C. Pho
A WEEK HAD now passed since Niles’ last attempt to contact Jools by email. To him, it felt like years. Now, standing in his shower, ice-cold water raining down on his skinny, naked body, he tried to cool the emotional firestorm building within his frantic mind.
After his run-in with Skuttle, Niles had returned to Jools’ flat in hopes of staking her out. She had to turn up at some point – if she still lived there. So he waited, hidden in a nearby tree, for nearly seven hours before deciding to give up. He took a quick tour of the neighbourhood to see if he could find Skuttle – he didn’t believe that wino when he said he didn’t know her – but he was out of luck there, too. Was everyone disappearing on him? Sometimes Niles would wake up in the middle of the night, cold sweat coating his body. Had Jools ever existed, or was she some fantasy he’d cooked up in his overheated brain?
Of course she existed, he chided himself. He had the emails and pictures to prove it. He had records of phone calls. He wasn’t that far gone. At least not yet.
Niles managed to get Rocco’s contact information from one of the other building tenants by telling them he was in the market for a new apartment. When he called Rocco to enquire about Jools, the dodgy landlord turned out to be just as cagey as Skuttle.
‘Who da fuck is asking? You some sort of perv?’ Rocco had shouted after Niles asked if he had any information on Jools’ whereabouts.
Niles had completely frozen. ‘I’m an old friend,’ was the best that he could come up with.
‘Well listen, old friend,’ Rocco said, mockingly, ‘I don’t give out personal information about my tenants unless they’re dead or wanted by the cops. But since Jools ain’t a tenant anymore, seeing as how I booted her fat butt out, I can tell you this: she don’t know how to pay her rent.’
Rocco slammed the receiver down. Frustrated he couldn’t seem to get any useful information, Niles did the same, managing to catch his index finger in the process.
‘Owwwwwwww.’
This wasn’t supposed to happen. No woman was supposed to have this much control over him. Ever. Niles had fully expected Jools to be tied up in his basement by now. The harder she made it, the more he felt she deserved it. No woman had ever made Niles feel so powerless. He would make Jools pay for what she was putting him through – if only he could find her.
Deciding he wouldn’t sleep a single wink until Jools was safely stashed away in Slough, he dried thoroughly, patted himself down with liberal amounts of talcum powder, splashed some cheap cologne on his face and changed into his favourite tracksuit. Brewing a pot of very strong coffee, he sat down at the kitchen table to do some serious thinking.
Where could she be?
He spread the newspaper out on the table before him. Mindlessly flipping the pages, he peered at the giant black-and-white images plastered beside each article. A boy on a farm had raised a five hundred pound pig; a woman in Yorkshire had given birth to identical quintuplets, all as ugly as she was; a teacher at a local boys’ school was being accused of exposing herself to one of the students during Morning Prayer. Niles was disgusted. The world was full of pathetic people scrambling to get what they could before they died.
Then, there it was. On the front page of the local news section, a sign from God. The newest political golden boy, the probable new MP of Kensington and Chelsea, standing in front of a row of terraces with a giant smile on his smug face. Wearing an impeccable suit, shiny shoes and hair so perfect it seemed moulded from plastic, Rodney Wetherspone looked ecstatic.
And why shouldn’t he be, thought Niles, with that pretty young piece next to him?
He looked closer.
Wait a second . . . wasn’t that . . . ?
Yes, it was! His Jools!
The sight of her standing there, all dolled up in a posh suit, arm in arm with Rodney Wetherspone, was enough to make him want to tear his hair out.
Instead, he slowly sipped his coffee, cut the photo out of the paper, and started making a new plan.
*
Back in her perfect white bedroom, Jools swore to herself that she would do everything possible to protect Rodney’s public image.
The incident with Mrs Pho had been a very close call, and further humiliating experiences had to be carefully avoided. Which meant if she and Rodney had any chance of pulling off their scam, it was necessary to sever all ties with the biggest personal embarrassment of all: her dad.
She placed the call.
‘Hiya!’ Jools’ dad answered the phone cheerily.
