Millie's Game Plan

by Rosie Dean

  ‘Mmm. Givenchy Gentleman.’

  ‘Very good. Is that your other party trick?’

  I opened my eyes and the dark features of Alexander Marshal came into focus. ‘Oh.’

  ‘Hey,’ he said softly, resting a hand on my shoulder. ‘Don’t get up yet. You fainted and we need to bandage your hand properly.’

  I raised my hand and shrieked. ‘I’m bleeding to death.’

  ‘No you’re not. It’s a red napkin.’

  I looked around and could see the remnants of Christmas crackers under the table. In June? The dogs were sat in a group at my feet, watching with fascination like student doctors in an operating theatre. I looked up at my tormentor and nurse. God, he looked heroic. In the doorway he’d looked grim and suspicious – quite right too – but now he looked concerned. His skin was tanned and I noticed a few tiny flecks of grey at his hairline. I studied his mouth; the top lip had a strong outline, broken by a faint scar. If I hadn’t been so aware of the pain in my hand, I might have been up for a bit of flirting.

  ‘My hand – do you think it needs stitches?’

  He sat back and slid an arm under my shoulders to lift me into a sitting position. ‘Don’t know. I’ll call Baldev. If he’s home he might have a look at it. Otherwise you’d better go to casualty.’

  ‘Baldev being…?’

  ‘Our GP. Lives down the road.’

  He was still supporting my back, making me acutely aware of the heat of his body and the strength of his arms holding me. But the fog in my mind was lifting. ‘Oh no. Your mother’s pictures.’

  ‘Don’t worry, we can fix it.’

  ‘No, I mean, I’m here to take some photos of her.’

  Just then, her voice cooed in the hallway. ‘Millie, I’m ready.’

  The little dachshund leapt up and bounded out, yapping excitedly.

  ‘What are you doing in there, Sausage?’ she asked, appearing in the doorway. From under the table, I could only see her legs and feet in spike-heeled, black patent leather, but her son’s reaction said it all.

  ‘Oh Mother, you’re not having your photo taken in the buff, are you?’

  ‘Lex. Darling…’ I detected a slight tremor in her voice. ‘I wasn’t expecting you.’

  ‘I’d never have guessed.’

  Was she standing there in the altogether? I wondered, not having the strength or temerity to get up and take a better look.

  ‘You might have called.’

  ‘What, and miss this?’

  ‘No darling, so I could have catered for you. I assume you’re staying for supper.’

  Were they really carrying on a conversation while she stood there, stark naked? I’m pretty sure my brother hadn’t seen an inch of my mother’s skin above the knee or below the cleavage since he’d been weaned.

  ‘I might stay. But first,’ he slipped his arms beneath mine to lift me up. ‘We need to get your friend here some medical treatment.’

  As he helped me up to a standing position, I glanced across to see Vonnie draped in a short, blue negligee – nothing else.

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ she said. ‘Whatever’s happened?’

  ‘I was looking for the kitchen, I got the wrong door and then I saw the photos of your children and the glass came out of the frame…’

  Alexander – Lex – had a hand in the small of my back, and another lightly holding my arm. He cut in, ‘Her hand’s still bleeding. Could you phone Baldev and see if he can check it out?’

  ‘Surely it can’t be that bad, can it? We have some plasters…somewhere.’

  ‘Mother, it is that bad, now please, phone Baldev.’

  He was very commanding and if my knees weren’t already weak from the loss of blood, they might have buckled from new-found lust.

  ‘Alright, darling,’ she shrugged. ‘No need to snap.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, as Vonnie disappeared. ‘This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t been so nosy. I thought…maybe you had a style of photograph that would be most appropriate, you know, for the way I posed your mother.’

  He was looking down at me, through narrowed eyes. ‘Clearly not what she had in mind.’ He laughed then and his grip tightened, before he stepped back to look at me some more. ‘So who are you, since you’re obviously not a burglar?’

  ‘Millie Carmichael.’

  ‘Alexander Marshal, Lex to my friends.’

  ‘So, can I call you Lex?’ I asked, with – I hoped – a subtle blend of coyness and allure.

  ‘Since you bled all over my photograph, I’m not sure.’

