Trying to slide past Mrs Pho and out the door, Jools’ Vuitton clutch caught on a hanger and Mrs Pho grabbed her arm. ‘I tell you, lose those extra cushions, arsonist, or handsome husband look elsewhere for warm body.’ She winked and preened in a nearby mirror. ‘Maybe I apply. Maybe he fancy me?’
Jools wanted to tell Mrs Pho that Rodney was already looking elsewhere nearly every night of the week but she didn’t. She couldn’t. Mrs Pho would spread the word quicker than swine flu. If anyone knew there was no sex in her relationship because Rodney wasn’t interested in her body – and never would be unless she spontaneously sprouted male genitalia and started wearing leather chaps around the house – the deal would be off.
So, she just let Mrs Pho think whatever she wanted, even though Mrs Pho’s comments weren’t entirely off-base. Even if there was no hope of sex with Rodney, she didn’t want to look like a total cow when that hot American Brad finally showed up on the doorstep.
Chapter 16
FROM: ELVA RENDES
SUBJECT: RE: EXTRA MATERIAL FOR WEDDING DRESS
Dear Miss Grand,
Thank you for your email. Unfortunately, we cannot reschedule your dress fitting as the wedding is less than three weeks away, and we have much to do to get it ready by the deadline. Regarding your rather unusual enquiry about extra fabric, I can assure you that we did not purchase any additional materials because the metre cost is so high and we were reluctant to cause extra expense to Lady Wetherspone. However, having already had one fitting, which as I recall, was perfect, I envisage no problems in having enough material to complete the dress.
Yours faithfully,
Elva Rendes,
Chief Designer
NILES WAS SICK and tired of the cloak and dagger routine. He’d had no luck getting any dirt on Rodney and hadn’t even managed to get Rodney’s address. All he could do was wait for Jools to return.
Where the hell had she gone anyway? Who did she think she was, disappearing like that? Sure, she’d answered Brad, but the email was extremely noncommittal. Not what he’d expected at all. Even though the online auction had been put to bed, she’d still expressed interest in Brad and as far as she knew, he might be planning a trip to the UK any minute now. How was she planning on meeting him if she was never home?
Niles had to check himself from time to time to keep from becoming convinced that Brad was real. Although Brad was just a clever rouse to get Jools into his car and under his house in Slough, sometimes Niles would lose himself in fantasies where he was the handsome, charming American man sweeping Jools off her feet, making wild passionate love to her wherever and whenever he wanted.
Before locking her up for the night.
It was a soggy morning and Niles had been waiting in the tree outside Jools’ flat for hours. Very few people had come and gone and Jools, of course, was nowhere to be seen.
Niles was just about to light up a fag when he caught sight of a tall man heading down the block. He wouldn’t have thought anything more of it, but the man’s elegant attire and graceful walk looked alien in these parts.
He wore a finely tailored wool suit under a grey mac, and he held a plaid umbrella. The umbrella itself probably cost £50, Niles thought as the man neared his spot in the tree. There was something oddly familiar about the face.
As the man approached, Niles jumped down from his hiding place and scurried to conceal himself near the mailboxes at the front of the building.
The man walked towards Jools’ front door, then stopped, staring right at Niles, who was pretending to extract letters from number 4’s box.
The two men locked eyes.
Feeling braver than he felt, Niles flicked his cigarette into the gutter and took a step towards the man, who, in turn, took a half step back.
‘I know you?’ Niles asked.
‘No, I’m afraid you don’t.’ The well-dressed man backed away quickly and walked on.
‘Bollocks.’ Niles continued after the man, who promptly turned and rushed down the street. Niles followed but the guy was fast. He rounded the corner at the end of the block and when Niles finally made it to the same spot, panting and huffing from the exertion, his quarry had all but vanished into thin air. Couldn’t have gone into the bus garage though – the gate to the front entrance was locked.
‘Well, that’s certainly strange.’ Where had he seen that guy before? But it wasn’t long before Niles was thinking about Jools again, strange men in suits forgotten, and he hightailed it back to his tree in anticipation of her return.
