My mouth could double for the Dartford Tunnel.
‘You didn’t think they were real did you?’
Yes! I can’t believe he’s conned me for weeks into thinking he was a blue-eyed babe. Of all the bare-eyed cheek! What else has he lied about?
‘When were you going to tell me?’
Micky shrugs. ‘Dunno. I’ve been wearing them for so long I don’t even think about it. Everyone I know thinks I’m made that way. Ha! Ha! Fooled you too!’
I’ll give him ha bloody ha.
‘Come on, Mills, they’re only contact lenses,’ says Micky when I don’t laugh. ‘Let’s grab a coffee. It’s freezing out here! ‘
I know I’m overreacting but all I want to do is walk away – except I don’t feel that I can over something as trivial as contact lenses. He’s certainly got some explaining to do about yesterday’s little performance. Fuming, I follow him to the café where I sit listening to him bleat excuses for his behaviour the night before, something along the lines of how hard it is to be the only boy in a family of dominant women.
‘But if a woman truly loves me,’ Micky says, stirring his coffee thoughtfully, ‘she’ll understand how important I am to my family and would be willing to live with them. We’ve got a massive house in Northwood, big enough for all of us. Any woman I marry will be lucky to live there.’
‘Mmm,’ I say. Whatever.
Unfortunately Micky takes this as agreement and presses on. ‘If that woman is you, Mills, I’d expect you to make some changes. My mother was shocked you would contemplate friendship with a Jew.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘The Jewish girl. Eve.’ Micky shakes his head. ‘She’s really unsuitable company. If you want things to work out between us you’ll have to end that particular friendship.’
I can’t believe my ears. ‘You want me to ditch Eve because she’s Jewish? What sort of bollocks is this, Micky?’
‘Your language too, Mills.’ He shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry to tell you that my mother and my sisters were not impressed with what they saw last night. You’ll have a lot of ground to make up with them.’
I jump to my feet. ‘Do you know what, Micky? I’m not particularly impressed with your family either. They’re rude and backward thinking and racist.’
My pity is well and truly exhausted. Micky’s nothing but a spoilt brat and no way do I want to compete for his affections. I’m no match for the overbearing ladies in his life any road. Even Auntie Bee is less demanding than his Hammer House of Horror rellies. I don’t bother to ask him to apologise for what he said last night because there’s no point. He’s racist and ignorant and pathetic. A guy who hides behind his mother, sisters and blue contact lenses is not the man for me.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, ‘but I really don’t think this is going to work out.’
Micky looks shocked. ‘Are you dumping me?’
‘I suppose I am,’ I say sadly. As his head droops I see the similarity to Qas and finally understand what made him appeal so much. It’s got to be some atavistic Pakistani thing about nurturing the precious male, the heir, the baby boy. And I didn’t even know I was doing it.
How scary is that?
‘You can’t dump me!’
‘Sorry,’ I say, putting a fiver down for my coffee. ‘But I just did.’
I leave the café and make my way back to the tube. I don’t look back but I know he remains staring out of the steamy window, shocked because a woman has turned him down.
I don’t regret it but as I hurtle down the steps to reach my train my eyes are blurry with tears. I was really starting to have feelings for Micky. He’d been sweet and fun and I’d enjoyed his company, but in the end I never really knew him at all. I’m months into my husband hunt and no nearer to success than when I started. I’ve spent a fortune dating, my own judgment has proved to be a total disaster and I’ve no time left to waste.
Did my parents really know best after all?
But I can’t give up now, what about my soul mate?
I dash tears away with the back of my hand because for the first time in twenty-two years I’m beginning to doubt that my soul mate even exists.
Chapter 20
‘Built in the early seventeenth century, Eldred House is one of England’s finest Jacobean mansions,’ I read from the guidebook while Raj steers the four-by-four along a winding drive. ‘Eldred House has been the ancestral home of the Vane family for over three hundred years. The state rooms contain original furnishings, décor and objets d’art from various epochs.’
‘Puts my parents’ place into perspective,’ says Raj, dropping down a gear as the drive bears to the left. ‘No wonder Minty has such a superiority complex.’
