Fifty Shades of Roxie Brown (Comedy Romance)

by Lynda Renham

  ‘I don’t know Chelsea that well,’ I say.

  ‘You don’t sound like a Chelsea girl,’ he laughs.

  ‘My friend lives here,’ I say, hoping that will impress.

  ‘Oh yeah, where?’

  ‘Rommel Mansions.’

  ‘You’re kidding me?’ he says, surprised. ‘I know Rommel Mansions.’

  Oh my God. That’s one strike. He leads me back down the corridor and out of the door back into the bright sunlight. He dons a pair of sunglasses and points to the end of the road.

  ‘Just up here and round the corner, so anyway how can I help you?’

  I’m so enamoured by his good looks and Rupert Everett voice that for a minute I forget why I came.

  ‘You were at Ark Morgan’s yacht party.’

  ‘That’s right,’ he says opening the door to the burger bar for me. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I work for Ark Morgan and someone left cufflinks there with the initials NF on them.’

  ‘Ah well that wouldn’t be me. I’ve never worn cufflinks in my life.’

  He’s a real gentleman and pulls out a chair for me.

  ‘The blue stilton burger is out of this world as are their sweet potato fries.’

  I agree to both and he orders.

  ‘Great night though, not that I’m over keen on the bloke, but he supports the arts supposedly and well …’ he trails off. ‘Good boss is he?’

  ‘He’s okay.’

  Our drinks arrive and I sip my diet coke and make a huge attempt not to drool over him.

  ‘Did I see you at the Fun Palace the other night?’ I ask.

  Please say no.

  ‘Yeah, I was there with some friends. Geez I’m sorry, I haven’t even asked your name?’

  Two strikes.

  ‘Sylvie,’ I say.

  It’s going to be quite hard asking him if he’s into danger isn’t it? He’s confident, certainly successful. Question is, does he like to take risks and is he the owner of a Where’s Wally scarf? Not quite the kind of questions you ask someone you’ve only just met.

  ‘The Fun Palace was good wasn’t it? Did you stay long?’ I ask.

  He takes some fries from the bowl.

  ‘I can’t remember to be honest,’ he says casually.

  Surely if he’d killed someone that night he wouldn’t be quite so casual about the evening would he?

  ‘It’s nice here,’ I say, ‘I usually grab a bite from Starbucks. It’s useful with my loyalty card and everything.’ God, could I sound any more boring?

  ‘Yeah, Starbucks is good too. I agree. The reward card is useful isn’t it?’

  Strike number three.

  I hold my burger and watch him eat his. He really is superstar material.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt your rehearsal,’ I say. His smile lights up his face.

  ‘The break was well overdue. Sorry Brian mistook you for a groupie by the way.’

  ‘Oh, it happens all the time,’ I say, shrugging it off. ‘Get many do you?’

  ‘Groupies?’ his eyes widen. ‘God no, you must be joking. You’re the first person ever to come backstage looking for me.’

  He checks his watch and finishes the last of his burger.

  ‘I’d best get back. Brian is a bit of a taskmaster but I’m free tonight if you’d like to catch a film or something.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say taken aback.

  It will be chillier later won’t I? I find myself praying he doesn’t come wearing a Where’s Wally scarf.

  ‘That will be great, thank you.’

  ‘Meet you outside the Phoenix at seven. There’s a new Tarantino showing. Starts at 7.15 I think.’

  ‘Great,’ I say.

  I’d better look up Tarantino and do my homework before tonight.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  We’re squashed into the front of the van with the Zulu warrior’s nellies wedged between us. By the time the dresser and bedside cabinets were in, there was just enough space for the jukebox, which meant Madam Zulu had to balance her lower body on the dresser and her upper torso was pushed between us at the front.

  ‘She’s a bit in the way of the gearstick,’ grins Sam. ‘I guess I’ll just have to touch her up every time I change gear. Good thing is she can’t slap me.’

  I smile. He does have a great sense of humour. Unlike Ark, who is very intense and in that respect is very like Christian Grey. Aside from that I’m disappointed to admit he doesn’t have much else in common with Christian. I somehow imagine a playroom would scare the shit out of Ark Morgan.