*
After yesterday’s run-in with Mrs Pho, Jools had lost her appetite for shopping but unfortunately not for doughnuts. Thoughts of the impending wedding dress fitting that afternoon drove her straight into the arms of the Chocolate Temptations that Doughy guy had given her. They’d been sitting in the fridge in the hope that Rodney might eat them.
Thankfully, he hadn’t.
Was it possible to lose two dress sizes in four hours? She scoured the Internet looking for something, anything, to help but everything she found sounded potentially life threatening. She was desperate, yes, but not desperate enough to deliberately ingest a parasitic worm, inject saline in her bum, or have a couple of ribs removed. Not to mention that she didn’t have the time.
Well, she’d just have to go to the bloody dress fitting and do her best interpretation of well-manicured hippo. She was getting pretty good at it now. Besides, it’d only be her and the dressmaker and who cared what the woman thought about her hip measurements.
*
Jools arrived at the studio at three. Elva, the chief designer, appeared almost immediately, holding her near-priceless gown like a delicate jewel.
And behind her was Lady Margaret.
‘I hope you don’t mind, darling.’ Lady Margaret sauntered into the studio like she owned it (which, as far as Jools knew, she might well do), wearing a houndstooth swing-coat, red felt cap and dark sunglasses. ‘Rodney told me you had another fitting today and I decided to come along. Luckily there's no law that says the mother-of-the-groom can’t see the bride in her dress before the ceremony.’
Jools was horrified Rodney’s mother would see her belly rolls but the wedding designer seemed nonplussed by Lady Margaret’s unannounced appearance. Jools looked down as she sucked in her gut, hoping it’d magically disappear. But no, the rolls refused to budge.
In the change room Jools hurriedly confessed. ‘I might have put on a little weight.’
‘Ah!’ Elva’s face betrayed the horror of Jools’ flesh straining against the silk and organza.
‘Lord in Heaven!’ Lady Margaret said when Jools walked back into the room wearing the dress. She couldn’t even get it buttoned in the back and the drop waist wasn’t doing her belly any favours. ‘What on earth happened to you?’
‘I’ve just been a bit, er, stressed lately,’ Jools told her future mother-in-law, finding it hard to speak and suck her gut in at the same time.
‘I’m stressed, Julia,’ Margaret Wetherspone said, still staring, boggle-eyed, at Jools’ body, ‘The whole world is stressed. That doesn’t mean the whole world is eating itself to death.’
‘But the wedding, the press… ’
‘You’re a beautiful girl, Julia. Don’t ruin it by becoming a morbidly-obese potato.’
Jools burst into tears, collapsing on the sofa in a heap of ill-fitting organza and silk. Lady Margaret sent Elva out of the room and passed over a tissue. She perched her rail-thin frame on the chair next to her.
‘Oh dear,’ she said awkwardly. ‘Come now, Julia. It’s only weight and you can control it. You can take it off as easily as you put it on.’
Jools imagined for Margaret Wetherspone it was something she controlled with an iron will. She couldn’t imagine any errant bit of fat daring to defy her. ‘I don’t know, it was pretty easy to put on. A few doughnuts and here I am. I don’t think losing all of this is going to be that simple, or that delicious!’ Jools was close to hysteria.
Lady Margar
et moved a little closer. She smelled like she’d fallen into a large vat of Obsession and Jools almost choked.
‘I’m going to let you in on a little secret,’ she said.
Jools raised her head.
‘Blow.’
Uh, alright, Jools thought. She’d just blown her nose, but maybe she didn’t get it all. She covered her nose with the tissue again and honked.
‘No!’ Lady Margaret shook her head. ‘Not that sort of blow. Cocaine.’
Was she insane? Next she’d be offering to score some heroin. Surely it was a joke.
Or not. ‘Have I ever told you I was a muse for Yves Saint Laurent?’ Lady Margaret stroked her hair. ‘Well, have you ever heard of a fat muse? No. We could barely eat. So this was the solution. Still is, in fact.’
Jools stared.
