‘But these are my favourite Prada strappy sandals,” she whined. Debonaire didn’t need to say more; he just gave her a look. Tangy walked over to Jools and handed her the shoes.
‘Take care of them,’ she said, her eyes filling with tears. ‘They’re my babies.’
Jools put the shoes on. ‘Now can I see myself?’
Debonaire led her to a mirror and Jools lifted her eyes.
Bloody hell! Was that her? She looked like another person: someone beautiful and confident. Someone who looked as though they belonged in Knightsbridge, living next to Mrs Pho, not working for her. Her new blonde hair glowed, lighting up her eyes. For the first time Jools could remember, it hung straight and glossy around her face, arranged into a neat, fashionable bob. The suit fit her figure perfectly, the chic tailoring stripping her of twenty extra pounds. Tangy’s prized Prada sandals made her legs look slim and shapely.
‘Dear God,’ she breathed as she took in the new woman before her. She finally realised just how much her life was about to change.
‘Wonderful. Just wonderful,’ another male voice announced. Jools turned to find Rodney standing in the doorway, a smile stretched clear across his face. ‘You look simply marvellous. Debs, I can‘t thank you enough for making my, er, one true love, look even more, um, beautiful than she already did.’
Debonaire folded his arms across his broad chest and rolled his eyes at Rodney. ‘Well, it’s the least I could do for you and your one true love, isn’t it?’
‘Shall we?’ Rodney held his hand out to Jools, ignoring his friend’s sarcasm. Her perfectly polished nails glistened in the salon lights as she placed her hand in his. *
When the Benz pulled up in front of a large building in Eaton Square, Rodney turned to Jools and told her not to worry about his parents. ‘Really, they’re quite harmless.’
‘I’m not worried,’ she said truthfully. ‘I spent the afternoon being tortured. Could it really be any worse than that?’ Rodney smiled. ‘I’m feeling pretty good right now. In fact,’ Jools continued, ‘I don’t remember the last time I felt quite so good about things.’
‘Excellent,’ Rodney said, still smiling. ‘Let’s hope it stays that way.’
‘I can’t wait to see your parents’ flat.’ Jools stepped out of the car and looked up. ‘It’s a brilliant building. How many flats are there here?’
‘Flats?’ Rodney asked, looking perplexed.
God, they didn’t make the people smart in this part of town, did they? Jools took a breath to stay patient. ‘Yes, how many flats in the building?’
Rodney laughed. ‘There are no flats here. My parents own the whole place.’
Oh God, Rodney’s parents must be Saudi-oil rich to be living here by themselves. Jools was nervous now. With all that money to protect, surely they were going to be a little suspicious of her sudden appearance in their only son’s life?
But Rodney grabbed Jools and led her through the wrought-iron gate that stood before the massive house.
There was no time to escape.
Chapter 11
Dear lawyers at Little, Barry and Morton,
I refer to your rather narky letter of last week. The reason I haven’t responded to the bank’s calls is because I was momentarily homeless. In fact, come to think of it, if the bank had agreed to loan me more money to tide me over, as I’d asked, I would not have become homeless. Do you think I might have a claim against the bank? Surely that would wipe out the debt I owe them? Maybe you could take the case on a ‘no-win no-fee’ basis. Of course, I’d need to see your schedule of fees, because I saw on telly once that some law firms take far too much of any court-awarded funds, and I wouldn’t want to be ripped off, would I?
Yours sincerely,
Julia M. Grand
PS: I swear on the Bible that everything above is true – just to speed things up.
THE FRONT HALL of the Wetherspone mansion was four times the size of Jools’ old flat and probably ten times the size of Skuttle’s squat. A white-haired man wearing an impossibly wrinkle-free tuxedo appeared. In fact, his entire demeanour was wrinkle-free: there was not a single hair out of place on the man.
Jools stepped forward, arm outstretched. ‘Mr Wetherspone, pleased to meet you.’
The man made a small noise and Rodney pulled her back. ‘That’s the butler. Good evening, Clement.’
A butler. Wearing that outfit? In the 21st century?
‘Good evening, sir,’ Clement responded, averting his eyes from Rodney.
