by Jill Mansell
That was the moment it happened.
Catching his breath as the idea came hurtling up at him, Barney stopped and gazed out of the window at the cedar trees, the sweeping lawns, the rush-fringed river, and the rolling hills, now wreathed in mist. Then he looked across at Daisy, busy scribbling something on her calendar. Across the hallway drifted the sounds of a piano being played with rather more enthusiasm than finesse, and twenty or so inebriated writers, led by Hector MacLean, raucously bawling along to ‘We’ll Meet Again.’
‘Problem?’ said Daisy. ‘Want me to show you how it works?’
Barney took a deep breath. Here goes.
‘This, um, job. It doesn’t say anything here about qualifications.’
Daisy grinned. ‘It’s for a porter, not a brain surgeon.’
‘The thing is, how would you feel if… I mean, I know this might seem a bit weird,’ Barney stammered, ‘but, well, what I’m getting at is, would you consider me if I applied for the job?’ He heard himself blurt the words out in a rush. OK, not the smoothest interview technique in the world, but up until twenty seconds ago none of this had even occurred to him. It was the ultimate spur-of-the-moment decision.
Daisy was looking pretty startled too. ‘What? You mean you want to be a porter? But you work for the Civil Service!’
Barney was touched that she made him sound so important, like the head of NATO or something, rather than the lowly pen-pusher he actually was.
‘Look, I don’t want to sound creepy, like some weirdo or something. I know I came here to meet you today because of… you know, what happened to Steven. But that’s not why I want the job, I swear.’
‘Well, good,’ said Daisy. ‘Because you’re right, that would definitely give me the creeps.’
Barney shook his head vigorously. ‘The thing is, the moment I got out of the taxi this morning, I just thought what a fantastic place this was. The village is… amazing. And the people were so friendly! Then I met you and you showed me over the hotel and it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Where I live, it’s… well, pretty rough, to be honest. Lots of drug addicts, violence, flats getting broken into, people getting mugged. It’s scary, you don’t ever really relax. Unless you’ve lived there, you can’t imagine what it’s like. It’s the opposite of here. I mean, look at this.’ Turning, he gestured out of the window. ‘Imagine waking up in the morning and seeing this view, instead of boarded-up shops and burnt-out cars and people dealing hard drugs on the street. Living here would be—God, it would be like a dream.’
Daisy’s gaze had dropped to the sheet of paper he was still holding. Barney realized that his hands were trembling with excitement.
‘What about your job?’
‘I hate my job.’ He said it with a passion. ‘I do, I can’t stand it! I loathe being stuck in an office where you can’t even open the windows. It’s like being back in the hospital, it drives me mad. I’d much rather be a porter, I know I would!’
‘You’d be a long way from home.’ Daisy was concerned. ‘And there’s your family to consider. How would your mum feel about you moving away?’
‘She knows I hate my job. Mum just wants me to be happy,’ Barney said eagerly. ‘She’d be pleased. If she could see this place, she’d love it as much as I do!’
‘This portering business,’ Daisy warned. ‘It doesn’t pay much.’
‘I don’t care!’
‘It’s shift work. Days and nights.’
‘No problem!’
‘Do you know what hotel porters actually do?’
Uh… no. Not a clue.
‘Carry cases?’ Barney hazarded. ‘I can carry cases,’ he added proudly, in case she thought he was some kind of invalid. ‘I’m really strong.’
‘Carry cases,’ Daisy agreed. ‘Clean people’s shoes. And deliver their papers. Basically, you’d be a gofer. Anything the customer asks for, you sort it out. If they want a prostitute at three o’clock in the morning, you arrange it for them.’
Blimey. Barney’s eyes widened.
‘I’m joking,’ said Daisy.
‘Oh. Right.’
‘And the staff quarters are pretty basic. You wouldn’t be living in a suite like the ones I showed you upstairs.’
‘I know that,’ Barney said patiently. ‘I’m not stupid.’
Daisy smiled. ‘Of course you aren’t. May I?’ She held out her hand for the sheet of paper. Barney passed it over, expecting her to rip it up and say cheerfully, ‘Well then, looks like we won’t be needing this after all!’
