Little Lady, Big Apple

by Hester Browne

  Allegra shot Gabi a filthy look. ‘Well, she’s keen enough to provide—’

  ‘In my bag,’ snapped Gabi quickly. ‘There are some Bahlsen chocolate wafers.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Allegra with a vulpine smile.

  I looked between the pair of them. They were fixing each other with the sort of death-looks I’d last seen in the St Cathal’s Junior Common Room circa 1987.

  ‘So,’ I said, trying to keep the atmosphere noncombative for as long as possible, ‘Gabi was just telling me about the presents she’d got in Hamleys this morning. Isn’t it just the most fun place to shop for other people? Did you find my christening present checklist?’

  ‘I did, thank you. It was most helpful,’ said Gabi pointedly. ‘I bought a train set, after looking around for half an hour and reading your notes really carefully.’

  Allegra tossed her head and helped herself to another biscuit.

  I looked first at Gabi, then at Allegra, but couldn’t for the life of me work out what was going on. Honestly, it was like being at a tennis match, only with an invisible ball. Not only could you not see what was going on, but it was impossible to tell who was winning.

  I pulled myself together. After all, I was the one in charge here.

  ‘Anyway, getting back to business,’ I said briskly, ‘maybe one of you can tell me what the problem is with Thomasina Kendall?’

  ‘You little snitch!’ hissed Allegra, at the same time as Gabi snapped, ‘I said nothing, so don’t even think of blaming me!’

  I banged my hands on the desk to get their attention. ‘Stop it! Stop it right now! Allegra! Tell me what you sent that poor child!’

  Allegra heaved in a long breath through her long nose. ‘Did Gabi tell you that the police have been here, harassing me?’

  ‘She did, yes, but that’s—’

  ‘And that I’ve been incredibly stressed and busy, complying with their impertinent demands? I’ve had to provide bank statements and—’

  ‘Allegra!’ I said fiercely, trying to ignore the fact that her job, for which she was being paid more than me, clearly came some way down her list of must-dos. ‘Get to the point. Police. Why?’

  Gabi looked impressed. Then a bit scared.

  ‘I, unlike some people, have been too busy with personal tragedy to trail around Hamleys looking at tacky gee-gaws for over-indulged brats,’ Allegra informed me. ‘And since I was anxious to meet the deadline for posting the present to this ridiculous child—’

  ‘Who has two minor royals for godparents,’ added Gabi.

  ‘Is that kind of thing impressive in Mill Hill?’ sneered Allegra. ‘I wouldn’t know.’

  I closed my eyes and placed my palms over my eyelids. Tea bags would only ruin my eyeliner and I needed that in place for Daddy’s meeting.

  ‘Because I knew he would inundated with exactly that sort of boring, mass-produced tat, I sent him a beautiful, unique piece of art, which any child of taste would treasure for ever,’ she finished, with a distinct note of smugness. ‘I fail to see the problem. Gabi and I will have to agree to differ about what constitutes a thoughtful gift.’

  ‘Well, in that case you should have got him some therapy sessions, for when he’s able to talk!’ interrupted Gabi furiously. ‘If he ever manages to gain the power of speech!’

  A ghastly idea was beginning to solidify in my head.

  ‘Allegra,’ I said, trying to keep the panic out of my voice, ‘just tell me. What did you send?’

  She made a dismissive gesture towards my desk. ‘A couple of those toys Mummy’s been knitting. A cat, I think, and a giraffe.’ She paused. ‘Or it could have just been a leopard with a long neck. Whatever. The child’ll adore it.’

  The blood drained from my face, as I saw my reputation as a telepathic gift-giver evaporate in a hot gust of nanny gossip. ‘Allegra, please tell me this is your idea of a joke.’

  ‘I’ve got the train set right here,’ Gabi put in quickly. ‘We can wrap it up now, and courier it over there, and say there’s been an awful mistake, and—’

  ‘No, it’s too late for that,’ I groaned. ‘The child’s traumatised mother is already on the warpath.’

  ‘Oh, how preposterous!’ Allegra waved her hand. ‘Silly woman probably prefers those dreadful silver teething rings.’

  ‘Allegra!’ I howled. ‘How many times do I have to say this? It isn’t about what you think is the right thing to do, it’s about listening to the client and helping them decide!’

