A Night In With Grace Kelly

by Lucy Holliday

  ‘My daughter has a bedroom across the hall – don’t worry, she’s not here at the moment!’ Joel says, ‘and then downstairs there’s just a kitchen and a little den. In fact, come down to the kitchen with me now,’ he adds, coming over to my side of the bed and holding out a hand, ‘while I get the champagne bottle from the fridge. Come and see where I spend most of my time.’

  We leave the bedroom, go down a small, spiral flight of stairs, and cross the narrow entrance hallway to reach the kitchen.

  Again, it’s unassuming, in an expensive sort of way. I’ve never been in a billionaire’s private kitchen before, obviously, so I’ve nothing to compare it to, but if I might have imagined solid-gold taps and priceless Picassos as splashbacks above the cooker, I couldn’t have been more wrong. The units are Shaker-style and painted a soft dove grey, and the floor is slate, and warmed from underneath by some incredibly toasty under-floor heating. A big oak table stands in the middle of the room, with wide benches running either side. There’s a big American-style fridge, covered with letter and number magnets and some primary-coloured artworks that I assume have been constructed, painstakingly, by Joel’s daughter. And there are at least half a dozen photographs of his daughter standing on different shelves of the gorgeous Welsh dresser in the corner.

  It looks, even the most raging anti-capitalist would have to admit, like nothing more or less than a much-loved home.

  ‘Well?’ Joel is taking the champagne bottle out of the big, American-style fridge. ‘What do you think? Is there any chance I might actually be exactly the same normal guy you thought you’d met the other day?’

  ‘Yes. OK. You win. You’re normal.’

  He bows. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘And, like I said in the car, I do understand that you were only spinning me a pack of lies—’

  ‘Being economical with the truth,’ he says, with the merest hint of an edge to his voice.

  ‘… because you’ve been so horribly disillusioned by all those dreadful gold-diggers suddenly getting dollar signs in their eyes every time you bring out the titanium Amex to pay for a cup of coffee.’

  Joel laughs. ‘Ah. Maybe that was the problem. How different the last few years might have been for me if I’d only had the good sense to use cash.’

  ‘But the thing is, Joel,’ I go on, taking a seat, for a moment, on one of the oak benches next to the big table, ‘I just get the impression that you’re looking for a really serious relationship.’

  ‘Yeah. I am.’ He shrugs. ‘I make no secret of that. I mean, trust me, I’ve had my share of casual hook-ups—’

  ‘I’m sure you have,’ I say, hastily, because I really don’t want to hear about Joel’s casual hook-ups (and, even if I did, for some masochistic reason, it’s just a tad insensitive of him to bring the subject up only fifteen minutes after we’ve just enjoyed our own extended hook-up).

  ‘… but can I just ask, Libby, if you believe in such a thing as a soulmate?’

  ‘Soulmate?’ I echo.

  ‘Yes.’ He sits down next to me, his body warm through his robe. ‘I know some people think it’s just a silly, romantic notion. That there are hundreds – thousands – of people in the world that any one of us could fall in love with. Not just one very special one.’

  ‘No. I mean, I don’t think it’s a silly, romantic notion. I believe in soulmates. One hundred per cent.’

  ‘You sound as if you think you have one.’

  ‘Yes,’ I blurt. ‘Or rather, I did. It’s … not an issue any more.’

  ‘That’s good. Because I think you might be my soulmate, Libby. Even though I only met you a few days ago.’

  I blink at him. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. Really. Don’t you think we have a connection? Something special? I don’t just mean, by the way, that I fancy you rotten, and that – as I’ve very happily just discovered – you’re absolutely incredible in bed. But I already told you that I thought there was something magical in the air when we met. And I’m a tech guy at heart, Libby. I don’t use words like magical lightly. Not to mention that I know it makes me sound more than a little crazy.’

  ‘It doesn’t make you sound that crazy. Trust me.’

  ‘Well, then. You’ll understand why I think you’re destined to be with me. Now, I don’t know what your strategy was for persuading Dillon that he was supposed to be with you—’

  ‘It wasn’t Dillon!’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No! I already told you, he’s just an ex. If that.’ I move an inch or two away on the bench, so I can look at Joel more easily. ‘Why are you fixing on Dillon?’

