Drop Dead Gorgeous

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Drop Dead Gorgeous Page 31

by Anna Cheska


  ‘Florrie?’

  She was sitting on her old sofa, surrounded by photo albums, one foot on a stool in front of her. ‘Jude, my dear…’

  ‘Is it too noisy for you?’ The pounding of music, laughter and voices could be heard pretty clearly from up here.

  ‘No, no. My hearing’s not as good as it was. Nothing keeps me awake these days once my head hits the pillow.’ She nodded. ‘I’m quite happy, my dear, you enjoy yourselves.’

  And she did look happy, Jude thought, surrounded by her memories. She knelt at the old lady’s feet. ‘Can I see?’

  Florrie pointed to a faded sepia photograph. ‘Dancing at Frobisher’s.’

  Jude saw an elegant woman with fair hair piled into a chignon, a wide smiling mouth and a long sparkling dress. She was arm in arm with a handsome young man in uniform. ‘An admirer?’ Jude asked. The features seemed vaguely familiar; there was a dark intensity to the face and eyes, a tightness in the wide mouth that was both attractive and a little scary at the same time.

  ‘My brother Jacob.’ Florrie turned the bottle-green paper – like a cross between parchment and blotting paper, Jude thought, touching it with a fingertip, noting the slits that held the photographs in place. ‘This is his wedding.’

  Jude let her gaze wander from photo to photo. In these snapshots Jacob seemed transformed, the dark face lit with a wide smile rather like Florrie’s own, presumably due to the girl by his side, his cheerful, dimpled bride with her mass of dark curls. Jude grinned. She was looking up at him as if she’d indeed found her Prince Charming. ‘They look so happy,’ she murmured.

  ‘Oh, they were.’ Florrie continued to turn the heavy pages. ‘It took them a while but eventually they had a child – look.’

  Jude peered at the tiny bundle wrapped in a white shawl, held close to Jacob’s wife’s breast. The black and white snap was blurred, but the emotion on the faces was clear enough.

  Abruptly, Florrie closed the book. ‘Both gone now, I’m afraid, my dear. They died within a year of each other. It’s hard, you know…’

  ‘And the baby?’ Jude hugged her knees.

  ‘Oh, he’s my absolute rock.’ Florrie’s expression changed once more. ‘He nags me, of course, thinks he knows what’s best for me.’ She sat back, wincing in pain.

  ‘Florrie, what is it?’ Jude leaned forwards in concern.

  ‘Just my ankle.’ She looked rueful. ‘I had a bit of a slip earlier on. Silly really, my eyes play me up…’

  ‘Let me look.’ Gently, Jude lifted her foot and touched the swollen ankle. ‘You’ve twisted it, I think. But at least nothing’s broken.’ She hesitated, thinking of this nephew Florrie had spoken of. ‘Is there someone I should call?’

  ‘No need.’ Florrie’s faded blue eyes looked, Jude thought, more penetrating than usual. ‘He’ll only say what he always says, won’t he?’

  ‘Will he?’ Was Florrie trying to tell her something? Why was there something nagging at Jude, some sense that she was missing something here?

  ‘I could help get you to bed,’ she offered. ‘We could see how you are in the morning…’

  ‘I don’t want to keep you from your party.’

  Jude thought of Imogen, Naomi, Roberto and all the others downstairs. ‘It’s OK,’ she said quietly. ‘I wasn’t having the greatest time anyway.’

  ‘Very well.’ Florrie allowed Jude to help her up.

  Supporting her weight, Jude headed for the small bathroom. Florrie sat on the edge of the white tub while Jude filled the washbasin with warm water and fetched Florrie’s flannel.

  ‘He says, not a home,’ Florrie told her. ‘He says, live with him so he can keep an eye on me.’ She snorted. ‘A fate worse than death that would be, I can tell you.’

  ‘Your nephew?’ Jude was distracted, concentrating on soap, flannel, toothbrush and paste.

  ‘I want to be independent, I say.’ Florrie accepted the soapy flannel. ‘A warden-assisted flat then, he says.’

  Jude found that she had some sympathy for him. The poor man was obviously trying his best to help his aunt from afar. ‘It wouldn’t be so bad,’ she offered. ‘To have someone on hand if you needed them.’ She rinsed the flannel and returned it to Florrie.

