‘What do you mean, a vast improvement?’ she demanded, as Fanny went on puffing like a steam engine and blowing out more smoke rings into the summer sky.
‘What do you think I mean?’
‘I couldn’t begin to guess,’ said Cat. ‘You shouldn’t smoke,’ she added. ‘It’s very bad for you.’
‘It’s my little sin,’ said Fanny, sighing. Then she grinned suggestively. ‘If I had to choose between them, it would be no contest. I can’t say I took to Jack at all. But this one – he’s delicious. I can’t imagine any woman saying no to him.’
‘Fanny, what exactly are you playing at?’
‘I don’t play at anything, my angel. I do everything for real. I’m sure you must have noticed?’ Fanny tapped Cat’s forearm with one crimson-taloned finger. ‘Darling, about Lulu’s lovely frock—’
‘The frock is fine, don’t worry. It’s hanging in the wardrobe in my room.’
‘I was going to say, before I was so rudely interrupted – really, you young people, you have such appalling manners, your mothers can’t have taken any care of you at all – you looked very nice in it last night. So nice, in fact, that darling Lulu got eleven orders for that particular model, and she’s so delighted she says you may keep the one you wore as your commission on the sales.’
‘But Lulu’s frocks are worth—’
‘A cool two or three thousand, maybe more. You mustn’t wear it when you go to get your groceries. You’ll snag it on a trolley.’ Fanny smiled her vixen’s smile. ‘You didn’t do much magnolia-slapping, did you?’
‘I haven’t forgotten, Fanny,’ Cat said sharply. ‘I’ll come back next weekend.’
‘Excellent,’ said Fanny. ‘You could bring Adam, too. Oh look, here he comes. But what’s the matter, darling? You were flirting very happily with the pretty ladies around the kitchen table just a minute or two ago. But now you look quite grim.’
‘I lost him a job,’ said Cat.
‘What happened?’ Fanny asked him, widening her eyes.
‘I had a disagreement with a client who seemed to think he owned me.’
‘Oh dear, we can’t have that,’ said Fanny, smirking. ‘Goodness gracious me, fancy anybody having the enormous cheek to think they might own Mr Adam Lawley! So he’s not your client any more?’
‘No, he’s not,’ said Adam.
‘Where was this client based?’ asked Fanny.
‘Scotland,’ Cat replied.
‘You mean the man in Aberdeen?’
‘Yes,’ said Cat and wondered if Fanny Gregory knew everything.
‘Oh, don’t go and work in Scotland, darling.’ Fanny shuddered. ‘It’s a ghastly place. I went there once, when I was married to a millionaire. It was full of midges, drunks and stags.’
Adam and Tess and Cat went back to London, leaving Fanny on the phone, Caspar trying to extract a rabbit from its burrow by the boundary fence, and Rosie in the kitchen, supervising several cheerful ladies who’d turned up with vacuum cleaners, buckets, mops and dusters in a yellow minibus.
Tess drove back in the Peugeot, taking all the leftovers and the better-looking of the sound men, with whom Cat guessed Tess must have spent the night. He’d been in the garden smoking even more than Fanny, and looking worse for wear.
The other was left to follow in their van.
Cat had been so embarrassed when Tess had begged the tiny cakes and canapés and dinky little scones, even though this meant that Tess and Cat and Barry would have luxury coffee breaks the whole of the next week.
‘But why shouldn’t I have asked?’ said Tess. ‘She’s never going to eat all this herself. She’ll only chuck it in the bin. Anyway, my honey pie, as Fanny said herself – ask, and it shall be given.’
Cat could see that Tess had been bewitched. On Monday, it would be all Fanny this and Fanny that and when could they go back to Surrey? When could they start painting? They must get Bex to come along, as well.
Cat hoped Tess would not start all this angeling and darlinging and sweeting business, too.
Cat and Adam followed in the Volvo.
‘I’m sorry about Scotland,’ Cat told Adam.
‘Oh, don’t worry, Cat. It’s like I told you – I didn’t want that job in any case.’
‘You did,’ said Cat. ‘You were going to earn a lot of money and invest it in your business.’
