by Lynda Renham
‘If you don’t mind me saying, you look like an oversized fairy. It might look good on Julian Clary. All you need is a wand and you’re sorted,’ says a familiar soft voice.
Marcus looks like he may faint on the spot.
‘Well really …’ he gasps.
I turn to see Brice Edmunds handing over a silk tie to the assistant. He’s wearing khaki trousers and an open necked shirt, and I can see his deep tan. His smile is stunning and he has the loveliest eyes. What a shame I’m a soon-to-be engaged woman. Mind you, he probably isn’t good enough for me, with my aristocratic standing and all. Well, I have to keep up the show don’t I? Of course, the reality is that he is far too good for me if he buys his ties here. I am surprised he even noticed me. Not many people notice me when I’m trying on clothes in Oxfam, unless you count the old dears who are serving, and they always say everything looks terrific.
‘Hello,’ I say, blushing in front of him and looking like a huge marshmallow, ‘fancy seeing you here.’
I lick my lips and take a deep breath to stop my heart from beating too fast. This is ridiculous. How dare he have such an effect on me? In my whole life I’ve never turned to jelly when a man looked at me.
‘Preparing for another wedding are you? I don’t think you’ll find anything for a fiver in here,’ he smiles.
I shrug.
‘I thought I’d give Oxfam a miss this time.’
I look down at the dress and feel myself blush.
‘You really think I look like a Christmas decoration?’
He nods solemnly.
‘Oh sod it,’ I mumble and bite my lip.
He smiles and takes the tie from the assistant.
‘Excuse me sir, but this dress is a unique one-off handmade design,’ states Marcus, so offended that you’d think he’d designed the awful thing himself.
‘Well thank God for that, I’d hate to think there was more than one.’
I try to hide my smile.
‘Sir, I can assure you I have undressed and dressed many women in my time. Many titled women in fact. I think I can categorically state that I know what I am talking about,’ says Marcus, looking extremely hurt.
‘I’m having a hell of time finding a decent dress,’ I butt in. ‘It’s a total nightmare. I’ve got this fancy dinner you see, do you really think I look like a fairy?’
‘It’s just my opinion of course, but unless you’re planning to sit on top of a Christmas tree I would say this is a reject, but then again I haven’t dressed or undressed a titled woman,’ he says, raising his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner.
I feel a tingling where I really shouldn’t.
‘May I point out sir …’ begins Marcus.
‘However, I rather think that white one over there might look good on you,’ he continues, pointing to a dress.
Marcus gasps.
‘That’s a Giovanni, not in the least suitable for the occasion. It’s far too, too …’
‘Cheap?’ says Brice with one of his heart-stopping grins.
‘Well really …’ Marcus flicks his hair back in an agitated manner.
‘I’ll try it on,’ I say.
‘But I was specifically told …’
‘It’s all right Marcus. I’ll take full responsibility.’
I spin round to face Brice, whipping him with my tutu as I do so.
‘That dress is one dangerous weapon,’ he laughs.
‘If you think this is dangerous sir, just thank your lucky stars you were not here when we tried on the riding outfit. I thought madam was going to whip us all into shape with her riding crop,’ says Marcus dryly.
Brice laughs, his eyes twinkling.
‘Looks like I arrived too late,’ he says grinning.
I blush.
‘It wasn’t that bad,’ I say.
‘Yes, well it’s a matter of opinion madam. You were holding the whip while we were at the other end of it. I was only grateful madam didn’t have to hold a shotgun while trying on her shooting outfit. I fear there would have been a massacre.’
I sigh and look at Brice.
‘He has a tendency to over dramatise,’ I say, shrugging. ‘Have you got a minute, just to give an opinion? I’m getting a bit desperate.’
Marcus sighs.
‘I think desperate is a slight exaggeration madam.’
‘Sure, it sounds like fun,’ Brice says, pulling out a satin-draped chair and reclining back.
I grab the white dress and dive into the cubicle, pulling Marcus in with me as I do so. Two minutes later I reappear with a groaning Marcus trailing behind. Brice raises his eyebrows.
‘Better, but still not quite right. How about that purple thing over there?’ He points to a rail and Marcus convulses so much that I think he is having an epileptic fit.
