Outrageous Fortune

by Lulu Taylor

  Coco stared at Haley, her cheeks burning with shame and fury.

  ‘Forget it,’ muttered the girl next to her, one of the nicer ones. ‘She’s a stupid cow. You sound better than she does anyway.’

  ‘OK, from the top!’ called Roberto.

  Coco fought down her fury so she could start again, but the joy had gone out of it.

  She’s going to be sorry, she thought grimly.

  26

  ‘MORNING, DAPHNE!’ CALLED Mr Armstrong, sticking his head out of his office door as Daisy walked through the back corridor of the Excalibur.

  ‘Oh.’ She blinked at him, still dazed with tiredness after her early start and the journey across town on the bus. She’d already worn herself out dealing with the first linen delivery of the day. ‘Morning.’

  ‘Would you come into my office for a moment?’ His head disappeared back inside the office. Daisy went in to where Mr Armstrong was already standing behind his desk. He looked to be in a state of chaos as usual, his office piled high with boxes and the desk top scattered with so much paper that the computer was almost entirely buried in it.

  ‘What is it, Mr Armstrong? Can I get you anything?’

  ‘Alan.’ He put his hand to the back of his head and rubbed away at his curls distractedly as he stared at the boxes all around him.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You can call me Alan. I won’t know who you mean if you keep calling me Mr Armstrong. Now, a cup of coffee would be nice. Pop to the kitchen and ask Chef, would you? My mug is marked Alan, so you’ll know it’s mine.’

  She went off obediently, remembering with wry amusement the way that she’d been fawned over whenever she’d visited Dangerfield’s plush headquarters. That splendid building was a world away from this dingy, badly lit office, and the idea of her fetching coffee for anyone there would have been extraordinary.

  ‘Hey, Pete! Coffee for the boss,’ she called as she marched into the kitchen.

  Pete looked up from where he was going through stock lists, and grunted in the direction of a large pot of freshly brewed coffee. ‘You all right?’ he asked, as she went to pour a mugful.

  Daisy nodded. She’d been here for four weeks now and was beginning to get to know the other staff; they were mostly a friendly lot, resigned to working in a state of constant chaos. They were all fond of the boss but knew he was exceedingly disorganised, making their jobs difficult when supplies ran out or bills were left unpaid. Only last week, the laundry contractors hadn’t turned up in protest at the outstanding invoices still sitting in a pile on Mr Armstrong’s desk. Daisy had asked Muriel, the head receptionist and unofficial deputy manager, to sort it out for them or there would be no clean linen for any guests that day, but Muriel, in a flat spin of panic, had scrabbled about, achieving nothing. In the end, Daisy had got on the phone herself, arranged for a temporary replacement service to deliver that morning, and then had forced Muriel to go into the boss’s office, find the invoice and get the money transferred by wire that afternoon. Normal service was resumed the following day, and when the clean linen was delivered, the other maids had given Daisy a round of applause.

  ‘You’re doing well,’ Pete said gruffly, which was high praise as he was usually hard to please and very critical. ‘We like having you around. Don’t let anyone frighten you off, you hear?’

  Daisy smiled. ‘I won’t.’ She took the mug of coffee back along the corridor to Alan’s office, where he was absorbed in something he was doing on the computer. ‘Here you are,’ she said, putting it down.

  ‘Oh, thank you, Daphne,’ he said absent-mindedly, not looking up. She went to leave but he said, ‘Sit down a mo, will you?’

  She did as he said, wondering what he might want. When he finally looked up, he said, ‘You still here?’

  ‘You asked me to sit down.’

  ‘So I did. But why?’ He frowned, thinking hard, then his face cleared. ‘Yes, I remember. I’ve got some people coming in later, from head office. And I’m aware that this is a bit of pigsty. Won’t really do to have them see the place like this. When you’ve finished upstairs, can you come and give me a hand?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Good, good. I’ll see you later then.’

