'I wonder what time it is, castle time. I don't feel sleepy.'
DuQuesne looked at his watch. 'Good reason. It's rather late in the afternoon at the castle.'
'Is that all? Hell, I might as well have another drink. Waiter!'
'You haven't finished that one,' DuQuesne said, pointing.
Deena looked: 'Oh.' She picked up the glass and drank. A man with a German accent sitting next to DuQuesne said, 'Perhaps you should switch to something less sweet, Deena. That is a very fancy concoction to be drinking so many of.'
'I like 'em. Can't be too sweet for me. I got a sweet tooth.'
Thaxton and Dalton came walking across the tennis courts. Thaxton had to be steered a bit.
'Hey,' Deena called. 'How'd your moonlight swim go?'
'Excellent,' Dalton said. 'His lordship passed out on the beach.'
'Didn't so much pass out, old boy, as took a bit of a nap.'
'Right.'
Deena asked, 'Where're your lady friends?'
'Don't quite know,' Dalton said. 'They seem to have left us.'
'Swam away, they did,' Thaxton contended as he slumped to a deck chair. 'Mermaids. Lovely sea horses. Sea mares. Farewell, farewell.'
'Boy, he's flyin',' Deena said.
'He's cruising at about thirty-five thousand feet,' Dalton confirmed.
'Perfectly sober, old boy. Perfectly sober.'
'Perfectly smashed,' Deena countered.
'Nonsense. By the way, can a fellow get a drink in this place?' Thaxton turned and called, 'Garcon!'
Deena asked, 'Who's this Garson guy people been callin' all night?'
'No, my dear, that's French for-'
Deena shot daggers at DuQuesne. 'It's a joke, stupid. Don't you think I know that?'
M. DuQuesne was somewhat flustered. 'Very sorry, my dear.'
'Forget it.' Deena leaned back wearily. 'Uh-oh.'
'What, Deena?'
'I'm turnin' into a mean drunk. When that happens, I gotta stop drinkin'.' Deena set her glass aside.
'Don't worry about it,' M. DuQuesne said.
'No, no matter what time it is, I gotta get me some sleep. Hey, who's heading back to the castle?'
Melanie stopped playing. 'Me. Party's just about over, looks like.' She reached for her guitar case.
'I will say good night,' the German-speaking gentleman said. He got up and walked off. 'Very glad to see you all. Nice party.'
'Goo' night, Karl baby,' Deena said. 'Nice talkin' with ya, honey.'
'Good night.'
'Here comes old Gene,' Dalton observed.
Hands in his pockets, Gene came walking through the courts to join the group.
'Yo,' he said.
'Gene, where you been?' Deena asked. 'Takin' a moonlight swim with some new hot momma?'
'Sure.' Gene sat in one of the deck chairs. 'Where's Linda?'
'Don't know.'
'Where'd she get to, anyhow? I ain't seen her in a while.'
'We saw her last with Gene on the beach,' Dalton tattled.
'What? Gene, was you out there skinny dippin' with Linda?'
Gene shook his head. 'Nope. She went back to the castle a while ago.'
'You was, you gonna have to answer to me.'
'No such luck.'
'They were wrestling in the sand,' Dalton said. 'I think that's what they were doing.'
'What the hell you talkin' about? Him and Linda? You crazy.'
'All in fun,' Gene said.
'Must be, 'cause Linda don't fool around with nobody.'
'Nope.' Gene sighed.
'She got principles.'
'Yup.'
'She don't go sleepin' around.'
Gene's chin sank to his chest. 'Negative.'
'How come you never asked me?'
Gene jerked his head up. 'Huh?'
'You go takin' after Linda. You go takin' after everybody, this universe, that universe, boppin' 'em over, one, two, three, draggin' 'em back by the hair. And here I have to sleep alone. Shit.' Deena reached and had another go at her Mai Tai.
'Had I known-' Gene began.
'Had you known shit, fool.' Deena gave her head a quick shake. 'Man, I must be flyin' myself.'
Melanie had to suppress a giggle.
'Well, I'm going to head back to the castle,' Barnaby Walsh announced.
'Don't you talk to me, either.'
'Who's talking to you?'
Deena told everyone, 'Last time he left his shoes under my bed he was wearin' baby sneakers.'
'Deena, you're smashed.'
'Don't I know it. I'm gonna regret it in the mornin'.'
'I'm regretting it now,' Barnaby said, getting up.
'Where's that bloody waiter?' Thaxton demanded to know.
'Is Lord Peter a mean drunk, too?' Deena asked suspiciously.
'I've never seen him drunk before,' Dalton said. 'A bit tipsy, perhaps.'
'I'm not drunk!' Thaxton insisted. 'Where is that-? Oh, well, finally.'
A white jacketed waiter came over. 'Yes, sir?'
'I'd like a bottle of your finest plonk-Chateau Fleet Street will do nicely.'
'Sir, I'm afraid you've had enough for the evening.'
Thaxton bristled. 'I beg your pardon?'
'Sorry, sir. You're intoxicated and I can't serve you. Hotel policy. Insurance regulations, sir.'
'Excuse me. What is your name?'
'Fenton, sir.'
'Tell me this, Fenton. Are you a real flesh-and-blood human being, or are you simply part of the window dressing here?'
'Sir?'
'You know very well what I'm talking about. Are you real or are you not?'
'Well, I suppose… not quite, sir.'
'Ah. Not quite. And you-a bloody phantasm conjured out of the ether by some bloody mumbo jumbo-are presuming to tell me when and how much I can drink?'
'Sir, I am. Lady Sheila's orders, sir.'
The wind spilled out of Thaxton's sails. 'Blast. Oh, bugger all, get me a cup of coffee, then.'
'Right away, sir.' Fenton spun on his heel and left.
Dalton regarded Thaxton archly. 'Do you want me to send for the pukka boy now so you can whip him?'
'Well, he was impertinent!'
'These aren't the great days of the Raj, Thaxton, old boy.'
'Never bloody said they were.'
Deena cranked her tired body upward. 'Come on, everybody… uhhh… let's head back.' She got to her feet, teetering.