‘That, that is, well that is not the dress of a lady. I really must protest. I cannot possibly allow you to even try that on …’
Brice removes the floor length strapless dress from the rail and holds it against me. The chiffon feels cool against my skin and the bright colours feel so me.
‘It’s perfect,’ I smile.
Brice takes a shawl from a stand and slides it around my neck and I feel myself shiver. Oh, this is not what I need, not right now. Not with Julian at the bottom of the Thames wearing concrete boots and a soon-to-be pretend fiancé. My life is way too complicated right now, and this is not the time to fancy gorgeous men in an expensive dress shop. Anyway, he is way out of my league.
‘This would enhance the dress,’ he says, meeting my eyes.
‘Really sir, I have to disagree …’
‘Let me just try it Marcus,’ I plead, finding myself unable to drag my eyes from Brice’s beautiful ones.
‘Oh dear oh dear,’ mumbles Marcus following me reluctantly into the changing room.
‘I know I have to look like a lady Marcus but I have to be comfortable too and feel a bit like me. I’m shit-scared about this weekend,’ I whisper.
‘Yes madam, but my instructions are to make sure you don’t look like you. No insult intended.’
I grin.
‘None taken.’
I pull the dress over my head and Marcus wraps the shawl around me in an expert manner and appraises me.
‘Well, I’m astonished. It actually becomes you madam. The criss-cross ruching really enhances your figure. With the right earrings and accessories, we may have a winner, and you don’t resemble the real you at all.’
‘Really?’ I say, trying to adjust the scarf without tearing it to shreds with my vampire nails.
He sighs.
‘You really have to get to grips with the nails madam, or who knows what damage you may cause.’
‘You should see my thighs Marcus.’
‘I’d rather not madam.’
I step nervously from the fitting room and parade in front of Brice Edmunds.
‘Perfect,’ he says, nodding appreciatively. ‘Not in the least bit suitable for a Christmas tree.’
‘Thank God for that,’ I sigh, attempt a twirl and sway on my heels.
‘Maybe a little less gin though,’ he laughs.
‘What I wouldn’t do for a drop of mother’s ruin. It’s these bloody heels. I can’t cope with them, not to mention …’
Marcus coughs diplomatically.
‘Language madam, now shall we get you undressed, before you tell Mr Brice about your thighs,’ whispers Marcus.
Brice raises his eyebrows and grins before offering his hand.
‘It was nice meeting you again. I very much enjoyed the fashion show.’
I place my hand in his and feel a small tingle rush through me. Please let him ask me for a coffee or something. Or just ask me for the something. God, right now I’d be so up for it.
‘Thank you for your advice,’ I say. ‘I’ve got this big weekend coming up and I’ve got to make a good impression.’
‘Madam is meeting her future in-laws,’ says Marcus absently, straightening the back of
the dress.
Oh great, thanks a lot Marcus. That’s the coffee and something out of the window isn’t it?
He nods.
‘My pleasure, and I think you will make more than a good impression. I would say break a leg except you’re likely to if you don’t lose those shoes.’
Marcus groans.
‘Now he’s an expert in shoes. Perhaps you would like a job here?’
‘No, the tie will suffice,’ he laughs as he opens the door to leave, only to have Fiona walk in.
‘Sorry I’m so late. I got on the wrong train, ended up halfway to bloody Croydon. I tried phoning but I just kept getting your voicemail. Jesus, it’s posh around here. I’ve been scared to open my mouth … oh sorry,’ she finishes on seeing Brice.
I shake my head.
‘Fiona, this is Brice, he’s been helping me choose a dress.’
She widens her eyes and then gives him a big smile.
‘That’s nice, slightly unusual but nice,’ she says.
He shakes her hand warmly and then turns to the door.
‘Nice meeting you both. I hope your weekend goes well Harriet.’
The door closes and I open my mouth at her.
‘Isn’t he gorgeous?’
‘And the way he said Harriet, ooh didn’t it make your legs give way,’ she grins.
‘Madam’s legs have been giving way most of the morning, isn’t that right Miss Harriet?’ says Marcus, escorting me back to the dressing room.
