Twinkle Twinkle Little Lie

by Geraldine Fonteroy

  Steve’s eyebrow hit his hairline. ‘Do I even want to bother answerin’ that?’

  ‘Good, now if there is nothing else . . .’

  ‘Oh, but there is, hot stuff.’

  ‘And what exactly is that?’

  ‘My two hundred quid. Add around eighty for expenses.’

  ‘You said it was only fifty for expenses last time.’

  ‘But that’s before I saw inside here.’

  Frowning. Julia wrote out a cheque. There was no point in arguing and besides, at least the man was honest. Ish.

  ‘You know, you look like shit. Don’t your sort do Botox or somethin’? Perk you up? Don’t want to look old before your time, do ya?’

  Too bloody honest.

  Julia pushed him from the foyer onto the porch and slammed the door.

  ‘You know, he quite handsome,’ Connie said, coming out of the kitchen, tea towel in hand.

  ‘Are you going blind? He’s putrid. Now, call Hettie. I’ve forgotten there is this thing called a Form E, where you write down all your assets. David had me to do one, so lets get the sad sack from Harrow onto it. List all Kevin’s assets. She says she doesn’t know anything, but tell her to start digging. Look in the attic, or the cellar, or the dog kennel. Keep her busy.’

  Suddenly, a phone began to ring from the depths of Connie’s apron. The ring tone was some sort of party anthem. Julia glared at it. ‘A mobile? Since when do you have a mobile?’

  ‘Since forever. You think poor old Connie shouldn’t be able to call for help if she mugged getting shopping?’

  ‘If you’re mugged in Kensington you should call the BBC as it will be astonishing. No one mugs anyone around here. It’s just not done.’

  But Connie wasn’t listening to Julia. She’d answered up the phone and was walking back into the kitchen.

  Mr Rover wasn’t happy. ‘They’ve managed to stop me selling the house, apparently. And now they want me to pay her maintenance whilst we sort out the divorce? What the fuck is going on over there? And why didn’t you tell me about it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Connie mumbled. ‘She goes off to the lawyer and comes back.’

  ‘You haven’t met the lawyer?’

  ‘No. Does it matter?’

  ‘It says some woman, Suzanne Knight.’

  Connie didn’t answer.

  ‘But Julia wouldn’t be comfortable with a woman lawyer. She’s hardly got any female friends except that Lia.’

  ‘So?’

  Mr Rover almost spat into the phone: ‘Because someone is managing to do a better job than I thought Julia could afford to pay for, and I doubt it is someone called Suzanne Knight. It’s unnerving, and I don’t like it. The only explanation is she’s screwing this solicitor in lieu of fees.’

  ‘She having sex with lady lawyer?’ Connie knew she was goading him. It was quite amusing.

  ‘No, no. There is someone else behind this. Julia must have been having an affair with this guy all along. You must find out who it is, Connie.’

  ‘Or what? You imply won’t pay me?’

  Mr Rover seemed taken about at Connie’s sudden strength of character. ‘Yes, that is exactly what I am implying.’

  ‘Then maybe I take my business elsewhere.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning I tell Mrs Palmie how you plot against her. For over a year you have girlfriend. For over a year you take money from all accounts so that she not know about. Put in accounts in Switzerland and the Caribbean. She not know, but I know it all, Mr Rover.’

  A lengthy pause.

  ‘Listen, Connie. No need to be hasty.’

  Ah.

  ‘No haste. I just want more money.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘For my silence. Fifty thousand pounds.’

  ‘Are you insane,’ Mr Rover was spluttering now. ‘That’s blackmail.’

  ‘Actually, I think it extortion, but you get idea. Call me back when you decide.’

  And this time, Connie hung up first.

  The power of the upper hand was rarely felt in the maid’s world.

  It was a good feeling.

  She could get used to it.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  LIA CALLED AND SAID her husband had gone to join Rover in New York for some kind of lads’ weekend.

  ‘Excellent. Is he going to spy on the dwarf slut for me?’

  ‘No.’ The voice tapered away.

  ‘Lia, what’s wrong?’

  ‘I think bloody Hugo might be planning to let slip about David Henry-Jones being your lawyer and not that Suzanne Knight person.’

