Fifty Shades of Roxie Brown (Comedy Romance)

by Lynda Renham

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  ‘The murderer is here,’ I say, my trembling hands almost dropping the phone down the loo.

  ‘Jesus wept Rox, are you going to spend the whole evening in the loo?’

  ‘Did you get the photo I sent to That Night?’

  ‘It’s upside down and blurry but we can see it.’

  ‘What if he recognises me?’ I say anxiously.

  ‘Are you mad? First he would have needed telescopic eyes to see you from that distance. Have you forgotten that you were looking through a telescope at the time? You’ve got to get a grip. And secondly, any number of people could have the same scarf. It doesn’t mean it belongs to the man you saw in the flat.’

  I sigh with relief. She’s quite right of course, but all the same …

  ‘It’s a strange coincidence don’t you think? Maybe it would be safer if I left.’

  ‘What’s happening love?’ I hear Felix ask in the background.

  ‘She’s thinking of leaving because of that Where’s Wally scarf in the cloakroom, the one in the photo.’

  ‘Ah, that’s what it is.’

  ‘It wasn’t that bad,’ I say defensively. ‘Anyway it was taken in a hurry and with trembling hands.’

  ‘Don’t worry love, we won’t be entering it into The International Photography Awards,’ says Felix.

  I shake my head in exasperation.

  ‘Oh God,’ I say, an awful thought occurring to me. ‘You don’t think Ark Morgan is the murderer?’

  ‘Roxie, come on …’

  Yes, of course, it’s highly unlikely. What would he be doing in Clapham and he wouldn’t be seen dead in a Where’s Wally scarf.

  ‘She’s losing it,’ says Felix.

  ‘Sylv, have you got your phone on speaker?’ I ask.

  ‘Well Felix is kind of involved in the murder,’ she mumbles.

  ‘I’d prefer you didn’t put it like that,’ says Felix.

  I bite my gel-painted manicured nails.

  ‘I suppose dying on a yacht is better than at Starbucks,’ I say.

  ‘What is she on about?’ asks Felix.

  ‘Roxie, stop panicking. The chances of that scarf belonging to the murderer are a hundred to one,’ says Sylvie.

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ I say, pulling at the Brazilian lace panties and feeling them rip.

  ‘Ooh I’ve just had an epiphany,’ says Felix.

  ‘I’d never have known,’ quips Sylvie.

  ‘If she gets a bit of the scarf we can check it for DNA and stuff.’

  Is he mental? I can’t go cutting up bits of people’s scarfs at a do like this. It’s most likely a Zandra Rhodes or something. She designs colourful things doesn’t she? It’s not from Topshop that’s for sure.

  ‘I can’t do that,’ I say.

  ‘Just snip off a bit. Then we’ll know if it was someone at the party.’

  ‘Snip a bit off the scarf?’ I repeat. ‘You’re surely not serious.’

  ‘You’ll need to be careful not to get your DNA on it. Pop it in a freezer bag or something …’

  ‘Where am I supposed to get one of those?’

  ‘Ask for a doggie bag,’ suggests Sylvie.

  Oh great. If I didn’t look like a glutton earlier, I certainly will after asking for a doggie bag.

  ‘People don’t ask for doggie bags at this kind of do,’ I say.

  ‘Don’t be a dopey donkey,’ says Felix. ‘They’re the worst.’

  ‘Improvise,’ says Sylvie.

  ‘If we can match the DNA on the scarf to the DNA we found at the flat then we’ll know that scarf belongs to the murderer,’ says Felix, brimming over with forensic knowledge. I wish he’d never bought that book.

  ‘But I thought that chemist guy said he couldn’t analyse DNA?’

  ‘Ah, the good news is Felix has found someone who can and it’s not that expensive,’ says Sylvie.

  I’m going off Felix.

  ‘How expensive is not that expensive?’ I ask.

  ‘About five thousand,’ says Sylvie without hesitation.

  ‘Five thousand from my lottery win you mean. I’m not doing it,’ I say resolutely.

  ‘Stop worrying, Felix knows someone who will do it as a favour so hopefully we won’t have to pay the five thousand.’

  ‘I’ve just had another thought,’ says Felix. ‘We’ll need the guest list. If the scarf belongs to the murderer then he will be on the guest list won’t he?’

  ‘Great idea,’ exclaims Sylvie.