  ‘I’m not. I just thought … look, all I’m saying, really, is that I’m not the sort of person to sit passively by and watch from the sidelines. If I see a chance of happiness, I grab it. Life is all about seizing the moment.’

  ‘Yes … I’ve heard pretty similar advice from … a friend.’ I swallow. ‘It’s good advice.’

  ‘It’s great advice. I’d never have had all the success I’ve had, in my professional life, if I didn’t go after the things I really want. The things I really believe are right for me. So really, Libby, all you need to know is that I thoroughly intend to woo you with every fibre of my being.’

  I can’t help smiling. ‘Woo me?’

  ‘Woo you.’ He looks, for a moment, slightly consternated. ‘That’s the word, right? I’m not suddenly making a mistake with my English?’

  ‘No, Joel. You’re not. It’s just a funny word, that’s all.’ I reach out a hand to touch his face. ‘You’re so incredibly perfect,’ I suddenly say. ‘You really are, Joel.’

  He drops his head down to place a soft kiss on my wrist. ‘Not as perfect as you.’

  My phone, somewhere outside in the hallway, where I dropped my bag as we came inside, has started ringing.

  It’s Nora’s ringtone.

  ‘Sorry, Joel, but I should get that.’

  ‘Really?’ He looks mildly irritated that he’s being interrupted, mid-woo. ‘It’s urgent?’

  ‘It’s my best friend. She’s on holiday in France, away from her baby for the first …’ I stop, because obviously I don’t have to justify to Joel why I’m answering my ringing phone. ‘Yes, it’s urgent!’ I say. ‘Or rather, it could be. I won’t know unless I answer it.’

  ‘Of course. You go ahead. I’ll pour us some more champagne. And I’ve probably got strawberries somewhere in the fridge.’ He gets to his feet. ‘We could dip them in some fresh cream.’

  This had better be bloody urgent from Nora, that’s all I can say. Here I am, cosily drinking post-sex champagne with a handsome man, who had already proved himself to be dynamite in bed before strawberries and cream were brought into the equation …

  I hurry to the hallway, grab my phone from my bag and answer.

  ‘Nor?’ I hiss. ‘Sorry, but it’s a bit of a bad time. Well, actually, it’s a great time, but—’

  ‘Libby? Are you with them?’

  ‘With who?’

  ‘Olly and Dad! At Central Middlesex!’

  ‘The hospital?’

  ‘Yes, the hospital.’ She sounds absolutely frantic. ‘Mark’s trying to get us a flight, but there’s nothing until five in the morning, and we’re in this fucking village, miles from anywhere—’

  ‘Nora, what’s going on?’

  ‘Clara. And Mum. Mum fell down the stairs taking her down for a bottle a couple of hours ago.’

  ‘Oh, my God.’ I feel the floor shift beneath me. ‘Nora, I … Are they OK?’

  ‘I don’t fucking know, that’s the whole point! Olly called me half an hour ago from A and E, and he said they’d taken Clara straight through to Paediatric Intensive Care … I don’t even know about Mum, I didn’t ask.’ A sob escapes; cool, calm Nora is more panicked than I’ve ever heard her. ‘But she’s seventy-five, and it’s a steep staircase … I just keep having visions of Clara’s little head, slamming to the floor at the bottom … she’ll have been so sleepy, and it’ll have be
en such a horrible shock …’

  ‘OK, don’t panic,’ I say, even though I’m feeling panicked enough myself, and it’s not even my child we’re talking about. ‘Let’s try to think clearly. Can you hire a car? Get an overnight train?’

  ‘Nothing until tomorrow morning!’ Nora is actually in tears, now; I can hardly understand her. ‘I don’t know what to do, I have to get back … if I’m not there …’

  ‘Everything OK?’

  This is Joel, coming out into the hallway, a dish of strawberries in one hand and a bowl of cream in the other. I just stare at him for a moment, my muddled brain unable to compute why, in the middle of a crisis, he’s wandering around with soft fruits, until I remember that he doesn’t actually know what’s happened.

  ‘Nora’s baby,’ I croak at him. ‘She’s fallen down the stairs … well, her mum fell down the stairs, holding the baby—’

  ‘Oh, fuck.’

  ‘Who’s that?’ Nora gasps. ‘Is he a doctor? Does he think it sounds as bad as I do?’