  ‘You never did tell me what you do at the Morgan Group,’ he says with a wink.

  Bugger it, in for a penny in for a pound. After all, do I really care what Sam Lockwood thinks of me?

  ‘I’m a chambermaid for the hotels,’ I say, pushing the warrior towards him.

  ‘Hey, she’s yours remember, don’t try to foist her onto me.’ He gives me a quick look before saying, ‘I didn’t imagine Ark the type to invite his chambermaids to his fancy yacht do’s. Nothing personal, of course, before you whack me with your fan.’

  ‘Well, he invited me,’ I say.

  ‘I can understand why but what I really don’t understand is what you see in him.’

  I give him the ‘I don’t talk about Ark Morgan’ glare.

  ‘Okay, I’ve got the message. You’re very protective of him aren’t you?’

  I remember Ark’s words: You’ve not been seeing Sam Lockwood have you?

  ‘Not really,’ I say.

  ‘He’s not all he seems you know? He didn’t get where he is today by being honest.’

  ‘I rather think he would say the same about you,’ I say.

  ‘Ah,’ he grins, ‘indeed he would. The only difference is I’m the one telling the truth.’

  He pulls into the car park of Rommel Mansions.

  ‘Please don’t tell me you’re on the top floor,’ he laughs. ‘That will teach me for not checking.’

  ‘Ground floor,’ I say.

  ‘Right, how are we going to do this?’ he says, looking around.

  He’s only thought of that now? I don’t believe it. He spots a gardener working in the grounds and waves.

  He grins. ‘Hey Geoff, how are you mate?’

  ‘Hello Mr Lockwood, lovely day.’

  ‘Glorious,’ says Sam. ‘I’ve got some stuff in the van, would you mind giving a hand?’

  ‘Sure,’ says the gardener.

  ‘You’d better tell us where you want everything,’ says Sam as they manoeuvre the dresser through the main doors. ‘You don’t want me coming back to move it do you.’ He gives me his cheeky grin.

  The warrior is the last to come.

  ‘Lifelike isn’t she?’ Geoff says, looking at her breasts.

  ‘Never having seen a real-life warrior woman I wouldn’t like to say,’ says Sam. ‘But I’ll take your word for it.’

  Geoff laughs.

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘That’s great thanks,’ says Sam, peeling a fifty-pound note from his wallet.

  ‘A pleasure Mr Lockwood.’

  ‘Cup of tea would be nice,’ Sam says as he closes the door. ‘Do you have a mug, aside from the Gunner of course?’

  Darren may have been a wanker and all that but I don’t need to hear Sam’s insults.

  ‘Darren was not …’ I begin, but finding it impossible to defend him.

  ‘He was playing away from home in more ways than one,’ he says, strolling into the kitchen. ‘He’s an idiot if you want my opinion.’

  ‘Do you have anything nice to say about people?’

  ‘Yes, if they deserve it. I just happen to think Darren and Ark Morgan don’t.’

  ‘How do you know the gardener?’ I ask, trying to change the subject.

  ‘He works for me,’ he says leaning against the kitchen counter.

  ‘You have a gardener?’ I say, squeezing past him with a milk carton in my hand.

  I hadn’t realised how small the
kitchen was until now. His big hairy body seems to fill it.

  ‘Lockwood Estates have a gardener,’ he says.

  My hand hovers over the milk jug for a second.

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about a jug just a splash in a mug will do me.’

  I turn to face him. He’s grinning as usual. He’s so handsome. I really hadn’t realised quite how good looking he was.

  ‘You own Rommel Mansions?’ I say, feeling my stomach churn.

  ‘Lockwood Estates own Rommel Mansions.’

  ‘Do you own a lot of properties?’ I ask.

  ‘My father’s company, Lockwood Estates own quite a lot, yes.’

  ‘It’s not your company?’

  ‘Are you trying to sell me insurance or something?’ he laughs.

  I blush. He points to the milk carton in my hand.

  ‘Can I help you with that?’

  ‘No,’ I snap, pouring it into the mugs.

  I grab the sugar, my heart pounding. You can’t have more of a connection to Rommel Mansions than owning it can you? Shit, this is unbelievable. I tip sugar into one mug.