  I wish she’d stop agreeing with him.

  ‘Oh yes, brilliant idea. Except silly me didn’t come equipped with scissors,’ I say irritably. Or a needle and thread come to that, which would be far more useful right now. ‘And perhaps you’d like to tell me how I actually get close enough to the scarf to snip it without anyone actually noticing?’

  ‘She’s got a point,’ says Sylvie.

  ‘It’s all right for you two, you’re not here,’ I whisper as I hear someone enter the cubicle beside mine. Oh shit, what if it is the murderer? For goodness’ sake, I must stop panicking. This is the ladies. The murderer was a man wasn’t he? But if he’s capable of murdering someone, he’s more than capable of entering the women’s loo, my inner goddess reminds me. Although why she’s getting involved I don’t know. She’s only supposed to advise me on Ark Morgan stuff.

  ‘He’s right though Rox, you need to get a piece.’

  ‘I guess she should snip a bit from the middle,’ say Felix thoughtfully. ‘We want to be sure his DNA is on it don’t we?’

  My hands turn clammy and I come over all hot.

  ‘So you do think he is here? Oh my God, I’ll be scared to eat anything.’

  ‘Of course you can eat, you dopey donkey,’ says Felix.

  ‘Yes,’ agrees Sylvie. ‘He can’t poison everything.’

  ‘He could lace a few things with cyanide. If he’s watching me he’ll know what I’m going to eat next,’ I say.

  ‘Are you mad?’ Sylvie asks.

  ‘I’m starting to feel it,’ I mumble.

  ‘Sorry, did you say something darling?’ asks the lady in the next cubicle.

  Holy crap. Anastasia Steel never had these problems when she met with Christian Grey.

  ‘No, I was just thinking aloud.’

  ‘What did you say?’ asks Sylvie.

  ‘Brilliant do isn’t it?’ says the voice from the cubicle. ‘Ark never fails to impress does he?’

  ‘Mmm,’ I mumble. I can’t disagree with that.

  ‘We can’t hear you love,’ yells Felix.

  ‘Is this your first time?’ asks the woman.

  ‘Yes, my first time.’

  ‘Have you been shooting up darling? Felix asks.

  ‘How much have you had to drink?’ says Sylvie.

  I can’t deal with this. A three way conversation is one thing but a four way one is a whole other matter.

  ‘Enjoy it. Ark will chat with you later. Staying at one of the hotels are you?’ she asks, pulling the chain.

  ‘The Crescent,’ I say.

  Her cubicle door opens.

  ‘What about it?’ asks Sylvie.

  ‘Lovely, have a good time,’ calls the voice and then the toilet door slams.

  ‘Christ,’ I groan.

  ‘What’s happening to you?’ asks Sylvie.

  ‘There was someone in the cubicle next door. They were talking to me.’

  ‘We thought you’d finally lost it. As for the scarf, you can cut it with a knife.’

  ‘Won’t it look jagged?’ I ask.

  ‘There must be scissors there somewhere. Say you’ve had a wardrobe malfunction.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say meekly and hang up. It’s not far from the truth.

  I check my reflection in the mirror and quickly dab my flushed cheeks with powder. I need a stiff drink for courage and then I’ll head to the cloakroom.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  ‘Can I help?’ asks a prim lady at the cloakroom co
unter, her eyes studying me through her black-rimmed glasses.

  ‘I wonder do you have a sewing kit? I’ve had a little wardrobe malfunction’, I ask politely.

  ‘Of course madam, can a member of staff help?’

  ‘It’s rather delicate,’ I say shyly.

  ‘I assure you madam we’ve seen everything,’ she says smugly, sounding like a bowel screening advert. Your doctor has seen them all. Well, they’ve not seen mine and they’re not going to either. She’d make a great airport security guard. I can imagine her doing the frisking.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ I say. ‘I just need some scissors for the job.’

  Oh dear, that sounds like a line from a horror movie.

  ‘Oh, I thought it was a sewing kit you needed,’ she says, standing her ground.

  ‘They have scissors don’t they?’

  ‘No, they don’t. So is it scissors you actually need or scissors and a sewing kit?’

  Holy Christ, what is it with the cross examination?

  ‘Just the scissors please. That would be great.’

  ‘Certainly madam, I’ll fetch you a pair.’

