Fifty Shades of Roxie Brown (Comedy Romance)

by Lynda Renham

  ‘Blimey, keep your thong on,’ says Felix.

  ‘How did Ark Morgan find out where I live?’

  ‘Does it matter, I think you’re both getting a bit carried away,’ says Sylvie, dipping a sponge finger into Nutella and then into a tub of double cream. I have to say it’s divine. I wish I’d thought of it. It seems such a shame to have discovered it just as I’m about to pop my clogs.

  ‘You’ve only latched onto Ark Morgan because he found out her address …’

  ‘In an underhand way,’ interrupts Felix.

  I nod in agreement.

  ‘And because he bought her a lovely black silk gown for his do tonight,’ she finishes. ‘It sounds like he’s desperate to please her, not kill her.’

  ‘Do you think?’ I ask hopefully.

  ‘Surely if he planned on knocking you off, he would have done it before now. Anyway, I still don’t believe that the murderer saw you that night,’ she says dismissively.

  I so hope she’s right.

  ‘Anyway, he isn’t a suspect any more, is he? You said yourself he has an alibi for the night of the murder.’

  ‘Ah,’ says Felix.

  I hate it when Felix says Ah.

  ‘What?’ I ask.

  ‘I checked the flight records with my friend in air traffic control. Ark Morgan’s aeroplane was scheduled for a flight to Munich that night but the flight plan was cancelled at the last minute.’ I stare at him, my mouth turning dry.

  ‘He has no alibi and he’s still a suspect,’ Felix finishes.

  ‘Oh God,’ I groan.

  ‘Oh shit,’ says Sylvie.

  I throw back the cider in one go. I don’t want to go to the party. I feel sure this will be where I meet my untimely death. Ark Morgan has already sent me a message in the guise of the perfect dress. The Chanel box wrapped in black ribbon had been placed outside the flat when I’d arrived home. Inside were the dress, a bottle of Chanel No 5 perfume, and a very cryptic note.

  We need to talk Miss Brown. I need to warn you. I’ve seen into your eyes and I’m concerned for your wellbeing.

  Like hell he is.

  ‘Wasn’t that all Marilyn Monroe was wearing when they found her body?’ says Felix pointing to the perfume bottle that is wedged between Zena’s breasts.

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘You think that’s his way of telling me?’

  ‘Strange thing to buy you, especially as he loves your other perfume so much,’ says Felix thoughtfully.

  It’s as though he bought it to mark the event. I’m sure Rudy would consider it the perfect burial outfit. Ark Morgan is clearly some kind of psychopath. As soon as he sees me with Sam Lockwood that will no doubt tip him over the edge. Ark Morgan is only interested in me because he knows I saw him kill the man in the flat. After all, he’s corrupt in business. That’s what Sam said isn’t it? He probably wouldn’t think twice of knocking someone off if they stood in his way.

  ‘I’ve seen into your eyes,’ I quote. ‘He means the telescope doesn’t he?’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ says Sylvie.

  ‘Most likely,’ says Felix.

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ I say, in an attempt to calm myself down. ‘The handwriting analysis doesn’t match Ark Morgan at all.’

  ‘Ah,’ says Felix.

  ‘I wish you’d stop saying that,’ I say miserably.

  ‘There’s nothing to say that the handwriting on that leaflet was the murderer’s. It could easily have been the victim’s, or anyone else come to that. You have to find out what Ark did after he left the Fun Palace.’

  ‘But why would Ark Morgan want to kill someone in a flat in Clapham?’ asks Sylvie. ‘It’s not quite his style is it? Someone with his money would hire a hitman wouldn’t they?’

  ‘Ah, you say that love, but hit men have a habit of coming back to haunt you,’ says Felix who is becoming a pain in the arse too knowledgeable. ‘Perhaps he was being blackmailed,’ he adds. ‘Anyway, I’m on it. I know how to wire your phone. I’ve downloaded this fab app. We’ll be able to track your whereabouts using the GPS.’

  I choke on the cider.

  ‘You what?’ says Sylvie.

  ‘We can wire her through her mobile. We’ll know everything that is happening. And when …’

  ‘He goes to wipe me out,’ I interrupt.

  ‘We’ll be in there,’ says Felix.

  ‘Only if we’re sitting outside,’ says Sylvie sensibly.

  ‘Perhaps we should get the police involved,’ I say. ‘I could go undercover.’

  What the hell am I talking about? I don’t have a clue about going undercover.