‘Why what have you been doing?’ asks Fiona.
‘Bloody starving because I can’t eat with these, Nightmare on Elm Street nails. I’ve had one stuck in the tumble dryer door. And balancing on these stupid heels is like being on bleeding stilts. I feel like a circus act. I think dancing on ice would be easier. Honestly Fi, I don’t think I can get through this.’
I flop onto the couch and lift my legs to take off my shoes but, of course, the nails get in the sodding way and I end up scraping them along my tights, leaving huge ladders.
‘Allow me madam, otherwise by the time you get to Scotland you will resemble a character out of Halloween,’ says Marcus gently.
‘I’m dreading the weekend,’ I say, rubbing my feet.
‘Madam, if I may offer some advice,’ he says kindly. ‘Clothing excepted, just be yourself and I am sure everyone will love you.’
Five minutes later and I have a bundle of new clothes, and not to mention a Burberry bag for the daytime and a Givenchy for the evening. Fiona sits in a chair, eyes wide and mouth open.
‘God, you’ve got a brilliant riding outfit. I’d die for one of those. I love horse riding.’
‘I’ll probably die if I have to wear it. No one is getting me on a horse,’ I say.
‘Right madam, you are ready for the weekend. I shall have everything delivered to your apartment later this afternoon and Claude will collect you in the morning and take you to the heliport.’
‘Crikey,’ says Fiona. ‘You’re going to look fab. I’m so excited. I wish I could be there with you.’
‘So do I,’ I say sadly.
I feel my stomach churn. I may look fab but I also have to sound fab, walk fab, and eat fab. It’s going to be a Mission Impossible and I have an awful fear the whole thing will collapse around my ears. The thought of ears immediately makes me think of Julian and the three Jacks. It feels like we are in some kind of horrific nightmare and all we wanted was a French restaurant.
A thought enters my head.
‘What day is it?’ I ask Fiona.
‘Do what?’
‘What day is it?’ I repeat.
‘Friday, why?’
‘Come on, I need to do the lottery. Maybe I can win and then I won’t have to go through with this charade.’
‘Great plan,’ she scoffs.
‘Marcus said he would get a driver to take me home in his limo. We’ll make a quick stop at the newsagents on the way.’
‘I’ll get Alistair to meet us at the flat; I want him to see me in a limo. We’ll get a pizza later shall we?’
Oh, if only life could stay like this.
‘First stop newsagents please,’ I tell the driver.
Chapter Nine
Jack Diamond is enjoying his favourite dinner. Meatballs and pasta, just the way he likes it. He likes this restaurant. The nice checked tablecloths and the traditional Italian music appeal to him. He fancies himself as a bit of an Italian. With his broad shoulders and toned physique he could pass for a good-looking Italian any day. He likes his Valentino suits. They give him more respect and show he isn’t short of a bob or two. They know how to show respect here. They never cause him trouble, not like that little prick Julian Conway. What the stupid bugger thought he was playing at, Jack had no idea. Conway should have known he couldn’t get away with not paying on time. Jack considers himself a reasonable man. After all, wasn’t he doing Julian a favour, giving him the loan and then offering to keep trouble out of his restaurant? What was five hundred a month to someone like Conway?
‘Now, I don’t wanna see your lovely little gaff turned over, not now you’ve put all this money into it Julian. There are some terrible thugs in the old smoke these days. You know what I mean? Now, I’m thinking I can ‘elp you out with a little security, think of it like an insurance policy. A monkey will do it, in cash. I’ll pop round at the end of each month and collect.’
How much more respectful can a person be? But not that little prick, he doesn’t know what the word respect means. Well, he would find the little sod and if he didn’t have the cash then the little prick would lose just that. And little it most likely is, Jack thought, and chuckles to himself. He’ll send it to that pretty girlfriend of his. If he still didn’t cough up, then there would be no alternative but to make Julian disappear. Satisfied with his plan he begins to tuck into his tiramisu when Mad Jack Junior bursts in.
Jack Diamond sighs.
‘What’s the matter with you? Barging in like some kind of thug. What do yer want people to think of us?’ snaps Diamond. ‘Yer wanna give me indigestion?’