  Oh come on! ‘What! You told Hugo. How could you? You know David will drop me like a hot potato if Rover discovers he is behind my claim.’

  Julia felt ill, and grasped the side of the sofa in which she sat, watching last week’s Countrywide. It wasn’t her usual choice of viewing, but there was the chance that David Henry-Jones indulged in it, as he had mentioned it once. Apart from the lawyer thing – and of course, she was only faking that – they didn’t have anything much in common, and if they were ever to become a couple, that had to change.

  ‘Calm down, I told Hugo that David said he couldn’t be seen to be involved, that’s all. Hugo might have put two and two together.’

  God, this whole thing was becoming a nightmare.

  ‘So, now what? I wait to see if I have a lawyer in the morning?’

  ‘Don’t worry. I rang and left a message on Hugo’s voicemail, telling him not to bother coming home if he tells Rover anything. That should do it. The man wouldn’t dare put a foot wrong when he knows that I know what he’s done.’

  Julia’s head was spinning. ‘So why are you telling me all this, if you think it isn’t a problem?’

  ‘Because it’s party time. On me. While the cat’s away, the mice play, so to speak. How about The Lanesborough for drinkies, then a little Nobu, followed by some boogie woogie at Gilgamesh? ’

  The gruesome descriptions aside, Julia thought a little well-deserved relaxation was just what she needed. And given Lia and her big mouth, Julia wouldn’t feel at all bad about her friend picking up the tab.

  ‘Could we ask David Henry-Jones along, do you think?’

  ‘On a girls’ night out? Are you mad?’

  Agreeing that just the two of them would be best, Julia confirmed she’d be ready by six, and putting the phone down, called to Connie and informed the maid to get busy running a bath.

  ‘What for?’ The maid put her hands on her hips. ‘You expecting the David lawyer?’

  ‘I wish. No, I’m going out with Lia. And she’s paying.’

  Connie seemed impressed by this. ‘Good. Don’t forget to bring home cat bag for me.’

  ‘You mean doggie bag?’

  Stupid woman.

  ‘No, for the cat next door. Young girl never feeds it enough.’ The maid glared at Julia. ‘I know how it feels.’

  A few minutes later, Julia was reaching to turn off the hot water tap when Connie reappeared.

  ‘I told you, I can take it from here. I don’t need you to scrub my back.’

  ‘But your client is here.’

  Julia stood, stark naked, mouth gaping. ‘No. At four p.m. on a Friday afternoon?’

  ‘Yes. Look ugly as usual. Say she has something to show you.’

  Swearing loudly, Julia stepped into the bath and turned off the taps. ‘Bugger it. Let her wait on the that lovely little stiff chair in the foyer. Get her a cup of tea. I’ll be late for Lia if I don’t bathe now.’

  ‘But what if she complains?’

  ‘What she going to do? Sack me as her lawyer? The woman can’t even walk straight without asking someone how to do it. Now be nice, and say I am in a phone conference with Kevin, or something like that.’

  ‘Okay Mrs Palmie,’ Connie said, slamming the bathroom door behind her.

  Stupid, stupid women. Lia, Hettie and now Connie.

  She was surrounded by them.

  An hour later, Julia
walked downstairs and without saying a word, Hettie held up a sheet of paper.

  ‘What is this?’ Julia scrutinised it quickly. It looked official.

  ‘It’s from someone at some sort of legal aid office. Says part of the letter we sent Kevin is not relevant as there are no jurisdictional issues. And that if we make vexatious claims Kevin will be entitled to go to a solicitor and claim against me for costs. What costs? What does that even mean?’

  Connie and Julia looked at one another. Shit, thought Julia. I just copied the stupid thing out without looking at it. Obviously Kevin is in the UK, so the bits about trying to bring Rover back to hear the case in England aren’t relevant. Shit.

  ‘Oh, that lawyer obviously hadn’t read the new government information on the subject. Look, they admit they are only acting as an unpaid advisory service. Manchester is considered a different place – or jurisdiction – now.’

