Bold as Love Read Free Page A

fat, florid woman beside him (a movie producer). But a few moments later he turned again, and handed her a sprig of rose leaves. ‘Put that in your pocket, sweet—briar,’ he said, with a tender smile. ‘Keep it for a souvenir.’
    She hadn’t known you could have rosebushes with scented leaves. She didn’t have a pocket. She held the sprig in her hand, awkwardly, all the way back to the house. She was deeply flattered and excited. She started trying to think of the names of some of The Geese’s hit singles, so that she’d have something to say if he noticed her again.
    In the evening, after dinner, some guests disappeared. The rest sat around with Rufus in the great hall. People had been drinking quite a lot, and sniffing coke, but they were quiet about it. Fio had half expected them to be naked except for jewels and make—up, after the way they dressed in daytime, but they were wearing the same as in the afternoon. Carly was there, but she seemed to have decided to leave Fiorinda to her own devices, which was fine. Fio did not want to be shown off, or looked after like a baby. She had changed into her best scarlet teeshirt and a shiny long pink skirt. The teeshirt was printed over with little naked male figures, labelled jokily things like “French Polish” and “Turkish Delight”, though you couldn’t see much difference between the faces; or the sets of wedding—tackle. She had tried it on in the exclusive shop where Carly bought it for her, baring her tiny budding breasts without shame: they could stand up for themselves. ‘Well,’ the attentive assistant had said, impressed. ‘I thought that colour wouldn’t suit you, dear, but it certainly does.’
    Scarlet gave Fiorinda’s creamy skin the pure glow of a candleflame, it made her strongly marked brows and lashes look made—up, which they were not. For some reason, Carly had forbidden her to wear make—up on this visit. There was talk, and silence; someone strummed a guitar. It was oddly like an evening in the cold house, except that the setting was ancient instead of merely old fashioned, and there were more people. Fio felt ignored. She went over to the hearth, where there was a fire of cherry logs because the June night was chill. She gazed into the flames and then sat down, as if by chance, with her back against the couch where he was sitting, the rock—lord in state surrounded by his courtiers. She hoped that she would think of something intelligent to say: somehow contribute to the conversation and get noticed. Instead, Rufus began to stroke her hair. She felt his fingertips on the nape of her neck, and then circling her ear.
    She was half stunned at the liberty he was taking. How did he know that he could do this? How could he just stroke her, as if she was a cat or a dog? But he could do what he liked. For Rufus O’Niall, everything was allowed.
    ‘Can you do magic?’ he murmured, so that only she could hear. ‘You look as if you could.’
    ‘My gran’s a witch. Not me. I think it’s a recessive gene. You need two copies.’
    Rufus laughed very quietly, like a rumble of soft thunder.
    ‘What about your parents?’
    ‘Oh, they’re dead. My gran looks after me.’ Dead parents were simpler.
    Someone challenged him to a game of chess, and he left the couch.
    Fiorinda’s room was next to Carly’s. When Rufus came to find her in the night she was sitting by the bed, still wearing her scarlet teeshirt and her pink skirt. She hadn’t wanted to take them off. She’d have felt stupid waiting in her pyjamas, especially since she was half convinced that she was imagining the whole thing. But here he was. Rufus said, ‘I thought you’d be tucked up under the covers by now, Sweetbriar.’ He took her in his arms and carried her off to his own room: which was sumptuous, but she didn’t get a chance to take much in.
    In the morning she woke in her own bed with no clear idea of how she’d got there. Carly was shaking her gently. ‘I’ve