  Daisy went about the usual chambermaiding duties, pushing her trolley from room to room so that she could strip and remake beds, replace towels, clean and replenish the supplies. As she went, she marvelled at the way people could leave the rooms in such different states. Some you would never know had been slept in. Others looked as though a pitched battle had taken place in them. Some people clearly prepared elaborate meals in theirs, others scattered food and drink cartons everywhere. Some were scattered with used condoms and twisted up tissues, others were picked clean as a bone, every sachet of sugar gone. Each room had to be returned to the same standard of cleanliness for whoever would be arriving that day. It was dull, repetitive and tiring, and she could still hardly believe she had taken this job, especially when she’d slogged her guts out getting her diploma in hotel management.

  But, she reminded herself as she pushed her trolley along the corridor, getting her passkey from her belt ready for the next door, this was the best way to get inside without being noticed. The Excalibur is exactly the right hotel, I know that. They wouldn’t have had a vacancy for someone of my qualifications. It had to be like this.

  The work might be sheer drudgery but Daisy was surprised by how much satisfaction she got from it. Annunciata, one of the older maids, had shown her exactly how to clean the rooms, laughing with disbelief at Daisy’s lack of skill.

  ‘You never seen a cleaning cloth?’ she shrieked in her Brazilian accent. ‘Look at this! It’s not clean, dear, it’s covered in smears. You never cleaned a sink? C’mon, you can do it.’

  She’d never believe that I hadn’t seen a bottle of cleaner until two years ago, Daisy thought wryly. Or even changed a pillow case.

  Under Annunciata’s guidance, she’d learned how to make taps and mirrors shine, and how to whisk through the rooms like an efficient tornado, stripping out dirty linen and making crisp new beds, each day trying to improve on her time for the day before.

  But I won’t be sorry when this particular part of my plan is over, she thought as she bent over to smooth out the twentieth sheet of the day. In fact, it can’t come too soon.

  Two hours later, Daisy knocked at the office door.

  ‘Yes?’ came Alan’s voice from inside.

  She went in. ‘You wanted me to help clear the office. I’ve finished the rooms so I can give you a hand now.’

  ‘Excellent, excellent.’ Alan rubbed his hands together, smiling. ‘Let’s get stuck in. Filing is not my forte, I’m afraid.’

  ‘No.’ Daisy eyed the boxes of paper and the piles on the desk. ‘You need an assistant.’

  He guffawed. ‘No money for that! I tried to get Muriel to help but she said unless she’s paid more, she’s not lifting a finger. You can see her point. Wages are rubbish in this outfit, hours are long. Why should she?’

  Daisy began to shuffle through a stack of unpaid invoices. ‘I could help you,’ she said innocently. ‘I’ve got a bit of admin experience from my diploma course.’

  Alan stopped what he was doing and regarded her carefully. ‘Yes, that’s always been a bit of a puzzle about you, Daphne. What’s a girl like you doing as a chambermaid? I’m sure you don’t need to. The others now, they’re bright ladies but they don’t have many options because of their lack of English. You, on the other hand …’ He studied her even more quizzically.

  ‘And if you don’t mind my saying, you don’t sound like a girl from the wrong side of the tracks. It’s not a criticism,’ he added hastily, ‘just an observation.’

  ‘I suppose it seems odd,’ Daisy said carefully, ‘but I want to climb the ladder. I don’t intend to be a chambermaid all my life, of course not. But I think it helps to know a business inside out, from the bottom up.’ She held up a piece of paper with a red ‘Urgent’ stamp
ed across it. ‘Alan, you’d better see to this one immediately, or Pete’s not going to get his vegetable supply tomorrow.’

  ‘Ah, yes, well spotted,’ he said, successfully diverted. ‘I’ll deal with it now.’

  An hour later, the office was looking much tidier, with a pile of paperwork for Alan to deal with immediately and a stack of filing that Daisy said she didn’t mind doing, if he wanted her to.

  ‘That would be most helpful, if you’re sure,’ he said, frowning. ‘I can’t promise more money.’

  ‘I’m happy to help.’ Daisy smiled.

  The phone on Alan’s desk rang. He picked it up. ‘Thank you, Muriel. Yes, show them in.’ He put the receiver down, grinning at Daisy. ‘Just in time. The big bods are here.’

