by Rosie Dean
High on my success, I went and stood in the corridor to ring Lex. I wanted to call while I was still buzzing. I would come across as thrusting, corporate and businesslike, which was bound to be exactly the kind of girl a man in Lex’s position would want. I also thought I might lose my nerve if I left it till later. I got his voicemail. ‘Hi Lex. It’s Millie Carmichael here. We met last night…’ Duh! He’d need to be senile to have forgotten me in less than twenty-four hours. ‘Thank you so much for driving me home and yes, I would like to come to the party. Thanks.’
When I returned to my seat, Gus was engrossed in a game on his mobile phone and had his iPod plugged into his ears. Would Lex reply? I stared out of the window and, as the miles and minutes whizzed past, began to imagine Lex building a bullet-point list of reasons not to date Millie:
* Nosy
* Clumsy
* Skinny
* Feeble – faints at the sight of blood (probably due to being skinny)
* Too mean to invite a guy in for coffee
* Too uptight to invite a guy in for coffee
* So uptight – undoubtedly frigid
Putting it that way, why would anyone go out with me?
My phone buzzed a text message at me:
Will pick you up at seven. Lex
Ha! I glanced up at pasty-faced Gus. I bet he didn’t have a fabulous party in London to go to on Saturday. I replied:
Great. Mx
I didn’t think the kiss was too forward – at first. But he didn’t send a reply and I began to doubt it. Sophisticated women didn’t put kisses on texts to men they’d only just met, did they? Who was I kidding – sophisticated? If you asked fifty people what word sprang to mind when they thought of me, I’m pretty sure ‘sophisticated’ wouldn’t feature.
I forced myself to think, If it’s meant to be…it’s meant to be. Which was exactly what Dad would have said. Though what Dad would have thought about Lex, I could only imagine. He always said the most important thing any man could do for either of his daughters, was to cherish her. He didn’t care whether they were rich or poor, so long as they were honest and looked after his girls. ‘Just like I look after your Mum,’ he’d say and they’d exchange a dewy-eyed look. At least his emotional investment had been good even if the grasp of fiscal security had escaped him.
Gus dropped me at Marshalhampton House so I could pick up my car. I’d dispensed with the sling, and could manage to hold the steering wheel without too much pain.
‘Tidy old place,’ he said. ‘Who do you know lives here?’
‘A lady I met at the cricket,’ I said, loftily.
‘Cricket?’ He threw me a look of disbelief. ‘D’you watch it or play?’
‘Watch. Occasionally.’ I opened the door before he’d applied the handbrake. I wanted out before he could quiz me further. I stood by the boot, pointedly waiting for him to extract my portfolio so I could be shot of him, before Vonnie or Arabella could appear and invite us in for tea. If that happened, Gus might find out about me and Lex, and I had every intention of keeping my private life to myself.
‘It may surprise you to know, but I play for Saddlehampton.’ He came round and opened the boot, grinning at me as if he’d found a soul mate.
‘Excellent.’ I leaned in and pulled out my laptop bag. ‘Thanks for the lift, really appreciate it.’ I headed off towards my car, Gus following with the portfolio.
‘We’re doing well this season. I scored a personal best, too; my first half-century. Not bad considering I never played cricket at school. Fancy you being a cricket fan,’ he added, clearly seeing me through new, rather doe-like, eyes.
Yikes!
‘I’m not. Not really. I’m a fair-weather fan. I like sitting in the sunshine, drinking a glass or two…you know…great British summertime and all that.’ I opened the tailgate of my car.
‘You should come see us play. We’ve got a pub skittles team, too – Nag’s Head Nerds, we’re called. Great laugh.’
I’d take his word for it. ‘Well, thanks again for the lift.’ I slammed the hatchback closed as soon as he’d deposited the portfolio, and gave him a dismissive, cheery nod.
‘No problem. Sure you’re okay to drive?’
‘Good as gold,’ I beamed, flexing my hand and instantly wishing I hadn’t.
‘Right then. See you tomorrow.’
Finally, he was gone. I glanced up at the house. There was no sign of life but Vonnie’s Volvo was parked at a jaunty angle and next to it, a sleek black BMW. Could Lex have another car? I wondered, optimistically, my heartbeat picking up a notch. Surely it would be rude to leave without popping in to say hello, wouldn’t it? Just as I approached the back door, I heard a distant, ‘Yes! Yes! Right there. Omigod! Yes!’
