‘You didn’t lose me. You let me go. You made me independent and free.’
‘Well, I did try to tell myself that, on my better days. You ain’t turned out so bad.’ She gave me an uncertain smile. ‘No thanks to me, though.’
‘Thanks to you,’ I said firmly. A gorgeously dressed group of women crossed the car park in front of us. ‘Oh, Christ, this wedding. I’m not sure I can … but it’s Jamila’s day …’
The wedding was beautiful, so golden and glittering and full of joy that I could, for a short while, put my mother’s revelation out of my mind. She seemed to enjoy it too, her pallor turning to pink-cheeked pleasure in the gorgeous spectacle.
Our minds reverted to it, though, as we tucked into dessert after the ceremony.
‘Is this made from carrots?’ Mum asked, frowning at a bowl of sweet orange pulpy stuff she was eating.
‘I believe so. It’s gajar halwa. Nice – like mushy carrot cake. Try my rasmalai – it’s made from paneer. Jamila’s mum always made it for us when I went round there.’
We sampled each other’s puddings, then the pleasant mastication turned into a potent kind of silence. We each knew what the other was thinking.
‘He gave me his number,’ said Mum. ‘He’s waiting for you to make the first move and call him.’
I nodded and reached into my bag to switch my phone back on.
There was a message from Joss and I read it quickly.
‘When are you back? Need you. AV is here with friends. J x’
‘I’d better go,’ I said. ‘Joss has some kind of crisis. I think it’s all dancing from now on – I hope they won’t mind if we leave early.’
The feast over, Jamila and Akram came down from their high-set chairs to mingle with the guests, giving me the chance to congratulate them, then apologise for having to leave early.
‘Lucy is always chasing the story,’ said Jamila’s mother with a knowing nod. ‘I suppose something important is happening?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ I said, grateful for her understanding. I thanked her for her hospitality and left, mum following me a few minutes later.
‘Is AV with you?’ I texted, uneasy at the thought of them making any kind of plan without me.
‘No, gone to E Wing but we spoke earlier. Are you coming?’
‘Back in half-hour.’
I took mum back into the flat and made sure she was installed with a cup of herbal tea and a favourite DVD. I texted one of her friends and asked if she’d pop round before heading back to the car. I hated to leave her, knowing how low she was feeling, but I had a horrible premonition that tonight was going to be a very interesting, possibly life-changing, night.
It was significant in itself that Voronov had not asked Joss to go elsewhere while he and his little band colonised their wing. I wondered about it as I parked my car next to a nifty little soft top and a number of huge jeepy things.
When I ran to the front door, Joss opened it without my having to fish for the key, hurried me inside and pushed me into the office.
‘What’s going on? What’s happened?’
There was tension on his face and his hair had been raked into epic messiness.
‘Someone told Voronov I have a submissive. Somebody wh
o was at the ball, I presume, though I couldn’t guess a name. I should have known. There aren’t many degrees of separation in the BDSM world.’
‘Or maybe it was the person whose face I saw at the window that night. So … aren’t we packing for the caravan then?’
‘No.’ Joss put a hand to his mouth, then uncovered it again. He looked slightly green. ‘He wants to meet you,’ he said. ‘He wants us to join him and his guests tonight.’
I felt as nauseous as Joss looked. Things were coming to a head far too quickly. I had barely had time to process what my mother had told me and now …
‘Joss, the thing is, I’ve had some news. News about Voronov.’