  ‘Christ, what’s in that cider? You’re talking out of your arse,’ says Sylvie.

  ‘I’m not Micky Blue Eyes,’ I say. ‘He’s not going to admit to the murder before he blows my head off.’

  ‘I think the sound of his hands around your throat might be a tad incriminating love,’ says Felix.

  I pour more cider into my glass. I’m really not feeling comforted.

  ‘I’m not going,’ I say resolutely.

  ‘But you have to,’ says Felix. ‘This may be our one chance. You’ll be okay. Sam will be there …’

  ‘Who is also another suspect,’ Sylvie reminds us.

  ‘It’s unlikely by all accounts isn’t it?’

  ‘And there are three more suspects to chase up,’ I remind him.

  ‘Ah yes,’ he says, pulling papers from a folder.

  ‘Michael Nunn was on a flight to Geneva on the night of the murder. It was in all the papers apparently. He flew to some fashion designer’s funeral, which leaves us with Clive Marsham, and Hugh Richards, both who seem unlikely murderers …’

  ‘But they could be,’ I say.

  ‘Hugh Richards is gay,’ says Felix, like that automatically crosses him off the list.

  ‘I never realised that gays didn’t murder people,’ says Sylvie, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

  ‘Can we keep to the subject,’ I say irritably.

  ‘But he’s a suspect and so is Sam so I’m wiring her phone all the same,’ says a determined Felix. ‘And until you can prove Nigel Forrest has an alibi, he’s still a suspect too. You liking him are not grounds to scratch him off the list.’

  ‘Okay, keep your frilly pants on.’

  ‘Let’s get you wired up,’ he says. ‘You’ll need safe words. That way we’ll know whether to go in or not.’

  ‘We’re not the bloody SAS,’ says Sylvie.

  I knew I’d need safe words with Ark Morgan but hadn’t quite bargained on this.

  ‘Maybe I should wear a bulletproof vest?’ I say, not being in the least bit serious.

  ‘That’s something I didn’t think of,’ says Felix.

  Now I really feel comforted.

  ‘Shall we say yellow for things aren’t great and red for get me out of here.’

  ‘So yellow for when he seems to be threatening you and basically red for when he has his hands around your throat,’ says Sylvie, pouring more cider.

  ‘You can mock darling, but I don’t see you coming up with anything better.’

  ‘I’ve got to be ready by seven, Sam is picking me up,’ I say.

  ‘I know how to do it. It won’t take me ten minutes.’

  ‘Listen to Jack Reacher,’ scoffs Sylvie. ‘How did Ark take it when you told him you were coming with Sam Lockwood?’

  ‘He doesn’t know,’ I say sheepishly. ‘I’m just going to send the driver away when he arrives.’

  ‘I’ll be two secs, love,’ Felix shouts as he disappears into the bedroom with my phone.

  An hour and a bottle and a half of cider later and we’re still waiting.

  ‘How much longer?’ shouts Sylvie.

  ‘I’m still fiddling,’ he calls.

  ‘With the phone I hope.’

  ‘I’m not a pervert.’

  I shift anxiously in my seat.

  ‘I’ve got to go soon. I need to get ready,’ I say as Felix bounces out of the bedroom.
<
br />   ‘Okay, go into the bathroom. I’m going to call you but it won’t ring. I want to check we can hear you. Just say hello, over and out, that kind of thing.’

  I turn the tap on and mutter testing 1-2-3. I hear them shriek.

  ‘It only works,’ says Sylvie excitedly as she bursts open the bathroom door. ‘We could hear everything.’

  ‘You don’t have to sound so surprised,’ says Felix.

  ‘What if there are some things I don’t want you to hear?’ I ask. ‘How do I turn it off?’

  ‘I haven’t got that far,’ he says.

  That’s just great isn’t it?