‘Now, now,’ I scold. ‘Remember what Nina said? Getting permission for a fashion shoot here is a real coup for GupShup. We can’t upset Minty, however revolting she is, OK?’
‘I don’t know why we couldn’t just have gone along with my original idea,’ he grumbles. ‘The shoot would’ve been perfect in the warehouses I’d lined up. And I wouldn’t have had to lug all our equipment miles either.’
It’s a sore point with Raj that after weeks of scouting for locations for the Ana Pana photography session the Great Library at Eldred House has been picked to provide a classy backdrop for today’s fashion shoot. Wish came up with the venue and of course Minty was only too happy to show off… I mean oblige.
The fashion statement to be captured on camera is the latest desi designer couture wear for young Asian professionals. I can barely contain my excitement that in the back of the Range Rover are boxes of fabulous sample garments, including some gorgeous shalwars that Jemima Khan was wearing only the week before. The models will be dressed in different styles and wearing dark glasses with their hair back in a tight knot. The overall look, Wish says – and thank God he’s talking to me again – a sort of sexy librarian meets Robert Palmer babe.
‘How long is this bloody drive?’ asks Raj when after a good five minutes of trundling through thick swathes of rhododendrons and beech woods we are still nowhere near the house. ‘Why can’t these people just live on a normal street like the rest of us?’
‘Because they’re not like the rest of us! Come on, Raj, aren’t you just a teeny bit excited? We’re going to get to poke around a genuine stately home.’
‘Big deal,’ he sniffs. ‘It’s too far away from London if you ask me. What’s to be excited about when you’re miles from Harvey Nichs and with not even a whiff of a decent coffee shop?’
‘What about the library?’ I can hardly wait to see it. ‘Aren’t you even looking forward to seeing that?’
‘Girlfriend, you need to get out more,’ says Raj, shaking his head. ‘What’s to get excited about over a load of dusty old books?’
He’ll never get it in a billion years so I’m not going to waste my breath trying to explain. Raj is so trendy that it hurts – literally today because the sunshine is glancing off his bright yellow shirt with a migraine-inducing intensity – and he can’t understand my passion for Austen and the Brontës at all. Basically if it isn’t designer or made by Apple then Raj doesn’t want to know.
But I can hardly contain myself because (dearest readers) Eldred House’s Great Library is the library of my dreams. I have always promised myself that once I have finally made it and been promoted to the very top rung of my career ladder then not only will I buy land in the serene Yorkshire countryside and order the builders to start erecting my own dream home, but I will also ensure that a library is a priority room, highlighted in the blueprint plans.
But there’s no point in sharing this with Raj. He’ll think I need to check myself into The Priory to overcome my unfortunate book addiction. There’s no use either in trying to make him understand how Eldred House is unique because it houses one of England’s finest private collections of rare literary works.
I just hope I get to look at them.
‘Of course you can see the books,’ Wish had promis
ed, when I told him how excited I was at the prospect of being in the same room as an original copy of The Canterbury Tales. ‘Lord Henry, Minty’s dad, is bonkers about the books. He’ll be over the moon somebody wants to see them.’
‘And you’ll ask him for me?’ I could hardly believe it.
Wish had given me that crinkly jade smile. ‘Of course I will, if it will make you happy.’
It’ll make me happy, all right, I think, as the Range Rover bumps along the drive. I have another look in my guidebook, doing my best to mug up on facts and figures before we arrive. If I do happen to meet Lord Henry Vane I’d prefer it if he thought I knew what I was talking about rather than that I’m a northern bumpkin.
‘At last,’ says Raj as we break out of the woods. ‘That has to be Eldred House.’
I catch my breath because I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a beautiful place. Nestling in the tawny and gold trees is the house, all glittering diamond panes and elaborate chimneys, like a golden haired princess reclining on russet cushions. Just in front is a lake, which echoes the racing clouds and endless shimmering reflections until it seems as though Eldred House is rippling and dancing in the water. Across the ha-ha shaggy cattle graze peacefully while in the smooth paddocks two thoroughbred horses wheel and spin, as leggy and as aristocratic as Minty Vane herself.