He watched in horror as she promptly fed it into the fax machine.
‘Oh, but—’
‘No, I’m not going to say yes now.’ Daisy was firm. ‘You have to go home and think about this. Sleep on it. The advert’s going into the paper this weekend because we need a porter and you might change your mind. Talk it over with your family. Think of the friends you’d be leaving behind. Give me a ring on Friday and let me know what you decide. If you want the job, it’s yours. If you don’t want the job, we’ll find someone else. Now, would you like to have a look at the staff quarters before you go?’
‘No.’ Barney shook his head. ‘Because I’ve already decided, and it doesn’t matter what the staff quarters are like. You could show me a wooden rabbit hutch in the back garden and I’d still say yes.’
He meant it; he’d never been so sure of anything in his life.
For a mad moment he thought of asking Daisy if she knew the name of the girl he had met in the village, the one with the straight dark hair and the startlingly blond, blue-eyed baby. Daisy would be bound to know her, wouldn’t she? Plus, she’d be able to tell him whether the girl was as single as her ringless hands had seemed to suggest…
No, no, no, he couldn’t ask that. What would Daisy think, that he was actually some kind of creepy stalker-type after all? That he only had to be in a new place for five minutes before getting fixated on some innocent young mother?
Barney inwardly shuddered with relief. God, thank goodness he hadn’t actually said it; she’d think he was a complete saddo.
‘Go home and have a chat about it with your family,’ Daisy repeated. ‘Give me a ring on Friday.’
‘OK.’ Barney grinned at her. ‘You’re the boss.’
***
Shortly before nine o’clock that evening, Daisy and Tara arrived at the Clifton Wine Bar in Bristol. Tara couldn’t wait to hand out her phone number to heaps of men then snub them when they rang her up. She’d been looking forward to it all day.
‘So what’s this Barney fellow like?’ she asked Daisy, once they’d been served at the bar.
‘Sweet, young, and very innocent.’ Daisy gave her a don’t-get-your-hopes-up look. ‘You’d scare the living daylights out of him.’
‘I don’t know why.’ Tara was fretful, clutching her drink. ‘I mean, it’s not as if I’m a scary person.’
A group of lads three feet away, having overheard her, promptly threw up their hands in terror and in unison screamed, ‘Aaarrgh!’
‘Oh ha ha, very droll. But tell me honestly,’ Tara pleaded, turning to them, ‘how could anyone look at me and find me frightening?’
The tallest of the boys stepped back and pretended to assess her from head to toe.
‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously.’
‘OK. The makeup, the chest, and the jacket.’ He paused. ‘Especially that jacket.’
‘But it’s new!’ cried Tara, plucking in distress at the fitted, faded denim with the embroidered collar and satin-trimmed facings.
‘It’s naff,’ the boy kindly informed her.
‘Oh no, it definitely can’t be naff. Nigella Lawson wears embroidered denim jackets and she’s a goddess. That’s why I bought this one,’ Tara earnestly explained. ‘So I could look like Nigella.’
‘But you don�
�t.’ Struggling to be honest, the boy surveyed her short, white-blonde hair, top-heavy curves, skin-tight jeans, and pointy-toed boots. ‘You look like Dolly Parton with her wig off.’
Daisy felt sorry for Tara. OK, so tonight’s outfit wasn’t helping, but it didn’t seem to matter what Tara wore, she always managed to look faintly… wanton. Even in her chambermaid’s uniform she exuded an air of availability. This was probably why her love life was so disastrous; any man meeting her for the first time automatically assumed that she was a saucy good-time girl up for a bit of fun.
‘Oh, cheer up.’ The boy gave Tara a reassuring nudge. ‘At least you aren’t ugly. Tell you what,’ he added generously, ‘I’ve got to go now, but why don’t I take you out for a drink some other night?’
This was another thing Tara had come to notice over the years.
If men were genuinely interested in a girl, they invited her out for dinner. In her case it was almost always a drink.
Still, what the hell, she didn’t fancy him either. Him or any of his smirking mates.
‘Sounds great. Give me a ring.’ Pleased with herself, she scribbled her name and number on the back of a beer coaster.
‘I’ll call you tomorrow,’ said the boy. ‘My name’s Jerry, by the way.’