So that would be Vonnie entertaining her gentleman friend. I spun round quickly and headed to the car. I figured it would be ruder to stay.
It’s odd how you can think you’re acting like you always do, then someone suspects you’ve had a personality transplant. Daley – aka Danny Zuko – sauntered up to me during a break in the evening’s rehearsal to inform me I was in a good mood.
‘Thanks, Daley,’ I said.
‘It wasn’t meant to be a compliment,’ he grunted. ‘You’re usually mega-stressed this close to a show. You taking happy pills or somethink?’
‘I don’t need artificial stimulants to be cheerful,’ I said, completely overlooking the oceans of plonk and vodka I’d consumed over the years.
‘Must be getting something else, eh, Millie?’ Ben Jones – my Kenickie – nudged Daley and winked at me.
Whilst I love working with teenagers, you do tread a fine line. Give them a hint of something personal, and the next thing you know, they’re digging around in your private life like Jerry Springer.
‘It’s the sunshine, Ben. It’s recharged my batteries.’
Big mistake.
‘Solar-powered is it, Millie? Not seen them in Anne Summers.’ The lads guffawed and their sheer cheek made me smile. I shook my head and wrote: further work on opening number needed, just to distract them.
I looked around the hall. ‘Where’s Lulu Gilbert?’
Daley and Ben glanced at each other. ‘Taking refreshments,’ Daley grinned. ‘Know what I mean?’ There was a conspiratorial look between them.
‘No. Tell me.’
He held his hands out. ‘S’not for me to say, Millie.’
I looked at them both. ‘What is it?’
Ben looked at Daley and then held an imaginary glass to his lips and knocked his head back, before going cross-eyed.
‘What – she’s out drinking?’
‘Most likely,’ Ben answered.
I took a deep breath. Lulu had been outstanding in the auditions and (when she turned up) brilliant in the role of sassy Rizzo, but I hadn’t bargained on her being so unreliable when it came to attendance. ‘Either of you got her mobile number?’
‘Jess will. Hey! Jess!’ Daley yelled across the hall. ‘Over here!’
‘Daley,’ I said, ‘Don’t make a big public thing of this, please. You might be completely wrong.’
‘Huh. Like…yeah.’
After a word with Bob, it was agreed I’d phone Lulu but just as I dialled, the door to the rehearsal room crashed open and she swanned in. Her face was flushed, there was a stain on her t-shirt and a grin on her face. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ she gushed. ‘I missed the bus.’
‘Fell off it, did ya?’ Ben heckled.
I walked over and knew, within three feet of her, she’d been drinking. ‘Glad you’re here, now,’ I said, catching her arm in mine. ‘Let’s do some work on your number.’ I turned to the rest of the group. ‘Okay, we need to focus on Lulu’s solo now. You can stick around if you want or you can go. But if you stay – keep quiet.’
Bob seemed to be reading his score, while actually looking at us over the top of his glasses. Lulu was trying hard to appear sober. Loose-limbed, she hurled herself into the number. Across the room, a few too man
y people were loitering in the hope of catching some juicy scene of soap opera magnitude. I let her complete the number and listened to the others whoop and clap their appreciation. We ran through it a couple of times, but her performance became looser and sloppier. Finally, I packed the rest of the cast off and sat her down. ‘Lulu, how much have you drunk, tonight?’
‘What?’ she shrieked. ‘Nothing! Honest to God. Nothing. I missed my bus, that’s all.’ Her eyes had turned a malevolent shade of magenta and hazel – and were only inches from my face. Her breath told a different story. ‘Fuckinell! What are you – the fuckin’ vice squad?’
And with that, she snatched up her handbag and stormed out.
Bob shrugged. ‘These girls today, eh?’ he said, retreating behind his notes. ‘You’re doing such a good job with them, Millie.’
‘Am I mad to keep her in?’
‘What’s the alternative?’ he said. ‘In any case, it’s probably just a one off. She’s got a great voice, you know.’ He came over and put a fatherly arm round my shoulders. ‘This could be the making of her, Millie. And we’ve given her the chance.’
He was right. Lulu was a rough diamond. Maybe Hamlets could make her shine. I leaned into him. ‘Thanks, Bob. Let’s hope so, eh?’