  ‘Not for me,’ he smiles, ‘sweet enough.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say?’ I ask.

  ‘I just did.’

  ‘I mean about owning Rommel Mansions.’

  ‘I couldn’t see a reason to. We own a lot of properties.’

  I pour hot water onto the teabags and hand him a mug.

  ‘I think its hot water first and milk last isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh,’ I say, not realising what I’d done.

  ‘No biscuits?’ he asks. ‘You can’t have tea without biscuits.’

  ‘This is all I have,’ I say, reaching for the sponge fingers. ‘I’ve not really been shopping yet.’

  ‘I thought you had these in a trifle.’

  ‘You’re mocking me,’ I say bravely.

  ‘I’m not, seriously. The tea is great as it happens.’

  I get my Nutella jar and put it on the counter.

  ‘You dip them in this, at least I do.’

  I’m not sure why I’m sharing my Nutella sponge fingers with Sam Lockwood. He dips one into the jar.

  ‘Mmm, good combination, I like your style.’

  That’s more than Darren did. My mind is reeling. It doesn’t mean he is the murderer just because his company owns Rommel Mansions, and I’ve never seen him wearing a Where’s Wally scarf and let’s face it, I’ve been seeing him often enough. Oh God, that doesn’t bode well either. He could be following me. He has got a few things going against him. The Starbucks card for one, Rommel Mansions for two and his dark brown hair for three and let’s face it, he has plenty of that.

  ‘I’m in the amateur championship next week. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in coming to watch. I think I may have a better chance with my lucky mascot there.’

  My heart sinks as I remember the handwriting analysis. The writer is confident, successful, and most likely a risk taker. He likes a challenge and enjoys danger, I hear Sylvie saying. No man could be more confident than Sam, apart from Ark Morgan, of course. But Sam Lockwood matches the handwriting analysis perfectly. He’s successful, and most certainly a risk taker, you only have to look at his boxing history to know that. Oh God, and the Harley Davidson, that’s danger isn’t it? Holy shit, I have the murderer right here in my flat and I’m all alone with him.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Sylvie

  He’s standing outside the Phoenix waiting for me. I can hardly bring myself to look in case he’s wearing the Where’s Wally scarf. I’ve been trying to decide what to do if he is. I can’t very well phone the cops and say you’d better nab him because there is absolutely no doubt. He’s wearing a Where’s Wally scarf. Fortunately he isn’t wearing any kind of scarf and I feel a great sense of relief. Felix had WhatsApped to say that he’d just spent an hour on the couch with the psychiatrist.

  ‘Not in a sexual way,’ he’d added. ‘More’s the pity. He’s actually quite gorgeous. Anyway, we can tick him off. He was at a seminar in Brighton that whole weekend. How are things with the actor?’

  I didn’t like to say looking suspicious as I’m hoping Nigel will be able to vindicate himself.

  ‘Hey,’ he smiles on seeing me. ‘You look terrific.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, adjusting my shawl.

  I’d make a big enough effort so I’d have been a bit pissed if he hadn’t noticed. I’d chosen my green velvet dress with antique earrings and a red silk shawl. I’d bought them at Victorian Treasures online. I feel very arty in them and as he’s into the arts I’m hoping it will make him feel comfortable with me. I’m not sure I’m going to enjoy the Tarantino movie though.

  ‘I hope you like Neo-Noir films,’ he says, crooking his arm so I can slide mine into it.

  He’s wearing a bomber jacket with jeans. His dress sense certainly matches mine. I can’t say that about many men.

  ‘Oh yes, I love them,’ I say.

  Honestly, I’m such a liar. Truth is I haven’t got a clue what a Neo-Noir film is but I’m not going to admit that. My task this evening is to find out if Nigel Forrest likes danger. He’s confident, so that ticks one box. He’s successful at his career so that ticks a second box. He has dark brown hair. If you ask me he’s ticking lots of boxes and is most certainly ticking all of mine. He hasn’t admitted to a Starbucks card and so far there hasn’t been a Where’s Wally scarf in sight. I’ve got to find out what he was doing in the early hours of the first of June following his visit to the Fun Palace.

  ‘Inglourious Basterds is my all-time favourite by Tarantino,’ he says, leading me into the cinema.

