Free A Lizard In My Luggage by Anna Nicholas

staple diet of children up here in the mountains, and a rumbustious game of football with Catalina's two tomboyish young daughters had proved irresistible. We agreed to collect him from Stefan's mountain village later in the evening.
    Â Â So, having made a two-hour climb, here we are alone on the summit of one of the mountains in the Tramuntana range that offers a spectacular view over the whole valley. Alan is scrabbling around the rocks shovelling herb specimens into a polythene sandwich bag while I sit on a tree stump revelling in the peace.
    Â Â That's when Judas rings. The name Patterson flashes up on the screen.
    Â Â 'Honey, how are you?' a voice bellows as clear and loud as a bell.
    Â Â 'Oh, on top of the world, Bryan. Is everything OK?'
    Â Â 'OK? Are you kidding? You got me the best media coverage in town. That party was a triumph! We lurve you, sugar. You're the Queen of Aphrodite. No, that's me,' he quips smoothly. 'You can play goddess, Aphrodite herself.' False laughter.
    Â Â Bryan's party to launch Aphrodite beauty products on the London stage seems a million light years away but barely a week has passed since I was in the thick of it. As parties go in media land, it was a raving success. It was held at a private Soho club and two statuesque black bouncers called Randy and Baz stood on either side of the front door throwing mean glances at anyone who dared to walk up the red carpet without first fluttering a gilt-edged invitation in their direction. Guests were practically frisked before gaining entry and a few chancers were unceremoniously hurled back on the pavement. Bryan, grey haired and suave in a petrol blue velvet smoking jacket, matching trousers and monogrammed, tasselled Savile Row slippers, received his visitors cordially in the hallway with his white pet rabbit, Tootsie, in his arms. This adored and over-indulged pet sleeps on his bed, roams his Upper East Side apartment when he's at work and shares his popcorn while watching movies with him late into the night. At six every morning she wakes up and munches on a carrot while Bryan enjoys his first espresso of the day. He brings her to every Aphrodite launch, he tells me, for luck and I can only imagine that he's used his considerable power and resources to get round the quarantine laws to allow her on his private jet. Quite simply, I have acquired another deranged but fascinating client.
    Â Â Alan is arranging sprigs of rosemary in my hair and doing a rather good impression of Bryan in mime. I try not to giggle, waving him away with my hand. Bryan is still gushing. 'The British press is so marvellous and the Telegraph interview hit just the right tone. I simply can't wait to see the party shots in Tatler .'
    Â Â I try stifling a yawn. A rabbit pops up in front of me and then disappears down a hole. I wish I could join it.
    Â Â 'Oh and by the way, sweetie, no big deal but when your staff drop me a line, remind them that it's Bryan with a "y" and not with an "i".'
    Â Â 'Like Anne with an "e" who doesn't drink tea?'
    Â Â 'If you say so! Big hugs now. Tootsie sends a kiss. Love to London!'
    Â Â There's a click and he's gone. Poor Bryan with a 'y', all the money and influence in the world and only a floppy bunny for company.
    Â Â A passing bee hovers excitedly over a small bush of white flowers, before descending cautiously into its depths. I turn my head and see Alan some way off, poking a stick in among some rocks. Sinking back against a cushion of long bleached grass, I stare upwards but the sun glares down with such force that I scrunch my eyes shut. A golden glow, the colour of egg yolk, is playing in front of my closed lids. I remain still, blind, suppressing thought, suspended in a void where only the olfactory sense functions. Blankness. I drift off into a world of light and dark shades. Some time later, I prise open my eyes, squinting at the hot sun, and find Alan standing over me, smiling. 'What