‘Clement, I’d like you to meet my fiancée. Jools, this is Clement. He’s been with us since I was a boy.’
‘Hiya,’ Jools said, holding out her hand again. Clement nodded slightly and Rodney cleared his throat, throwing her a glance that clearly said you never shake hands with the help.
‘It is my great honour to meet you, Miss,’ Clement responded gravely. Jools couldn’t stop a laugh from escaping before correcting herself and curtsying awkwardly. Rodney rolled his eyes.
‘You only curtsy to the Queen, Jools,’ he whispered through clenched jaw. ‘Now give the man your coat so we can proceed, will you?’
With the coats safely deposited into Clement’s capable hands, Rodney led Jools into a sitting room so huge that the ceiling seemed four storeys high.
He took a seat on a small chaise and patted the space beside him.
‘Are you sure?’ she asked. She’d lost a little weight during her period of homelessness, but even Kate Moss might threaten the stability of that chair. ‘Seriously, it doesn’t look like it’s for sitting.’
‘Of course, it’s for sitting,’ he told her. ‘We are in the sitting room, after all.’
‘Everything looks so perfect,’ she said, admiring the glimmering set of Fabergé eggs proudly displayed on the huge marble mantel, each one in pristine condition without a single speck of dust. The other chairs and settees scattered about the room looked just as immaculate. It didn’t seem as though anyone had ever set a single foot onto the exquisite Oriental rug spread out underneath it all.
‘Mother is very particular about maintaining an appearance of cleanliness, tranquillity and grace. That is why she has such a large staff. But she still expects people to use the furniture.’ Just then, as if on cue, Rodney’s mother appeared in the doorway.
‘He’s quite right, darling,’ she said, taking a step into the room, her white Maltese nestled like a baby in her arms. ‘What would be the point of having all this furniture if no one ever got a chance to enjoy it?’
Rodney stood as his mother made her grand entrance. She was a tiny woman with dark hair pulled into a tight bun at the top of her head. Her skin was ivory and her eyes were rimmed perfectly with jet-black liner. Ruby red lips contrasted dramatically with her cream-coloured trouser suit. For such a tiny woman her presence practically filled the room.
‘Mother,’ Rodney said, planting a soft kiss on her cheek. ‘This is Julia.’
‘Well, of course it is, Rodney. Who else would it be? Charmed, my dear.’ Rodney’s mother extended a tiny, manicured hand in Jools’ direction.
Jools froze. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to shake Rodney’s mum’s hand or kiss the massive emerald ring on her middle finger. She opted for yet another uncomfortable curtsy, almost toppling over onto the rug. She even went so far as to drop her eyes to the floor.
‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs Wetherspone.’ Her voice sounded high-pitched and reedy.
She heard Rodney groan. ‘It’s Lady Wetherspone, Jools.’
His mother shot him a foul look.
‘Judging from that greeting one would think she’s meeting with the Queen. No need for such formalities, dear. You may call me Lady Margaret or even Mother, since I am soon to be that very thing to you.’
Jools straightened up. Rodney’s mother wasn’t all that bad; a definite improvement on the cow in the beauty salon, that was for sure.
‘Aren’t you pretty?’ Lady Margaret said, admiring Jools’ perfect ha
ir and makeup. ‘She’s every bit as charming as you described, Rodney.’
‘And you said you didn’t believe me.’ Rodney sounded more petulant child than loving son.
‘I believe it even less now that I’ve seen her in the flesh. Tell me, Julia, what on earth is a smashing girl like you doing with my ridiculous son?’
Jools wasn’t sure how to answer. She had no idea how much Lady Margaret knew about their arrangement. She didn’t even know if Rodney’s family was aware that he was gay.
‘Actually, I find your son quite smashing himself,’ Jools said, looking at Rodney, who suddenly perked up at her support.
‘Is that so?’ Lady Margaret was clearly not believing a word of it. The Maltese suddenly came to life, barking and struggling to get out of her mistress’s arms. ‘Hush now, Ping Pong!’ Lady Margaret ordered and immediately the dog went back to sleep. Margaret Wetherspone was obviously used to being obeyed. ‘She’s an old bitch, Ping Pong, but I love her dearly. Rodney will tell you that I love her more than I love him but that’s not true. It’s a different kind of love. Ping Pong is so loyal and Rodney is just… well, my son. I do see quite a bit more of Ping Pong, however.’
