'It's unfortunate,' I opened, keeping my tone bright and breezy, 'but probably salvageable. A press photographer has managed to get some shots of Jade and Maria here, in the company of Dr Rock.'
Chase put down his pen and leant forward. 'In the company? By which you mean . . .?'
It was pretty obvious from the rich scarlet of the maids' complexions what I meant. I smiled wanly. He did not smile back.
'Were you in uniform?'
'Partly.'
'Not completely undressed?'
'No.'
He drew in a sharp breath. 'And the photos depict what, exactly?'
Jade spoke up. 'Well, um, Dr Rock is, uh, having sex with Maria. And I'm . . . sitting on her face.'
Chase's eyebrows. Gawd.
'Compromising, then,' he said with the kind of heavy sarcasm you could not contemplate laughing at.
'And . . . oh, you forgot to say, Jade,' s
aid Maria, almost inaudibly, 'about the money. You were holding money, that he'd given you. I think the photographer might have caught it.'
Chase could do nothing but stare for upwards of a vomit-inducing minute.
'You prostitute yourselves to the clients?' he said at last.
'Not usually for money!' I defended them.
He turned to me, freezing me to ice. 'You mean . . . it's a regular occurrence? And you know about it?'
'I . . . know they sometimes pull one or two of the famous names. I . . . thought you would have turned a blind eye. So I did too.'
'You thought wrong, Sophie. I see I have some calls to make. Where was the photographer from?'
'Sauce on Sunday,' we all muttered.
'Perfect. Jade. Maria. Collect your things and leave.'
'Yes, Sir,' they whispered, clutching each other's hands as they turned to leave.
'They didn't mean to . . .' I started, but he cut in, his voice a blade.
'You too. Get your things and get out.'
I literally staggered forward, my mouth agape, no words forming for what seemed like aeons.
'You can't mean it?'
'I can. Go, before I call Security.'
'But I thought! We were! You know! That you!' Somehow everything was coming out in exclamatory jerks.
'I know what you thought.' One long finger hovered over the intercom button. 'Shall I call them? Or can you go quietly?'
It seemed I could not, because without thinking or feeling or knowing anything of what I was doing, I collapsed in a heap on the carpet and began keening like a banshee.