, I picked up the Christopher Wray lamp and hurled it at him, slap on target. Just for a second Andreas’ concentration flickered, giving Gareth the chance to leap on him, knocking him to the floor. Over and over they rolled like Tommy Brook and Mr Tod, yelling abuse at each other. Then finally Gareth was on top smashing his fists into Andreas’ head. For a minute I thought he was going to kill him; then he got up, picked Andreas up and threw him through the Habitat wallpaper like a clown through a hoop.

There was another long pause. Gareth looked slowly round the room. Everyone flattened themselves against the wall or the floor. Then suddenly there was the sound of clapping, and Angelica emerged from under the bed, her Nun’s headdress askew.

‘I’ve been waiting three years for someone to do that,’ she said.

Blood was pouring from Gareth’s arm. He must have jagged it on Andreas’ bottle.

‘You’ll bleed to death,’ I moaned, gathering up a peach silk petticoat that was lying on the floor.

‘Well, bags I give him the kiss of life,’ said a little voice from under the bed. Gareth grabbed my wrist. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’

Chapter Nineteen