by Mandy Baggot
Just a few yards away a delivery driver brought out a large cardboard box from the back of his van and, as he lifted it, a multitude of reindeers spilled out on to the snow. Their noses all started to light up, antlers swaying to the tune of ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ as he began to gather them back up. She shifted on her seat, preparing to help, then stopped. What was the point? In a few months’ time, if Chase had his way, the shop he was stocking, all the shops and bistros, even the old comic swap store in Pembridge Road she adored browsing in, they would all be gone.
She shivered and bit down into the Christmas muffin, letting the berries and cinnamon and thick custardy syrup coat her teeth and her tongue.
She might have thrown the words ‘historic’ and ‘eclectic’ at Chase but she wasn’t an idiot. She knew what would happen if these plans were pushed full force. She had been behind similar projects in the past. Granted, she hadn’t worked on anything that involved demolishing something the size of Notting Hill, but homes had been bought to make way for roads, shopping centres and park-and-ride schemes. So, did her protest now make her some sort of NIMBY? It was okay working on these proposals as long as they didn’t personally affect her? Other places were people’s homes too. She hadn’t gone on some moral rant on those occasions. And she had watched Breekers’ clients pay for planning to be granted under the table as well as above it. Everyone knew it was common practice, just part and parcel of the procedure. Rules were well and truly bent, if not completely broken. And Rod Striker’s methods were as curved as a Uri Geller spoon.
But what was hurting the most? The fact that the business she worked for was going to build the equivalent of Atlantic City in her neighbourhood or the fact that, like it or not, she had fallen for Chase like she hadn’t fallen for anyone in so long … and he had deceived her. That did more than smart, that tore at her. Because, despite him being her boss, she thought she had been getting to know him on a personal level. He was humorous and challenging and unashamedly obnoxious at times … and that had been … well … hot. Except it had all been a front, a game-plan. She shook her head, snowflakes coming off her hood as she took another bite of muffin. Just how long had he thought he was going to be able to keep the location from her? Just how had he expected her to react when it had eventually come to the table for discussion? Or maybe he would have held off until he was back on the other side of the pond? When there would be no need for personal interaction. When she had laid all the groundwork and he had slithered in like the snake he obviously was. But thinking he was a venomous reptile unsettled her for a few reasons. Firstly, she had seen how he was with his children. He loved them so much. He might be fighting with the work/childcare balance but there was no doubt he was a father who cared deeply about his daughters. And secondly, he had given a ceramic frog the kiss of life just because she wanted to see the fountain in her grandmother’s garden working. Who risked frostbite and chapped lips for that? There was nothing to gain from it, and it was a step beyond flattery or intel gathering. He had done it because he had wanted to. To make her happy … and then he had kissed her.
As she closed her eyes the smell of sweet cinnamon and cedar filled her nostrils, combining with the icy air and fresh snow. His mouth had been that perfect mix of passionate and reassuring, almost asking her lips if this was okay and waiting for her response. And it had been okay. It had been more than okay. She had got caught up in that moment more than she had been caught up in any moment like that. It had been a perfect kiss in Notting Hill …
She opened her eyes just as a stall holder encouraged visitors to get a closer look at his sausage and fennel-seed slices and she felt sadder than she’d felt for a long time. If she made a stand it would mean leaving the company and maybe becoming intimate with quinoa and sushi at M&S Food. What would life be like without her job at Breekers? She had never known anything else and she had put her all into climbing that ladder. She had been the stable, organised, main breadwinner for so long. She took a deep breath, seeing the tourists with their cameras trained on the galleries, clothing and jewellery shops with their light blue, grey, mint green and baby pink facades. She turned to look down the road and was met with the bright red and gold craziness that was Alice’s Portobello, an Aladdin’s cave emporium. Outside of it were stands of mismatched teacups, wooden tennis rackets, brass instruments and a black and white plastic pig lined up on the crisp white street outside. It wasn’t sleek or fine-lined or futuristic. It was rustic and quaint and … established in 1887. She sighed. It just didn’t seem right and she didn’t know what to do. And the very worst fear of all was … Who exactly was she without this place? Who was she without Notting Hill?