By eleven thirty, thanks to some pretty intensive flirting, Tara had managed to give her real number out to four more men as well as the joke number to a total nerd. As they made their way back to Daisy’s car she did a little twirl of satisfaction on the pavement, narrowly missing a lamppost.
‘Now that’s what I call a decent night’s work. Five men are going to ring me tomorrow and I’m going to tell each and every one of them to get stuffed. God, I can’t wait.’
‘They might not all ring,’ Daisy warned.
‘Oh, stop it, you’re just jealous, you can’t stand it that I’m irresistible and you’re not. I really, really enjoyed myself tonight!’ This time Tara spotted the lamppost in the nick of time, grabbed hold of it, and swung herself round it like Gene Kelly. ‘Ha, and I’m going to enjoy myself even more when those phone calls start rolling in.’
Daisy wished she had six glasses of wine sloshing around inside her like Tara instead of a gallon of Coke.
‘Isn’t it about time you learned to drive? I thought Maggie was going to teach you.’
‘Excuse me, have you seen the way that woman drives? No thanks.’ Tara hiccupped and shook her head vigorously. ‘Get her behind a wheel and she turns into Jenson Button. It’s terrifying. She’d just be yelling at me to go faster all the time. Anyway, don’t change the subject. I’ve had a brilliant time tonight, tomorrow’s my day off and I’m going to dump loads of men. Well, at least three.’
***
Tara woke up at ten o’clock the next morning, feeling all-powerful and extraordinarily good about herself. When she looked in the bathroom mirror she saw an attractive, desirable person. Her stars in the Daily Mail informed her that today was the day to initiate change and prove to the world that she wasn’t a pushover.
Which was all excellent news. Tara could hardly wait to get started.
The trouble was, the phone didn’t ring. Not even once.
Chapter 12
His name was Otto, but that wasn’t his fault. He was six years old and he was sobbing so hard he could barely speak.
The same, sadly, couldn’t be said of his mother, who was showing no signs of running out of breath.
New Yorkers. Couldn’t you just gag them? That shrill nasal whine like a dentist’s drill was reverberating right through Daisy’s head.
‘Mrs Wilder, I know Otto’s upset, I can see he is, but I promise you I can’t dial nine-nine-nine. The fire brigade only rescues people or animals. They really wouldn’t like it if we called them out to rescue a plastic airplane from a tree.’
‘But he’s cryin’ here! Look at his little faaace,’ shrieked Mrs Wilder as Otto’s sobs doubled in volume. ‘And it’s not like it’s some kinda cheap plastic airplane. This cost a lotta money, we got it in Harrods, let me tell you. Jeez, Otto baby, willya give it a rest? You’re gonna burst Mommie’s eardrums with all that racket.’
It was certainly a bit much at nine thirty in the morning.
‘I’m really sorry, but we still can’t call out the fire brigade,’ Daisy repeated patiently.
‘But I’d pay ’em!’ Mrs Wilder wrenched open her bag and flipped open a wallet bristling with credit cards. ‘They’d come then, wouldn’t they? If I gave ’em, say, two hundred of your English pounds?’
‘P-p-p-please,’ sobbed Otto, huge tears rolling down his pale freckled face.
Daisy’s heart melted. Mrs Wilder might be a nightmare but Otto was actually a sweet little lad, cheerful as a rule, and far nicer than you’d expect. Yesterday he had shyly confided in Daisy that his favorite film was The Sound of Music.
‘Come on,’ Daisy said, with an inwardly sinking heart. ‘Let’s go and have a look. Why don’t you show me where it is?’
Otto, his eyes lighting up with hope, slipped his small hand trustingly into Daisy’s.
‘You’ll be able to help me, won’t you?’ His lower lip trembled as he blinked up at her from behind his round, Harry Potter spectacles. ‘You’ll get my airplane back.’
***
The cedar tree out on the front lawn was sixty or seventy feet high. Bert and Kelvin, the hotel’s handymen, had propped an aluminum ladder against one of the lower branches. Otto’s red and white airplane was lodged thirty or so feet above the top rung of the ladder.