‘Whoah,’ I breathe. ‘It’s stunning!’
‘Yep,’ Raj agrees, pulling into a gravelled courtyard alongside Wish’s Harley. ‘I’m starting to appreciate what Wish sees in Minty.’
‘About time,’ says Wish, when Raj and I, laden with boxes and accessories eventually join him in the Great Hall. ‘I was starting to think you were lost. Welcome to Eldred House.’
I look around me in awe. My parents went through a National Trust phase when I was a kid: endless summer Saturdays were spent trawling through closed-up spaces watching dust motes dancing in the sun, so I’m not unused to visiting mansions. But this is something else again because real people still live here. The walls are crammed with forbidding-looking portraits of the Vane family from as early as the seventeenth century up to the present day, where the most recent addition is an overblown portrait of Minty herself, all heaving bosom and flowing blonde locks.
‘Come on babe, get a move on!’
Talk of the Devil, here’s Minty now, barging past me and placing a slender hand in the back pocket of Wish’s 501s.
‘The girls have been ready for ages. What kept you?’
‘The fact that you live a million miles from civilisation, darling,’ says Raj. ‘But better late than never.’
The look that Minty gives me actually says better never than late – or am I just being paranoid? And surely she didn’t mean to elbow me out of the way? She was just making her usual grand entrance.
‘Let’s get going,’ says Wish, gently removing Minty’s hand. ‘I’m all set up. The models just need to get these outfits on and then we’ll shoot. Hey, Mills,’ he adds to me, ‘do you want to check out the library while Minty and Raj sort the models?’
‘Great!’
‘How’s the dating?’ asks Wish, as we wander down a long oak-panelled gallery hung with portraits of snooty-looking Vane ancestors.
‘I’m having a break from that for a minute,’ I tell him. ‘In fact I’m thinking about getting my kicks another way, actually, like maybe cordless bungee jumping?’
Wish laughs, and it’s a warm sexy sound that makes goosebumps do Mexican waves up my arms. ‘That good?’
‘Worse. I think I need a change of subject matter from dating.’
‘Tell me about it!’ He shakes his head. ‘Dating isn’t all it’s cracked up be.’
For a moment he looks really sad. Then he shrugs. ‘Enough of that! This will take your mind off all the melancholy stuff,’ he promises, pushing a door open.
I’m transported into book Heaven. ‘It’s amazing!’
‘I knew you’d like it.’
‘Can I touch them?’
‘Henry lets me, so I don’t see why not.’ Wish fetches a large tome and brings it to me. ‘Here, take this.’
And suddenly in my hands I have what looks terrifyingly like an original copy of The Canterbury Tales.
‘It can’t be real,’ I whisper.
‘It certainly is,’ says Wish. ‘But it’s priceless so the Vanes don’t publicise its existence.’
My hands start to shake, not only because I’m terrified at the idea of holding something so precious but also because it weighs a bloody tonne.
‘You’re trembling!’ Wish leans forward and steadies my shaking hands with his. Something between us crackles like static. Then, just as quickly, Wish lets my hands go, as though embarrassed – or maybe, looking at the state of my nails, he’s repulsed.
He clears his throat. ‘Well?’
‘It’s amazing.’
‘It is, isn’t it?’ says Wish, ‘I knew you’d get it. The first time Minty brought me over she literally had to drag me away. I lost all interest in the rest of the house and refused to budge. I couldn’t get enough. Minty thinks I’m a sad geek for wanting to bury myself in a load of dusty old books.’
I’m green-eyed, or rather brown-eyed, with sizzling envy. As if I needed it, here’s the proof that life is so not fair. Not only does Minty have the long slim legs, the looks, the fame, the cash and of course Wish, but she also has claim to this wonderful library and all its amazing treasures. If only I could swap Jimmy Choos with her for one minute and know what all this feels like.