  ‘It is? It’s still in England.’ Hettie rubbed her head vigorously and Julia prayed she wasn’t scratching due to fleas. Who knew what one could catch living too close to a railway station?

  ‘The government is always tinkering with the laws, aren’t they?’ Julia perused the letter more closely. At the end the writer even suggested that Hettie should consider suing Julia, for poor advice.

  The nerve!

  That advice was perfect valid.

  Maybe not for Hettie’s actual case, but still!

  ‘You leave this with me and we’ll handle it.’

  For handle it, read ‘bin it’.

  Racking her brain, Julia suddenly remembered David’s phone call. Ah, the Form E! ‘In the meantime, I need you to fill out this.’

  ‘Form E?’ Hettie looked bewildered, which wasn’t surprising. The poor woman always looked bewildered. And the pumpkin-coloured t-shirt and high-waisted jeans weren’t helping the effect, either.

  ‘Yes, didn’t Connie ring you about it?’

  Hettie shook her head and Julia turned to glare viciously at the maid, who had conveniently heard a phone ringing in the kitchen and scurried away.

  ‘You need to discover and list all of Kevin’s assets so that I can include them in the petition.’

  ‘But I told you before, the house and the bank account are it. That’s all I know.’

  ‘Hettie, you also told me about the copper mine he inherited.’

  ‘Oh yes. That.’

  Really, what a total moron.

  Connie had returned and was now shifting from one foot to another impatiently. It was nearing the time for her favourite BBC late-afternoon programmes. If Julia didn’t need someone to cook and clean for her, she’d bloody sack the maid in an instant.

  Well, that, and if Connie wasn’t effectively blackmailing me.

  ‘Well, do you have an address for the copper mine? A country, at least?’

  Another baffled look and no answer. More shuffling. ‘I used to have a business card. Or at least Kevin did. It might still be in a drawer at home.’

  Connie stepped in and grabbed a plump arm, propelling Hettie towards the front door. ‘Okay Don’t worry. We just list as ‘Copper Mine’, okay, and you go look for it. We see you soon. Bye, bye.’

  The last Julia saw of Hettie before the door slammed was the red face looked, of course, bewildered.

  ‘Well, that was efficient,’ Julia commented dryly, too relieved to admonish the maid.

  ‘You didn’t stop me,’ Connie replied.

  Grinning, Julia Parmier flounced from the room. ‘I never said I didn’t approve.’

  When Julia and Hettie had finally left, Connie sank into the sofa in the living room and took up the iPhone Mr Rover had given her. She reread the message that had come through fifteen minutes earlier. It had taken him a whole day to make a counter offer of twenty thousand pounds, and Connie texted him she’d think about it. In truth, she was beginning to like Mrs Palmie a lot more than Mr Rover, and stood to gain far greater sums from the copper mine deal than a paltry twenty grand. However, the sad woman with the deep eye bags and bad dresses might not be trustworthy either, and would mean that both Julia, and therefore Connie, might end up getting screwed.

  If Connie turned down Mr Rover’s offer, she’d have to speak to Mrs Palmie about a back up plan. Something like a nice chunk of the divorce settlement from Mr Rover, perhaps?

  Of course, there was a final option.

  Take Mr Rover’s twenty grand, then tell Mrs Palmie what she knew, and see what happened.

  Double dip, so to speak.

  Better still, take the money, then blackmail Mrs Palmie so that she’d cough up some of her own divorce settlement. Hmm. But if she did that, Mr Rover might discover who the lawyer was. Surely David Henry-Jones wouldn’t dump them now? Not after so much work had been done? Connie would have to be careful not to upset the watermelon cart there. Mr Rover wouldn’t budge on the money without a proper, evil law firm forcing him to pay up.

  Turning up the volume on the large plasma TV, the maid was content with, once again, doing nothing for a while.

  Let Mr Rover wait for his answer.

  Nothing would change before morning – except, of course, the level of the huge bowl of crisps in front of her.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  PARTS ONE AND TWO of the girls’ night out were a complete flop. The Lanesborough bar was empty except for two decrepit men who Lia was convinced were actually dead in the plush armchairs. Julia had to stop her from going over and poking them.

