Chapter 11
And a time … to dance!
Barclay
“IthinkI’ve just had a ten-minute conversation with your girlfriend about genital warts.”
Some of the champagne I had been drinking went down the wrong way and I started choking.
“She’s quite a character,” Mary Blythe, the new Minister for Transport, continued after slapping me on the back a couple of times. “At one point, she called your predecessor ‘a right wankpuffin’. I have to say it was one of the most fitting descriptions I’ve heard in relation to David Morrison for a while.”
I smiled and looked across the hall to see that Kira was next to the stage talking to the band, which had been playing soft jazz for the last two hours. Over the course of the evening, it had become apparent that this particular force of nature had the capability to charm pretty much anyone in her vicinity. This was despite her rampant swearing, fervent talk about protecting teenagers from genital warts, and the fact that she was dressed like she was headed to a flower festival in the 1970s rather than a charity dinner with an actual black and white theme. The coat, a bright orange number, had been bad enough, but the dress . . . I wasn’t sure my eyes would ever recover from the dress, and I feared for any epileptics in the room. It was strapless, ended high on her thighs, and appeared to be made entirely out of fake flowers, all in various garish shades of pink. She’d been shedding petals all over the ballroom since we arrived. I was no fashion expert, but even I knew that, in general, women with red hair would not choose bright pink as their go-to colour.
Most of the other ladies in the room were barely showing their ankles and, by far, the most popular colour was black interspersed with a few white dresses. It was a sea of black and white with one flash of garish pink in the middle. But, somehow, the sheer force of Kira’s personality meant that none of that mattered. And okay, I was willing to admit that, despite the dress’s migraine-inducing properties, she did look bloody amazing in it. And those quick, fairy-like movements of hers were slowly getting to me. Watching her was becoming my addiction. She was the most charismatic person I’d ever met, and that was saying something as I’d been a politician for eight years. In terms of sheer personality, Kira put all the other big names and world leaders to shame.
She was up on the stage now talking rapidly with the pianist, her small face animated and her elfin hands flying every which way to help get her point across (however random that point may have been). Her features were lit by the stage lights, and the pianist she had targeted was gazing at her in awestruck fascination. He wasn’t the only one. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. My collar felt too tight.
“You’re a goner, aren’t you?” Mary said. I blinked, but couldn’t drag my eyes away from the stage. “She’ll ruffle some feathers and not everyone will approve, but I think she’ll be good for you, Barclay. You need to have a little fun in your life. I know politics is a serious business and I know you desperately want to make a difference, but that can’t be your everything. There’s got to be some light relief.”
I respected Mary’s opinion. She’d mentored me for years after I joined the party. Principled, no-nonsense and experienced after thirty years in politics, she was one of the most respected cabinet ministers.
“She’s a loose cannon,” I said, but I couldn’t hold back a smile. I know Martin wanted to add a bit of colour to my public persona, but I doubted even he had any idea what kind of tornado Kira could be.
Mary patted my arm. It was an almost motherly gesture, one that she hadn’t ever used on me before. “Maybe aloose cannonis exactly what you need.”
My smile died and I straightened. I was about to tell Mary that I didn’t need any complications at the moment, and that Kira was the least appropriate partner of a politician that I’d ever met, but I stopped myself just in time. Mary didn’t know that this whole thing was a set up. To be frank, she’d be shocked if she knew I was capable of that level of deceit. I was one of the only people in this room with an unblemished record, personally and professionally, and I intended to keep it that way.
Kira was now lying on her stomach, wriggling her way down from the stage. Of course she would ignore the perfectly functional set of stairs a few feet to her left and take a knicker-exposing route instead. Her legs (complete with the highest heels I think I’d ever seen in my life) kicked a couple of times and she shifted from side to side until she made it to the ground, a couple of flowers floating free of the dress as she landed. I noticed more than one of my colleagues staring at her progress with wide eyes, no doubt hoping the hem of her dress would creep up an extra inch or so. She stumbled on her orange stilts when she was finally down, and I wondered how much she’d drunk already. That prick backbencher, Moseley, popped up out of nowhere to steady her and she smiled right up into the fucker’s face. Another mesmerised idiot bites the dust. She was raking them in tonight. I frowned when Moseley kept a firm grip on her arm and started tugging her towards the bar.
“Go on then,” Mary encouraged and I gave a small start. I’d forgotten she was even there. Bloody hell, I must have been totally ignoring her for the last five minutes. “Go over there, you big repressed idiot.”
I cleared my throat, scrambling for a little dignity. “I think I’ll go and check which way Moseley decided to vote next week.”
“You do that, Barclay,” Mary said, her usually stern tone softened. She gave me another motherly pat on the arm and I felt like an idiot, but that didn’t stop me striding across the hall.
But by the time I’d managed to make it to Moseley, Kira had used her quick but charming movements to slip out of his grasp and was walking across the room with a look of determination on her face. When I saw where she was heading, horror flooded through me and I quickened my pace to intercept her. Too late.
“Yo.”
I paused and closed my eyes for a moment. Please, please let the fact that Kira had just walked up to the most famous person in the room and said ‘Yo,’ like they were buddies in downtown Harlem, be a figment of my overwrought imagination.
“Kira!” Urvi Bailey replied, and my eyes snapped open. Kira washuggingthe world-renowned singer now. No air kisses, no polite handshakes, they were full-on embracing. What the fuck universe was I in?
Without thinking, my feet took me forward and right up to Kira’s side. When she saw me out of the corner of her eye, she beamed up at me and grabbed my hand.
“Barcos, have you met Urvi?”
I blinked and slowly shook my head, words failing me. The truth was I wasn’t really any good at this. I could hold my own politically because there was an agenda, a clear aim and objective. But at functions like this, meeting uber glamorous celebrities was not my strong suit.
“We’ve been friends since medical school, before this one hit the big time,” Kira informed me.
I frowned in confusion and Urvi laughed. “Kira took me in after I dropped out and started at the Royal Academy. It’s wonderful to meet you Mr Lucas.” I stared at Urvi’s outstretched hand like a mental deficient. Kira gave me a nudge in the ribs and I managed to force a smile and take the proffered hand in mine.
“Hello,” I said, my voice was tight and came out a little strangled, but I was proud I’d managed to say anything at all. As I dropped her hand, a change of tempo from the band caught my attention and Kira started bouncing on her orange heels.
“Yes!” she squealed. “I knew they’d play it for me – come on Urvs. It took me a good ten minutes of cajoling to get that band of stiffs to agree to play this one. You still remember the dance, don’t you?”
“Of course I do! But Ki Ki, I’m not performing tonight until after the–”