As Wish gives me a tour I can’t help comparing my own far more humble origins to Minty’s, and although I know comparisons are odious the contrast between my own home in Bradford and Eldred House is stark. Our cupboards bulge with years of assorted tat; wardrobe doors have to be wedged shut and even the attic is groaning with the weight of boxes and junk, all too precious to part with. What must it be like to have hundreds of rooms all for yourself and nobody nagging you to send your old books to the charity shop?
Unless Prince Harry suddenly develops a taste for northern girls of Pakistani origin I don’t suppose I’ll ever know.
I pore over the book.
‘It’s a nice change to see a girl immerse herself in literature rather than hear all about celebrity magazines and how many breadcrumbs celebrities nibble on for breakfast,’ grins Wish.
‘I have my Heat moments too, you intellectual snob!’
Wish perches on the edge of a huge oak table. ‘As an avid childhood collector of The Beano and The Dandy, I’m hurt by that comment. I like my popular culture as much as the next guy.’
‘You collected comics?’ I exclaim. ‘I loved reading comics when I was a kid! I’m sure my collection is still at home somewhere. I had stacks of Beanos and Whizzer and Chips! There were a couple of Buntys too, I seem to recall.’
Wish gives me a cheeky grin. ‘My childhood collection contained a few girly comics of a rather different nature.’
‘Childhood collection? That’s your story.’
‘And I’m sticking to it!’ As Wish laughs, out comes that dimple. I’m so pleased to be reacquainted with it because Wish hasn’t been laughing much lately.
And, come to think of it, neither have I.
Wish shows me more books and we chat away, laughing about our childhood reading obsessions and passions, the icing on the cake being the knowledge that we have both preserved our childhood comics.
‘Wow!’ we say in unison, over and over again as we learn about more and more coincidences and each time it feels like we have more and more in common.
‘I was a right bookworm as a kid,’ says Wish. ‘My brother, Jamal, used to take the piss out of me for it. He was always out kicking a football around or practising bowling with Dad and there was me with my nose stuck in The Famous Five. Not cool.’
‘Take that back!’ I wag an indignant finger at him. ‘I won’t have a word said against Enid Blyton! I was obsessed with everything she wrote. I even nagged my parents for ages a
bout getting a dog so that I could be just like George!’
‘I drove mine crazy begging for an island,’ laughs Wish. ‘They threatened to get Richard Branson to adopt me. But, and this is really tragic, my favourite books of all had to be the Faraway Tree ones. Did you ever read those?’
‘Wish!’ I say, delighted. ‘You have to be the first person I’ve ever met who knows about those books! The Saucepan Man!’
‘The slippery-slip!’
‘Moon-Face!’
‘Silky!’
We grin at each other like idiots.
‘If anyone could hear this conversation they’d think we’d flipped!’ Wish smiles. ‘Here we are surrounded by great literature and we’re getting excited over comics and Enid Blyton. I don’t think I’ve ever confessed my dubious tastes in reading material to anyone before.’
‘Me neither.’ I shake my head. ‘As an English graduate I’m honour bound to pretend to read Dickens for fun. I won’t even start to tell you about my Mills and Boon collection…’
‘I can honestly say that we don’t have that in common,’ says Wish. ‘Although Jackie Collins is another matter entirely. My mum was always wondering where hers vanished to.’
‘My mum kept hers hidden inside the dust jackets of Jane Austen novels,’ I recall, ‘but Fizz soon sussed that out. I think we girls must be the only females in Britain who received their sex education from Pride and Prejudice.’
Wish fans his face. ‘I think we’d better stop there! Or I may be asking you just quite what you learned!’
Then the laughter stops and we fall silent. The atmosphere is so thick that it could pass for soup and I’m inexplicably breathless.
‘There you are!’ Minty’s voice slices through the stillness like cheese wire through cheddar. ‘Could you stop chatting to the staff and get on with the bloody job?’
Her parents really should get a refund on whatever charm school they sent her to.
Wish sighs. ‘OK Minty. I’ll just measure the light again and then we’ll start.’
‘Good,’ she snaps, flicking her blonde mane over her shoulders. ‘I’ll go and get the girls.’
The Wedding Countdown Page 16