Him? Feel something? Let alone feel something for me? Never!
He couldn’t want me for my money, either. I had none, and he had all he could ever wish for. Well, knowing him, he probably wished for a lot more still. I should have said he had all the money a sane person could ever wish for.
Last but not least, the last possible motivation: him wanting me not because of some silly romantic feeling, or for pecuniary reasons, but because he had been overcome by irresistible desire at the sight of me, like the villain in a penny dreadful.
I looked up from my blanket into the mirror that hung on the opposite wall. In the glass, I could see my reflection: round cheeks, a perky nose, wild tangles of brown hair and equally chocolate brown eyes, and skin that was turning tanned from all the time I had spent outdoors. No, I was pretty sure that sight wouldn’t instil irresistible desire to put their hands on me in anyone, except perhaps a hairdresser with a serious work ethic.
I sighed. I was now quite sure the kiss hadn’t happened. Well, that was cause for rejoicing, wasn’t it? And I was rejoicing, I was definitely rejoicing a lot. I wasn’t feeling the least bit sentimental or regretful that it all had turned out to be a hallucination. Now that I knew there had never ever happened anything between us, I could go back to the office and face Mr Ambrose with my head held high, knowing that I had not succumbed to this supposed weakness of my sex that men propagated, suggesting that we needed men to take care of us.
Ha! I was proud of myself. Once more, I knew I was an independent and rational human being and perfectly capable of taking care of myself. How wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.
In the mirror on the opposite wall, I caught sight of my reflection. It was looking quite dejected, considering how wonderful everything was. Grabbing the Mr-Ambrose-pillow, I hurled it at the wayward image.
‘Smile!’ I commanded. ‘Smile already, will you? Everything is spiffing. Just spiffing!’
Apparently, my reflection didn’t quite agree. I grabbed another pillow, convinced it needed persuading, but then, suddenly, a bolt of pain shot through my head again.
‘Ohhh!’
With a groan, I sank back onto the bed and used the pillow for its conventional purpose instead of as ammunition. The pain in my head receded only slowly. Blimey, was this normal after drinking? Surely not. If it were, not so many people would be doing it. I resolved to make the experiment to test my theory at the earliest opportunity.
But not right now. Right now, I was trapped in this torture-chamber facsimile of my bedroom, with no hope of escape. At least there still were no torturers in sight, but that didn’t do me much good. My head felt as if it were full of red-hot coals, anyway. Maybe I would get lucky, and Ella would show up instead of the torturers. Lying buried under the blanket, I touched the sleeve of my nightgown. She must have put me in it, I realized, since I didn’t remember changing into it last night. My heart swelled with love for my dear little sister. She had taken such good care of me. Surely, she wouldn’t leave me here alone for long, in my terrible state of ill health? No, she would come and fight off any torturers who dared to approach me.
From somewhere downstairs, screeching and yelling met my ears. I wondered whether I was starting to hallucinate again. Well, at least there were no yellow piggies this time. Why piggies? Why in God’s name had I hallucinated little yellow sus domestica? I didn’t even like piggies! I didn’t even like any animals in general. They either peed on the carpet or bit you. And pigs? I only liked them in slices on a dish, which unfortunately we never got in this stingy household.
Oh, my head… My eyes slid shut. Forget hot coals, this was an inferno!
‘Is she in there?’ The commotion downstairs was getting louder, and was now joined by an exuberant voice I knew very well. ‘Well, Leadfield, is she? Get out of my way, man! We have to see her! No, I don't care what hour it is, or what day or week or century for that matter! We have a victory to celebrate and are missing our general!’
Footsteps thundered up the stairs. More than one pair of them. A moment later, the door to my bedroom burst open. I squinted at the doorway, and there she stood: Eve Saunders, a huge grin plastered on her face. Over her shoulder I could see two other figures, one large, one slight. Patsy and Flora.
‘Lilly!’ Eve yelled in triumph. ‘There you are!’
‘Oh, fabulous,’ I groaned. ‘The torturers have finally arrived.’
Victory Party?
With a cry like a hunting-hawk, Eve burst into the room and jumped onto my bed with a force that jarred my teeth and made little fireworks of agony explode in my aching skull.
‘Lilly, where have you been? We waited for you, hours after the event yesterday, and searched all over the place for you, and asked people, but they told us you left in a coach and we didn’t know where you were so we came back here but then you didn’t come home and so we didn’t know where you were again and waited some more but you still didn’t come so we decided to go home when it got dark but we were so worried and you must never do anything like that to us ever again, understand? We’re all so terribly angry with you!’