  ‘I did try to stop her,’ said Gabi. ‘But she flounced out.’

  ‘Oh, shut up, Gabi,’ snapped Allegra. ‘I suppose you haven’t told her about your little outing last weekend?’

  Gabi shot Allegra a dirty look. ‘That’s hardly the same thing.’

  Allegra arched her plucked eyebrow. ‘No?’

  The phone rang, interrupting this ghastly double act, and I picked it up crossly.

  ‘Good morning, the Little Lady Agency.’

  There was a familiar nasal squelch. ‘Ah, the lovely Mel! Wasn’t expecting to hear your dulcet tones.’

  ‘Hello, Roger,’ I said. This was all I needed.

  Allegra gave Gabi a triumphant smirk, and Gabi scowled back so hard her mascara smudged onto her cheeks.

  ‘Can I speak to Gabi, please?’ he said. ‘If she’s there.’

  ‘She is here, Roger,’ I said, gesturing to Gabi. ‘We’re just in the middle of a meeting, actually . . .’

  ‘I won’t keep you then. Anyway, how are you?’ he enquired suavely. ‘Enjoying New York?’

  ‘Very much,’ I said, confused by his cordiality. Last time we’d spoken, he’d been virtually Neanderthal. ‘Listen, I’m sure we’ll catch up soon, Roger, but in the meantime here’s Gabi.’

  I mouthed ‘keep it brief’ at her as I handed over the phone, then leaned over to Allegra.

  ‘You will phone Mrs Kendall and apologise for sending those revolting toys,’ I hissed. ‘I know Mummy’s very stressed right now, and I’m sure when she gets less tense she’ll make lovely creatures with the right number of appendages, but those things would scare an experienced adult, let alone a child who probably won’t even venture beyond the confines of SW3 until he’s eighteen!’

  ‘Shh!’ said Allegra, pointing at Gabi.

  I turned back, bewildered, to see Gabi looking most discomfited, twisting the phone cord around her finger and keeping her eyes fixed on me.

  ‘No, that’s fine,’ she said carefully. ‘I’m glad it went well.’

  ‘What went well, I wonder?’ muttered Allegra, with malicious glee.

  ‘No, I don’t think there’s any need to speak to . . . Well, I don’t know, Roger. I thought we agreed that . . .’

  I looked at Gabi. Panic and guilt were written all over her face.

  I held out my hand for the telephone.

  ‘If that’s all you called about, Roger, we’re in the middle of a meeting right now,’ she said quickly. ‘So maybe we can talk about this later.’

  ‘Give me the phone,’ I said. ‘I’d like a word.’

  Gabi continued to gaze at me. ‘Here’s Melissa,’ she said, and handed me the receiver.

  ‘Roger,’ I said heavily.

  ‘Hello again! Jolly decent of Gabi to leap into the breach, if you ask me,’ Roger chuckled. ‘I can quite see why you might not be up to it, but in the humble opinion of R. Trumpet, Esq., Gabi makes quite the blonde bombshell too!’

  I said nothing, but from Gabi’s reaction, my face was probably speaking for me.

  ‘Have to say, there was quite an awkward moment when Gabs got a bit carried away in the Gay Gordons and brought the whole set down, arse over tip,’ he went on, less jovially. ‘I didn’t realise that Moira Sutton really did have a false leg, but, generally, you know, no one noticed. And, mmm, I should probably tell you that the aged mama was a bit narky about your comments about Celia’s get-up – well, I say “your” . . .’ He chortled at the memory, which was obviously tickling him no end.


  I glared at Gabi. I’d spent hours buttering up Lady Trumpet, that weekend at Trumpet Manor. Hours. That was the whole point about the pretend girlfriend dates: it wasn’t just about the dress and the wig. It was about talking to the datee’s friends, bolstering their confidence, probing delicately, then laying subtle foundations for them to springboard into better things.

  Allegra and Gabi were bickering again, under their breath. It seemed to be about the biscuits.

  ‘So what were you calling about, Roger?’ I enquired. ‘Because, sadly, I don’t think Gabi will be making any more outings in that capacity.’

  ‘Shame,’ said Roger. ‘We got on rather well. Anyway, I was ringing to ask about whether she was going to invoice me through the office, or whether she’d do it for cash. You know, freelance.’