Jools had been expecting him to sound just a bit more penitent and downtrodden, considering that he was wanted by the authorities in at least one country.
‘Dad, it’s me.’
‘Joolsy! My little girl. All grown up and getting married! How do you like that?’
Brilliant. He’d received the invitation. Margaret Wetherspone was certainly efficient.
‘It’s great news, Dad,’ Jools said, trying to find the right way to break the bad news to her father. Not only was he no longer invited to the wedding but he could pretty much never set foot in her life ever again. Not that he’d been there much to begin with.
‘So, Dad, there’s something we need to discuss,’ Jools said anxiously.
‘Don’t worry, hon, I’ll make sure to buy a proper suit for the ceremony. That Wetherspone bird said she’d handle everything. Joolsy, you done real good landing that bloke. His mother sounds like a right posh bit – loaded, too. The Dorchester. Fancy that!’
‘Yes, Dad, Rodney and his family are very well off.’
‘And he’s in politics, eh? That’s my girl. I knew you’d land on your feet. Just like your dad.’
‘Right,’ Jools said.
‘I’ll tell you, it sure was nice of the Wetherspones to fly me and the old lady back home. I don’t know how I would have done it otherwise. And I’ll be damned if I’m not going to be there on my little girl’s special day.’
Charlie Grand sounded legitimately happy for her and in the thirty seconds they’d been on the phone, he hadn’t once asked her for money. A small patch of warmth began to coat her heart. As embarrassing as he was, and as much as she sometimes loathed him (and wondered if she was, in fact, his at all), Jools was touched by the sentiments and couldn’t bring herself to cut him from her life.
Well, not at that particular moment, anyway.
‘So what else is happening?’ he asked, finally giving her the opportunity to speak.
‘Oh, you know, not much. Just busy with the planning.’
‘Well luvvie, I’d like to chat but I was just popping out for a cocktail.’
‘What time is it there?’
‘Cocktail time. Always cocktail time here, Joolsy. Cheers, talk soon.’ And with that, he was gone.
Jools sat in silence for a moment. What on earth was she going to do?
When nothing came to mind she went to the kitchen to review the contents of the huge, state-of-the-art, stainless-steel fridge.
Sitting on the beach in Ibiza, his skin the colour of an over-ripe blood orange, Jools’ father turned his daughter’s wedding invitation over and over in his hands.
‘That’s quite the return address,’ he mused, staring at the crisp, Smythson stationery.
Jools had really hit it big. He wasn’t sure exactly how she had managed to charm this rich, handsome, successful man into falling for her. Sure, Jools was cute, but she wasn’t the kind of bird he himself would go for — probably a good thing, seeing as how they were related.
They had never been particularly close but he was her father, after all. He raised her, paid for her clothes and food, put a roof over her head when she was growing up. It figured that she owed him. Wasn’t it the child’s job to care for the parents in their old age? Not that he was old, mind you. He was younger at heart than most men half his age. He could still get the girls, too. They loved him. Sometimes he thought he was too good with the ladies. It was his charm that had got him into his current mess.
<
br /> I need to get out of here, he thought to himself. Get out of Ibiza and back to old Blighty – and live with Jools and the Wetherspones in their mansion. It made perfect sense, and it was the least Jools could do.
‘Right, sorted,’ he said aloud, rising from his beach chair, folding the invitation into thirds and stuffing it into his back pocket. ‘I’ll get out of here, back to the UK, and live with Jools and her posh new family.’
Chapter 14
Dear Miss Julia Grand,
Thank you for opening a new Black account with Imperial and Colonial Banking Group, and for your recent deposit of £76,000. Your new debit card is enclosed. We are also writing to inform you of our great interest-bearing term deposits, with high rates of interest a business woman such as yourself will appreciate. Please don’t hesitate to contact us with any queries.
Rutherford Smith
New Business Manager
‘I KNOW IT seems steep,’ the salesman said, ‘but look at it this way: time is money, right? How much time do you waste waiting for your applications to open, your files to download, your documents to print? You won’t have to wait on anything with this baby. This one is cheetah-fast.’ He stroked the laptop.