  I looked down at the discarded picture. Blood – my blood – had oozed between the glass and photograph, spreading in a hideous pattern across his face. It would have made a brilliant cover shot for a crime novel. ‘Oh,’ I bent forward to retrieve it from the floor, but the sight of the blood and the pain made me go clammy and weak, again. I’ve never enjoyed the sight of my own blood yet I can cope with other people’s – it’s less personal. I grabbed at Lex with my good hand, catching his lapel to steady myself, which caught us both off balance so he wrapped his arms around me to steady us. I looked up at his face, inches from mine, and felt exactly like a character in a romantic movie. Violins would play, audiences would sigh and I would get well and truly…

  ‘He’s popping over now,’ Vonnie called. ‘Oh, darling, must you take advantage of the poor girl?’

  I pulled back, although (and this was the biggest thrill) he didn’t release me at all, just stroked a hand down my back and spoke to his mother over the top of my head. ‘Millie was about to keel over again. I think we need to sit her down.’

  Shame. I was rather enjoying being in close proximity to his chest.

  He sat me on a dining chair and said quietly, ‘I’ll just get you a glass of water, okay?’

  ‘Thanks,’ I breathed, silently beginning to tick the boxes on my wish-list. I needed to be careful though, no guarantees he was single. But I was pretty damn sure he wasn’t gay.

  Vonnie folded her arms. ‘I’d better pop my dress back on, if Baldev is coming round,’ she sighed. ‘This rather puts paid to our plans, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, no. I’m so sorry. This is awful. I’m sure it won’t be too bad and I can pop round again in a couple of days.’ There was a hot, throbbing soreness in my hand, and the prospect of stitches made me feel queasy.

  When Baldev took a look at it, he said it only needed butterfly stitches. Then he gave me a sling to hold it up against my chest for the evening.

  ‘I won’t be able to drive home,’ I exclaimed, also thinking I had a major pitch to a pharmaceutical company in London the following day, when I needed to carry an A3 portfolio and a laptop. What a prat I was. I’d have to get one of my colleagues to caddy for me.

  ‘You can leave your car here and Lex will drive you. I’d offer myself, of course, but I’ve had a little too much bubbly.’ She wrinkled her nose at Baldev.

  Having blown the prospect of a photo-shoot out of the water, there wasn’t much else I could do but spend the evening with Vonnie and Lex. Her gentleman friend’s birthday was a few weeks away. I’d be back on shutter-clicking form by then.

  After the doctor had left, we took our drinks onto the terrace. It was still warm, as the house faced south-west and was picking up the evening sun. Lichen and green mould patterned the flagstones, all apart from a well-worn footpath to the ironwork table and chairs.

  Lex had been in France, on business, and managed to cadge a ‘lift’ back on a friend’s yacht…like one does. They’d berthed in Chichester, and dropped him off on their way back to London. How cool is that? Okay, so a private jet or helicopter would have scored higher, but it beats riding pillion on Sacha’s scooter any day.

  ‘What do you do, Lex?’ I asked, hoping to put a big fat tick on my wish-list.

  ‘I’m a wine merchant.’

  Tick!

  Vonnie wiggled her glass. ‘Lucky me.’

  And me, I thought; self-made entrepreneur, in a re
ally great business. Sunny vineyards drifted across my inner vision. I continued the interview. ‘You must travel a lot, then?’

  ‘A fair bit, although I’ve established most of my contacts now. But it’s nice to spend a few days out in the field, so to speak.’

  ‘Oh, I imagine it’s a fascinating business to be in.’

  ‘Marketing always sounded rather exciting to me,’ chipped in Vonnie.

  ‘Is that what you do?’ Lex asked.

  I nodded. Maybe if I played my cards right, I could swing a contract with him.

  Vonnie stood up. ‘I must see to the veg. You two carry on chatting.’

  Like we wouldn’t? Perhaps she thought we might leap into each other’s arms and pick up where we’d left off in the dining room. I went hot just thinking about it.

  At that moment, a peel of bells rang out. My head turned in the direction of the church.