‘I’ve got some news about that Julian loser,’ Mad Jack Junior grins.
Jack Diamond wipes his mouth with his serviette and takes a gulp of wine before gesturing to the waiter to refill the glass. Mad Jack fidgets eager to share his news. Jack Diamond looks down to his son’s shoes.
‘You is still giving me indigestion. Can you bleedin’ calm down and eat something. What ‘ave I told yer about your shoes. Polished shoes show you are a man to respect.’
‘Sorry Dad.’
‘Did you get the worm powder for the cat like your mum asked?’
‘Babyface Jack is getting that. He likes the pet shop and looking at the animals and stuff.’
Diamond snorts. Unable to contain himself any longer, Mad Jack throws a newspaper at his dad.
‘The bloody Times,’ scoffs Diamond. ‘Don’t yer think it’s a bit late to start reading a rag like that?’
Mad Jack exhales in irritation and turns the pages frantically. He rips out the page he needs and sticks it under his father’s nose.
‘Sir bleedin’ Sebastian Lancaster would like to announce the forthcoming engagement of his son ‘amilton Lancaster to none other than ‘arriet bleedin’ Lawson. Julian’s tart ‘as got ‘erself a rich poncy boyfriend and I mean mega rich. She’s paid all the staff at the restaurant. It’s still open, but I ain’t saw nothin’ going on and she’s been spending pots of dough in fancy dress shops today. It’s funny that though, cos she’s still working in that laundrette and that ain’t adding up to me, not if she’s marrying that ponce. The bitch never offered us nothin,’ Mad Jack Junior blurts out, unable to keep the news to himself any longer.
Jack Diamond looks thoughtful. Now that is news. So, the pretty little girlfriend has already found someone new has she? He glances at the newspaper announcement and throws it to one side.
‘There’s something fishy ‘ere and I’m not talking about the menu. Get that snitch Ra
zors on the blower. Tell ‘im to do a bit of research. He’s as bent as a two bob note. If he can’t find out what’s going on, no one can.’
‘You want me to sort ‘er?’
‘No, you moron,’ Diamond sighs.
‘You know give ‘er a bell and threaten like?’
Jack Diamond’s head snaps up.
‘What yer on about?’
‘Babyface got ‘er number from the prick’s phone.’
Diamond thumps his fist down on the table.
‘What ‘ave I told you about doing stuff like that? That ain’t ‘ow you get birds.’
‘Babyface fancied ‘er. Not me. He’s been going in that laundrette and stuff.’
‘Bugger me,’ groans Diamond.
‘You really think something is fishy?’ asks Mad Jack Junior. ‘With ‘er suddenly getting a rich poncy boyfriend?’
Jack Diamond laughs.
‘I think we should take a trip to ‘er flat and talking of fishes …’
Mad Jack Junior laughs.
‘Make ‘er an offer she can’t refuse?’
‘Something like that,’ grins Jack Diamond while wondering why Julian’s girlfriend would stay in such a poxy flat when she has a mega rich boyfriend. Something very fishy indeed is going on and he ain’t gonna leave it alone until he finds out what it is. If she knows where that wanker Julian is she’ll soon tell them. In the meantime, if she wants to keep that Froggie restaurant open, then she owes him a monkey.
Chapter Ten
Fiona is flushed with excitement by the time we reach Marlborough Mansions. I’m surprised she didn’t spend the journey waving like royalty. Our quick stop for a lottery ticket turned into a bit of a disaster. I never imagined it could be so difficult trying to choose six numbers out of forty-nine. For starters you have to ditch the unlucky numbers before you begin, and in my case this is no small feat is it? I didn’t want to choose ten as that was my birthday, and having the gangsters eat my birthday cake is clearly a bad omen. Everyone chooses seven so I didn’t want that one. Obviously thirteen was out of the question, although seriously my luck couldn’t get any worse could it? Four is Julian’s birthday and he isn’t turning out to be a lucky charm is he? So anything with four in it is going to be bad luck, I mean, take fourteen for example. I don’t even want to think about that and the Valentine’s Day catastrophe at the flat. At one point Fiona asked the shop assistant if he had a chair.