‘I’m sorry but I’ve been a trifle preoccupied these days,’ Rodney began. ‘What with the preselection coming up–‘
Margaret cut him off. ‘Oh, please, Rodney, I don’t care to hear how busy your life is. It’s so dull.’ She turned to Jools. ’Has he told you of his silly plan to become an MP? They don’t call it the House of Commons for nothing, do they?’ She stroked Ping Pong’s head. ‘Shall we go to the dining room? Langston should be down any moment. He had a very trying polo match this morning and he’s been resting ever since.’
Margaret placed Ping Pong on the chaise and extended her hand to Jools, who took it, allowing her tiny hostess to lead her out of the sitting room. She glanced back at Rodney and flashed a ‘Dear God, help me look’ at him but he was staring at his feet.
Rodney’s father was already seated when they entered the dining room. A short, stout man with a few tufts of white hair atop his otherwise balding head, he wore spectacles and tight-fitting, grass-stained polo attire. Even Jools was slightly shocked to find him dressed so casually for dinner.
He was one of those men who appeared to subsist on copious amounts of cheese and lager. His belly was round and solid as though hiding a keg under his shirt and his cheeks remained perpetually flushed throughout the meal. He reminded Jools of a gruff, pissed Santa Claus.
Like Lady Margaret, Langston seemed quite taken with Jools — more than he was with his son, anyway. ‘My son is, of course, a great disappointment,’ he told her. ‘I had hoped he would go into the law. Instead he’s wasting his time with blasted politics.’
‘Langston was a High Court Judge,’ Lady Margaret told Jools, patting her husband’s hand, ‘and despite the fact that he managed to secure Rodney a position in a chambers of note, Rodney insisted on doing his own thing.’ She made it sound x-rated.
‘How interesting,’ Jools said, trying to follow the conversation even though she had no idea what they were talking about.
‘And law is the only profession, I tell you, the only profession worth bloody anything in this modern world. Politics,’ Langston continued, ‘bollocks! Who in their right mind takes politicians seriously?’
He prodded manically at one of the colony of garlic snails that sat before him, swimming in a shallow bowl of butter. At least Jools thought they were snails. The small apparatus in his hand was proving an inadequate tool as he attempted to wrest the small, rubbery creature from within its once-mobile home.
‘What is it that you do . . . uh . . . Jools? Is that what Clement said her name was?’ Langston bellowed at his son.
‘My heavens, Langston, of course her name is not Jools. It’s Julia. I’ve told you twice already.’
‘I can’t be expected to keep track of things like names,’ he huffed.
‘Don’t pay any attention to him, Julia dear,’ Lady Margaret advised. ‘But do tell us what it is that you do to stay busy.’
She nibbled daintily on one of her snails. Langston had abandoned his tool and was stuffing as many as possible into his mouth at one time. A small trail of greasy garlic-butter ran down his lip and into the crevice of his chin.
Jools opened her mouth to speak, hoping that her mind would work faster than her lips and that whatever she thought to say would not make her sound like a complete fool. Thankfully, Rodney responded before she had a chance.
‘Julia does most of her work online,’ he said.
‘What does that mean?’ Lady Margaret asked.
‘Internet sales,’ Rodney responded.
‘Jesus, man!’ Langdon slammed his fist on the table. The few remaining snails in his colony bounced out onto the table. ‘Would you let the girl speak for herself? You’re not her bloody keeper!’
‘Temper, darling,’ Lady Margaret said to her husband, patting his hand again. ‘You know what the doctor said about your blood pressure.’
‘It’s that damned boy!’ Langston took a large swig from his glass of red wine. ‘He’ll send me to an early grave, not the blood pressure.’
‘I’m at leisure, actually,’ Jools said, finally working up the nerve to take part in the conversation. ‘I’m lucky. I sold some of my, um, assets and made a quite a bit, so I’ve been able to focus on myself lately.’