‘There’ll be other jobs. Tell me about this loan shark,’ prompted Adam, as they turned out of the drive.
‘What loan shark?’
‘I mean whoever’s chasing you for money.’
‘Oh, it’s not a loan shark.’
‘It’s a money-lender, then?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it now,’ said Cat.
Then she walked the fingers of one hand down Adam’s shoulder, down his arm, on to his lap and down his leg. ‘Sorry,’ she added, well aware that she was sounding anything but sorry. ‘I know I shouldn’t distract you when you’re driving.’
‘No, you shouldn’t,’ Adam said as he pulled off the road. ‘What am I going to do with you?’ he asked, then answered his own question at some length and very thoroughly.
‘What’s in that letter on the dashboard, Adam?’ Cat asked half an hour later, pointing to a thick, cream envelope which had a shield or crest upon its flap.
‘A cheque, drawn on some bank I’ve never come across before. At first, I thought it was a joke. But when I googled Mason Armstrong, I found it did exist. It’s a private bank, apparently.’
‘I didn’t know there were such things.’
‘You have to be quite rich to be a customer, or whatever they call you in these places – a client, an investor?’
‘So who’s the millionaire?’
‘You remember that old guy whose tyre I changed when we were on our way to Wolverhampton?’
‘Oh, him – yes, I do.’ Cat felt her colour rise. It had been the day the git came back and she’d run out on Adam. What a fool. ‘Did he send you what he owed you, then?’
‘Yes, and a bit more.’ Adam passed Cat the letter which accompanied the cheque.
My dear Mr Lawley
Do please forgive me for taking such a dreadfully long time to write to you. I have been unwell and have only recently recovered.
I am very embarrassed to have kept you waiting for repayment. But I now enclose a cheque to cover both the cost of taking Boudicca back to my house and to make some little recompense for the inconvenience caused to your good self and to the extremely kind young lady who was travelling with you.
I see from your card you are a freelance project manager, specialising in restoring English country houses. If you might like to do some work on mine, I would be very happy to discuss it.
But I understand you will be busy so I shall not importune you further. I shall wait for you to get in touch with me, which in due course I hope you will.
My most sincere regards and grateful thanks
Daniel Askew Moreley
Cat gave the letter back. ‘He’s sent you – what is it – another two, three hundred pounds?’
‘Yes, give or take a couple of quid.’
‘But Adam, he was poor!’ cried Cat. ‘He wore those awful clothes and drove that horrible old wreck.’
‘It was a rather beautiful old wreck, as I recall. It must have been quite something when he had it first.’
‘Well, he couldn’t afford to be in the AA or RAC.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I suppose I don’t exactly know. I just assumed. Why are you grinning, Adam?’
‘Mr Moreley’s actually the fourteenth Baron Moreley. I looked him up on Google. I looked his house up, too.’ Adam got out his phone, tapped a few keys, brought up an image. ‘Just take a look at this.’
>
‘My goodness, Adam, that’s fantastic! It’s Tudor, isn’t it?’
‘Possibly late Tudor, more likely Jacobean.’
‘It’s just your sort of thing,’ said Cat.
‘It might be, yes.’
‘What do you mean, it might be?’
‘It will depend what he wants doing.’
‘But you’ll go and see him?’
‘I think so. You’ll come, too?’
‘Of course I will – and don’t forget, if this guy’s made of money, we want your hankies back.’
‘We do indeed,’ said Adam. ‘Cotton’s quite expensive nowadays. Cat, I’ve been thinking …’
‘What?’
‘Do you—would you like—I need a partner. I mean in the business. I need someone to organise me, tell me where I need to be, stop me taking on too much and double-booking all the time. You’re a brilliant organiser.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘Yes I do, and so does Barry Chapman, he told me so himself.’
‘I see,’ said Cat. ‘When would all this happen?’
‘As soon as you could leave your job with Barry and come to work with me.’
‘I couldn’t just leave Barry in the lurch. He’d need to find another office manager, someone who could do the books and organise the place and knows about the salvage business, too. I’d have to train the newbie up. It would take two, three months.’