When I arrived at Mum’s, ten minutes later, she was serving mashed potato onto a plate already laden with beef casserole, all of it for me. ‘Ah, Millie, I was just wondering what you’re taking to Trina’s on Sunday? I liked that couscous and mint salad you made last time.’
Yikes. I’d completely forgotten. Trina and Elliot were celebrating their tenth wedding anniversary. ‘Probably,’ I said, nonchalantly. ‘How about you?’
I didn’t listen to her reply. I was too busy thinking about the logistics of getting to Trina’s, down on the south coast, after a rampant first night with Lex. Always assuming Lex was planning a torrid, no-holds-barred tussle between the sheets, in the shower and...actually, that got me thinking. If I was serious about finding Mr Right, should I be considering instant gratification? Might it be more prudent to keep him at arms’ length for a while? Nice girls didn’t, at least not too soon.
‘Millie.’ My mother’s head was tilted to one side. ‘You’ve not heard a word I’ve said, have you?’
‘Er…lasagne, was it?’
She pursed her mouth and lifted my plate. ‘Were you dreaming? Is it about this new man in your life? The good Lord knows, ever since you dropped that hint last week, I’ve been praying you’ve found the right one, this time.’ She walked through to the lounge-diner and put my plate on the table. ‘Now…are you going to tell me who it is?’ She sat down, resting her hands in front of her, fingers interlocked and the thumbs rotating frantically round each other like the ball pendulum of an antique clock.
I’d managed to keep Lex out of the conversation on our last two calls by saying I’d tell her more when I felt certain something might happen…I didn’t want to jinx it. I sat down. ‘It’s nobody you know.’
‘At least tell me his name and what he does for a living.’
I drew a deep breath and gathered potato, meat and peas onto my fork. ‘His name’s Alexander – though everyone calls him Lex – and he’s a wine-merchant.’
For a moment, I thought I’d stunned her into silence, so rare was it for me to name any potential suitor. Eventually, she said, ‘A wine merchant. What does that mean?’
I explained.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘It certainly sounds impressive.’
Blimey. Would the woman never be satisfied?
‘Is he local? He doesn’t live in France, does he?’ She was worried about seeing her future grandchildren; repeating the fears of her own mother when Mum had abandoned her Spanish family for Dad.
‘He lives at Marshalhampton House. It’s practically a stately home.’
She raised her eyebrows and nodded. ‘Is he Catholic?’
I sighed. She totally believed her prayers were answered when both Trina and Tony married within the faith. No matter that Elliot was a closet atheist whose parents had divorced when he was ten, or that Tony’s wife, Emma, hadn’t been to Mass since her confirmation. Mum would have the full set, so long as I copped off with a left-footer.
‘I doubt it,’ I said with some satisfaction. ‘Their estate owns St Saviour’s Church and that, Mother, is C of E.’
Chapter 12
When I’d asked Lex about dress code for the party he’d said, ‘Oh, a cocktail dress will be fine,’ like I had several to choose from. It was the summer sale season, so I shot into town and bagged a strappy, emerald green number with built-in bustier, which squeezed me into a shape I couldn’t possibly achieve on my own. It even made my apologetic little boobs look plump-a-licious.
Sacha insisted on doing something dramatic with my hair, back-combing and lacquering it, before wrapping it into a beehive. I hated it and pulled it out immediately, swearing at the stiff display jutting from my scalp. With a little more eye make-up, I’d have been a dead-ringer for Edward Scissorhands. There were only ten minutes till Lex arrived, so I had to surrender to another beehive – only this time, fewer bees.
Lex was twenty minutes late but made up for it by handing me a bouquet of apricot and cream roses. ‘Sorry,’ he said, swooping down to kiss my cheek. ‘The florist was just closing and I had to wait while they made these up for you.’ He stepped back to study me. ‘You look absolutely gorgeous.’ I could see his mind trying to work out the mechanics of removing my dress.
Sacha took the flowers from me. ‘I’ll put these in a vase – you two get going,’ she said, beaming her prettiest smile at Lex and cranking it up to ‘impressed’ for me. Lex was wearing an open-neck black shirt under a light grey suit, which accentuated his rugged, dark looks and his broad shoulders.
‘How’s the hand?’ he asked, moving forward and masterfully lifting the injured limb to check.