Fifty-One
Breekers London, Canary Wharf
‘Oh! Sugar. Honey. Ice Tea!’
It was almost a squeal that had come out of Aaron’s mouth as Chase showed him the map for the proposed site of the super-hotel and complex.
‘You want some water?’ Chase asked him.
‘No … I …’ Aaron looked up from where he was leaning over the plan and met his gaze. ‘Maybe an espresso, actually … a triple shot.’
‘Whoa, don’t hold back,’ Chase said. ‘D’you want me to get out the bourbon?’
‘You have some?’ Aaron asked.
He allowed his eyes to do the answering and then he let out a sigh. This reaction was from someone who had actually lapped up the idea of the super-hotel only a few days ago. What was it with Notting Hill? Everyone seemed to be treating it like consecrated ground.
‘Sorry, Mr Bryan, Chase … it’s just … I can see why Isla might be finding this a little difficult.’ He watched Aaron swallow. ‘I mean … it’s Notting Hill.’
Again, Notting Hill had been said like someone might say Bethlehem or Graceland. This wasn’t boding well and as much as he wanted to feel angry and frustrated that no one wanted to get on with the job, all he actually felt was sickened. At himself. He knew how Isla was going to feel. He knew he had deliberately led her away from the whole picture, researched the area with her, just like she said. But that wasn’t the entire story. Somewhere along the road lines had got blurry and he couldn’t settle right now, wasn’t yet able to commit, to anything. Control was slipping away and if he wasn’t careful that ‘e’ word, emotion, was going to be knocking on his door and demanding an audience. Perhaps he should change tack for the rest of the day, start by finding out who this Verity and John were and why the hell they had Breekers’ top-secret plans. In truth, he wanted to think about anything other than how much he had hurt the woman he had held in his arms last night.
‘Aaron,’ Chase began. ‘Can you do something for me?’
‘Of course, that’s what I’m here for … now Isla isn’t here.’ Aaron raised an eyebrow. ‘Is she coming back?’
‘Sure.’ Had he sounded convincing? He really had no idea.
‘Today?’ Aaron continued.
He ignored the question. ‘Hey, Aaron, can you pretend, just for one second, that this plan isn’t of Notting Hill.’
‘It’s not?’
‘Just for a second.’
‘Where is it then?’
‘Does it have to be somewhere else?’
‘Well, if it’s not Notting Hill then …’
‘Okay,’ Chase said. ‘Let’s say it’s on the outskirts of Haringey.’
‘Oh, yes!’ Aaron responded, seeming almost delighted. ‘That would be a much better location for a super-village.’ He pointed a finger. ‘No parking issues there either. And these executives will be car people not Tube people.’
Chase closed his eyes and shook his head. What was it with this firm in London? He had always been of the impression that the British were all about their toeing the line and following rules, but in this office it seemed they didn’t want to follow anything.
‘Did you enjoy the Electric Cinema?’ Aaron asked him. He settled his ass against the table like he was going nowhere. ‘The last time I went there I was right at the front on one of tho
se gorgeous giant beds.’ His eyes seemed to mist over. ‘His name was Justin and he looked just like Will Lexington from Nashville.’
Chase swallowed. Yeah, he had enjoyed every second of the bed experience too. That green and black dress smoothing over Isla’s curves, her red hair falling on to the deep red velveteen cushions, talking about the places he’d lived and the one place she had lived …
‘It was cool,’ he replied brusquely. ‘They played an old Christmas movie and everyone got a little drunk.’ He straightened his tie. ‘I met up with Rod Striker.’
‘Ugh, that rogue,’ Aaron said, raising his eyes to the level of the sparkling pompoms on the ceiling. ‘Nothing good comes from anything he’s involved with.’
‘He’s head of planning in this locale though, right?’
‘Oh yes, and he will do anything to line his pockets,’ Aaron stated. ‘Isla avoids him at all costs unless it’s absolutely necessary.’
‘And how does she do that if she has a project within his area?’ Now he was intrigued.
