Nell sat in stunned silence. Adele? What the hell had she bought it for? And where had she got the money? She shook her head violently. ‘You’re wrong, Ross. I don’t know who told you – but they’re pulling your leg. Mum wouldn’t –’
‘She would and she did.’ Ross eased himself on to the arm of her chair and slid his hand beneath her hair. ‘I was there at Jessons when she came up for the first test. I saw her write the cheque. It was supposed to be our secret. She didn’t want you to know.’
Nell’s world was slowly falling apart. ‘And Dad? Was he in on this, too?’
‘He still doesn’t know anything as far as I’m aware. Your mother swore me and Dad to secrecy until – well – until today. She’ll probably tell Peter tonight – before someone else does.’
And give him another heart attack, Nell thought bitterly. Poor Dad. Poor her.
She swallowed the rest of the Martini without tasting it. Her mother! The one person she really believed in. The one person she thought she could trust. And all that time at Blenheim – and all the phone calls – and she hadn’t breathed a bloody word!
‘But what did she think she was doing?’
‘Moving Bradleys forward – because you wouldn’t.’ Ross stroked her cheek. ‘She did it for you, sweetheart. For your dad’s peace of mind. And for us.’
Oh, holy shit, Nell thought. Adele might as well have forced the wedding ring on to her finger. Adele might as well have consigned the gallopers to the scrap heap. Adele had just destroyed her dreams.
Chapter Twenty-one
News of the Crash’n’Dash seemed to have spread pretty rapidly. Not only were Meridian television due to send cameras and a reporter to Marsh Minster when the fair opened later that afternoon, but Central had also got wind of it and were billing the Bradleys as ‘our local travelling family’.
Claudia simply couldn’t decide what to wear.
Discarding anything in leather or PVC as too hot for the sultry afternoon and anyway bound to inflame Danny – and really not wanting to resort to Monsoon or Laura Ashley because they were Sam’s favourites – she thought she might just have to go shopping.
Danny would have no objection to a spending spree – the Crash’n’Dash had made a fortune in its first week. In fact, at the moment he would have agreed to anything. Maybe she could encourage Nell to come with her. Nell had been thoroughly depressed ever since Haresfoot and could do with cheering up, although for the life of her Claudia couldn’t see why.
So what if Adele had paid for the Crash’n’Dash? It meant they didn’t have to, didn’t it? And Danny had assured her that no, according to the arrangement with Clem Percival, his mother didn’t want reimbursing – nor did she want a cut of the profits. She’d simply done it, Danny said, to help the family move forward and to make Peter’s retirement recuperation that much easier. Claudia knew differently. Claudia knew that while that may well have been Adele’s second and third motives, the primary one had been to get Ross and Nell together.
And, she thought, pulling on a pair of wide-legged cotton trousers, it had worked. Maybe Nell didn’t want to go to bed with Ross – she couldn’t blame her if she didn’t fancy the sex side, after all – but there were compensations. Ross wasn’t a bad-tempered pig like Danny; he was attractive and generous. And the Sipson living wagon was a total dream. Even she had been in and begged the use of the shell-shaped bath, which was bliss after months of showers. She had already made up her mind to ask Danny to get a similar bath when he changed their van next year. God – what more did Nell want? Well, apart from love, of course, and some sort of traditional fairground. But, she reflected, slipping into a white shirt and knotting it under her rib-cage, you just couldn’t have everything you wanted, could you?
Claudia had tried really hard to make a go of things with Danny since the row at Blenheim. Now that she knew – thanks to Sam’s expert tuition – how delightful kissing could be, she’d tried initiating her husband. It hadn’t been an unmitigated success. Danny wasn’t into preliminaries. It really was roll-on roll-off, as Sam had correctly surmised, and he’d pushed her irritably away when she’d tried to kiss and cuddle first.
Then of course there had been that embarrassing episode during the Blenheim concert when Adele had seen her and Sam together. It had taken all Sam’s powers of charm and persuasion to convince his mother that she’d witnessed nothing inflammatory; that all she’d caught had been an innocuous kiss between brother and sister-in-law during a moment of inebriated emotion over the music and the fireworks. Adele had eventually believed him. Adele would never know that they’d been stone-cold sober and deadly serious.
