Hot Property (Irish romantic comedy) (14 page)

Chapter 14

“Will you do me?” Beata asked when Megan arrived at the B and B the next morning.

“What do you mean?”

“Will you make me pretty?” Beata looked at Megan with desperation. “We’ve been invited to a posh party, and I need to look good.”

“But you
are
pretty,” Megan protested. “You just need to…” She paused.

Beata nodded. “Yes. That’s what I want you to help me with. The ‘you just need
to’part
.”

Megan stood in the hall and studied Beata. “Okay. But if I agree, will you do exactly what I say?”

Beata made an exasperated gesture. “YES. Anything. I’ll even dye my hair green if you tell me it goes with my skin colour.”

“I wouldn’t do that exactly, but now that you mention it, maybe we could do something with that colour. It’s a little—”

“Bleached?” Beata filled in. “I know. But it was a shade that was on a special sale. I think it’s called ‘champagne’.”

“Hmmm,” Megan muttered. “That wasn’t such a good deal. I think you could find something a bit softer. What’s your natural colour?”

Beata shrugged. “Can’t remember. Some kind of mousey brown. Or dish-water blonde. I don’t want to go back to that.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t think you should. Something more like honey or dark ash blond. And ditch the orange tee-shirt and that pale green one too. And then your hair could be worn out, instead of tightening it with a wrench at the back of your head, and you should lose the black eyeliner and use a little blusher and lip gloss. And… do you ever wear a bra?” Megan flinched after her diatribe, waiting for the fallout.

Beata glanced at her chest. “A bra? But my boobs are tiny. Like two fried eggs. What would a bra do?”

“It could lift them a little. Make them rounder and give you a shape. You could even use chicken fillets to get them to look bigger.”

Beata frowned. “Chicken fillets? In my bra?”

Megan laughed. “Not real ones. These are shaped like chicken fillets but made of silicone. You put them under your boobs in your bra to push them up. Gives a great shape.”

“Oh. There’s so much I need to learn. Sounds so complicated.”

“It’s not once you get the hang of it.” Megan took a step back and studied Beata, her head cocked. “I think we can whip you into shape very easily. The raw material is great. Only one thing though…”

“Yes?”

“You need to quit smoking.”

Beata rolled her eyes. “I knoooow. I will. One day. But not by next Saturday, so you can stop nagging right now.”

“Okay. But after Saturday…”

“Yeah, yeah. Her eyes focused on Megan. “But what about you? What are you doing about the party?”

Megan smiled. “Me? I’m going to pull out all the stops.”

~ ~ ~

‘Doing’ Beata proved quite a challenge. Megan had never had such an unwilling, protesting client. Not only did she balk at a change of hair colour, but she fought the underwear issue and every suggestion of party wear. Megan found herself standing outside a changing room in Tralee’s biggest department store, bathed in sweat with a pounding headache, a stack of bras, knickers, tops, skirt and dresses weighing heavily in her arms. Beata was inside, struggling into a skirt and matching top, swearing under her breath.

“Have you got into it yet?” Megan hissed through the curtain. “How long does it take to get into a skirt, for God’s sake?”

Beata pushed through the curtain and appeared, red faced, in a pink outfit. “Shit, I look like a marshmallow.”

Megan burst out laughing. “Yes, you do. What was I thinking?”

“I want to look like Lady Gaga,” Beata moaned. “Not the Sugar Plum Fairy.”

Megan stared at Beata. She suddenly had a light-bulb moment so intense, it made her dizzy. “Of course! That’s it! How stupid am I?”

“On a scale of one to ten, I’d say twenty-five,” Beata said dryly.

“You’re right. Shit. We’ve wasted a whole day. Take those terrible things off. We’re out of here.”

“Finally. Does this mean I don’t have to go to the hairdresser’s?”

“On the contrary, my dear. It means a long day at the hairdresser’s.”

“Fuck,” Beata mumbled, retreating into the changing room.

“You’ll be a hit at the party with that kind of language.”

Beata stuck her head out. “You mean I have to change the way I speak too?”

Megan pushed her back in. “That would be too much of a challenge. Go on, change. We have a lot to do.”

While Beata changed, Megan put back the clothes she had picked, replacing them with just two items she knew would be perfect for Beata: a purple sleeveless angora top and a long black skirt. The complete opposite to the image she had envisaged. But this would not only work, it would be spectacular. Smiling to herself as she queued at the checkout, she bumped into someone. She took a step back. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” the woman said. Then she smiled. “Megan! Hi.”

Megan gave a start. “Oh. Hi… Bunny.”

Bunny, who was paying for a cream linen jacket, glanced at the clothes on Megan’s arm. “Nice colours. But not what I thought you’d wear.”

Megan shook her hair back with a toss of her head. “I sometimes step out of the box. You should try it. Very liberating.”

“I just came to buy something for a garden party we’ve been invited to. So linen seemed the best bet.”

Megan eyed the jacket. “Perfect. Will go nicely with the roses.”

Bunny gave the shop assistant her credit card. “Please put the jacket in the same bag as the shirt and tie I bought earlier.”

Megan bit her lip. “Shirt and tie?” She couldn’t help asking. “For Paudie?”

“Yes.” Bunny took the bag the assistant handed her with her receipt. “About time he got something dressy.”

“Oh, absolutely. He’ll look very elegant at the garden party.” Megan bit her lip harder, so she wouldn’t laugh out loud.

Bunny looked at her curiously. “It’s not really for the party. It’s for our weekend in Killarney. We’re staying at the Great Southern. A romantic weekend. To celebrate a rather important event.”