  I nervously totter on my Jimmy Choos, refusing three offers of a drink as I wait, although I could do with one. Another waiter approaches with a tray of salmon tarts. I take a deep breath, force a smile and say,

  ‘Ooh they look lovely. My grandmother would love one. She’s resting in a cabin at the moment, but I’d love to take her one. You don’t have a little doggie bag by any chance?’ I struggle to keep my voice sounding natural. I so hate lying.

  ‘Of course madam,’ he says whipping out a bag from a pocket. ‘How many would grandmother like?’

  ‘Oh just two,’ I say, thinking I can scoff those quickly enough. As soon as he moves on, I stuff them into my mouth and empty the crumbs from the bag. Then I see my tousle-haired dreamboat Ark, walking my way just as Miss Prim returns with the scissors.

  ‘Here we are madam. Kindly return them when the job is done.’

  ‘Miss Brown, you’re not leaving already?’

  I turn, the scissors in my hand pointing menacingly at him.

  ‘Whoa,’ Ark smiles. ‘Was it something I said?’

  ‘Madam has had a little wardrobe malfunction,’ says Miss Prim.

  ‘I’ll be two secs. I just need something from my coat,’ I say, diving past her before she can stop me. I hack the scarf with the scissors and stuff a small piece of wool into the doggie bag. The scarf looks like it has been attacked by a starving moth. I drop the package into my clutch bag and rush back, tripping ungainly but gratefully into Ark’s arms, almost stabbing him with the scissors as I do so. He removes them from my hand and says sexily,

  ‘I should introduce you to less dangerous toys.’

  Oh yes please.

  ‘Dance with me again,’ he says, taking the clutch bag from me.

  ‘Put this with Miss Brown’s things please,’ he instructs Miss Prim before taking my hand.

  I find myself back in the ballroom. It is crowded now. I’ve been waiting for a girl like you begins playing and he sings the lyrics into my ear, albeit slightly off key, as he leads me effortlessly onto the dance floor. I feel like I’m floating when with him. My stomach suddenly rumbles and he looks concerned.

  ‘Have you eaten Miss Brown? I’ll be cross if you haven’t.’

  ‘It’s Roxanne,’ I say again, the name sounding strange even on my own lips.

  ‘You seemed very friendly with Sam Lockwood,’ he says as we glide around. ‘Did you not heed my warning?’

  Is that a pimple on his cheek? I didn’t notice that earlier. I expect it’s the stress of the evening.

  ‘He really isn’t my type,’ I say, the wine making me bold.

  ‘What is your type Miss Brown?’

  My heart thumps in my chest. I’m feeling more like Anastasia Steel by the minute. I’m about to answer when the music changes tempo and Cheryl Cole’s A Million Lights begins, and I find myself in Sam Lockwood’s arms.

  ‘My turn I think,’ he says.

  The leggy Verity adds, ‘Yes I agree. My turn Ark.’ And she swings him away, his eyes blazing at Sam Lockwood.

  ‘How dare you,’ I say angrily.

  ‘Now we’re equal,’ he says, mirroring my tone and interlinking my fingers through his. He wraps his arm around my waist. I reluctantly place my hand on his shoulder. He leads me slowly, pulling me closer as he does so. I can feel the heat from his body. He smells clean and fresh. His cheek is close to mine and I see a faint bruise on his.

  ‘I hope you enjoyed your strawberries,’ I say, trying to avoid his eyes.

  ‘They were raspberries actually,’ he says, pulling me closer so we don’t collide with another couple. As we turn my Jimmy Choo twists under me and I feel myself fall. It all happens so fast. The ground comes up to meet me and then I’m pulled back into the security of his arms. I can feel his heart beating against mine. I inhale the fresh smell of soap and a warm comforting fragrance that emanates only from him. I remember his scent from our meeting at the Fun Palace.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asks, holding me tightly.

  He looks into my eyes and I can’t look away. I feel like the world is standing still.

  ‘Yes,’ I whisper. My eyes drop to his lips and I feel an overwhelming desire to have him kiss me again. I’m torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer but I am paralysed, unable to do either. His breathing quickens as he moves me around the dance floor.

  ‘Time’s up Lockwood.’

  I realise the music has stopped and Ark is standing in front of us, Verity by his side. Sam runs his hand through his hair.

  ‘I rather think that is for Roxie to decide.’

  Ark’s eyes blaze.