  Then Nobu couldn’t fit them in, so they had dragged themselves off to the local pizza chain, hugely overdressed, where they had come across a bunch of teenage lads who asked them if they’d forgotten their walking canes.

  ‘The nerve of them,’ Julia fumed.

  ‘Julia, they were all of thirteen. Remember when we were thirteen? Everyone over twenty-one seemed ancient. And people close to fifty, well . . .’

  ‘Close to fifty? I’m only forty-something.’

  ‘And what is that, close to thirty?’

  It was all right for Lia, at least she still had a husband. Julia had nothing and no one, and now, thanks to Lia’s big mouth, the solitary decent man left in all of London who wasn’t married might be out of reach, too.

  ‘Come on, let’s just head to Gilgamesh. They have food there.’ The trendy nightclub in Camden was only on the other side of the park, but the cab decided to take the scenic route down past Marble Arch and it was over an hour later that they arrived.

  ‘It’s bloody eleven o’clock. I’m not even hungry,’ Julia grumbled as they walked in.

  ‘You’re never hungry, remember?’

  A few Proseccos later, they were both in better moods. Until a familiar face turned up.

  ‘Don’t look now,’ Lia whispered, unsteadily arranging a finger in the direction of the door. ‘It’s the man of your dreams.’

  Julia, of course looked, anticipating that her luck might be changing and David Henry-Jones (minus a date and eager to hook up) would be heading towards them.

  And was appalled to find Steve Smith coming straight for her.

  ‘Oh, come on!’

  Could this day get any worse?

  Steve strode right up to her and wrapped his huge arms around her. ‘Hot stuff, fancy meeting you here.’

  Electrified by the horror, Julia squirmed out of his grasp, to the raucous laughter of Lia, who was too pissed to remember not to laugh with booze in her mouth.

  ‘Hey, sweetheart. Keep it in ya gob, will ya?’ Steve said cheerfully.

  Did he just say gob?

  Julia passed her friend a napkin. ‘Look, Steve, this is a private party.’

  ‘Come on, one dance. Besides, I got some information you might be interested in.’

  ‘You haven’t got anything I might be interested in.’

  ‘Really? How about news of Kevin Brown and one good reason why the ex might not get what she’s after?’

  Julia narrowed her eyes and considered Steve as one might a bargain mower at a garage sale. F
inally, she slid aside in the booth to allow him to sit. He was dressed rather more acceptably than usual, in a natty shirt that showed off his muscles, and chinos that seemed to slim him down.

  In fact, he appeared a lot slimmer. How had he managed that, in only a few days?

  Noticing the gaze, Steve asked if she liked what she saw.

  ‘No, of course not. You remain gross in my estimation.’

  ‘Nice to know you’re consistent, love.’

  ‘Big word for you, isn’t it – consistent?’

  Lia laughed again, spraying bubbly all over the table.

  ‘Lia! Christ. Shut your mouth.’

  The entire evening had been a total and utter disaster. Julia motioned for Steve to spill the beans. ‘I need to go. I have to work in the morning.’

  ‘What do I get for telling you?’

  ‘You get five minutes sitting here, with me not calling security.’

  Steve smiled slowly, and ran his hand along the back of the banquette until it was touching her shoulder.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Romancing ya.’

  ‘Well, you’re creeping me out, so stop it. Now, please, tell me what you know.’

  ‘This guy is supposed to be rich, right?’

  ‘Yes . . .’

  ‘Well, I met up with his skank of a girlfriend when I was up in Manchester.’

  ‘Shazza? Where?’

  ‘Tattoo parlour.’

  Where else? ‘And?’

  ‘And, not recognising me, she says she is sick of her new man because he is poorer than her.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean anything. He could be sponging off her for cheap thrills.’

  Steve Smith shook his head. ‘She got busted by the police for shoplifting food, and he couldn’t find the bail money.’

  ‘So, he wanted rid of her.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because the skank has something that Hettie could never offer.’

  Julia guessed the words before they were out of his mouth. ‘She’s pregnant.’

  ‘Not as dumb as you look, hot stuff. Yep. A bun in the proverbial. Means that the offspring needs to be provided for – if there is any cash lurking about.’