  ‘Mine too,’ I say.

  Not that I’ve ever seen it of course. I only hope it’s not full of blood and gore, not the most comforting thing to watch when you think you may be sitting next to a murderer.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  I’m feeling really panicky. Adrenalin is pumping through my body faster than a speed train. It’s quite exciting in an odd way to be this close to danger.

  ‘Do you think I should call the police?’ I ask Felix.

  ‘And tell them what you dopey donkey?’

  ‘That Sam is the murderer,’ I say.

  ‘Excellent love, I can see you’ve given this a lot of thought. I can hear you now. He’s guilty of being confident and successful and what’s more he likes danger, but more importantly, he has a Starbucks card …’

  ‘But it’s all true isn’t it?’ I interrupt.

  ‘Maybe, but it’s not enough to make him the murderer.’

  ‘What about the Rommel Mansions thing?’

  ‘A lot of people will know of Rommel Mansions won’t they?’

  He’s quite right. I’m panicking unnecessarily.

  ‘You have to admit, he does seem to be popping up a lot where I am.’

  ‘Maybe he fancies you darling. For a simple chambermaid you’re doing really well in the man stakes these days aren’t you?’

  I wiggle my toes in the warm lavender bath water. A delicious tingle runs through me. Sam Lockwood is very appealing, of that there is no doubt.

  ‘So you think it would be safe to have dinner with him?’

  ‘Of course, just make sure you’re always in a public place. I’ve got to fly love, literally. I’m off to Barcelona. Good luck.’

  With those words of wisdom ringing in my ears, I climb from the warmth of the bath and get dressed. I choose my Zara dress and a pink fluffy bolero. I decide against make-up and am just finishing curling my hair when there is a knock at the door. Sam stands there in a brilliant white shirt and faded blue jeans. He pushes his hands into the jeans pockets and smiles.

  ‘Ready?’ he asks.

  I can’t believe that Sam doesn’t have a girlfriend and it’s even more unbelievable that he would want to go out with a simple chambermaid. I hesitate in the doorway and then say boldly.

  ‘Are you taking me out because you think Ark Morgan wants me?’

 
He pulls his hand from his pocket and leans against the doorpost.

  ‘I don’t covet what Ark Morgan has and I certainly don’t steal other men’s girlfriends. Felicity and he had parted weeks before we started going out together. I wouldn’t have asked you out either if you hadn’t have told me that you were separated from the gunner. You said that the other afternoon when I met you with Sylvia.’

  ‘Sylvie,’ I correct.

  He smiles.

  ‘I’m a chambermaid,’ I say. Is it possible to put yourself down any more? whispers my inner goddess. Don’t stop now, you’re on a roll.

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ he shrugs. ‘I was a window cleaner once.’

  ‘You weren’t?’ I say widening my eyes.

  He nods.

  ‘I didn’t want to go into the family business. It seemed a bit bourgeoisie and all that. So I rebelled and became a window cleaner. I was quite good at it if I do say so myself.’

  I stare at him.

  ‘However, I do have one question, and it’s not a put down of any kind, but what is Ark Morgan paying you that you can afford a flat in Rommel Mansions?’

  I open my mouth to reply.

  ‘Not that you shouldn’t buy one, so don’t get all defensive,’ he adds quickly. ‘But we own them and I know the price.’

  ‘I had a lottery win,’ I smile.

  ‘Brilliant, I bet that put the Gunner in his place. Now shall we? I do believe you owe me dinner for delivering your furniture.’

  ‘You’re not going out with Felicity any more then?’

  ‘Nope, I’m not going out with anyone in fact, except with you, for dinner this evening.’

  I close the front door. Stay in a public place. That surely isn’t hard to do. The problem is I’ve got to get to the public place first.

  Chapter Forty

  Sylvie

  There was more blood and gore in the movie than I’ve ever seen in my life. I spent most of the time staring down at my popcorn. I swear I couldn’t eat any of it without throwing it up later. Give me a romantic comedy any day.

  ‘Brilliant, don’t you think?’ says Nigel as the lights go up. ‘So realistic.’

  It was realistic all right. Too realistic for my liking and what’s more worrying is how does Nigel Forrest know it’s realistic.