“Ridiculous.”Sasha kissed him again, lingeringly this time,then hitched a resigned smile and sighed.“Want me to get you amirror?”
“Please.”
Togetherthey examined the damage.A dressing covered the worst of it, butLaurie’s tears had soaked off the adhesive down one side.He drewit back gingerly.There was a scarlet hole the size of a ten pencepiece, and surrounding it in a spray pattern—surreal, almost as ifsomeone had painted them on with the edge of a feather—blue-blackmarks from the powder.“Jesus.Will it scar?”
“The doc said I should be honest with you if you asked aboutthat.It’ll get much better, but you’ll always have a mark.You’llwear it well—like a pirate, or...”
“If you say Action Man, I’ll kill you.There go the pretty-boyparts.”Laurie shivered.“Not that that’ll be a problem—I’mdestined to be an exhibit in theBloodMooncarnival for the rest of mylife.”
“What do you mean?”
Lauriedidn’t want to tell him.The land of the living wasn’t justsunshine and sweet morning love.It was full of sharp-edged rocks,a heap of them piled up where Laurie had left them, ready to fall.“Douglas Brett sacked me.It was because of...”
“Because of the video.”Sasha wasn’t afraid of the rocks.Hisarm was around Laurie’s shoulders: it tightened gently, bracing himagainst the landslides.“But that’s a good thing, isn’t it?Yougetting sacked, I mean.”
“Only off this movie.I didn’t check my contract properly whenI signed.If he makes any more in the series, I’m his for theasking.”
“Oh, like crap you are.Let him sue you.I’ll pay your legalbills, or...”Sasha reached to tousle Clara’s hair.“Or Clara will,out of her pocket money.She’s already offered to buy you out ofthe film you’re doing now.”
“Has she, the little Rockefeller?”
“Mm.You do have one letter from the states, actually—Mrs Trentwent home to check the mail for us, and—”
“Who did?”
“You’re hopeless, aren’t you, your lordship?The former Mrs G,your lifelong family servant.”
“Oh.”Laurie blushed, the warmth of his blood making his facesting again.“Gibson was here?”
“She wept by your bed for three hours.Then she told thecleaning staff off for leaving some dust on your window sill, blewher nose and started doing errands.The docs said you shouldn’t bebothered with too much from the outside world, but...”
“I’d better see the letter.Is it from Ivory Gate?”
“No, it’s not their logo on the envelope.Some kind of legalfirm, looks like.”
“Oh, great.”Laurie took the envelope from Sasha.Someone—MrsG, maybe—had restored the leather satchel to him, and the sight ofit almost undid Laurie’s fragile calm.He had to learn to let therocks fall, though, roll with the impact of the things that he’ddone.“Let’s have a look, then.”
“Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it.Okay?”
Lauriescanned the letter, holding it so that Sasha could read it too.Hewasn’t sure which one of them got the gist and began laughingfirst—only that Sasha braced him harder, hushed him for the sake ofhis stitches and the sleeping child at his side.The letter wasfrom a management company in North Hollywood, appointed to dealwith bankruptcy proceedings in the name of Douglas Brett and IvoryGate Studios.There would be further details to come, but thispreliminary notification was simply to inform all personnelinvolved with IG’s current and future projects that filming hadstopped, and IG and the management company would work towardsreleasing all contracted actors under mutually agreeableterms.
“Looks like you’re free,chirilo.”
“What’s a chirilo?”Laurie almost didn’t have to ask him.Therewas such a sense of joy in the word, an uplifted liberty, as ifSasha knew about the dream-hawk and had come to fly with him, wingto wing in Carpathian skies.“Will you teach me Romani oneday?”
“What, so you’ll know what I’m calling you?”Sasha smiled,brushed a kiss to Laurie’s face, just above the torn-up skin.“Chirilo is a bird.”
***
Timepassed strangely for Sasha after that.He was so tired he hadpassed beyond the ability to sleep, and he didn’t want to—for thefirst time in a long time, didn’t want to miss a second of hislife.Medical staff came and went, none of them disturbing him fromhis place by Laurie’s bed.Marielle Fitzroy materialised in a cloudof sparkling fragrance and fur, still largely detached from realitybut genuinely glad to see her son awake and able to talk.Herattempt to reclaim Clara devolved into protests and tears untilElena Dracinsky strode into the room, snapping the child toobedient attention.The dragon and the queen of Mayfair regardedone another across the abyss of the differences between them, butleft together peacefully, each holding one of Clara’s hands.BeforeSasha could exchange a glance with Laurie or draw a peacefulbreath, the door bounced open again, this time admitting—of allpeople—Laurie’s former agent Arnie Hamlin, all past resentmentsforgotten in the drama of hearing his protégé had beenshot.
Sasha did retreat from Laurie’s bedside then, just far enoughto make room for Arnie’s personality, and to frown at him when hiscries of dismay threatened to undo Sasha’s good work on the subjectof rakish, attractive facial scars.Leaning against the windowsill, Sasha wondered at the changes wrought by time.There was hishaughty midwinter prince, apologising with deep sincerity for hisrudeness in letting Arnie go.Stranger still, Arnie was explainingthat the fault had been entirely his, that an Orthodox Jewishupbringing had clouded his vision with regard to the people hestill unfortunately referred to asthegays.Arnie had a new gig: was accompanyingone of the UK’s most outrageous and political drag queens on a tourEast Africa, where Sasha guessed his re-education would soon becompleted.
Arnieapologised to Sasha too, and the three of them were in the processof awkwardly shaking hands all round when a cautious creaking ofthe door heralded the entrance of a walking bunch of flowers—AlisonJones, still blushing over her misdemeanours, as if Laurie hadn’toutdone her by a thousand times in his own encounter with theworld’s media.Close on her heels was Paul Jacobs, and then—Sashasubsided onto Laurie’s bed, clutching the hand his poor lover heldout to him for anchor in this storm—John Kucharski and ex-WPCChristine Foster, and last of all a staff nurse, mouth open wide inoutrage at the invasion.“Two visitors at one time!Two visitorsonly!”
Shedidn’t make much impact on the chattering crowd.John Kucharskicleared his throat.He’d been leaning on the foot of Laurie’s bed,exchanging friendly greetings with Sasha, but now he straightenedup.He drew his badge, flashed it round and barked, without a traceof shame for the theatrics, “Interpol!Everyone but Mr Petrica toclear the room at once.”
Mouthsopened.An astonished silence fell.Then, one by one, Laurie’ssmall team of friends and admirers deposited their grapes andbouquets, and beat a subdued retreat.The staff nurse, unable toargue with Interpol, especially when that authority had come to theaid of her own, settled for glaring at Kucharski.“Ten minutes,”she warned.“And Mr Fitzroy isn’t to be stressed in anyway.”