They had decided then to cool things down. Not, Claudia thought, sliding her feet into a pair of strappy Portuguese sandals, that things had reached boiling point. At least, not for her. But they were beginning to simmer nicely. And so, irritatingly, was her conscience. She was beginning to develop really deep feelings for Sam. Her heart stirred when he smiled at her, and she shivered when he touched her. Worst of all, she really enjoyed just being with him – that was the scary part. And as for the kissing – well, the kissing sometimes made sleeping difficult, especially when Danny had just performed one of his loveless and rather brutal manoeuvres. But she was married. And she was going to have to stay married because she didn’t have any choice. And cheating – she flinched at the word – was something she read about in the Sunday tabloids. Other people cheated. She didn’t. Kissing, she was still convinced, didn’t count. Cheating began below the waist.
She checked that she had a full house of credit cards, picked up her bag, and headed for the door.
Nell was sitting on the steps of her living wagon, looking very slinky in a blue denim mini-dress, and reading an old Jilly Cooper with some ghastly music playing in the background.
‘What the hell is that?’
Nell peered over her sunglasses. ‘Poet and Peasant Overture. Played on a ninety-eight-key Limonaire organ. It’s a CD I bought yesterday in that shop just past Poundland. Why? Do you want to borrow it?’
Claudia grinned. ‘Not really my style, thanks. And I wouldn’t have thought it was yours either, quite honestly. It hardly goes well with Motörhead and Iron Butterfly on the Crash’n’Dash, does it?’
‘The Brain-Scrambler is nothing to do with me.’ Nell removed the sunglasses completely and turned down the page of her book. ‘And when I run my bloody mother to ground I shall tell her so.’
Claudia laughed. When they’d found out from Ross that Adele was the mystery benefactor, Nell, Sam, and Danny had all wanted to talk to her, although their reasons for doing so varied from outrage on Nell’s part to delight on Danny’s. Sam, she’d noticed, had been far more ambivalent. But Adele had proved elusive.
They had all simply got the answerphone at Graceland; the mobiles were switched off and no one, not even Clem and Marcia Percival, had a clue where they were. Nell had belted down to Highcliffe in a white-hot fury. She’d been practically volcanic when she’d returned.
The Hart-Radstocks – who were keeping an eye on Graceland – had told her that Adele and Peter were on holiday. On the Elvis Presley Memorial Tour. Yes, that’s right, dear – in America. Probably for about two weeks. Adele had been rather vague about the itinerary. It had all been arranged at the eleventh hour.
They still weren’t back.
‘I wondered if you fancied spending some dosh.’ Claudia thought it would be a good idea to steer Nell away from the subject of Adele. ‘Unless, of course, you were going to have another clandestine meeting with the bank manager?’
‘I hadn’t planned one until later in the week. And yes, why not?’ Nell switched off her ghetto-blaster, and hurled her book and sunglasses on to the sofa inside the wagon. ‘Although I want it put on record that any dosh I spend today is strictly my share of the takings from our rides – not anything to do with the Brain-Scrambler.’
Claudia knew. Ross had told them all that Nell was adamant that she was not going to
be taking a penny from the Crash’n’Dash’s quite considerable earnings. Claudia secretly thought such high ideals were seriously misplaced when it came to money. But then again, Nell had the bank manager. He probably had a nice little nest egg tucked away somewhere in ISAs or whatever it was Danny was always rattling on about.
Nell locked her front door. ‘And is there any particular reason for this sudden urge to spend money?’
‘Not really. Oh well, yes, actually. Because the telly people are coming – and I can’t decide which image to go for. I thought of trying something grown-up like Next or Benetton.’
‘Pretty drastic for you. If it’s grown-up you want, maybe you should be looking in that nice little shop behind Art Maycroft’s machines.’ Nell was grinning. ‘They do pleated skirts and Tricel blouses. Just up Danny’s street. But, if it’s a change of image you’re after, I’ve got an even better idea.’
Claudia was feeling pretty sceptical as they headed for the town centre through the ranks of closed-down rides and joints. Marsh Minster was a large street fair, and seemed to be welcomed by shopkeepers and residents alike. There had been all sorts of problems in the past when all the shops bordered the road and customers from the town defected in droves for the week, but since the Minster Mall – all chrome and glass and fountains – had been constructed, everyone seemed happy.