‘We gave it our best shot, love.’ Bert shook his head apologetically at Daisy. He would address the Queen as love if she rolled up in her royal carriage. ‘Kelvin got up as far as the third branch, but then ’e lost ’is nerve.’
‘It’s dead slippery up there.’ Kelvin’s tone was defensive. ‘Joe and Barry had a go after me, but they couldn’t do it neither. We’ve tried everything now.’
Otto’s face crumpled once more. He was still hanging on tightly to Daisy’s hand.
‘OK, OK.’ Daisy realized she had to at least try. As a child she’d always been brilliant at climbing trees. ‘Ssh, don’t cry, sweetheart. Bert, lend us your coveralls. I’ll give it a go.’
‘Wow-ee,’ Otto screamed delightedly, jumping up and down. ‘You’ll be like Wonder Woman!’
Well, maybe.
Three minutes later, feeling absolutely nothing like Wonder Woman, Daisy began to scale the lower branches of the tree. She was wearing Bert’s poo-colored coveralls over her cream leather trousers and burgundy cashmere sweater. Her feet were bare, for better grip. And every time she moved, droplets of water showered down from the leaves above. Which was unexpected, seeing as it hadn’t rained for over a week.
‘Why’s it so wet up here?’ Daisy called down to the small gathering below.
‘Kelvin’s idea,’ Bert bellowed back. ‘He tried to dislodge the plane wiv an ’igh pressure ’ose.’
Oh, fantastic, Kelvin. Top marks. Daisy blinked as yet another avalanche of water splattered her face. Her feet were icy and her hair was dripping, but she was making progress. As she strained to reach the next branch, a car roared up the drive and swung round into the car park.
‘Nearly there, nearly there,’ screamed Otto, delirious with excitement.
Daisy’s heart lurched into her mouth as she momentarily lost her balance. She grabbed the branch above her head and clung on for dear life, steadying herself before taking a deep breath and searching for the next secure foothold. The brightly painted plane was just a few feet out of reach, she couldn’t give up now. Blimey, it was a long way down.
An incredulous voice, drifting up from below, said, ‘Rescuing a what? A toy plane? What kind of idiot would climb a tree that size to rescue a toy?’
Daisy paused to hear Otto, her hero, reply with passion, ‘She isn’t an idiot, don’t
call her that! She’s Wonder Woman.’
Gazing down in disbelief, Daisy saw Dev Tyzack peering up at her.
‘Daisy, you must be mad.’ He had his hands on his hips and his expression was serious. ‘Come on now, that’s enough. Just get yourself down in one piece.’
Was that his don’t-mess-with-me, I’m-the-boss voice? The one he used when he was ordering other people around? Daisy couldn’t resist giving the branch she was currently clinging to a quick shake, hoping to catch him before he dodged out of the way.
Damn, he was quick.
‘Daisy! This is dangerous,’ Dev warned.
‘Nearly there,’ she sang back, more determined than ever not to give up now. Curling her toes against the rough bark, she climbed higher and higher. At last the airplane was within reach.
‘Hooray!’ screamed Otto, clapping his hands. ‘Don’t break it!’
Daisy tugged the plane free from the v-shaped branch in which it had become wedged and sent it sailing down to earth.
Dev Tyzack. Of all the times to bump into him again. It was just typical.
Climbing back down was harder than getting up the tree. Feeling ungainly and less than alluring in her poo-colored coveralls, Daisy wished they’d all go away and leave her to it, instead of gathering around like some enthralled circus audience, watching her bottom getting bigger and bigger as it approached them.
Finally reaching the ladder, she looked down and saw that Dev was holding it steady.
‘Let go,’ she told him crossly. ‘I can manage.’
‘You’ve got this far, Wonder Woman,’ he drawled back. ‘No point breaking your legs at the last minute.’
Daisy’s feet were by this time so numb with cold she could barely feel them. Water from the leaves had drenched her hair and was running into her eyes. If Dev Tyzack put his hands on her hips in order to guide her down the last few rungs, she would know he was one of those overfamiliar, touchy-feely men and be forced to accidentally kick him in the ging-gangs.
He didn’t. Realizing that she had been holding her breath waiting for him to make physical contact, Daisy reluctantly conceded the point.