‘You’ll have to ask her about that,’ Aaron said, finally standing back up. ‘So,’ he began, looking back to the plan. ‘Now that we’re pretending this is in Haringey, what would you like me to do?’
What did he want him to do? He didn’t know. The only thing he did know was he needed to find Isla.
The boardroom door flew open and Maddie rushed in, white creamy froth all over a red tear-stained face. ‘Daddy! Brooke made the coffee machine explode.’ She gulped back tears. ‘And she posted it on Instagram saying I looked like Santa, only my stomach was fatter.’ She sniffed. ‘And then Mom commented and she’s real mad!’
‘Goodness,’ Aaron remarked. ‘It sounds like you’re about to have quite the afternoon.’ He put a hand on Chase’s shoulder. ‘I’ll go out for espressos. Triple shot?’
Chase let out a breath. ‘Make it four.’
Fifty-Two
Portobello Flowers, Portobello Road, Notting Hill
There were no buckets of flowers outside the shop today, but there were miniature spruces. Some were completely bare of decoration, just a few hours’ worth of snow that had accumulated on their evergreen branches; others were sporting baubles of pillar-box red, forest green and frosted silver. As she stood outside, Isla looked through the partial glass door to the interior and her sister at work.
Hannah was plucking blooms from buckets, collating them together as if it was the easiest skill in the world. Isla knew different. And she knew that because she was the worst flower arranger ever. Hannah had always been good with colour, that was why she was the chief Christmas decorator in their home. Instinctively perhaps, or learned through her work in the florists, she could put purple with crimson and gold, wind through some gypsophila and create the perfect display.
Isla sighed, still watching Hannah choosing flowers, pressing them together, pausing, then selecting another stem. This was where she excelled. This was where her disability didn’t seem to matter. Here she was the mistress of her domain. The unrivalled expert – even Claudia said so.
She pushed open the door and the bell above tinkled, signalling her arrival. Stepping in she was hit with fragrance. Rich velvety roses, flowering heather and yellow star-shaped winter jasmine. The air was also thick with Christmas – pine cones and the glitter spray Hannah used to coat Yuletide logs.
Hannah looked over and an expression of almost horror coated her face. ‘Oh shit, what are you doing here?!’
‘Well,’ Isla began. ‘That’s not the best welcome I’ve ever had.’
Discarding the flowers to the counter, hands on the grips above Ronnie’s wheels, Hannah manoeuvred herself towards her, half tentatively, half like a chess grandmaster ready to checkmate. ‘You found something out at work, didn’t you? That’s why you’re here … when you should be at work.’
When Isla had pushed open the door to the florists she had been ready to breeze in here, tell Hannah the truth of what was going on with the Breekers project, secret or not, and tell her that whatever happened they were going to get through it. Now, though, with her sister’s ashen face, the flash of alarm in her eyes, Isla’s conviction was slipping away like Christmas cards badly Sellotaped to a wall.
‘No,’ she said, swallowing away any doubts.
Hannah didn’t respond. She just crept nearer and nearer, one centimetre of rubber at a time, eyes fixed on her. ‘Why aren’t you at work, Isla?’
Why wasn’t she at work? Why wasn’t she at work? Think, Isla, think! ‘Oh, Chase sent me out here to get … cakes from Sugar High for Maddie and Brooke.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Those girls do love the cake there.’
Hannah didn’t look convinced and the wrapper from her muffin was practically burning a hole in the pocket of her coat.
‘But you came here first?’ Hannah queried, still edging forward.
Isla nodded. ‘Well, if I can’t drop in on my sister while I’m over here and … I wanted to know if you wanted a cake … and Claudia too, obviously.’
‘Claudia’s out,’ Hannah said. ‘She’s had to do some deliveries this afternoon.’
‘What?’ Isla exclaimed. ‘So, you’re on your own here?’
‘Yep,’ Hannah answered. ‘Completely in charge.’
‘But, Han …’
‘Ugh! Don’t start! I went for a wee before she left and there’s a baseball bat underneath the counter should all those flower-loving robbers thunder in.’