‘Ah!’ Lady Margaret clapped her hands together. ‘An independent woman! How lovely.’
‘Bah!’ Langston stuffed more snails into his mouth. ‘Where’s the next course? These snails are far too much work.’
Margaret rang a small gold bell by her plate. As if by magic, two tuxedo-clad waiters appeared.
‘Well, Rodney, I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but it looks like you’ve finally gone and done something right.’ Margaret nodded towards Jools.
‘Rubbish!’ shouted Langston. ‘He’ll have to work harder than that if he’s to start getting any compliments from me. So he’s found himself a decent girl to marry. Any half-wit with a fancy car can do that.’
Lady Margaret smiled, obviously humoured by her husband’s insults.
Jools didn’t understand why they were so down on Rodney. By all accounts, he was a success: the kind of man any parents should be proud of. Even if he was gay, that was nothing to be ashamed of, was it?
‘So have you given any thought to the wedding?’ Lady Margaret asked.
‘Not really, Mother, but . . .’ Rodney began.
‘I wasn’t speaking to you, Rodney. The wedding has nothing to do with you. It is the bride’s affair entirely.’
‘Sorry.’ Rodney fiddled nervously with the cloth napkin in his lap.
‘I’m not sure yet,’ Jools said.
She needed to talk to Rodney before she said anything more to his mother.
‘Rodney tells us that you’re motherless. Is that true?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid. My mother is no longer with us.’
‘Ah! Well, you leave everything to me. I’ll make all the arrangements.’
‘Brilliant.’ Jools shot a nervous look at Rodney.
‘We’ll have it at the Dorchester on Park Lane. And I don’t see any need for a guest list greater than three hundred, do you, Langston, darling?’
‘Leave me out of it,’ Langston grumbled.
‘Three hundred people?’ Jools was shocked. ‘Isn’t that a lot?’
‘Not if you want all our respective family and friends in attendance,’ Lady Margaret responded.
Jools had to stop a snort from escaping. All of her family! That was a laugh. Jools could fit all of her family members and close friends into a small walk-in closet these days. She hardly needed to rent out the Dorchester for a ceremony that was all business, no pleasure. Then again, it might be nice to have a fairytale wedding at a beautiful venue.
Athough a man batting for the ‘other side’ didn’t exactly meet fairytale criteria.
‘I’m
afraid I don’t have much family,’ Jools admitted. ‘It’s just my dad and he’s… out of the country at the moment. He won’t be able to come.’
‘Nonsense!’ Margaret commanded. ‘Give me his contact information and I’ll handle everything.’
Jools nodded although she couldn’t even begin to imagine that particular conversation. But she couldn’t very well tell them her father was wanted in Europe for having it on with teenagers. She gave Lady Margaret her father’s address in Ibiza, praying to God he was banged up in jail and wouldn’t be able to respond.
*
An hour or so later, they were back in the car.
‘I think that went well,’ said Jools.
Rodney was gunning the car west, the driver having disappeared into his parents’ house. ‘Yeah, they liked you.’
They sat in silence for a while, then Rodney pulled up in front of a small terrace not far from Harrods.
‘I’ve got, er, work to finish up. Do you mind going in and making yourself at home?’
‘Sure.’
Once she was out of the car – house keys and alarm code in hand – Rodney roared off. Suddenly, Jools had little desire to investigate her new home. She almost wished she was spending the night back with Skuttle, or at least Mel.
Mel. Yes, she could take a stroll over to Mel’s place. She didn’t want to gloat, exactly, but she did want to let Mel know that her plan had worked out after all. Of course, Mel hated her guts right now, but she might be so shocked at her appearance she’d forget all about the boyfiend and her mother. Or she might not recognise Jools and let her in by mistake. Whatever it took, Jools needed to talk to her.
She arrived at Mel’s building just as someone was leaving. Scurrying through the open door, she made her way to Mel’s flat.
Testing the handle, she found it unlocked.
‘Mel?’ Jools pushed the door open and walked into the dimly lit foyer. She waited a moment before calling Mel’s name again. There was no answer so Jools decided to leave a note telling Mel that she’d stopped by and could now be reached at Rodney’s swank little SW7 terrace.
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