  ‘He’s trying his best,’ Florrie agreed. ‘Does my shopping, sometimes cooks for me too.’ She eyed Jude once more with that curiously penetrating gaze. ‘He’s a good lad, you know.’

  ‘I’m sure.’ Jude only wondered how come she’d never seen this paragon. She handed Florrie the towel.

  ‘And now he tells me I’ve got to come clean.’

  ‘Clean?’ Jude put the towel back on the rail and squirted toothpaste on to Florrie’s yellow toothbrush. ‘How’s that?’

  ‘But I told him…’ Florrie accepted the toothbrush, but hesitated. ‘“James,” I said, “I don’t want her to be inhibited knowing the landlady lives upstairs. This is my place and I want to stay here for as long as I possibly can.”’

  Jude gaped at her as Florrie stuck the brush into her mouth. ‘James?’ she said. Everything was falling into place. ‘The James?’

  Florrie nodded.

  ‘James Dean?’

  She nodded again.

  ‘James Dean our landlord?’ Frustration welled as Florrie continued brushing her teeth. Jude grabbed her arm and propelled her to the basin so she could spit out. ‘He’s your nephew and he’s not the landlord? You mean, you…?’

  ‘I fear so.’ Florrie wiped her mouth. ‘It was my idea to remain incognito, I’m afraid. Originally – before you became the tenant, my dear – James thought it would be safer for him to act the part. Made it easier for him to keep an eye on me as well. But now…’

  ‘Now?’ Hands on hips, Jude regarded her sternly. When she thought of what she’d said to him, how she’d accused him of trying to chuck Florrie out on the streets, how she’d assumed he’d only been interested in upping the rent for his own gain, his own greed … she could die of shame. No wonder he’d wanted to meet up to explain things. No wonder he had been so angry.

  ‘Now, it seems, he doesn’t want you to harbour any more illusions. For some reason…’ Florrie paused, eyes glinting with mischief ‘… he doesn’t want you to think badly of him, my dear.’

  Jude felt the heat rush to her face. ‘I see.’ She took Florrie’s arm to distract herself, and led her towards the bedroom. ‘So all this time I’ve been protecting you from a wicked landlord, you’ve actually been my landlady?’ Which also meant presumably that it was Florrie who was rolling in it – not so poor she couldn’t even afford a decent shampoo and set after all.

  ‘Exactly, my dear.’ Florrie squeezed her arm. ‘And may I take this opportunity of telling you what a charming and helpful tenant you have been? I’ve grown very fond of you, you know. And that’s why I can’t help hoping…’

  Jude flushed again. God, how embarrassing. How would she ever face him again?

  * * *

  The party was in full swing when Jude got back downstairs, still reeling from the shock of what Florrie had told her, and from her own tangled emotions.

  As Jude paused in the hallway, Roberto appeared in the doorway of the sitting-room where most of her guests could be seen shaking their funky thing (Daisy had informed her this was the correct expression) to the Rolling Stones’ rather appropriate ‘I Can’t Get No Satisfaction’.

  He pounced.

  ‘Jude!’

  Jude and Roberto sprang apart as if she were thirteen again. So much for adulthood, she thought wryly. So much for liberation. The front door was open and her mother was standing in the hallway.

  ‘Ma! What on earth are you doing here?’

  ‘I live here, don’t I?’ Hazel snapped. She dropped her case and overnight bag to the floor. She looked tired and not a little upset. ‘Who is this … youth?’

  ‘Er…’

  ‘And what’s going on?’

  Jude thought of Roberto’s gear in Hazel’s room and began to panic. Where to start? But sh
e must remember two important facts. One, this was her flat, and two, she was over forty years old (on a bad day). So, ‘We’re having a party,’ she told her mother firmly. ‘And this is a student who’s staying here at the moment.’

  ‘In my room, I suppose?’ Hazel’s eyes flashed blue steel. She looked as if party pooping was right up her street. She looked as if she would simply love to throw them all out single-handed.

  * * *

  Naomi had always preferred the Beatles to the Rolling Stones. In her teenage days that was the way the world was divided – at least the bit of it that she and her friends inhabited. And these days it was Pavarotti who got her going, though she wouldn’t admit that to anyone tonight. Jude’s living-room – or more precisely the music, unmistakably Stones rather than Beatles – reminded her of a certain Jez Webster.