‘It’s fine, getting better.’ The butterfly stitches had started to look grubby, so I’d peeled them off and stuck a big, fat, clean plaster over the whole thing. The wound probably needed to breathe but I didn’t want to turn people’s stomachs with the sight of my livid scar.
He bent over and dropped a gentle kiss on the plaster; his breath wafting across my fingers, sending a shiver through me. ‘I’ll do everything I can to take your mind off it,’ he said, giving me that sensational, I-know-exactly-what-you-need look that had my legs quivering.
As he led me to the car, his hand hovering at the small of my back, I could feel my chest swelling with pride…or maybe it was the bustier straining over my rib-cage. If my mother could see me now, I thought. As I sat in the leather passenger seat of his shiny red sports car, I liked to think Dad probably could, and it made my eyes tingle.
The party took up the whole restaurant. The walls were painted in shades of taupe and oyster, with tiny steel light fittings peppering their surface. The tables were polished black marble and there was a huge, marble and steel water feature in the corner. There were ninety-six people there – I counted – for a divorce party. Our host, Dominic, was one of Lex’s old Uni friends.
I’ve been to plenty of smart ‘dos’ in my time, black tie and all that, but usually as part of my job. I’d never mixed socially with wall-to-wall upper-crust. But Lex was treating me like a princess, so what was I worried about? Well, in a nutshell: my hair; my bustier which was beginning to feel like an instrument of torture; whether or not it would be obvious to everyone that I’d been to Tatton Hill Comprehensive School and whether Lex was really keen on me or just being the perfect date. I was a bundle of neuroses, cinched into an emerald green cocktail dress. But the champagne had a gentle, sherbety fizz, which was thoroughly scrummy so I drained the glass when I saw the waiter approaching with a top-up.
We were seated with two couples from Lex’s university; the wives were absolutely stunning. Thank goodness I’d bought a new dress and not settled for some tired old number from my wardrobe. My name card said Lex Marshal + 1, which I though
t a tad impersonal but at least it didn’t have some other woman’s name scrubbed out. It also suggested he didn’t have a significant other. Next to me was Serena French +1, which made me feel slightly less paranoid.
Lex introduced me to the others, placing his hand between my shoulder-blades as he did so – his warm, dry fingers sending a charge of electricity straight down my spine and beyond. I was so distracted, I couldn’t for the life of me commit their names to memory and resolved to nip round the table later to read their name cards – assuming they weren’t down as plus ones as well.
One of the wives smiled guardedly at me and wanted to know how we’d met. Lex cut in with, ‘She was taking erotic pictures of my mother.’
To which her husband said, ‘Fantastic. Good old Vonnie. What a sport.’
The others laughed. ‘What do you do, Millie…is that short for Millicent?’ the wife asked, fixing her narrow eyes on me.
I smiled back. ‘Short for Camilla. I’m in marketing. And you?’
‘I help Ashley with his business,’ she said, squeezing her husband’s hand.
‘Yes, largely by keeping out of it.’ Ashley chortled, squeezing her hand too, and planting a kiss on her cheek. She smiled, but I sensed it was through gritted teeth.
‘Who are we waiting for?’ asked the other wife who was so heavily pregnant, I anticipated wet feet before the night was over.
Her husband answered. ‘One of Dominic’s old flames – Serena.’
‘No!’ exclaimed Ashley. ‘Haven’t seen her since we were at Uni. Who did she marry?’
Lex shook his head, ‘Not sure she did, unless she’s kept her maiden name. Still down as Serena French on the seating plan.’
‘Maybe Dominic’s hoping to reignite the old flame, then. Wouldn’t blame him. She was an absolute peach. Wonder what she’s doing now?’ he said, causing his wife to reach for her wine glass.
‘You can ask her yourself,’ Lex answered. ‘She’s just arrived.’
I looked across to see a ravishing red-head, in a khaki coloured silk sheath that started on her perfect, hemispherical bosoms and ended above her perfect, knobble-free knees. The only jewellery she wore was a massive, white cuff-watch. Her long, slippery hair was draped over one shoulder and when she smiled, her mouth formed a wide, friendly crescent of pretty teeth. She was spell-binding – even I could feel myself falling for her. It was the eyes, definitely the eyes – so fresh and vivid and clear.