  She stood up to straighten her skirt, and a moment later Muriel had knocked on the door and then stood back to allow two men to enter, both in smart suits, one silver-haired and middle-aged, the other dark and much younger but stony-faced.

  ‘Good day, gentlemen,’ Alan said heartily, coming forward to shake the visitors’ hands, looking quite shabby and down-at-heel compared to them. ‘Can I offer you tea or coffee?’

  ‘No thank you,’ said the older man, a little stiffly, ‘we’ll just get on if that’s all right.’

  The younger one shot a glance at Daisy, his brown eyes cold. ‘And, if you don’t mind, miss, this meeting is private.’

  Daisy stared back at him, interested. What were these head office guys about to say to Alan? Their body language was not good, although Alan didn’t seem to have noticed. ‘I’m just leaving, actually,’ she said sweetly.

  ‘Yes,’ Alan put in. ‘Pas devant, eh? I understand. That’s all, thanks, Daphne. You can skip off home if you like.’

  ‘Thanks, Alan,’ she said, gave the visitors a beaming smile and let herself out.

  She’d have liked to stay and listen – but all in good time.

  27

  THE PARTY WAS on the Saturday night, and the girls were taken down to Surrey in a bus first thing that morning so that they could do a run-through and full rehearsal during the day. There would be a lot going on, Roberto had warned them. The place would be swarming with caterers, decorators, electricians and all the rest. They would have to work hard to make sure that everything ran smoothly and they were familiar with the venue.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said one of the other girls with a sigh. ‘We are professionals, Roberto, we know what we’re doing!’

  I don’t, Coco thought. She knew she was the least experienced of them all. She’d only danced the routines in the studio or in her bedroom and had no idea if she’d be able to do them somewhere else. She’d never danced in front of an audience either. The punters in the club didn’t count; they wouldn’t care if she had two left feet and did hopscotch for them, so long as she did it with her tits out. The people at the party would be properly posh, used to the best.

  She felt sick every time she thought about the performance. She feared being the one to forget the steps, or fall over and wreck the whole thing.

  Sam had let her have two days off, but grudgingly. Blanche had teased her: ‘We won’t be good enough for you any more when you get back here! You’ll get a taste for the high life and we’ll never see you again.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, you’ll see me here Monday night just like usual,’ Coco had said, though in her heart she wondered if something was going to happen.

  The coach picked them up at Marble Arch at what felt like the crack of dawn. It was very luxurious, with reclining seats, air con, little televisions in the back of each seat, and a very nice lavatory as well. Coco chose a seat at the back where she could sit on her own and keep quiet, and was relieved to see that Haley wasn’t part of the party. She must be going down under her own steam.

  The coach pulled off and they moved smoothly out into the road and past Hyde Park. I can’t believe I’m twenty, Coco thought, and this is my first-ever trip out of London. Properly out of London. Then she remembered. Today’s my birthday. I’m twenty-one today. There didn’t seem much pointing telling anyone. Who would care? Maybe Michelle had remembered but it had been ages since Coco had been back to see her, and her mum didn’t even know her address. Maybe I’ll get a glass of champagne or something later. I can toast my birthday then.

  The journey took only a couple of hours. The other girls chatted, read magazines or watched the programmes on their mini-television screens while Coco gazed curiously out of the coach windows as they drove through towns, villages and stretches of countryside. It was certainly beautiful – rolling green fields, dark patches of woodland, neat hedgerows and banks of wild grasses and flowers everywhere – but also very strange. Where were all the shops and houses? Where was all the traffic? Where were the people?

  The coach rumbled along country roads and then they were going along the high brow of a hill, the land sweeping away below them to where villages nestled in valleys.

  ‘That’s it, I think!’ cried Roberto, pointing, and they all craned their necks to see. Coco pressed her nose against the glass to get a proper look. Beneath them, near a small picture-book-pretty village dominated by a church, was a huge house, but what drew the eye were the two enormous white marquees in the grounds, shining in the sunlight. And in the field next to them, three helicopters were parked, also glinting in the morning sun.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Coco breathed, hardly knowing she was speaking aloud. ‘Fuck’s sake, look at that! Bleedin’ ’ell.’ She knew people lived in places like this – she’d seen the pictures in celebrity magazines, the big mansions where pop stars, soap actors and footballers dwelled – but it was hard to imagine it. Now she was going to see what life in that world was really like. She felt excited, but also awed. Surely someone was going to notice that she didn’t belong.