‘Just one tiny snort a day is enough to suppress my appetite. And it makes me feel powerful, a bonus considering I’m getting on in years. One does become invisible as the decades march on.’
‘You’re suggesting I develop a cocaine habit?’ Jools asked, just to be clear. Maybe Lady Margaret had a terrible sense of humour. Or maybe this was some kind of test.
But no. She seemed to be deadly serious. ‘Oh, just a little one. I tell you, it’ll do the trick in no time.’
Jools considered it for a brief moment. But becoming hooked on drugs to cure an addiction to doughnuts was hardly admirable – even for someone like her.
‘Thanks, Lady Margaret. But I should probably just try to diet or something. Maybe join a gym.’
‘Suit yourself, dear,’ Lady Margaret said airily. ‘But do keep this between us. Langston or Rodney need not know.’
Jools nodded. At least one good thing had come out of her disastrous wedding dress fitting: she and Lady Margaret were now united by her dirty little secret.
Chapter 17
FROM: ALQUISIA KITCHEN
SUBJECT: TABLE RESERVATION
Dear Julia,
Thank you for your reservation request. Whilst we can certainly accommodate your request for a table of four, we cannot agree to your request to serve food containing nuts to a man called Michel, who may or may not have a nut allergy. To ensure the safety of all the diners in your party, we will exclude nuts from the menu offered to you this evening.
Yours faithfully,
Matt LaAqua
Manager
JOOLS HAD DECIDED to go on a diet – just not tonight. Tonight, she and Rodney had dinner plans with Mel and Michel.
They’d be going to a new place known for its huge portions of red meat. As much as Jools was dreading spending more than two minutes with Michel, she’d also been hanging out for a giant juicy wagyu steak with fried onions.
On the way to the restaurant, Jools warned Rodney about Michel and told him not to expect much in the way of social graces, interesting conversation or personal hygiene. Sure, Michel was fit (if you liked the oily, greasy sort) but he was definitely not good enough for her friend. Maybe Rodney could find Mel a handsome, straight politician to treat her respectfully and give her all the love she truly deserved.
Michel and Mel were already seated when they arrived, and Jools couldn’t help but notice Michel’s eyes light up when he saw Rodney. Must sense the cash, Jools muttered to herself.
Worse still, after their second round of martinis, Rodney and Michel discovered they loved the same things: polo, tanning and Thai massage. It was as if they’d been separated at birth.
‘You never told me you played polo,’ Jools said to Rodney.
‘Yes, well, there’s still quite a bit you don’t know about me, isn’t there?’
As Rodney and Michel continued to chat, Jools felt a strange sense of betrayal. In less than an hour, Michel had managed to get more information out of Rodney than she’d been able to extract in a month.
The ease at which the two men conversed made Jools uneasy.
She cornered Mel in the loo and told her how she felt.
‘So they’re getting on. So what?’ Mel asked, applying a fresh coat of lipstick.
‘It’s just not fair!’ Jools whined. ‘He’s supposed to be my husband and Michel is getting to know him better than I probably ever will.’
‘Jools, get a grip,’ Mel commanded. ‘You’re starting to sound like a desperate girlfriend. Why do you care anyway? It’s not as if your relationship is anything more than a business deal!’
Mel had no right to speak to her like that! Jools was just about to say so when it hit her – again – that Mel was right. She wasn’t a real girlfriend and she wasn’t going to be a real wife. She had no right to know what Rodney was up to. Her desire to do so only proved that somehow, despite all the facts, Jools hoped the marriage might morph into something real. She needed a reality check, and fast.
When they returned to the table, Michel and Rodney had made plans to play polo that weekend.
‘But we have brunch with your parents on Saturday and Sunday we’re tasting wedding cakes,’ Jools protested.
‘Jesus, Jools, we can taste wedding cakes any time,’ Rodney responded, winking at Michel, who grinned back.
‘No. We. Can’t.’ She tried to keep her voice at an acceptable volume even though she wanted to scream in frustration. ‘We have an appointment. I can’t just go cancelling appointments, can I? How would that look?’