‘OK.’ Nell stopped in front of a pink-and-lilac shopfront with huge windows swathed in miles of lace. ‘Yeah, I know it looks like a knocking shop in a Humphrey Bogart movie – but it’s actually really nice. I – um – popped in yesterday to suss it out. Are you up for this?’
Claudia felt doubtful. Top-to-Toe sounded a bit radical when she only wanted to buy a new dress. ‘Won’t we have to have appointments?’
‘For some of it, no doubt.’ Nell was already pinging her way in through the frilly-knickered door, ‘but when I asked yesterday they said they always try and squeeze people in. They do hair and facials, and waxing and manicures, and pedicures and body wraps, and exfoliating and – Oh, hi, you two.’
Claudia smiled warily at the Mackenzie twins who were just paying at the pink desk. They didn’t look any more or less glamorous than before; just glowingly young in their skimpy white shorts and vest tops. Claudia suddenly felt ancient.
‘Just had our bikini lines waxed,’ Nyree-Dawn informed them.
Mercedes grinned. ‘You know – just in case we get lucky.’
‘Are they old enough to know about bikini lines?’ Claudia stared after the twins as they drifted outside. ‘I never even showed mine to anyone until my wedding night.’
Nell was leafing through a pile of glossy brochures and asking questions of the woman behind the desk who had the very surprised look of the recent face-lift. She turned to Claudia, the light of fanaticism in her eyes. ‘We can have facials and makeovers and hair-dos today, now – without appointments. Manicures and body wraps will have to be booked. What do you reckon?’
Claudia reckoned that a nice frock from Next and a new pair of earrings would probably go down a treat on Meridian telly, but as Nell looked so enthusiastic and this was supposed to be a. sort of Samaritan expedition she nodded. ‘Facials, then –’
‘Oh, come on.’ Nell was already heading through a mass of pink voile curtaining. ‘A change of image you said. Don’t be such a wimp. Let’s go the whole hog.’
Two hours later, Claudia blinked in amazement at herself in the mirror. Oh my God! Danny would go neutron.
‘It’s super, dear! Simply super. You won’t know yourself.’ The Top-to-Toe assistants crowded round in their little pink-and-lilac overalls and clasped their silver fingernails in delight. ‘Quite a transformation!’
Was that her? Was that really her without the ten years of shaggy curls and the black eye-liner and the false eyelashes? Had she always had those cheek-bones hidden away? And her lips! They looked like they’d just had intravenous collagen! Could that have been achieved with merely a different shade of lipstick? And had her eyes always been that huge?
‘You were wearing very heavy make-up, dear,’ the woman whose breast-pocket announced that she was called Kizzy, said happily. ‘Totally unnecessary with your gorgeous features. And as for your hair – well, Jennifer has transformed you.’
Jennifer has probably ended my marriage, Claudia thought, looking again at the inch-long, multi-layered spiky crop that framed her face and made her look younger than the Mackenzie twins. Danny had always said that women should have long hair. He liked women with long hair. He especially liked Claudia with long hair.
‘It’s incredible!’ Claudia bounced out of the chair, struggling to free herself from the rather unpleasant lilac coverall. ‘I love it! Where’s Nell? I can’t wait to see – oh!’
Nell emerged from the next-door cubicle and screamed in simultaneous delight at Claudia.
Nell’s long red-gold hair had been trimmed to one length, falling just below her shoulders in a heavy, glossy curtain exactly, Claudia thought, like one of those shampoo adverts on the television. It moved and shone as she moved, lit with fire. The Top-to-Toe hairdresser had cut a heavy fringe that now framed the slanting sleepy-cat eyes. And those eyes! Claudia shook her head. Nell’s long eyelashes, naturally pale, had been dyed jet black. The rest of the make-up was understated so that the eyes and the hair said everything. She looked stunning.
‘Christ!’ Claudia eventually managed to whisper. ‘Ross and Danny will think they’ve got new women.’
‘I just wish Ross would hurry up and get his.’ Nell beamed happily, already writing the cheque. ‘I asked them to bleach out my freckles but Charmian said they enhanced my colouring. That you shouldn’t argue with nature. And that a lot of people find freckles attractive.’
