Master of the House

‘Yes, but, more to the point, I’m your daughter.’

His eyes raked over the rubber dress, the garish lipstick, the tottering heels. His lips twisted into a sneer.

‘You went to all this trouble for this? Dressed yourself up like a whore, got yourself mixed up with this loser? All you had to do was call me.’

I shook my head. ‘That’s not what this is … oh, look, it’s complicated, but I really am with Joss and I came here tonight because you invited us.’

‘I’m supposed to believe that? You, a journalist, just happened to hook up with Lord Lethbridge here, who is known to have a high-profile mystery guest? Of course. It happens every day, I’m told.’

‘It’s true,’ said Joss. ‘Lulu and I …’

Voronov looked utterly disgusted. This didn’t seem to be going well.

‘I want a DNA test,’ he said. ‘I’ll pay for it. I’ll make you an appointment.’

‘My mother wouldn’t lie,’ I said hotly.

‘Well, perhaps not, but you understand I deal with cases like this two or three times a year. People come forward claiming to be my children all the time.’

‘Perhaps you should consider using a condom’ was on the tip of my tongue but I didn’t quite dare to say it aloud.

Instead, I said, ‘When you talked to mum at the market, you seemed to believe I was yours.’

‘Because she told me about you years ago. And I wasn’t as famous then as I am now, except in my home country. But there could have been other men. It was just once, at a festival …’

‘OK, I’ll take the test. It’ll be positive, I promise you.’

‘Go and do it and then we’ll talk again.’

I nodded and turned to Joss.

‘We should leave.’

‘You should never have come,’ said Voronov sternly. ‘I will have something to say to you, Lord Lethbridge, next time we talk.’

‘I’ll look forward to it,’ said Joss, sulky but defiant.

We crossed the room, through the laser stare of all eyes, keeping our shoulders back and our dignity in full feather.

* * *

Neither of us spoke until we were out of the east wing and back in the dustier environs of Joss’s part of the house.

‘Shit,’ he said, banging his forehead against a wood-panelled wall in the morning room while he fixed us drinks from the cabinet. ‘I think we’ve blown it.’

‘Do you? Blown what, exactly?’

He turned around, handing me a brandy while he stuck to ginger and tonic for himself.

‘He hates me,’ he said. ‘And now he’ll hate me even more. He’ll probably have this place levelled in a random drone attack.’

‘Oh, don’t.’ I laughed. ‘Look on the bright side.’

‘There’s a bright side?’

He sat next to me on the chaise and I laid my head on his shoulder, the pair of us looking through the French doors into limitless darkness.

‘I suppose it was naïve to expect an emotional reunion and a happy-ever-after fade to black,’ I said. ‘But there’s still hope.’