  She smiled at the memory: blond greasy hair, bluer than noon-sky eyes. Jez had ridden a motor bike, been the school heart-throb and, predictably, only dated girls in the Stones camp. Ah, yes, she remembered it well, that wild side of life that she’d always been a bit scared of and a bit envious of too. She’d always had the feeling that the Stones girls might go all the way.

  And hearing the music now, in some secret part of her, Naomi knew that she too might well have taken that path – if it hadn’t been for Edward. But it was certainly too late to take it now, she reminded herself, as she escaped from the thrust of Jagger’s voice and the throb of Richards’ guitar, came into the hall and realised immediately what was going on.

  ‘Can I help?’ she asked Jude, who was looking harassed.

  ‘My mother’s come back from Italy,’ she wailed. Not very tactful of her but in the circumstances Naomi took her point. And as for that student of hers … He might be young, but he really should learn a thing or two about timing. Now was definitely not the time to be doing whatever he was trying to do to his landlady’s neck as she batted him away with the back of one hand.

  * * *

  ‘Well, thank you very much. A nice welcome, I must say.’ Hazel had never in her entire life felt more like bursting into tears. Well, once perhaps, not so long ago …

  It had been two hours after Brian got out the playing cards that she and Giorgio had finally taken their leave, though Hazel had found it hard even to speak by that point. She blushed now as she thought of it: how she had sat out most of the games, in a combination of fury, misery and embarrassment. She would have left alone if she’d had the slightest idea how to get back. And that awful woman …

  ‘Till next time,’ Phoebe had called after them. ‘Don’t be strangers.’

  Giorgio had waved but Hazel couldn’t bear to look back at them. Poker? Brian was wearing only his tie and Y-fronts, while Phoebe was naked but for her pearls.

  Hazel shook the memory away though she guessed that final picture would stay imprinted on her mind forever. She tried to concentrate on what this red-haired woman was saying. She looked respectable, and now she was taking Hazel’s arm, being kind, explaining that she lived alone and would welcome the company if Hazel would care to come and stay with her for a while.

  ‘I love you!’ Jude shrieked at the poor woman. Goodness, what could be the matter with her? Hazel wondered. She’d obviously been travelling a downward spiral since Hazel had left. And as for that awful youth pawing at her all the time … he looked suspiciously foreign, and after her Italian experience she could tell Jude something about foreigners.

  ‘I’ll order a taxi and take you there now, shall I?’ Naomi said.

  ‘But what about the party?’ Jude cried.

  ‘I’m quite ready to leave now, if you don’t mind.’ The woman – Naomi – was most understanding. Firm too. And very English.

  Whereas Jude was hopeless. ‘Where’s Giorgio anyway?’ she demanded, scanning the space behind Hazel as if she expected him to jump through the letter box.

  ‘In Italy where he belongs.’ And if Jude dared to say ‘I told you so’, Hazel would tell her a thing or two.

  ‘Is it all off then?’

  Really, Hazel thought, her daughter took so long to grasp the point sometimes. ‘It most certainly is.’ She had begun to doubt the wisdom of marrying Giorgio, even for security, well before the dreaded incident in Limione. She just thanked God she had found out the truth in time. No wonder there were sly smiles flying about here, there and everywhere. Marianna had told her later, in broken English, that Gianfranco had lent Giorgio substantial amounts of money on condition that he didn’t return to Malcesine. Thus it was hardly surprising that his brother hadn’t been overjoyed to see him. So – no money and a dubious reputation, not to mention the strip poker … It was a miracle she had emerged with her virtue intact.

  ‘And where on earth is my granddaughter?’ she demanded, on seeing a scantily clad female emerge from Daisy’s bedroom. She should never have left them alone for so long. They were clearly incapable of managing without her.

  ‘Staying at Hannah’s.’ Jude laughed, rather hysterically, Hazel thought.

  ‘So long as the poor child hasn’t run away to a nunnery.’ Hazel turned, yanked open the front door and stared at the young man – yes, another one – standing on the doorstep. But this one she recognised. ‘Come in, come in,’ she said. ‘I expect she’s around somewhere.’

  ‘Before you go, Ma…’ Jude smiled at the man and moved aside to let him pass. She put a hand on her mother’s arm. ‘Some woman from Trident’s been phoning you.’