  ‘Ah, Wednesday night, bell-ringing,’ Lex said. ‘Got to hand it to old Warwick, he’s busting a gut to save his flagging congregation.’ He raised his glass in a mock toast. ‘Poor sod.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked, more than a little interested in Lex’s opinion of Josh.

  ‘Oh, what do I know? Arthur Simmonds was a drunken old fart, so they whipped him out and shoved Josh in, probably hoping a bit of beefcake in a dog-collar might get the housewives to swell the congregation.’ He laughed. ‘Imagine all those horny women, squirming in their pews. God! I bet he feels like a rock star when he’s in that pulpit.’

  I laughed too…and squirmed. I’d very nearly become one of them. ‘I met him at the cricket. He seems like a nice guy.’

  ‘Does he?’ he said, impassively. ‘Sadly, I think his days are numbered.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘They’re closing churches all over the place and turning them into unique, desirable homes…or bistros; bloody good use of it, if you ask me. Our family may have built the church but I can’t say we have much to do with it, these days. There’s a church in Romwick people could travel to. It’s happening everywhere – consolidating the congregations.’

  I nodded. I had no idea.

  ‘Nope, Josh Warwick’s not long for this parish, I’m afraid.’

  Lex drove me home in his Maserati, which was low and sleek and powerful. ‘So, Millie, are you planning a career taking discreet, salacious photos of bored housewives, trying to revive their flagging love lives?’ He looked across at me and, despite the only illumination coming from the dashboard and a silvery moon, I’m pretty sure I detected a cheeky twinkle in those eyes.

  I smiled back, feeling that stomach-churning thrill you get at the start of a potential relationship, when you become aware of mutual attraction. ‘Erm…actually, it hadn’t occurred to me, till tonight. It might be a novel way to boost my income.’

  There was a deep hum of recognition from him as he concentrated on the road, like he absolutely knew he’d sparked something in me. And I absolutely knew he was going to ask me out.

  As we pulled up outside Bridgeman Villas, he switched off the engine and opened his car door. ‘Hang on, I’ll let you out.’

  How gallant, I thought. So I sat there, licking my lips and ruffling my hair – praying I didn’t taste too ghastly after the Irish coffee Vonnie had pressed upon me.

  He opened the boot. Of course. All my kit was in there. Maybe I could open my own door, it’s not as if I was totally incapable but, quick as a flash, he was there, holding it and offering a warm, strong hand to help me. I took it and stepped out and forward into the space between him and the car – only much nearer to him. To my delight, he didn’t step back but looked down at me in that ‘will-we-won’t-we?’ kind of way that had my nerves leaping with anticipation. My injured hand was strapped to my chest in a rather earnest fashion – like an American reciting the Pledge of Allegiance.

  ‘It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Millie.’

  ‘You too,’ I said, feeling my body drifting closer towards his.

  He raised my good hand and dipped his head to kiss my fingers.

  Well, that was a first, let me tell you. Warm breath, stubble and lips against my skin – he struck a direct stream from my knuckles to my knickers. I think I even made a croaking sound. Truly. I had to cough to disguise it, which was pointless as he absolutely bloody knew he’d got me exactly where I wanted to be.

  He smiled. ‘If you’re not busy on Saturday evening, would you like to come to a party? It’s in London.’

  Would I?

  ‘Can I let you know tomorrow?’ I asked, deploying another one of Sacha’s rules.

  He was still smiling but held his bottom lip between his teeth momentarily. ‘Sure. Let me give you my number.’ He had to drop my hand to reach into the breast pocket of his jacket for his wallet. I watched as he deftly took out a business card and handed it to me.

  I thanked him and he bent down to retrieve my camera case from the pavement. Maybe a full blown, no-holds-barred snog was out of the question, then? I made sure I gave him a lingering, under the eyelids glance that said, Alexander Marshal, you can have me – and soon.

  As I walked through the gate that fronted Bridgeman Villas, I thought to myself, Millie Carmichael – this could well be the husband of your dreams and father of your children. Remember this night. Don’t blow it.

  As we reached the door, I realised I needed more help. My keys were somewhere in my handbag and with only one hand, finding them was going to be a problem. I held it towards him.

  ‘Are you giving me permission to rifle through your handbag?’