He did have a point, Jools thought. After weeks spent using that grubby thing Skuttle had rigged up for her, and years using her own sluggish late nineties-era model, an upgrade was definitely in order.
Besides there was still plenty of money to pay back the bank – and she might not have to, if those lawyers could come up with something shonky to get her out of it.
‘I’ll take it,’ she told the 20-something standing behind the counter. He was a good salesman – and he was cute, which didn’t hurt. But even he couldn’t compete with her new computer. The most expensive Mac on the market, it was gorgeous. Super light-weight, the stainless steel casing giving it an almost space-age appearance.
This computer is a fresh start, she thought, handing over her seductive-looking black debit card. The salesman quickly rang up her purchase, along with the extra software, crystal-encrusted mouse and digital camera he’d convinced her were ‘must haves.’
It was a heady feeling, being able to purchase so much, and Jools had no intention of stopping now. She headed over to Harrods, aiming straight for the handbags on the ground floor. Looking around at all the glorious specimens on offer – totes, clutches, shoulder bags – she decided she’d better set herself a limit: no more than £1000 (on handbags, anyway).
But a Vivienne Westwood Ebury Ostrich Tote for £700 caught her eye, then a Pauric Sweeney Eel Skin Hobo Bag in turquoise for £975 called out (given her recent past, how could she refuse it?), then a brief but tantalising glimpse of the Nancy Gonzalez Crocodile Fold-Over Clutch in red for £1100 teased her . . . God, there was going to be trouble.
Ostrich, eel and crocodile: a dream safari and scuba-diving expedition. But no nasty desert dust or unflattering wetsuits required: Harrods had conveniently converted all the wild and exotic creatures into luxury fashion accessories so that she could enjoy them in every-day comfort. Buying three handbags was far cheaper than going on safari anyway, and though the shopping day was far from done, she could surely keep herself from splurging too much when she started looking at clothes.
But by the end of the afternoon, Jools had spent nearly £20,000 on a variety of items she didn’t need, including £500 on matching silk bra and knickers that no one would ever get to see.
Only the realisation that she hadn’t eaten all day made her stop. Imagine, food had taken a back-seat to shopping! In fact, she’d managed to lose quite a bit of weight recently. Being homeless tended to do that. Even if she did have a home now, with all this shop-ercise she’d be down to a size 12 in no time.
A few times, as the black card worked its magic, she wondered if she was going overboard, but there just didn’t seem any reason to stop. It felt so good to be able to spend.
A tiny prong of guilt nudged when she caught sight of the price of the 500ml bottle of Crème de la Mer moisturiser for £900, but the girl behind the counter, whose skin was so perfectly luminescent it had a hypnotic effect on poor Jools, persuaded her to purchase another £200 worth of cleansers and anti-aging creams.
Jools sat down to grab a quick bite at Pizza et Pasta Inc. After all that exercise, she could afford to indulge in a few calories. Waiting for her lunch to arrive, she removed her flashy new piece of electronic love from her bag and placed it on the table, making sure to wipe down the table with a cloth napkin beforehand. She popped the lid open and the computer came to life with a soothing, harmonic hum. Jools was ecstatic when an icon at the bottom right corner of the screen flashed, indicating the computer’s wireless card had picked up a signal.
She clicked the browser icon on the task bar and quickly navigated to her inbox to see if there were any new messages. Yes! Her heart fluttered as she opened an email from Brad.
Brilliant. The American hunk is still interested, she thought with relief. Maybe her plan to have a bit on the side would work out, after all.
Brad’s email was short and sweet. Suddenly spending hundreds of pounds on brand new knickers didn’t seem so silly.
Sad to have missed out on the greatest purchase of my life, Brad wrote, but maybe I can still buy you dinner?
Jools clapped her hands and thought for a second about what to write back. She had to be careful. She was committed to Rodney, committed to being his wife (at least on paper), and it wouldn’t do to go running around London (or America for that matter) with another man. Now that she was a public figure, she had to be very crafty about maintaining the secrets of her personal life.