  Chapter Forty-Four

  As thrilling as a Harvey Davidson is I’m never riding pillion again. It isn’t half as thrilling in a Chanel dress as it may be in leathers. I suspect I am the first woman to ride pillion in a Chanel dress and skimpy underwear. I bet Jennifer Aniston has never rode pillion in her life, let alone in a Chanel dress. I should never have said yes. It would have been far more decadent to have arrived in a chauffeur-driven limousine. It might feel liberating having the wind blow in your face but it’s not so decadent when it blows up your underskirt. I spend half the journey struggling to stop my silk pashmina getting lodged in something mechanical and throttling me before Ark Morgan has the chance to, and the other half trying to stop the wind blowing up my dress. By the time we arrive my fanny has turned to ice and even worse, the helmet has been pressing my dangly earrings into my face so I enter the party with welts on each cheek. Sam zooms into the hotel’s car park. I’m surprised he didn’t just jump over the wall like Eddie Kidd. To make matters worse Ark sees us arrive as he’s greeting his guests at the entrance. I struggle off the bike. I swear arriving by horse would have been easier. At least I could have travelled side saddle. Sam helps me down, his annoying grin on his face the whole time. He pulls my helmet off and I pat down my hair the best I can and hope I don’t look too much like a scarecrow. Sam takes off his jacket and helmet, and looks gorgeous in his tuxedo. He brushes his hands through his hair and smiles at me. Ark doesn’t take his eyes off us and I feel my body tremble as we approach the entrance.

  ‘Are you cold?’ asks Sam.

  Before I can reply Ark Morgan walks down the entrance steps towards us.

  ‘You didn’t come in the car Miss Brown?’ he asks his voice hard and his cheek twitching.

  ‘I …’

  ‘I offered to escort Roxie,’ says Sam, meeting Ark’s eyes.

  ‘Escorted?’ repeats Ark. ‘Is that what you call it? I think you’ll find Roxanne is more used to gentlemen escorting her than Jack the lads on motorbikes. Besides, I had arranged transport for Roxanne,’ says Ark, emphasising the Roxanne.

  I smile nervously.

  ‘It’s fine, really. It’s a warm evening,’ I say.

  Although I’m not so sure my cold fanny would agree with me.

  ‘I hadn’t realised you and Sam Lockwood were that well acquainted,’ he says, giving me a hurtful look.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ says Sam lazily. ‘We know each other quite well.’

  I shoot him a look. That’s not strictly true, and it really isn’t helping. That’s another nail in my coffin. Ark looks at Sam and scowls.

  ‘Are you gatecrashing?’ he asks bluntly. ‘Because I don’t think you are on the guest list.’

  ‘Ah,’ says Sam. ‘You’re wrong there.’

  He pulls an invitation from his tuxedo and waves it in Ark’s face, his delicious fragrance wafting over me as he does so. Ark studies the invite.

  ‘It’s clearly a mistake. I’ll have to fix this for next time, but as Roxanne knows I don’t hold grudges and like to think I’m hospitable. I hope you enjoy the evening.’

  I wonder if Felix and Sylvie can hear this. I wish they’d set something up so they could talk to me too. I’d feel less lonely if I could hear them.

  ‘The dress is perfect,’ says Ark, looking at me admiringly. At least he isn’t looking at me murderously. That’s a good sign.

  ‘Please excuse me Roxanne. I’ll see you later.’

  He walks back to the entrance to continue greeting his guests. We enter the foyer which is adorned with lit candles. Frank Sinatra serenades us and waiters hover with silver trays of champagne, Pimms and glasses of water. Glass chandeliers hang from the ceilings and sconces and pillar candles adorn the panelled walls. I can’t but help be impressed. Sam takes two glasses of champagne and hands me one. We are offered canapés and I find it hard to resist.

  ‘Did Ark buy you the dress?’ Sam asks, looking at me curiously.

  I nod.

  ‘He left it outside my apartment with some perfume.’

  ‘A bit presumptuous of him don’t you think? How can he know your taste?’

  I feel a little surge of anger. Is he criticising me?

  ‘I happen to like it,’ I lie. ‘It’s very much my taste.’

  In fact it isn’t at all and I can almost hear Sylvie gasp and Felix mutter little liar.

  ‘Really?’ he questions. ‘I wouldn’t have thought so. Bright colours suit you better if you want my opinion.’

  ‘I don’t actually, and you don’t know me at all,’ I say, placing my glass onto a tray and taking another.

  ‘Champagne is pretty potent stuff,’ he warns. ‘It might taste like lemonade but it hits you a lot harder.’

  ‘Sorry, are you like my father or something?’

  I sound like something out of TOWIE.

  ‘I’m not sure I understand why you’re angry,’ he says picking olives off his canapé.

  ‘I’m not angry,’ I say, feeling my hackles rise as he removes another olive.

  ‘You’re doing it again,’ I say, nodding at the olives.

  ‘I don’t like olives,’ he says simply.

  ‘So why take a canapé with them on then?’ I ask irritably.