  As long as I keep my mouth shut, I’ll be fine, she thought. No one will guess what I really am.

  The dancers were not shown into the house. Instead they were taken into the largest marquee where workmen and technicians were working furiously. Coco was disappointed. It looked a bloody mess, with wires everywhere, tables and chairs stacked over most of the floor, along with lights, air-conditioning units, and boxes and boxes of glasses and booze. A team of florists was in one corner, arranging huge stems of lilies in enormous glass vases, and one of them was throwing a tantrum because she hadn’t received a delivery of something vital. People swarmed everywhere, going about their many different kinds of work, while harassed party planners dashed about with clipboards, shouting at people and barking questions.

  ‘Dunno how they’re going to get this sorted by tonight,’ Roberto whispered. ‘It looks like a task from The Apprentice or something.’

  ‘Are you the dancers?’ cried an anxious-looking woman in black, a clipboard in her hands. She brushed her dark brown hair out of her face as she scanned it. She was wearing a headset with a small microphone bent round her jawline towards her mouth. ‘Please say you are! Or else say you’re the vodka-shot girls!’

  ‘We’re the dancers,’ Roberto said.

  ‘Oh, fantastic! Huge load off.’ She ticked her clipboard theatrically. ‘I’m Polly. Over there is Sophie, and that’s Taggie over talking to the barman.’

  Coco stared at her in astonishment. She’d never heard a voice like it. So that was what they meant by a plum in the mouth. How does she do it? It sounds like really hard work, talking posh like that. But she can’t half dish it out.

  Polly was talking rapidly as she led them towards the back of the marquee where a stage was being constructed. At one side, workmen were stringing up glittery streamers and putting up a black backcloth while technicians were loading a lighting bar with spotlights. At the other was a discreet passageway that led to a backstage area.

  ‘I’m afraid you’ll be sharing this with the catering staff,’ Polly said as they all trooped after her. ‘Their mobile kitchens are parked just over there and the waiters will be using this as the way in out of the main part. You’ll nee
d to keep well out of their way when dinner is in full flow.’ She suddenly seemed to focus elsewhere, and a moment later spoke into her headset. ‘Roger that, Miranda. Dancers are here. Just showing them the backstage area now.’

  She took the small party to show them their quarters – a makeshift dressing room with a table, mirrors and a rail for costumes.

  ‘Show run-through at eleven-thirty,’ said Polly. ‘Lunch laid on afterwards, OK? Thanks so much. Grab me if you have a problem.’ Then she dashed off.

  Coco felt anxious as she put her things down, and helped Roberto unpack the costumes and hang them on the rail by the changing area. They were wrapped in plastic and a label attached to each hanger named the dancer who would be wearing that outfit. This wasn’t how she’d imagined it. It was chaos out there. How could it ever be ready in time? How on earth were they supposed to have a rehearsal in that bloody mess?

  But at eleven-thirty the stage had been constructed and an area in front cleared so that the dancers had room to do their routine. Coco was keen to start dancing. She limbered up in the shadows as catering staff dashed around her, but the preparations seemed never-ending, most of it focused on the lights and the sound technician. There were long, tedious stretches of time where nothing happened. Haley had arrived separately, and now stood at her mic stand where every now and then she sang a few notes, and then they all waited while levels were changed or connections checked.

  Coco passed the time watching the tables being set out and the florists manoeuvring their vast displays on to plinths around the marquee. All this for one bloke! One bloke’s birthday. She wondered how much it was all costing. There had to be a hundred people rushing about, and she’d once seen a bunch of white roses that cost thirty quid, and there were dozens and dozens of them here, long luxuriant stems mixed with lilies. It must be hundreds. Thousands, probably. Who the fuck has that kind of money?