~ ~ ~

When Beata’s makeover was finished, Megan turned her attention to herself. On the afternoon of the party, she dug deep into the last suitcase she hadn’t unpacked yet. The one with her designer clothes she had intended to give to a charity shop, thinking she would never wear any of the cocktail dresses, designer jackets or tailored trousers. Nor did she think she would ever sashay into a room full of glamorous people in any of the Jimmy
Choos
,
Louboutin
or Prada stilettos. She was pleased she hadn’t got around to giving them away.

Spilling the array of beautiful clothes, shoes and scarves on her bed, she studied the pile critically, picking the items up one, by one, examining each one, holding it up against herself and studying the effect in the old cheval mirror. Nothing seemed to be quite right. Item after item was discarded and thrown in disgust on the floor, until there was only one thing left on the bed: a slate-grey, sleeveless linen shift she had never worn.

Megan picked up the dress. It was a Vera Wang original she had been able to buy at a discount after a photo shoot at the department store. She had never worn it, thinking it was too boringly simple. But now, she found herself admiring the cut and colour and the clean, unfussy design. She slipped on the dress, picked up a pair of red Italian stilettos and put them on. She held up her hair and studied herself in the mirror, realising in a flash exactly what would make it spectacular.

~ ~ ~

The long tree-lined avenue led to a large, ivy clad Victorian manor house with a porch supported by pillars. The drive in front was already bustling with guests piling out of cars and jeeps. The gravel crunched as they all walked up to the front steps, where Diana, in a red dress, stood beside a tall, bald man.

Megan waited behind a blond man in a leather bomber jacket. She had spotted him earlier as he arrived in a red Ferrari and thought he looked too glamorous to be a local.

“Alex!” Diana squealed and threw her arms around him. “You made it. Oh, I’m so happy to see you. Where did you get that car?”

“I stole it.”

 
“You idiot.” She squeezed him harder, peeped over his shoulder and discovered Megan. She pulled away. “Alex, meet Megan, my neighbour. You look impossibly beautiful tonight, by the way.”

The man turned around and directed his luminous grey eyes at Megan. He took her hand and shook it. “Hi, beautiful creature. I’m Diana’s brother. That’s a gorgeous dress. Vera Wang?”

Megan smiled. “Yes. How clever of you. Are you in the fashion business?”

“Yes, you could say that. I’m a photographer.”

“Alex lives in New York,” Diana filled in. “He’s only the best-known fashion photographer in the US. Vogue, Vanity Fair, Harper’s Bazaar…”

“Oh, come on, Sis, stop it or you’ll make me blush.” Alex winked at Megan. “Diana tends to gush.” His eyes homed in on her neck. “That’s a stunning piece of jewellery.”

Megan touched the gold filigree necklace studded with amethyst, topaz and rose quartz. She had cleaned it with soap and hot water and polished it with a soft cloth until the gold gleamed and the stones sparkled. Putting it on, she saw it had a calm beauty that matched her dress perfectly and made her eyes an even deeper brown. “Thank you,” she said. “It’s very old. A family piece.”

“Gorgeous,” Alex said.

The tall bald man had noticed them. “Hello, Megan,” he said, shaking her hand. “I’m Jack, Diana’s husband. That’s how I’m known, even though my family has been here for generations.”

Megan looked into his twinkly blue eyes surrounded by a myriad of laughter lines and liked him instantly. “Hello. Thank you for inviting me.”

Jack winked. “None of my doing,
m’dear
. But if I’d met you before…”

Diana pushed at him. “Stop flirting, Jack, you have work to do.”

Alex looked behind them at more guests piling out of cars. “Maybe we should go inside? We’re blocking the welcome wagon here.”

“Yes,” Diana agreed. “Take Megan inside and get her a drink, Alex.”

 
They were interrupted by a battered van labouring up the drive, its engine spluttering. “What’s this?” a guest enquired behind Megan. “Has Diana invited members of the travelling community?”

“No,” Megan said. “It’s Beata.”

“What’s a Beata?” the woman asked.

Megan was saved from answering by the van coming to a screeching halt in front of the steps. Boris, in his pink Ralph Lauren shirt and pressed jeans, jumped out and ran to the passenger side. He wrenched the door open and helped Beata down onto the gravel.

There was a hush as she appeared.

“Wow,” Alex muttered beside Megan.

Diana gasped. “She looks amazing.”

Megan looked at Beata with pride. This was the best makeover job ever. Beata’s hair had been cut into a short bob and dyed mahogany with lilac highlights. The purple angora sweater and long black skirt hugged her slim body, revealing small, rounded breasts, a tiny waist and trim hips. The gold platform wedges and one enormous silver earring in the shape of a cross studded with crystals were the final touch. The whole effect was startling. Beata could have sashayed down a catwalk in any big city and been a hit. Here, in the driveway of an Irish country house, she was a sensation.

Nobody moved or spoke. Then, Beata glided up the steps as if she had never done anything else and took Diana’s hand. “
Hiya
. Great house. Sorry if we’re a bit late, but Boris couldn’t get his arse in gear. Men, huh? No fucking use except for you know what.” She winked and gave Diana a little nudge with her elbow.

Diana blinked and burst out laughing. “You’re right there, darling. You look absolutely incredible.”

Beata touched her hair. “I know. Megan did it. She tried to turn me into a marshmallow, but then she had other ideas.”

Megan rolled her eyes. “I don’t know what I was thinking. But when Beata said Lady Gaga, I knew what to do.”