  I smiled. ‘Could you just hold it while I rifle for myself?’

  He slung my camera case over his shoulder and leaned the light-stand against the wall. I placed my bag in his outstretched hands and pulled open the catch. I could hear the keys – down and to the left – but I wanted to make the most of spending this delicious moment close to Lex, feeling his warmth and hearing his breathing inches away from me.

  Clearly, Lex liked it too, because he leaned forward and rested his head against mine and said, very quietly, ‘Sure you don’t want a hand?’

  I giggled. Swear to God I did. Like a teenager. ‘Nearly there,’ I said, my voice muffled by lust.

  Finally, I could eke it out no longer and pulled the elusive bunch from the bag. He raised his head and looked down at me, a knowing smile on his face, as he stretched out a hand to take the keys from me and unlock the front door. Pushing it open, he stepped aside to allow me through.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. The obvious next line would have been: Do you want to come up for coffee? But the last thing I needed was for him to catch Sacha with her uniform unbuttoned and hair dishevelled, lying on the sofa looking like she needed a good seeing-to. No. This was one man I wanted to keep to myself. Instead I whispered, ‘Could you just pop my camera things inside the hall?’

  Did I detect a pause? Was he waiting for the coffee suggestion? I’d killed the mood and I knew it. But that was okay. I had an invitation to a party and his phone number, which gave me the whip hand. And it felt good. Super good. This was the start of something big – for sure.

  ‘I’ll call you tomorrow,’ I said. ‘And thank you so much for looking after me and bringing me home. Not quite the evening you had in mind, I imagine.’

  ‘True.’ He nodded, his eyes half-lidded. ‘It was much better.’

  I smiled and leaned against the door frame. ‘Night, then.’

  ‘Night Millie,’ he said.

  I watched as he walked away. He was tall and perfectly in proportion, with short, thick, dark hair tapering into his neck. How long till I ran my fingers through it? I wondered.

  Chapter 11

  After letting myself into the flat, I pulled the silliest of silly faces at myself in the mirror. ‘Yessss!’ I hissed at my reflection. ‘Millie’s scored.’

  ‘That you?’ Sacha croaked from her bedroom.

  I wandered through. She was lying on her tummy, not fully awake but happy to hear about my evening. I s
at on the bed.

  ‘Guess what?’ I whispered.

  ‘His holiness was there?’

  I shook my head and told her about Lex and his invitation to the party. She was momentarily interested till I told her it was in London. Had it been local, she’d have been in with a shout.

  ‘Long way to go if it’s crap.’

  She had a point. If things didn’t work out, I might find myself stranded and pissed in the city, with no quick cab ride home. I didn’t even know which part of London. ‘I can’t see it being crap. He’s a wine merchant and has really posh friends who sail over from France…in their own yacht.’ She nodded in acknowledgement then looked at me again.

  ‘What happened to your hand? Did the vicar break it, after all?’

  ‘No. It was really embarrassing…’ I proceeded to tell her the whole story, which had her fully awake and propped up on her elbow.

  ‘Great. That lets you off the cricket, then,’ she said.

  Hmmm…if I was to be really thorough with my project, I shouldn’t be counting my chickens just yet.

  As I stood to go she said, ‘Is that the same hand your cute vicar whacked?’

  I looked down. ‘It is.’

  ‘Strange. Night.’

  Strange indeed. But it highlighted how much the first injury had been a rehearsal for the real thing. My focus had changed. Top priority was Lex Marshal.

  Lex.

  Lex and Millie…Millie Marshal…Mrs Millie Marshal of Marshalhampton House. I supposed I should have been grateful it wasn’t Marshalhampton Manor.

  Next day, my performance at Zealand Pharmaceuticals was – although I say it myself – outstanding. Overnight, I had assumed the status of heiress apparent to the Marshal estate, which gave me an astonishing inner-confidence. Even Gus from the graphics department, who carried my gear, remarked on how well I’d pitched. Although, the level of surprise in his praise rather took the edge off. So, as the train pulled out of Waterloo Station and the client rang to say we’d won it – I felt invincible. Simon Sodding Ostler had as much chance of catching up with me now, as a tortoise on roller skates.