  I glared at Gabi. ‘I think she’ll be invoicing through the office,’ I said. ‘And perhaps making a charity donation.’

  ‘Rarely?’ exclaimed Roger. He meant ‘really’ but his inner Sloane mangled his vowels in moments of extreme surprise.

  ‘Yes, rarely,’ I said. ‘The RNLI, I should think. Would you excuse me, Roger? I’m right in the middle of a debriefing.’

  I hung up the phone on Roger’s snorts. It rang again immediately, but I sent the call to the answering machine.

  Gabi looked shocked. It went totally against my office efficiency grain to let a phone call go unanswered.

  Instead, I folded my arms, and glared at the pair of them in silence until the bickering petered out.

  ‘I’m terribly disappointed in you two,’ I said, drawing up my spine until the suspenders on my stockings stretched. I was reminded of Mrs McKinnon, my fearsome Home Ec teacher, and since she used to make me quail with the fearsome power of her disappointment, that was no bad thing. ‘I didn’t ask you to do very much. I didn’t make any outrageous demands. In fact, I only asked you to follow some very simple instructions, and you deliberately ignored them. I’m especially disappointed in you, Gabi,’ I said, turning to her.

  She bowed her dark head contritely.

  ‘Bring me the wig, please,’ I said.

  She got to her feet, and went over to the filing cabinet. I swallowed my distress that she’d just stuffed it in under ‘w’ for wig. The wig held a sacred place in my heart. I’d built up my business with the help of that wig and, whatever Nelson might say in teasing, I remained in awe of its powers.

  Honestly, I thought, this was almost more than I could stand. Between these two running riot with my reputation, and Jonathan intimating that I should be organising tea party classes, and Paige Drogan playing me like a cheap fiddle, I was hardly the Honey Blennerhesket who’d waltzed around London in this very wig, charming all in her path with verve and elan.

  Honey, I knew, would not be putting up with this. But then, Honey didn’t have to live with any of these people, whereas I did.

  Gabi put the wig in front of me on the desk, and sat down.

  I smoothed out the soft hair until it was shiny and sleek again, then opened my big handbag and put it safely inside.

  ‘I’m taking this back with me,’ I informed them. ‘If you can’t be trusted.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Melissa, stop acting like some religious martyr,’ snapped Allegra. ‘No one’s impressed.’

  I turned on her, furious. ‘Don’t talk to me about being impressed! If you think you’re getting paid for the rest of this month, you can start by turning up before eleven o’clock in the morning! I am sick and tired of people underestimating how hard it is to do this job,’ I fumed. ‘And I thought you two might understand. But you don’t, and that makes me really rather sad.’

  I realised that tears were rising in my throat and I stopped, mid-rant. Obviously the flight had affected me more than I’d thought. Or maybe it was something else. I blinked rapidly.

  The phone rang again, and this time I picked it up as a reflex reaction.

  ‘The Little Lady Agency?’

  Allegra and Gabi both flinched this time, in guilty anticipation.

  There was a nervous cough. ‘Ees Franco? The father of Inez, the daily cleeeaner of Meester Ralph Waterstone? Plis inforrrrm Allegra that my daughter ees being investigated by the DHSS. I hope she ees happy! But we haf frrriends, and we knows wherrre you leeve! Mother of God!’ Then the phone slammed down.

  ‘She was an illegal immigrant,’ whined Allegra, before I’d even opened my mouth. ‘What was I meant to do?’

  ‘You were only meant to tell her to clean the loo with a different cloth to the one she uses on the bath!’ snapped Gabi.

  ‘Shut up!’ I yelled, raising my hands. ‘Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!’

  That finally shut them up. They probably thought I was about to have a seizure. It certainly felt like that from where I was sitting.

  ‘I need to have a look through the diary, and the post,’ I went on, after a pregnant pause. ‘Gabi, would you walk round to Baker & Spice and get us some cake. Allegra, kindly call Mrs Kendall, explain about the mix-up, apologise like you’ve never apologised before, send that train set, and then . . .’ I hesitated. ‘Then just go and do something else for the rest of the day, please. I’m sure you’ve got plenty to occupy you.’

  She gave me a pitying look, as if I were the one causing trouble. ‘Those of us with full lives do, Melissa. I’ll call you later.’ And she swept out. I was surprised not to hear a clap of thunder and lightning as she left the building, although we did hear the front door slam with a ferocity that probably ruined several relaxing treatments in the salon below.

