Tasmina Perry - Daddy’s Girls

‘Give it some thought, Oz,’ said Philip, taking a cigar from the wooden casket Collins was passing round. ‘I thought you were supposed to be a patron of the arts,’ he said teasingly.

‘Yes, well. Not at the bloody expense of my property,’ he said, pouring a glass of port.

Just then there was the sound of raised voices from the hallway followed by a loud crash. ‘What the hell?’ Oswald quickly strode to the far end of the room and pulled the doors open. Sprawled on the floor, dressed in a pair of white jeans and a green kaftan, was Serena, half buried under a suit of armour. She looked up at her father with a chastened expression, her huge aquamarine eyes pinched and rimmed with red. Then she burst out laughing.

‘Serena, what the hell’s going on?’ boomed Oswald as the rest of the guests gathered behind him in the doorway.

Serena slowly picked herself up, trying vainly to regain her poise, staggering against the heavy oak doorway like a music-hall drunk.

‘Hello, everybody,’ she slurred, waving a half-empty champagne bottle. ‘Guess what? I’m home.’

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