  ‘No, he’s not a doctor, he’s … please, Nora, try to just stay as calm as you can. She’s stuck in the middle of nowhere in France,’ I tell Joel, desperately. ‘They can’t get a flight for –’ I glance down at my watch –‘another six hours.’

  ‘France? Where in France?’ Joel is turning around and striding back into the kitchen. He puts the bowls down, and grabs a landline phone from the counter. ‘I can send my helicopter.’

  I stare at him.

  ‘Helicopter?’ Nora screams down the phone. ‘Who the hell is this guy you’re with, Libby? Does he think that’s funny?’

  ‘No, no, he really does have … er … a helicopter.’

  ‘I’ll get Sav on it right away,’ Joel is saying, dialling a number into the phone. ‘Sav, hi, it’s me,’ he says, a moment later. ‘I need to send the helicopter for an emergency pick-up. It’s at Battersea Power Station, right?’

  He doesn’t, I somehow manage to notice, greet her with any kind of a hello or a sorry it’s the middle of the night, but he’s obviously aiming for speed. And also, I guess, if you work as a billionaire’s personal assistant, late-night demanding phone calls are probably just part of the job.

  ‘So can we get a pilot at this time of night?’ he’s asking. ‘No, it’s not a very long trip, just France …’ He glances over at me. ‘Where exactly is your friend right now, Libby?’

  ‘The South,’ Nora gulps, on the other end of my phone. ‘Near Arles.’

  ‘OK, so that’s good news, there are a tonne of helipads round there,’ Joel says, knowledgeably. ‘What do you think, Sav, we can probably get someone out there about … ninety minutes from now?’ He listens to the reply. ‘OK, I’ll do that … Yep … Thanks, Sav, I’ll let you get on it.’ He puts the phone down and comes over to me, then takes my iPhone from my hand. ‘OK, Nora,’ he tells her, ‘I’m going to call my assistant Savannah back in five minutes, with your phone number. She’ll have it all sorted by then, and she’ll call you right back. Just stay by your phone. Oh, and pack whatever you need, because she’ll probably have a car on its way to you any minute now. Is that OK?’

  ‘It’s more than OK.’ I can just hear Nora’s voice, on the other end of my phone. ‘I … I have no idea who you are, but … this is … thank you. Thank you so much.’

  ‘It’s nothing, honestly … Look, you go and get yourselves sorted out, and then keep the line free for Sav to call, OK?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, we’ll do that. Libby, give him my number,’ she calls, and then the phone goes dead.

  With a shaking hand, I scribble Nora’s number on the piece of paper Joel is holding out in front of me. If I weren’t so horribly shocked by the awfulness of this entire situation, I have to say, I’d be even more agog at Joel’s swift command of the situation. I mean, sure, it’s easier to be in command of a situation like this when you happen to have a helicopter and a scarily efficient assistant at your disposal … but that’s not really the point.

  ‘So, do you want to go, too?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘In the ’copter. To pick your friend up. In case she wants you? I mean, getting you to Battersea will slow take-off down by about half an hour, because otherwise I reckon they can get someone airborne in about fifteen minutes—’

  ‘No, no, I don’t want to slow anything down … but I would like to get to the hospital, actually. To be there when she gets there, and … well, her family are like family to me, too, Joel …’

  ‘It’s OK. It’s no problem.’ He puts a hand on my shoulder. ‘We’ll get you there by car. I’ll drive you myself. I’ve only had half a glass of champagne. If that’s OK with you?’

  ‘It’s fine. It’s great.’

  ‘Good. We’ll take something a bit less draughty than that ridiculous Bentley. Come on,’ he adds, drawing me towards the bedroom. ‘Come and get dressed, and I’ll call Sav with your friend’s details. Then we can get going.’

  ‘You’re … this is so nice of you, Joel.’

  ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘It’s not nothing.’

  ‘It really is. I mean, the only real use of all this ridiculous money is if you can actually help people out when they need it. Oh, that’ll be Sav,’ he adds, as the landline rings. ‘I’ll give her Nora’s number right now. You go and get dressed. And relax, Libby. I’m sure it’ll all be OK. And nothing,’ he says, before he picks the phone up, ‘is going to be helped by panicking.’