  ‘Oh?’ Hazel paused majestically in her tracks. She hardly dared hope. And yet …

  ‘Something about some theatre somewhere showing an interest in that Gershwin thing. The possibility of a tour.’

  ‘Oh?’ Hazel felt her spirits lift. ‘They were after me? Not Giorgio?’

  Jude smiled. ‘You, I believe. Phone Belinda. She said she has all the details.’

  Belinda? ‘I will.’ Hazel was glad she’d come straight back to England. She was beginning to think that Vanessa had been right all along too – about dependency. One could achieve, couldn’t one, in one’s own right? And goodness, it did feel satisfying. ‘I’ll phone her tomorrow.’ She began humming cheerfully before she was even out of the door: ‘Nice work if you can get it…’

  * * *

  Alex found Imogen just as Steely Dan gave way to the Commodores.

  ‘I don’t suppose you remember this music,’ she said, after her first blink of surprise.

  ‘You’d be amazed what I remember.’ What he remembered best was the night he’d spent in her cottage, in her bed, in every detail – it woke him up sometimes.

  ‘I remember too.’ She seemed to understand his meaning. They were in tune.

  Somehow they started dancing. Their bodies fitted together. His arms felt right on her waist; hers round his neck seemed to be inviting. And very warm.

  ‘I want my life to change,’ he whispered in her ear.

  She raised one eyebrow and her nose wrinkled in just the way he remembered. ‘Don’t you do small talk, Alex?’

  ‘And I still want you.’ Her perfume – whatever it was – was heady stuff. Her hair was piled up on top of her head, but as usual a few stray tendrils had escaped. And what was that black thing on her face? A beauty spot. He smiled.

  ‘Are the two incompatible?’ she asked him. She was soft and weightless in his arms – the most graceful woman he had ever known. Tonight she was wearing a silver-grey dress. It sparkled and clung to her slender body. It was the colour of dawn and the colour of her eyes.

  ‘Come away with me,’ he urged. He didn’t know where the hell to or how long for. He just wanted change, he needed a new perspective in his life and this woman by his side. He’d already given in his notice. Now he just had to get the girl.

  Imo had closed her eyes. She was moving dreamily to the music. There was a slight smile on her face as her long fingers brushed against his neck.

  ‘Imo?’

  ‘I might.’

  * * *

  It wasn’t long before Im
o came to find Jude. ‘You phoned him, didn’t you?’

  Jude spread her hands. ‘Naomi gave me the number. And if we’d left it up to you…’

  Imogen hugged her. ‘He wants me to go away with him,’ she whispered. ‘I might – for a while – if Naomi could hold the fort at the shop.’

  ‘You need a break.’ Jude prolonged the hug. ‘Where will you go?’

  She felt the shake of Imo’s head. ‘I don’t know yet. I just know I want to be with him.’

  Slowly, they drew apart. ‘Is he the one, do you think?’

  Imo, bless her, was glowing. ‘Ask me when I get back.’

  That was the kind of beauty that looked good on a woman, Jude thought.

  Imogen slipped out of the front door, Alex close behind her. He began to speak and Imo kissed him. Mid-sentence. Attagirl. Jude grinned. Sometimes it was the only way. He blinked back at her as if he’d just been woken up.

  Jude stood watching as they walked away in step. For now, she thought, wishing she didn’t have to be cynical and bad. Was there a prince for everyone? She thought not.

  ‘Keep smiling.’ She waved to Imo. ‘Remember, a good sense of humour is always essential.’ Imo would come back. But would she come back with Alex? And when she came back – how far would she have moved on?

  As she closed the door, Jude thought of Roberto. One sign and he’d be ready and waiting for her. She’d always known if she disobeyed the Nice Girl Rules often enough, she would get her reward. But it wasn’t Roberto. Give him five minutes and he’d find a younger, prettier replacement. And besides, he would never be prince material.

  Rules?

  She dialled the number Florrie had given her.

  ‘James?’ she said when he answered. ‘I’m not sure if it’s against the rules but I’m having a party.’

  ‘It sounds like one hell of a good one from here,’ he said, not seeming surprised at her call.

  ‘It’s not bad.’ She paused. ‘And when I consulted the landlady she told me to go ahead and enjoy myself, so…’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So I guess we can keep it going till the small hours.’ Now it was up to him. Selection was all very well, but a girl could only do so much. She waited.

 

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