“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” he stutters, looks about fifteen himself with an ill fitted suit and I feel sorry for him. “I need Mr Everleigh. I’ve been told to get you.”
“By who?” The secretary speaks up, sounds harsh.
“The police. But Mr Everleigh isn’t in trouble. I tried to say I couldn’t interrupt…”
“It’s okay. I’ll be two minutes.” My voice sounds calm, in control. I look at the secretary. “You may want to make your announcement.”
He’s about to say something when the words of encouragement from the others gathered begin and with fumbling fingers he tears the envelope.
“The new leader of our party and therefore the Prime Minister is…”
I wait for the other candidate’s name.
It doesn’t come.
“Isaac Everleigh.”
There are congratulations, pats on my back, but I don’t acknowledge them. I’m out of the door and heading towards the person who isn’t the police but intelligence.
There’s been a shooting at the castle.
Blair
It’s Isaac’s voice I hear. Outside, shooting cans, how to aim, fire; how the recoil felt. How to breathe.
Breathe.
That’s what I focus on doing now.
Franklyn hasn’t pointed it at me. It’s in his hand which hangs loosely by his side and he’s standing about three metres from me.
I take a step forward.
Breathe.
“Why do you have a gun?” My voice sounds surprisingly calm.
“I need to solve a problem.”
“What’s the problem? Maybe I can help.”
He shakes his head. “I’d have done anything for you, Blair. But there’s one person who trumps you and I know you won’t make the right decision about trade deals, I know you’ll stay independent…”
“I’m stepping down. Not as queen, but as the absolute monarch.” I know it will make no difference.
“But William doesn’t want anyone to know about the oil. It’s fairly simple – he’s got a lot of money and our future riding on this, Blair. It’s what he’s worked for… And I have no problem with doing this: I nearly finished Isaac – the other man you took as your lover…”
He’s too preoccupied with his speech to notice when I pick the heavy glass vase off my dressing table and launch it at his head. The hand holding the gun comes up to protect his head and the vase narrowly misses him.
It’s the only opportunity I have and I take it, forgetting to breathe. I lunge at him, knocking him over and as I feel the wall of muscle that makes up his body, I wish I’d eaten more cake.
It’s a strange thought to have when you end up with a gun in your hand and a man trying to fight you for it, one that almost makes me laugh.
Breathe.
He’s trying to get the gun and I know as soon as he does, he’ll turn it on me.
“You and your bastard child won’t spoil this for him!”