  ‘Miss Brown?’ he says firmly, holding out his hand. He looks frustrated, his eyes flashing angrily.

  ‘Ooh he’s masterful,’ whispers my inner goddess. I take his hand and avoid Sam’s eyes. Ark pulls me through the throng of dancers and away from the pounding music. I find myself on deck, the chilly night air cutting through me. I shiver and Ark again places his jacket around my shoulders. He points to the stars.

  ‘I wanted to show you this beautiful vision. Come see them through my telescope.’

  Not another telescope. I allow him to lead me forward and reluctantly look through the eyepiece.

  ‘It’s breathtaking,’ I say, feeling him move closer.

  I can’t believe a beauty makeover, a top designer dress and some Jimmy Choos are having this effect. It can only be the Jo Malone that’s doing it.

  ‘You smell heavenly,’ he whispers into my ear. ‘You intoxicate me. I hate it that Lockwood has touched you,’ he says angrily. ‘He always wants what doesn’t belong to him.’

  I hate to point it out but I don’t really belong to anyone. Not even unfaithful wanking Darren. I’m about to tell him that when a voice behind us stops me.

  ‘Your brandies sir.’ I turn to see a waiter. When did Ark order these?

  ‘Thank you,’ Ark says, handing me a glass.

  ‘There’s so much I want to show you Roxanne. More than Sam Lockwood ever could.’

  I wish he would stop mentioning Sam Lockwood. I sip the brandy, the liquid warming me.

  ‘Did I hear my name?’ says a familiar voice. Ark sighs and I feel his body tense beside me.

  ‘Why are you here Lockwood?’ he snaps.

  ‘I told you, representing the company. You did send an invite. Oh, is that brandy? I wouldn’t mind one.’

  Ark gestures to the waiter.

  ‘I don’t recall your name on the guest list,’ he says.

  ‘You’re right, but as Nick couldn’t make it I thought I’d stand in.’

  I so wish I could escape to the loo. It must be time for another visit mustn’t it?

  ‘I really should …’ I begin.

  Ark grabs my arm and I shiver. Ooh this is more like it.

  ‘Stay Roxanne,’ he orders, using my Christian name for the firs
t time. Sam throws back the brandy and hands the glass to the waiter.

  ‘As great as this is Morgan, it somehow leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I find it difficult to swallow something bought with immoral money.’

  ‘That’s rich coming from you. You’d do anything to get what you want.’ The two men stare at each other before Sam turns to me.

  ‘See you Roxie,’ he says. ‘Don’t believe everything you hear.’

  ‘Sorry about that, a little too much to drink I fear. Let’s get you back into the warm,’ says Ark his fingers stroking my arm. I shiver but am not sure if it is from his touch or the cold draught running up my dress and blowing on the unmentionables where the lacy Brazilian knickers have totally disappeared.

  ‘I’d like to see you again,’ he whispers sexily into my ear, his brandy lips touching my ear lobe ever so gently.

  ‘Yes,’ I reply, trying not to pant.

  ‘Can I phone you Miss Brown? I’d like to take you somewhere special.’

  Here it comes says my inner goddess. This is what you’ve been waiting for and it’s not even a fantasy.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  ‘It’s a mother-in-law’s tongue,’ says Dad. ‘I just thought it might cheer up the new place a bit.’

  ‘It’s probably the closest you’ll get to a real one,’ grumbles Mum. ‘So you might as well take it. Not that there will be much room in your bedsit.’

  Dad smiles uncomfortably. They’ll be giving me a sympathy card next.

  ‘I’ll only kill it,’ I say. ‘I’m rubbish with plants. I’ll never remember to water it.’

  Mum shakes her head.

  ‘Just as well you never had a baby,’ she says, manically turning the roast potatoes.

  A baby and a plant aren’t quite the same thing are they, but I don’t have the energy to argue. The roast smells heavenly. I only get a decent roast dinner when I visit my parents.

  ‘I’m resigned never to be a grandmother,’ she says in that, why did I give birth to the she-devil, tone.

  ‘I can’t say I’m sorry,’ says Dad, carrying cutlery into the dining room. ‘He wasn’t an ideal son-in-law if I’m honest.’

  ‘At the rate your daughter is going there won’t be any son-in-laws left, let alone an ideal one,’ she says, hacking through the roast beef. ‘You do realise she’s thirty-two.’