She knew Rodney wouldn’t care about her sleeping with other men. But he’d be more than a little annoyed if her actions tainted his public persona. It was all about keeping up appearances and now, staring down the barrel of a £20,000 shopping bill, Jools wasn’t about to jeopardise her set-up. Plus, Rodney seemed a semi-decent bloke, and she didn’t want to mess up his political career any more than she wanted to mess up her chances of remaining liquid.
Jools hit the reply button. Dinner’s a definite option, she wrote. The auction may be over but my affection remains. Let’s see what happens.
It was a perfect response, she thought: breezy and flirtatious, but sexy and mature. She hit ‘Send’ just as a huge Supremo pizza and a large salad arrived on a shining metal tray. Jools closed the computer and stored it safely back in its soft leather sleeve.
The waiter placed the gigantic circular dish in the centre of the table. ‘Hope you don’t mind me bringing the pizza out before your friend arrives. We weren’t sure if you wanted to wait.’
‘I’m not waiting for anyone,’ Jools said, shoving her napkin on her lap. What was with these people? She licked her lips and contemplated which slice to grab first.
The waiter looked over his order pad curiously. ‘Sorry, madam, I have here that you ordered a large.’ He started to lift the giant tray off the table. ‘If there’s been a mistake, I can – ’
‘Stop!’ Jools grabbed the tray and bit into a slice, wondering what on earth the problem was. The waiter stared, then shrugged and walked away.
Polishing off the pizza and salad, Jools made her way to the Blue Bar at the Kensington Royal Hotel for a quick drink with Mel. Hampered by all her purchases, she was 20 minutes late. Mel gave a huff of annoyance when Jools entered, laden down with shopping bags and sporting a pair of obnoxiously large Jackie O-style sunglasses.
‘Sorry, darling.’ Jools deposited her bags on the floor and plopped down in the booth opposite Mel. ‘It’s been one hell of a trying day.’ She leaned over and air-kissed Mel, who was completely taken aback by her friend’s continued transformation.
‘Looks like it’s been an expensive day,’ Mel said, sipping her martini.
‘Oh, not that bad, really. Just a few necessities. What are we drinking?’ Jools called the waiter over and ordered herself a martini as well, but told him to make hers chocolate.
<
br /> ‘Well, isn’t this fun?’ she said to Mel. ‘Girls’ night out. Just like the old days, except now we can sip chocolate martinis at the Blue Bar instead of drinking watery coffee at Mama Blue’s.’
‘Got your wedding invite,’ Mel said, getting down to business. ‘Gorgeous stationery. Must have cost a bloody fortune.’
‘Probably. I didn’t have much to do with it. Rodney’s mum is handling all of that.’
‘How nice for you.’ Mel rolled her eyes.
‘Actually, it is. It is nice to be surrounded by people who truly care about my happiness for once.’
‘Rodney’s mum wouldn’t care an ounce about your happiness if she knew what was really going on,’ Mel said, refusing to hide her disgust.
‘And what’s going on, Mel?’ Jools asked. ‘I’ve met a wonderful man who needs me just as much as I need him and we’re getting married.’
‘Bollocks.’
‘If you can’t be supportive, you don’t have to come, you know.’ Jools regretted her words the instant they fell from her lips.
‘Is that what you want?’ Mel looked hurt.
‘Of course not.’ Jools grabbed Mel’s hands and squeezed. There was no point in starting another argument, not now.
‘Of course I want you at my wedding. But not if you’re going to be sitting in the corner, sneering at me the entire day.’
‘I won’t sneer. Promise. I can’t assure you I’ll be smiling the whole time but I won’t sneer.’
‘Deal,’ Jools said.
‘And Michel will be there too, so at least I’ll have a shoulder to cry on if things get too insane.’
‘Oh, really, Mel. Do you have to bring him?’
‘The invite said I could bring a guest. Who else am I going to bring? He’s my boyfriend.’
‘Right.’ Jools sipped her drink. Obviously Mel was choosing to live in denial for the foreseeable future. ‘Everything alright with you two?’
Naked in Knightsbridge Page 12
