Naked in Knightsbridge (17 page)

Mel’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’re not attracted to him, are you? First a hobo, now a homosexual. You really have great taste, my friend.’

‘
Do you mean that?’ Jools asked.

‘
What? That your taste sucks?’

‘
That I’m your friend?’

Mel shrugged. ‘You’re on probation.’

Jools grinned. ’That will do.’

*

While Jools enjoyed dinner with Mel, Niles was staring at his computer screen, anger growing with each passing second. Why hadn’t that little bitch responded to any of his emails? It was a monstrous affront to his dignity and there was no way that she was going slip through his fingers without a fight.

Niles had an idea. He dressed in black and scurried out of his flat. He knew where Jools lived, or at least he knew where she’d been living when they’d first met. If he could find her, he’d just need to gag and smuggle her back to Slough. All his careful planning need not go to waste.

After an hour on the M4 he arrived at her flat and buzzed. No answer. He walked around to the other side of the building, found what looked to be her kitchen window – in fact, the only window – and heaved a large chunk of concrete towards it. But his aim was poor and he missed. The concrete chunk ricocheted off the brick façade and came crashing back down towards the pavement, narrowly missing Niles and landing, instead, on the head of a tatty hobo who was making his way down the street.

‘
Ah!’ Skuttle cried out when the concrete chunk hit him. ‘The sky’s falling!’ He fell to his knees and covered his head with his hands.

‘
The sky isn’t falling, you idiot wino!’ Niles barked. ‘Get up.’ Skuttle carefully removed his hands from his head and, sensing no immediate threat, stood up and dusted himself off.

‘
You look like a regular on these streets,’ Niles said.

Skuttle eyed him suspiciously. ‘Maybe I is and maybe I ain’t.’

‘
I’m looking for a girl. She lives here. Jools. Plump. Blonde. Pretty. Do you know her?’

‘
Who’s asking?’

‘
Cut the crap!’ Niles shouted, offended that a wino dared to question him. ‘You tell me where she is and you tell me now.’

‘
I don’t know nothin’ about no Jools,’ Skuttle said, sneering at Niles as he moved towards his chute.

Alright, then. Niles thought. If Jools wanted to play hard to get, that was fine. But he would get her eventually. And when he did, he won’t ever let her go again.

Which reminded him, he needed to get to Homebase for some rope and masking tape.

Chapter 12

Dear Miss Julia M. Grand,

We refer to your application for Jobseeker’s Allowance. Unfortunately, as was made clear to you during legal proceedings three years ago, committing benefit fraud renders you unsuitable as a candidate for government assistance. However, we have attached a list of shelters and groups that provide free meals in various locations throughout London, should you require them.

Shakeriana Pemena

Ombudsman for Social Services

STUPID, SANDAL-WEARING dole people. Jools tossed the letter aside. Never mind. It wasn’t as if she needed them anymore. Serves her right for giving Skuttle her new address.

‘
Are you listening, Jools? You’ll come?’

Rodney and Jools were sitting down to breakfast and he was rabbiting on about some neighbourhood meet-and-greets he had to do. She took a giant bite of her toast, spread thickly with juicy strawberry jam, and considered his request.

‘
It’s my duty now, I guess.’ She tried not to speak with her mouth full but failed miserably. Bits of gooey toast fell onto the glass table.

‘
You have free will, Jools. I certainly can’t force you to come.’ He sipped his tea and flipped through the pages of
The Times
.

But after everything he’d done for her, she really couldn’t say no. He’d paid her all the money as promised, and when she’d returned to Knightsbridge after dinner with Mel, a stunningly furnished bedroom, in various tones of white, was waiting. The balcony overlooking the small garden made her feel like Juliet. Unfortunately, given Rodney’s sexual orientation, that’s as far as that analogy went.

She couldn’t believe how lucky she’d been to find Rodney – or rather, how lucky she’d been that Rodney had found her grazing by the bins that day. Not only did she have someone to take care of her now, but she didn’t have to share a bathroom with him, fend off his unwanted sexual advances, or deal with his loud snoring and cold feet at night. Rodney was the best boyfriend she had ever had. Well, apart from a brief fling with a fast-food manager from Birmingham, it was the only relationship she’d ever had.

Occasionally she let herself fantasize about Brad and possibly enticing him to London for a little fun and games – a man to satisfy her physical needs without losing the man who was taking care of her material ones. Then life really would be ideal.

She had no idea what Rodney did to satisfy his own physical needs. Some nights he would disappear around ten and she wouldn’t see or hear from him until the following afternoon when he called from the office to check up on her.

That morning, though, they were enjoying a small domestic moment, dining on tea and toast, the newspaper spread out on the table before them, engaging in the kind of customary conversation that one would expect from a couple in their situation. Would she accompany him on a campaign meet-and-greet around Knightsbridge this week? Would she play the happy, supportive political partner? Would she smile and shake hands and tell his constituents what a wonderful man he was?