  ‘Why does it bother you so much?’

  ‘It doesn’t bother me,’ I say, taking one myself.

  The truth is it is rather disconcerting that he knows me so well. It’s quite true that the dress is not to my taste and I do knock champagne back like lemonade. We’re encouraged to leave the foyer and are escorted into the banqueting hall where round tables have been exquisitely laid out. I check the table plan and see I am on Ark’s table. I search for Sam’s name and realise his table is the other side of the room.

  He gives me a grin.

  ‘At least I can’t drive you mad during dinner. See you later.’

  I watch as he walks away and feel suddenly isolated. I’d much prefer him drive me mad over dinner than not be with him. When he is with me I feel secure and safe, although I don’t know why considering he’s a suspect.

  ‘Let me lead you to your seat,’ says Ark from behind me.

  I’m a nervous wreck. It doesn’t help knowing that Felix and Sylvie are listening to my every word. I’ve never been a big fan of voyeurism, not that this is voyeurism of course. I’m not going to have sex with them listening am I? I’d bloody kill them if they listened in on that. Not that I’m going to be having sex with anyone in the near future, let alone tonight, and I certainly won’t be getting spanked, that’s for sure.

  ‘Did you get my perfume?’ he whispers.

  What he means is did I get the note?

  I nod. I don’t want Felix and Sylvie to hear the tremble in my voice. I’m perfectly safe while there are people around me. The key is not to be alone with Ark. Who’d have thought it, only a week ago I was desperate to be alone with him.

  ‘Here we are,’ he says, pulling back a chair. ‘This is Edward.’

  The man sitting in the chair next to me shakes my hand.

  ‘Odd name for a woman,’ he says as Ark walks away.

  ‘No,’ I say, ‘I think you’re the Edward.’

  He frowns.

  ‘Well I know that,’ he says, slightly offended. ‘Who are you then?’

  ‘Roxie, I mean Roxanne.’

  I imagine Sylvie is roaring with laughter. I wish I c
ould turn the damn wire off.

  ‘Why didn’t he say that then?’ he asks, looking confused.

  I shrug.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I say.

  ‘Splendid hotel.’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, catching Sam’s eye across the room. He winks and I quickly look away.

  ‘Lobster, excellent, you can’t beat it,’ says Edward as a waiter places a bowl of soup in front of us.

  Another man sits the other side of me and I turn. Our eyes meet and I feel my heart jump into my mouth. It’s Max Walters, one of Ark’s regular guests.

  ‘Hello,’ he smiles. ‘I’m Max.’

  ‘Roxanne.’

  He looks curiously at me and I see recognition dawn in his eyes.

  ‘I know you don’t I?’

  Chapter Forty-Five

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I say, lowering my head to my soup bowl.

  ‘Yes, your face is very familiar. Have you been on television?’

  Not yet, but I could still have a starring role in Crimewatch.

  ‘No, I’m not on television.’

  ‘What do you do? That may jog my memory.’

  ‘Do?’ I repeat

  ‘As in a job,’ he says patiently, dunking bread into his soup.

  I stare appalled, is that acceptable at a do like this?

  ‘Or are you a socialite?’ he says nonchalantly as if he meets them every day, although come to think of it, he probably does.

  ‘Not exactly.’

  Not exactly? What does that mean? I’m as far from a socialite as anyone can be.

  ‘I don’t recognise you,’ I say, not looking at him.

  ‘It’ll come to me,’ he says. ‘Are you in politics?’

  I imagine Sylvie and Felix are rolling around the floor now.

  ‘Absolutely not, they’re all a bunch of crooks.’

  At that moment Ark leans over my shoulder, his lips close to my cheek.

  ‘I hope you’re enjoying the food,’ he says and I feel myself freeze.

  ‘I was just saying, I feel sure I know Roxanne from somewhere,’ says Max.

  ‘Really?’ says Ark, stroking my shoulder.

  ‘It’ll come to me,’ says Max resolutely. ‘It always does.’

  Not in the next few hours I hope. Fortunately he is sidetracked by another guest and I’m able to finish my soup without choking on it. Ark circulates and chats with his guests while occasionally looking over to me. Dinner passes in a haze of wine, champagne toasts and a most delicious chocolate cheesecake. Coffee is served and by the time Ark approaches me again I’m pretty tipsy. The dark bristles on his face loom ever closer to mine. My face that is, not my dark bristles. I’ve drunk too much and I can’t think straight. He takes my hand.