  ‘Mel?’ asked Gabi tentatively.

  ‘Can you give me ten minutes?’ I said, trying a brave smile. ‘I just need a moment to see the funny side. I mean, I know there is a funny side. But I’m just having a temporary sense of humour failure.’

  ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘I’ll go and get those cakes.’

  And she spun on her heel and scurried out, without even asking for petty cash.

  15

  I couldn’t stay mad at Gabi for long. She knew me too well, for one thing, and, besides, there was something about my office that always calmed me down. The lilac walls, I think, and the fact that only I knew about the emergency stash of Dairy Milk in the secret compartment at the back of the desk. In the sensible hour Gabi took to walk to Elizabeth Street and back again, I’d made eight brisk phone calls of apology for services rendered (or not, in three instances), replied to five letters and opened all the post, while taking deep breaths and listening to Ella Fitzgerald.

  I also allowed myself to try on the wig. Just seeing myself in the bathroom mirror with that long caramel fringe falling into my eyes made me feel more in control of everything. A strange peace fell over my shoulders, along with the additional hair, and I knew I could tackle anything. Hadn’t I conquered my own shyness, and built up a successful business, all on my own? In this very wig?

  Then I took it off, in case one of them came back.

  Smoothing out a few knotty problems was actually rather invigorating after kicking my heels in New York, and the jet-lag soon fell away as my brain negotiated the familiar steps of London social routines once more. It wasn’t exactly cheering to find out what the girls had been up to, but at least now I knew for certain, instead of extrapolating wild conclusions from their random phone messages.

  For instance, I spoke to poor Toby Henderson before he’d had time to give his entire wardrobe to Oxfam, as advised by Gabi and Allegra, and managed to soothe his shell-shocked ego back to semi-operational state. In a stroke of genius, I looked up his measurements, still on his file card from our trip to Austin Reed last year, and suggested doing some shopping for him, online, when I was back in New York.

  At half twelve the office door edged open, and Gabi’s dark curls appeared nervously round it; she found me in a surprisingly good mood, considering the horrors I was unearthing.

  ‘Just think,’ I said down the phone to Toby, motioning for her to sit, ‘you won’t have to go into a
changing room and I know how much you hate that. I know. I know – not the most hygienic places . . . No, you won’t have to deal with Allegra again. I promise. Ever. Yes, on my honour.’

  Gabi made some fresh coffee, rather self-consciously.

  ‘Or Gabi,’ I added, in response to Toby’s question. ‘Actually, she does have a boyfriend. No, I don’t think she talks to him quite like that though.’

  Gabi started to make an outraged face, then remembered she was meant to be being contrite, and stopped.

  ‘Toby, I’m terribly sorry, but I have to go,’ I said, as he began to unload his new hair loss agony. ‘But I think I saw something exactly for that kind of problem in Duane Reade, this super American chemist place, so why don’t you write me a nice long email, and I’ll sort it all out for you by the end of the week?’

  That seemed to cheer him up, and I crossed his name off my list with some relief. It was the last one. Apart from Roger Trumpet, with whom I intended to have a very long chat, but not over the phone.

  ‘Well,’ I said, as Gabi put a cup of coffee and a slice of chocolate cake in front of me. ‘That’s that cleared up. And you might like to know that Piers Saunders isn’t going to sue us, after all.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she said immediately. ‘But he should have known Allegra wasn’t a real skin specialist—’

  I held up a ‘stop!’ hand. ‘Gabi, come on – if these people had any idea what they were doing, they wouldn’t be calling us in the first place.’ I gave her my best impression of Nelson’s ‘charitable works’ face. ‘I know you and Allegra don’t have much sympathy for dithering men, but, for my sake, can you try? This is my livelihood you’re dealing with, not to mention their feelings.’

  Gabi cast her eyes down in an expression I recognised as my own ‘pretending to indulge Nelson’s charitable works’ face, then looked up, unable to disguise her unquenchable thirst for gossip.

  ‘So, you are coming back then? Jonathan hasn’t proposed now he’s finally lured you out there?’

  I blushed. ‘Yes! And no. He hasn’t. Come on, Gabi, it’s only been a fortnight.’