‘
Sure, I’ll do it,’ Jools said. ‘I suppose that means I’ll have to wear that awful suit again, though.’

‘
That awful suit,’ Rodney snapped, ‘is classic couture.’

Jools had to remind herself she was living with a man who actually knew the names of top designers. To Rodney, Chanel meant a history of couture. To her it was a perfume you sprayed under your arms for free at Boots.

Jools emerged from the shower the next day to find a large white gift box, wrapped with a bright red bow, on her bed. A grin lifted her lips – she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a present (well, one that was new, anyway). Skuttle had been generous but his presents looked like they’d fallen off the back of a lorry, which they probably had.

Pushing Skuttle and the memory of his sad face to the back of her mind, she tore at the silky bow and lifted the lid. Inside, wrapped in delicate gold tissue, was a stunning new suit – Armani, this time. She gasped as she stroked the rich fabric. It was gorgeous. Pulling it on, she was chuffed to see that it fit her perfectly. It was a bit annoying, though, that Rodney had correctly managed to estimate her size.

Size 14 was hardly a compliment.

Gliding down the stairs in her sleek suit, she found Rodney was waiting at the bottom, dressed to the nines in his own impeccable steel-grey Hugo Boss ensemble. He held a pair of perfect black Jimmy Choo stilettos in his well-manicured hands.

‘
I figured you should have at least two pairs of heels in your collection,’ he said. Anyway, he hadn’t been able to resist buying them. He eyed them covetously as he handed them over.

Jools squeaked and clapped her hands together, then chided herself for becoming so materialistic so quickly. Come on, who was she kidding. She’d always been materialistic, she’d just never possessed the financial means to satisfy her clothes cravings sufficiently. Now, she had a man who was not only keen to buy her all the things she wanted, but was also fully capable of selecting them himself. Having a gay husband was definitely the way to go, Jools mused as she climbed into the Benz. This time the driver Louis was present, and Jools waved to him happily as she launched herself into the backseat.

Louis winked and Jools blushed. She was certainly enjoying the attention the makeover was causing.

‘
You might want to pull your skirt down,’ said her fiancé dryly.

En route to their first destination, Rodney briefed Jools on what he expected. ‘You are there to support me; to make me look good. You must make it obvious that you adore me, but don’t fawn. Hold my hand and gaze at me as though I am your one true love. But do not, by any means, speak on my behalf.’ Jools nodded as she admired a manicured toe through the peep-toe of the Jimmy Choos.

‘
If anyone asks how we met, tell them that I caught your eye in a café, and had an espresso and chocolate biscotti sent to your table. You were intrigued by me but not immediately smitten. It wasn’t until I came over and we started discussing our favourite book that you realised I was the man you would someday marry.’

Rodney was speaking at lightening speed and Jools almost wanted to take notes so she would be certain to get everything right if anyone asked.

‘
So what’s our favourite book?’ she asked.

‘
We both adore Tolstoy.’

‘
Don’t know that one.’ Sounded boring, though. Give her
Heat
or
OK!
any day.

Sighing, Rodney replied: ‘He’s an author. You know,
Anna Karenina
?’

It still wasn’t ringing any bells.

‘
No one’s going to ask you for a book report, Jools!’ There was more than a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Jools wasn’t stupid – she’d gone to uni, after all, but she was by no means an intellectual. Did she mind that Rodney might look down on her? No. What did it matter, really? This was a business deal. All she had to do was act like a loving wife. And for all that money, she could surely do that.

*

The car dropped them off at the end of a long street and together, arm in arm, Rodney and Jools started to knock on doors, shake hands, allay fears and fill the hearts of the good people of Knightsbridge with hope for a brighter future. Or at least more tax breaks.

All was going very well. Jools was a natural actress and therefore, she decided, the perfect candidate for a politician’s wife. She even managed to remember the entire story of their first meeting and so delighted an elderly woman with her dramatic retelling of the event that Rodney thought for a moment she might actually believe it had really happened.

When asked if Rodney was a good man, she answered sincerely without gushing. When asked if her political views were similar to Rodney’s, she was self-deprecating enough to yield the spotlight, but smart enough to seem involved. It finally dawned on Rodney that Jools was so good with the hoi polloi because she was one of them. She had all the characteristics that Rodney was lacking – an earthy, simple spirit – and without even trying, she was winning over his constituents-to-be.

Then they got to a small house in Petersham Place.

Rodney rang the buzzer and the front door swung open to reveal Mrs Pho – like a scene from one of those American horror flicks. And keeping with the theme, she took one look at Jools, did a double take and started to scream.

‘
Not you! How dare you touch my doorstep after what you do? You have no shame?’

‘
Let’s go, let’s go now, please!’ Jools begged Rodney, yanking on his jacket sleeve and tugging him away.

He held his hand out. ‘Wait a second, Jools. What’s going on?’

‘
I tell you what going on,’ Mrs Pho shouted. ‘I living here, in this dirty, rented little craphole because this girl she burn down my beautiful house.’