‘But you’ll think about it, will you?’
‘Yes,’ said Cat, and smiled a feline smile. ‘You did say partner, didn’t you? I’m not going to be your typist, secretary, glorified PA.’
‘Of course you’ll be my partner, but there’s one condition.’
‘What?’
‘You have to make the coffee. I’ve never got the hang of making coffee and you do it very well indeed.’ Adam turned the key in the ignition. ‘Let’s get going, shall we, and talk about it while we’re on the road?’
‘You did what?’ demanded Bex, when Cat and Tess called round on Sunday evening to ask about her date with Mr Tesco and the tenpin bowling. ‘You met Lulu Minto? You wore her frocks?’
‘Yes,’ said Tess, and smirked complacently. ‘They were new designs as well. They’re not yet in the shops. Maybe they won’t ever be in shops. They’ll be made to order for selected clients like A-listers and royalty. You haven’t lived, you know, until you’ve worn a Lulu Minto dress. The cut, the quality, the finish—’
‘Do you have any photographic evidence?’ asked Bex.
‘We didn’t have time to mess around with photographic evidence,’ said Tess. ‘But there was some guy taking snaps, so we might eventually turn up in Hello. Oh, and Cat was given a Lulu Minto sample, weren’t you, Cat?’
‘I was indeed.’
‘She’s going to let us borrow it.’
‘I’m not!’
‘Of course you will,’ said Tess. ‘We’re your best friends.’
‘I thought you were going decorating,’ Bex said, looking sick.
‘We did, too,’ said Cat.
‘If I’d known you were going to a party—’
‘Didn’t Mr Tesco live up to expectations, then?’
‘No,’ said Bex and scowled. ‘He was an hour late. He expected me to pay for him. He said he’d lost his wallet on the train. But he didn’t seem very fussed about it. I’m sure it was a lie.’ Bex looked mournfully at Cat and Tess. ‘So you two scored?’
‘We did.’
‘What were they like?’
‘They’re meeting us in a pub at eight o’clock, so come and see,’ invited Cat. ‘Mine’s the guy I met at Barry’s yard.’
‘Mine’s a freelance sound man and he has a mate,’ said Tess.
‘So there’s a spare for you.’
‘You mean a reject, don’t you?’ muttered Bex. ‘He’ll be some mutant who has personal hygiene issues and psoriasis?’
‘Bex, he’s very nice,’ insisted Cat. ‘No scales, no fins, no horns, no tail, own teeth, nice eyes, own hair.’
‘I bet he’s short and fat.’
‘He’s a little on the chunky side,’ admitted Tess.
‘But he has a gorgeous smile and he looks as if he’s got a lovely sense of humour,’ added Cat. ‘Please come and meet them, Bex – they’re dying to meet you.’
‘Listen, Bexy – you can come and help us paint the next time,’ Tess continued generously.
Monday, 4 July
on the phone to Cat at daybreak.
‘I was about to call you,’ Cat said as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. ‘I was going to ring and thank you for a lovely party.’
‘Yes, my party,’ Fanny drawled. ‘It was a huge success. My phone’s red hot. My client list is growing by the hour. I’m going to let my barn out to a film production company. You wouldn’t believe how much these guys will pay for beautiful locations so convenient for London. But anyway, my sweet, I have to see you now, if not before. We need to talk.’
‘Fanny, I can’t drop everything and come into your office, you know that. I have to go to work.’
‘Oh yes, your work,’ said Fanny, sighing. ‘As if I could forget about your work and what a lot it means to you. Well, I’ll be here all day, my love, and probably half the night. Call in after work, why don’t you? We can get a takeaway or something and have a little natter. We can have a cosy, girly chat.’
‘Yes, okay,’ said Cat resignedly. A cosy, girly chat, she thought – as if. She really didn’t want to talk to Fanny. But she knew she must. She had to get this business sorted, find out what she owed this bloody woman, start to pay her off at twenty, thirty quid a week.
She turned to look at Adam who was still fast asleep. She wondered if she ought to tell him what was going on?
