Chapter 12

In which the plot takes a thrilling turn.

Standing by the bed is a familiar, squat figure wearing a smock and holding an automatic vibrator. Its ugly pink nozzle quivers inches from my head. The intruder's features are unrecognisable behind a tightly stretched french letter on which is stamped: 'Export Division. Ghana. Medium Size'.

'Don't move!' says the stranger in an understandably muffled murmur. 'This battery operated Pleasure-Probe is turned up to twice the number of revs the hardiest nymphomaniac is capable of withstanding. One false move and I'll bore a hole in your nutsky!'

'You don't fool me, Boris!' I say. 'I suspected it was you all along. Take off that french letter and come quietiy.'

'You're in no position to make ultimatums!' snarls Boris. 'Get off that bedsky!'

'What's happening?!' squeals a terrified Suzanne. 'Who are you?'

'Silence!' snaps Boris. 'One more word and you will share the fate of this foolish young man. You! On your feet!' He jabs the vibrator towards my goolies and I scramble over Marcia like she is the last fence in the Grand National and I have half a length over the rest of the field in fact I don't have half a length over anybody at the moment. Percy does not like the vibrator and is settling down on his two travelling companions like he is trying to hatch them. 'Right,' says Boris. 'Now we will go outside and I will-UH!' He slumps to the floor as Sid bashes him over the nut with a combined Japanese rubber woman and pajama case.

'Well done, Sid! T say. 'Thank God you came!'

'Doesn't look as if I was the only one,' says Sid, taking a quick butcher's at the cowering birds. 'Come on, let's get out of here!'

He doesn't have to say it twice and I leap over the stirring Boris and race him down the marble corridor. Countess Hardon appears, shrieking, at the top of the staircase but we push past her and flow down the steps to the hallway. That photograph in the catalogue must have been taken about twenty years ago. Now, she is so wrinkled that she looks like the flesh round an elephant's arsehole. We rush out on to the terrace and down the steps to the summit of the circular drive. Our car is still boxed in by the Rolls. Behind us can be heard a muffled roar of rage and female screams.

'Get in!' shouts Sid. 'Not that one-! The Rolls!' We leap inside and Sid releases the hand brake. Slowly, the car starts to roll down the incline. I look behind us and, as we pick up speed, Boris can be seen leaping into our car.

'He's after us!' I shriek. 'Faster, Sid. Faster!'

'I can't go any faster, you berk!' says Sid. 'There was no key in the ignition. We're taxiing!'

'He'll catch us up in seconds!' I say. 'What are we going to do?'

'We'll have to try and fool him,' says Sid. 'First bend we come to, we both dive out and let the car go over the cliff. With a bit of luck, he'll think we were in it.'

It is at moments like this that you realise that Sid is sheer magic. What a great idea. I don't have time to tell him because we shoot out of the gates and nearly go over the cliff. I will swear that we have two wheels over the edge.

Somehow, we get round the bend and another sharp turn looms up fifty yards ahead.

'Come on!' says Sid. This is it!' He jams his foot on the brake and opens the door. I look in the driving mirror and see Boris coming up fast behind us.

'It's no good!' I say. 'He'll see us!' But Sid isn't there any more. I am alone in a Rolls Royce heading straight for a two hundred foot drop. For a moment I freeze. And then I realise how much I mean to myself. As the car sends up a cloud of dust at the brink of the precipice, I press open the door and throw myself sideways. The impact knocks all the wind out of me and when I stop rolling, one of my legs is dangling in space. I pull myself to safety and look up. The Fiat is hurtling towards me. Behind the french letter I see Boris's features contract as he stamps on the brake pedal and again, even harder.

Then he is gone. Past me and into space. Curving out in a wide arc, following the Rolls on to the wave-covered rocks below. There is a 'crump!' and half a second later a blinding explosion that throws pieces of metal-and possibly, Boris-high into the air. They spin lazily and then drop back into the now quiet water. Only a couple of cushions mark the spot where the cars have disappeared.