‘I don’t think anyone will actually be looking at your freckles.’ Claudia reached the desk and handed over one of her cards to the woman with the startled expression. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Ten feet tall,’ Nell beamed in delight. ‘And ready to take on the world.’
Claudia couldn’t decide whether she was referring to Ross, Adele, the Brain-Scrambler – or even the bank manager. Still, it didn’t really matter. Nell was smiling again – and that had been the whole point of the exercise.
In an aura of mutual appreciation, they stepped outside into the Minster Mall. Heads turned almost immediately, Claudia noticed with satisfaction, without needing to resort to leather or PVC or anything. She hugged Nell. ‘You’re brilliant! I can’t wait to see Danny’s face.’
Deciding that the new looks deserved new clothes, they found a small shop specialising in one-offs in jewel-bright colours. Discarding the skirt suits as too hot, the neat and smart little shifts as too grown-up, they pounced on silk shorts with cropped-off matching jackets. Nell’s was emerald and Claudia’s, ruby. A bit like the Mackenzie twins, Claudia thought, as they stalked in front of the boutique’s bevelled mirrors, only far more attractive.
‘No, don’t bother wrapping them,’ Nell was saying to the boutique owner. ‘We’ll wear them.’
The suits had even more effect, Claudia thought gaily, as they left the Minster Mall and headed back to the fair-strewn High Street, combined with the makeovers. Drivers of cars which had been diverted and had been sitting in sweltering tailbacks round the town, suddenly looked far more jaunty and leaned from windows shouting their approval. Nell, who had strong feminist tendencies, pretended to be offended, but Claudia was pretty sure that by the way she was stalking on those legs, she was enjoying every minute of it. As she was. It was a novel experience, attracting attention without even trying.
‘Christ!’ Art Maycroft blinked as they strode through the rides. ‘You’ll knock ’em for six! You’d better hurry though. I reckon Nyree-Dawn and Mercedes have stolen a bit of a march on you two.’
Claudia frowned. ‘What? What march? Where?’
‘The Crash’n’Dash,’ Art said, jogging along beside them. ‘Meridian and Central telly have arrived early and they want to start
filming. They were looking for a couple of pretty girls to sit on the seats and look gorgeous for the cameras and –’
Claudia grabbed hold of Nell’s arm and belted towards the top end of the fair. Ignoring Nell’s yelps of protest they arrived at the pay-box just as the Mackenzie twins in their white cut-offs were sashaying towards the ride.
‘I don’t think so,’ Claudia said firmly, elbowing her way in front of them and smiling at the men with the cameras poised on their shoulders. ‘So sorry we’re late. We were just getting ready. We’re Bradleys.’ She increased the smile. ‘We own the ride. Now, where do you want us?’
The cameramen muttered something salacious and Claudia had to tighten her pressure on Nell’s arm to prevent her from running away. ‘We’re only going to sit on it, for God’s sake! It’s ours after all – so why should those Mackenzies muscle in? Just smile at the cameras and think of the bank manager.’
She almost had to drag Nell into the padded seat on the far side of the Crash’n’Dash where apparently the light was better. A crowd had gathered. Nyree-Dawn and Mercedes were glowering. Andy Craig and Wesley Smith from the rival television companies were talking to Art Maycroft, then moved towards the ride, microphones bristling.
The questions were chatty and informal. Claudia answered most of them. The cameramen seemed intent on getting shots from every angle.
‘And are we going to see this amazing contraption actually in action?’ Andy Craig asked the camera.
‘Indeed we are,’ Wesley Smith informed his videoman. ‘At any moment. Stand by for blast-off!’
Claudia clenched her fingers into Nell’s thigh. ‘You can’t get off now. They won’t really run it. There’s no one in the pay-box. They’ll just pretend. They can do anything with special effects – oh, bugger!’
Dragged from their afternoon siesta, and completely unprepared for the media invasion which had been scheduled for five o’clock, Danny and Ross were standing behind the cameramen, nodding. Obviously agreeing to be filmed in the pay-box, they squeezed in behind the computerised console and began chatting animatedly into Andy and Wesley’s microphones.
Stealing the Show Page 24