  I’ve texted Olly, a few times, to let him know that I’m on my way to the hospital, but seeing as all I’ve had is a terse OK in reply, I don’t expect to see the sight that greets me as I hurry towards the A&E building from the car park, with Joel at my side.

  Olly is waiting outside, peering out into the darkness to look for me.

  ‘Libby,’ he says, hurrying towards us as we approach.

  It’s hard to tell in the darkness, and with the blindingly yellow lights around the entrance, but he looks about ten years older than he did the last time I saw him.

  ‘Nora’s just called.’ He stares at me, and then at Joel, and then back at me again. ‘She’s on her way in … a helicopter?’

  ‘Yes. It’s Joel’s. How’s Clara? And your mum?’

  ‘Clara’s OK, we think. A lot of blood everywhere, and a few stitches, and they want to do a CT scan in the next few hours, just to be sure there’s no bleeding inside her head. But she’s pretty wide awake, and seems quite happy … Tash is in with her right now, actually … sorry,’ he adds, peering more closely at Joel. ‘You’re … you have a helicopter?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Joel sticks out a hand for Olly to shake. ‘I’m glad it can be of some use to you. Is your mum OK?’

  ‘Broken wrist, dislocated shoulder, some cracked ribs … she must have contorted herself to take most of the impact of the fall, bless her.’ Olly’s voice wobbles, ever so slightly. ‘They’re scanning her right now, in fact. I’ve not seen her yet, but Dad’s in with her. I’ve been manning the phone.’ He waggles his phone at us. ‘I’m almost out of power, actually.’

  ‘Oh, I should have a portable charger in my car somewhere,’ Joel says. ‘I can go and get it for you?’

  ‘That would be amazing, actually, mate,’ Olly says. ‘If you don’t mind?’

  ‘No problem. Is there a coffee place open anywhere here at this time of night?’

  ‘Yeah, just through the entrance of the main building.’ Olly points. ‘Right there.’

  ‘OK, why don’t you two go and get some coffee and I’ll see you there with the charger in a few minutes?’

  We watch him head back in the direction of the car park.

  He’s obviously giving us a few minutes together to regroup, which is lovely of him.

  In fact, I’m still pretty astounded by Joel’s general loveliness all night.

  ‘Is he … some kind of super-hero?’ Olly asks, in a dazed sort of manner, a moment after Joel’s out of earshot.

  ‘No. At least, I don’t think so. Come
on,’ I add, taking him by the arm and leading him towards the main hospital building. ‘He’s right, you should get a coffee. Have you eaten anything since you got the call from your dad?’

  ‘No … I’d taken the night off the restaurant, tonight, for me and Tash to get an evening together … I cooked us a tagine, but we got, well, a bit side-tracked … and then Dad called—’

  ‘OK, so you definitely need to eat.’ I try to whitewash from my brain the image of Olly and Tash getting side-tracked on their romantic, tagine-eating night in together, as I park Olly in a plastic chair beside a plastic bistro table, then head to the counter to get him a double espresso, a couple of sandwiches and a selection of those wafer biscuits with the cream fillings. My phone is ringing as I open my bag to pay, but a quick glance shows me that it’s only Cass, so I (wisely, I think) ignore it. This is no time – if there ever were a time – for her to be asking me for status updates on the sexathon with Joel.

  ‘Right, now, I know you’re fussy about quality,’ I tell Olly, as I return to the table with my tray. ‘But you’ve got to have something from this little lot. And no complaints about the coffee, either. This is Central Middlesex Hospital at midnight, not Verona on a warm spring afternoon. You’ll drink it as it comes.’

  ‘Duly noted.’ Olly does, in fact, down the double espresso in about two sips, without a single word of complaint, and then reaches for one of the wafer packs. ‘Thanks so, so much, Libby.’

  ‘For the wafers? Don’t be ridiculous. They were seventy pence.’

  ‘Not for the wafers. For coming. And for … Joel. The helicopter. I can’t even tell you the state Nora was in when I first spoke to her …’ He actually shudders. ‘And now she’s on her way, and she might even get here in time for the CAT scan … it’s all just so, so much less horrific than it was an hour ago.’

  ‘Don’t thank me for that. I’ve done precisely nothing, Ol. It was just sheer dumb luck that I was … with Joel when Nora called.’