‘Of course you can,’ Michel chimed in. ‘Appointments are made to be cancelled. Tell them Rodney is ill, in bed.’ He started laughing, as if he’d cracked a hysterical joke.
Reject. He absolutely oozed filth and lies. Even if some people were fooled into overlooking Michel’s lack of moral fibre, Jools certainly wasn’t. A lanky build and bright blue eyes might have that effect on the right person, but they did nothing for Jools who chose to focus instead on his greased-back hair and crooked teeth; his bad breath and cheap gold jewellery; his infidelity and his affinity for much older, wealthier women.
‘Keep out of this, Michel,’ Jools said.
‘Christ, Rod, she’s got you on a short lead, doesn’t she?’ Michel cackled.
Rodney shot Jools an icy glare and motioned to the waiter that their meal was over and he’d take the bill now.
Rodney ended up paying for everyone even though Mel offered to pay for what she and Michel owed. Jools was tempted to make a big scene by asking Michel why he wasn’t offering to pay for his girlfriend, but thought it better to keep her mouth shut. She was already in trouble and she knew she’d get a talking-to once they arrived home.
She was right. The minute they walked through the front door, Rodney lost it.
‘You made me look foolish tonight, Jools, and I absolutely refuse to be made to look foolish by you, of all people!’
‘I don’t understand,’ Jools fought back. ‘All I did was state a fact. We already have plans for the weekend so how are you going to play polo?’
‘Get this straight,’ Rodney told her, ‘we don’t have anything unless there are cameras on us or we’re attending a public function. My nights and weekends are just that – mine – and I’ll do with them what I want. That’s what £76,000 – and your meals and accommodation – buys.’
‘But don’t you want to have a say in what cake we serve at our wedding?’ Jools felt crushed.
‘Quite frankly, we could serve sticky toffee pudding out of a wooden trough and I wouldn’t give a rat’s arse.’
Jools knew he didn’t mean that. This wedding – or at least the appearance of this wedding – meant a lot to him. He did care about what they served, just as much as he cared about what she wore, who was there, and how many newspapers covered the event. In fact, Rodney’s only care in the world right now — apart from, apparently, polo with Michel – was pulling off a convincing wedding.
So they bloody well wouldn’t be serving anything out of a trough, be it sticky, sloppy or otherwise.
Rodney glanced down at the dining room table. The new edition of WhatNOW! sat on top of a stack of other magazines recently delivered. T
he minute he saw the cover, a huge grimace spread over his face.
‘What? What is it? What’s the matter now?’ Jools asked, agitated and starting to feel the after-effects of too much wine at dinner. Rodney held up the magazine and turned it towards her, revealing the cover photo.
She raised her hand to her mouth. There, on the cover of WhatNOW! was a photo of Jools and Doughy guy. She’d willingly posed for it – he’d said he wanted to post it on the back of his doughnut booth. He was holding a tray of Original Glees in front of her and smiling like a clown; she had a Boston Crème literally stuffed into her mouth. The caption simply stated:
No Sugar Free for Wetherspone’s Grand Wife-to-Be.
The photo was atrocious and although Jools knew the editors must have Photoshopped about three stones extra onto her, she still couldn’t hide the shame she felt for letting herself go. She started to cry but Rodney was having none of it.
‘This is great. Just great.’ His face was frozen.
‘It was a publicity shot. I had no idea he would sell it to a tabloid.’
‘Are you completely thick in the head? I’ve explained to you a million times what goes on in my world.’
Jools was in dire need of a tissue and beat a hasty retreat to her bedroom as snot slid down her chin. Rodney followed her.
‘I’m just supporting local business,’ she sniffled.
‘Looking like an overfed goose whilst doing it was not what I had in mind. And why not support a bloody health food store instead?’
‘They added those pounds on, and you know it. Besides, I’m going to lose the extra weight.’
‘You’d better,’ he barked. ‘Because you certainly can’t go around looking like this.’ He threw down the magazine in disgust.
Naked in Knightsbridge Page 14
