Free 4.Little Victim by R. T. Raichev Page A

Actually, their garb has nothing to do with Goa or India. They are dressed up like Turks at the time of the Ottoman Empire.’ Major Payne’s head might have started feeling as light and inconsequential as one of these ridiculous balloons, but his sense of reality and knowledge of history – for which he had got a first at Oxford – hadn’t abandoned him yet.
     
    ‘Dear Roman has a penchant for the picturesque, if not for the carnivalesque, have you noticed?’
     
    ‘I have noticed. I never imagined historical accuracy was his strong suit.’
     
    She adored the balloons, Mrs Depleche went on. And the cocktails had such splendidly seductive names. Perhaps there were too many colours? The colours made her feel a little dizzy. She wasn’t drinking too much, was she? Hugh must tell her if he thought she was. Stanbury insisted she drank like a fish, but she had grave doubts about Stanbury’s judgement. Now she had rather a weakness for Roman, she couldn’t quite say why. Had Hugh seen Roman’s signature? So splendidly baroque – a calligraphic chef d’oeuvre , really – all curlicues, loops and flourishes!
     
    ‘How very interesting.’
     
    Mrs Depleche gave him a sideways glance and said she had the feeling Hugh didn’t care much for Roman.
     
    ‘No, not much,’ Payne admitted.
     
    Well, she might live to regret it, but it had been her misfortune to fall for flamboyant men – Mrs Depleche transferred her gaze from Major Payne to some distant object on the horizon – for men that went too far. It had brought her nothing but tears. She was not a happy woman. What was it they said? Your company determines your conduct, your conduct determines your character, and – what was it?’
     
    ‘Your character determines your destiny?’
     
    How true! Her last great passion had been a man called Glazebrook. Did Hugh know Glazebrook by any chance? Glazebrook had been an extremely distinguished military man. Glazebrook had had a number of endearing foibles, some of them far from innocent. He’d had a moustache. No? How very odd. She understood Hugh had met Antonia at the Military Club? Well, people did meet at the most peculiar places. A great friend of hers had met her future husband in Belgrave Square. Perhaps Antonia had been in the army herself? Some women had most distinguished military careers, or so she had always been given to understand . . . Where was Roman? A fine host he was, failing to appear like this!
     
    Mrs Depleche sipped her cocktail, then pointed with her opera glasses. ‘That boy, by the potted palm . . . So terribly subdued, but such a pretty face.’
     
    ‘He has the kind of outrageously innocent look that appeals to elderly women.’
     
    ‘Looks sad. Why is he so sad? Can’t bear to see pretty boys looking so sad.’
     
    ‘Perhaps his lady love has left him? Always the saddest when it happens on St Valentine’s Day.’
     
    ‘Let’s drink to St Valentine, shall we?’ Mrs Depleche snapped her fingers and called out raffishly to a passing waiter: ‘Another Mumbai Mule, Marcello, and go easy on the crushed ice, there’s a good chap.’ There were twenty different cocktails on offer. Mumbai Mule, she had declared, was the one that gave you a definite ‘kick’. ‘To think I could have gone through life without ever tasting a Mumbai Mule.’ She pointed to Payne’s glass. ‘What’s yours called?’
     
    ‘Scorpino.’
     
    ‘What’s in it?’
     
    ‘I’d say – I’d say it contains lemon sorbet, cream, Cointreau and Kalashnikov vodka.’
     
    ‘Sounds heaven. Isn’t Kalashnikov a Russian machine gun? Years ago I used to do target practice. I do intend to try every single cocktail on the list, you know. So far I’ve had – let me see – three.’
     
    ‘Five.’
     
    ‘Widow’s Wink. Black Russian. Shirley Temple. Bahama Mama. Mumbai Mule . . . Yes, five. You are quite right. What an observant boy you are.’ She patted his arm.
     
    ‘This Mumbai Mule is your