"I'm not finished with you yet," Raymond said, reaching for her robe.
Carmen slapped his hand away. "Didn't you hear me? I said, get dressed and go, I'm expecting company."
Raymond pouted, pushing himself up on his elbows. "Who are you expecting? Should I be jealous?"
Carmen poured the liquor down her throat in one shot, picked up Raymond's clothes, and tossed them at him. "It is none of your business. And you can be as jealous as you wish, I do not care. Get dressed and get out. Now. I do not have time for your questions or petty jealousies."
Tiamat, Carmen's snake, slithered its way along the floor on its belly in a smooth, swaying motion toward Raymond, hissing fiercely.
"Okay, okay. I'll go," he snapped, gathering up his clothes and dressing as quickly as possible while stepping out of the path of the oncoming snake. He openly feared the snake that Carmen held in such high regard, as though it were an instrument of an all-powerful god.
Carmen put her glass down. "Good Tiamat," she purred. "My beautiful creature, gifted with such wonderful motivational skills." She smirked at Raymond, who was keeping a watchful eye on the snake as he dressed. "Don't you agree, Raymond?" The snake hissed again in chuckle-like intervals as it curled lazily up, then around Carmen's torso. Carmen held her arm out, pulling back the sleeve of the robe, allowing Tiamat to coil around her arm before transforming himself into a solid gold serpent bracelet, with lustrous black pearls for eyes.
Raymond snatched his jacket up off the floor, brushed it off, then stomped toward the narrow stairwell leading back up into the foyer of Lancaster House.
"Not that way, idiot," Carmen spat, picking up her glass and pouring herself another drink. She motioned toward the rear of the room with her free hand. "Use the tunnel, you stupid man. I cannot take the risk of someone seeing you leave."
Raymond wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into him. "My shrew," he said, kissing her hard before pulling back the curtain and disappearing into the dark shadows of the tunnel.
Twenty minutes later, neatly clothed in a crisp, white linen shirt and a tight-fitting black leather pencil skirt, Carmen sat cross-legged in an Edwardian wing-back armchair in the library of Lancaster House, waiting for her visitor. Her fiery red hair fell over her shoulders and down her back in long glossy waves. She tapped the toe of her high-heeled black stiletto impatiently on the floor, looking at the antique clock on the wall for the umpteenth time. Moments later, a knock on the door had Carmen ringing the tiny bell she grasped in her hand. She uncrossed, then re-crossed her legs. "Door, Henry," she called to her trusty butler, who was busy in the kitchen.
"On my way, ma'am," he replied, hunched deliberately over the counter, carefully spooning duck liver pâté into a small clay pot. Once this task was accomplished, he placed the pâté on a tray, alongside a little pot of caviar. He arranged thin slices of a baguette, which he had baked to a light golden brown, down the side of a platter, with portions of artfully placed smoked salmon garnished with capers, lemon wedges and sprigs of parsley from the garden. Wiping his hands on a starched, white linen napkin, he stood to his full height, admiring his handiwork. Satisfied, he tossed the napkin on the bench, and went to answer the door. He welcomed the old woman with a curt nod, then ushered her swiftly into the library to join his mistress.
"I shall be back in the briefest of moments," Henry said, reversing from the room in long strides, and with an exaggerated, low-sweeping bow. The tall, rakishly thin man was comical-looking in a black suit that barely covered his wrists or ankles. White socks, neatly turned down at the top, protruded from black, glossy, lace-up shoes.
"Welcome, Clamenza," Carmen said, motioning the old woman to the chair opposite her.
Clamenza's gray hair was pulled back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and on her head she wore a black hat, which she promptly removed. "We have a problem," she said gruffly, sitting down. Placing the hat on her lap, she leaned her walking stick against the round, mahogany table that separated them. A cockroach scrambled out from the sleeve of her purple coat and ran across the table.
In one fluid motion, Carmen's hand came crashing down on the insect, splattering it on the table.
Clamenza gasped in horror, her hands flying up to cover her mouth as the bug dragged its misshapen body across the table, minus its two back legs.
Henry floated silently back into the room a short time later with his tray of delicacies balanced perfectly on one hand. He slid the tray into the centre of the table without disturbing a single item.