Or should she keep it to herself?
She wished she knew.
‘But why are you so keen to represent him?’ Cat demanded as they ate their sushi from little lacquered bento boxes, and as Fanny explained to Cat how she was going make quite sure Jack’s contract was completely watertight. In this business, it was so important everyone knew where they stood. ‘You don’t even like him.’
‘Do I have to like him?’ Fanny offered Caspar a little piece of California roll which he accepted graciously. She shrugged her shoulders and her cantilevered bosom rose in all its splendid majesty. ‘Sweetheart, I know literary agents who have gangsters, paedophiles and murderers on their lists. People they wouldn’t dream of taking home or even taking out to lunch but who can help them rake it in. I don’t want to be Jack’s friend, my darling. I’m just going to make him work for me.’
‘Jack’s not keen on work.’
‘He’s keen on money and on being a celebrity.’ Fanny grinned. ‘My princess, as our Jackie-boy gets richer, so shall I.’
‘But Fanny, he’s – well, I don’t like to ask, but does he have the talent to succeed?’
‘You don’t need talent these days, only looks,’ said Fanny as she hoovered up a slice of tuna. ‘So it’s just as well he has the looks. Anyway, my love – I took him for a drink one evening and I plumbed his shallows. He finally accepted he’s never going to make it as a stand-up. He’s not remotely funny, never has been, never will be – as I’m sure you know.’
‘But he hasn’t had the breaks, and he—’
‘Oh, don’t defend him, angel, he’d never dream of sticking up for you.’ Fanny speared a prawn. ‘He doesn’t have a future as a comic, that’s for sure. But he’s very pretty so I’ll get him work on cable. Jack will be the guy who’s in the wet room as some famous actress soundalike talks up luxury fluffy towels in sixteen vibrant colours.’
‘Oh,’ said Cat.
‘Then he’ll be the grinning hunk who’s clasping the faux gold and man-m
ade-but-you’d-never-know-it emerald collar around the model’s neck. He’s got quite nice hands, so they could hold the limited edition silver tankards, royal wedding souvenirs and cartoon character boxer shorts that come in packs of ten.’
Fanny ate a piece of pickled ginger. ‘He can be the borderline celebrity who is posing naked with a fish – my goodness, how amusing – in all the summer issues of those horrid magazines for girls with dirty minds.’
Cat thought, it gets worse and worse.
‘When it’s Christmas time he’ll still be naked,’ added Fanny. ‘But he’ll have some tinsel round his neck. Or maybe that would not be such a brilliant plan? Someone might decide to tighten it. But they could hang some baubles on him somewhere, couldn’t they? He could be a sex god Christmas tree?’
‘Someone has to do it, I suppose.’
‘Of course they do, my darling.’ Fanny grinned. ‘I told him, once you’re on their lists, my sweet, the people who cast that sort of stuff will find you irresistible.’
‘They will?’
‘They’ll call me first, no question. Soon, the Daily Mail will start to follow him around. He’ll be snapped with models and so-called actresses, falling into clubs and out of taxis. He’ll be in heat and Cosmopolitan wearing just a spray-tan and a smirk.’
‘Omigod,’ choked Cat.
‘I’ll probably be able to get him work in pantomime in Hartlepool or Sheffield. He’d like that, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t have to speak or act, or not much, anyway. My angel, he’ll be famous, and that’s what he’s always wanted, after all.’
‘Poor Jack,’ said Cat. ‘Fan, you’re going to make him look ridiculous.’
‘He’s capable of managing that all by his little self. Just take a look at this.’ Fanny pressed a key and then she turned her laptop round so Cat could see the screen.
Cat stared horrified at what was clearly the beginning of a movie made for lonely adults staying in disreputable hotels.
As the camera roamed around the set, picking out a jumbled mass of miscellaneous clutter including whips and chains, the contents of a sadist supermarket’s bargain basement, Jack’s face appeared in close-up. So did several other parts of him, together with some bits and pieces of two very large and very terrifying women in leopard-print high-heels and nothing else.
The Wedding Diary (Choc Lit) Page 25