Where the Summer Ends - By Karl Edward Wagner Page 0,102
are dashing about with trays of champagne.”
“But those glasses have lost the proper chill,” Tregannet explained. “To your very good health.”
“Cheers.” Lisette felt light-headed, and promised herself to go easy for a while. “Does Beth live here with her aunt, then?”
“Her aunt lives on the Continent; I don’t believe she’s visited London for several years. Beth moved in about ten years ago. Theirs is not a large family, but they are not without wealth, as you can observe. They travel a great deal as well, and it’s fortunate that Beth happened to be in London during your stay here. Incidentally, just how long will you be staying in London?”
“About a year is all.” Lisette finished her champagne. “Then it’s back to my dear, dull family in San Francisco.”
“Then there’s no one here in London...?”
“Decidedly not, Mr Tregannet. And now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll find the ladies’.”
Cocaine might well be the champagne of drugs, but cocaine and champagne didn’t seem to mix well, Lisette mused, turning the bathroom over to the next frantic guest. Her head felt really buzzy, and she thought she might do better if she found a bedroom somewhere and lay down for a moment. But then she’d most likely wake up and find some man on top of her, judging from this lot. She decided she’d lay off the champagne and have just a line or two to shake off the feeling of having been sandbagged.
The crowd in the study had changed during her absence. Just now it was dominated by a group of guests dressed in costumes from The Rocky Horror Show, now closing out its long run at the Comedy Theatre in Piccadilly. Lisette had grown bored with the fad the film version had generated in the States, and pushed her way past the group as they vigorously danced the Time Warp and bellowed out songs from the show.
“‘Give yourself over to absolute pleasure,”’ someone sang in her ear as she industriously snorted a line from the mirror. “‘Erotic nightmares beyond any measure,”’ the song continued.
Lisette finished a second line, and decided she had had enough.
She straightened from the table and broke for the doorway. The tall transvestite dressed as Frankie barred her way with a dramatic gesture, singing ardently: “‘Don’t dream it—be it!”’
Lisette blew him a kiss and ducked around him. She wished she could find a quiet place to collect her thoughts. Maybe she should find Danielle first—if she could handle the ballroom that long.
The dance floor was far more crowded than when they’d come in. At least all these jostling bodies seemed to absorb some of the decibels from the blaring banks of amplifiers and speakers. Lisette looked in vain for Danielle amidst the dancers, succeeding only in getting champagne sloshed on her back. She caught sight of Midge, recognizable above the mob by her conical medieval headdress, and pushed her way toward her.
Midge was being fed caviar on bits of toast by Fiona while she talked with an older woman who looked like the pictures Lisette had seen of Marlene Dietrich dressed in men’s formal evening wear.
“Have you seen Danielle?” Lisette asked her.
“Why, not recently, darling,” Midge smiled, licking caviar from her lips with the tip of her tongue. “I believe she and that rock singer were headed upstairs for a bit more privacy. I’m sure she’ll come collect you once they’re finished.”
“Midge, you’re a cunt,” Lisette told her through her sweetest smile. She turned away and made for the doorway, trying not to ruin her exit by staggering. Screw Danielle—she needed to have some fresh air.
A crowd had gathered at the foot of the stairway, and she had to push through the doorway to escape the ballroom. Behind her, the Needle mercifully took a break. “She’s coming down!” Lisette heard someone whisper breathlessly. The inchoate babel of the party fell to a sudden lull that made Lisette shiver.
At the top of the stairway stood a tall woman, enveloped in a black velvet cloak from her throat to her ankles. Her blonde hair was piled high in a complex variation of the once-fashionable French twist. Strings of garnets entwined in her hair and edged the close-fitting black mask that covered the upper half of her face. For a hushed interval she stood there, gazing imperiously down upon her guests.
Adrian Tregannet leapt to the foot of the stairway. He signed to a pair of maids, who stepped forward to either side of their mistress.