‘They don’t have to love flowers, Hannah, they will be after the cash.’
‘I’m not stupid … and I’m fine. I’ve done it before,’ she admitted. ‘Loads of times before.’
Isla swallowed. Of course she had. Why wouldn’t she? And she hadn’t told her because Hannah knew she would worry. And, of course, she was right.
‘But never mind that,’ Hannah said. ‘Did you ask Chase about the map of Notting Hill and the plans for that giant hotel resort?’
What to say? This was killing her and, put on the spot, right at that moment, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t tell Hannah it was real, that Notting Hill was Breekers’ plan. She was still, somehow, hoping that even Rod Striker couldn’t do something this grotesque, that maybe there was still a chance it might all go away … or go far enough away … perhaps Essex.
‘Oh yes,’ Isla said, flapping her hand like it hadn’t even been a concern at all. ‘Chase laughed.’
‘He laughed,’ Hannah said, her face completely straight.
‘Yes,’ she swallowed. Why had she said that? ‘I mean, it’s ludicrous really, isn’t it? Someone knocking down Notting Hill and building something so … so …’
‘Huge and ugly?’ Hannah offered.
‘Practically a glass and steel troll,’ Isla agreed.
‘So, it’s a fake map?’
Isla nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Well, who made it?’
‘Who made it?’
‘The fake map.’
Isla really felt sick now. The custardy syrup that had tasted so sweet and comforting half an hour ago was beginning to curdle. ‘Breekers,’ she forced out. ‘To leak to rivals … to throw them off the scent of the real project.’
‘Which is?’ Hannah asked.
‘What?’
‘What’s the real project?’
Hannah wasn’t letting this go. Because she wasn’t an idiot like Isla. ‘I can’t tell you that.’ She put a finger to the edge of her nose. ‘It’s top secret.’
And then something wonderful happened. Something wonderful yet equally unsettling. Hannah seemed to let go of a whole world’s weight of tension, her body releasing a long, deep sigh, her shoulders slackening, her hands moving from the wheels of Ronnie to her lap. ‘Thank God! I haven’t been able to think of anything else all morning and I couldn’t say anything to Claudia.’ She sighed again. ‘She kept asking me what was wrong and didn’t really want to leave me while she made the deliveries but I threatened to run over her toes and she went in the end but … oh, Isla, aren
’t you relieved.’
No. No, she wasn’t. Because she had lied. And when Hannah found out she was never going to trust her again. She nodded, forcing a wide smile on to her lips. ‘Of course. Not that it was ever in doubt,’ she said. ‘I mean, seriously, that super-village here? Pah!’
‘So, who were Verity and John? And can we please not invite them for dinner? I don’t want them taking my water glass and fingerprinting it or something.’
Isla shrugged. ‘I don’t know yet. Competitors like I suggested, maybe. Being fed false information.’ She smiled. ‘And yes, we don’t have to invite them for dinner. I wouldn’t want them to try and get real information from me over Mum’s special béchamel sauce, which they totally do not deserve.’
‘Oh, I’m so pleased, Isla, so pleased,’ Hannah continued. ‘I thought we were going to have to tell everyone at the wine and cheese night tonight and get some sort of Save Our Suburb rally going.’
Wine and cheese night! Was that tonight? She really needed to get her head back in the game. Everything she was always on top of, always enjoyed organising and attending at this time of year, had been overshadowed by the arrival of Chase. It was her job to buy their wine and cheese. She couldn’t let Hannah know she’d forgotten.
‘So, what wine and cheese have we got this year? A dark, mysterious Merlot? With a cave-aged Cheddar?’ Hannah asked.
‘I … think I got Shiraz.’ Isla put a hand to her head feigning ditziness.
Hannah smiled. ‘Your head is stuck into the Breekers’ Christmas party, I know! Still not giving up the theme?’
She shook her head. She didn’t even know whether she still had catering. ‘You know the rules. A week before the event to add to the surprise.’ No food or props would be a surprise for everyone, perhaps she could call it minimalist chic. She smiled. ‘I’d better get back.’