Naked in Knightsbridge (28 page)

He could be nice when he wanted to be, thought Jools. Maybe she’d give him a chance. And a cupcake, because she couldn’t hold out much longer before she stuck her face right into the white box that was tempting her from the dressing table.

‘Fine.’ She unlocked the bedroom door and quickly hopped into bed, cake box in hand, covering her body and the cakes with a thick down comforter. Rodney entered and took in the sight of his fiancée doing a pretty impressive impersonation of an elephant in a blanket.

Rodney didn’t even bother to respond. ‘Look, here’s the thing. A few of my school mates rang today to ask if we were planning a pre-wedding party. When I told them no, they insisted. So we’ll have to have one.’

‘A party?’ Jools perked up. A party might be just what she needed. There was lots of scrumptious food at parties, wasn’t there?

‘But you’ll have to plan it. I’m far too busy to deal with such trivialities right now. I’m lobbying to help get a housing bill passed and it’s taking all my time and energy.’

Jools sat up in bed. ‘Me? You want me to organise it?’

The bastard obviously considered her time worthless. Okay, she didn’t have that much going on, especially now that Mel wasn’t talking to her, but it did take an inordinate amount of time sourcing baked goods without being caught by either the press or Rodney. Anyway, she had never been one for party planning and she had even less interest in planning an event for his friends, most of whom she’d never met. God knew
she
didn’t have anyone to invite. As it was, she would probably be without a bridesmaid during the ceremony — unless she wanted to ask Mrs Pho (and she would have to be a size 8 and recovering from a recent lobotomy before that happened!).

‘I’m not your PA Rodney,’ Jools said, more boldly than she should, considering her financially-challenged condition. ‘Hire a party planner if you want. I don’t see why it has to fall to me.’

His handsome face turned an unfortunate shade of puce. It reminded Jools of the blueberry icing on one of her as yet undevoured cupcakes. ‘It falls to you, Jools, because I say it falls to you. You do nothing all day but shop and eat. If we’re to be believed as a couple, we’ve got to be on somewhat equal footing. At the very least, you need a few leisure activities. Entertaining is a wonderful hobby for a politician’s wife. It’s believable. It’s credible. You
will
plan this party and you will plan it properly and if you don’t, then we won’t be getting married!’

‘Fine,’ she said, taking a chance. ‘Then let’s not get married.’

‘Fine,’ Rodney responded, ‘give me back my seventy-six grand.’

Crappity crap. Jools was trapped. There was no possible way she could give him that money – she’d spent every last penny of it, and more. And Rodney still didn’t know about the cheques Jools had forged and the additional five grand she’d, er, borrowed. It was far better he discovered
that
little detail when they were well and truly wedded to each other.

There was no escape from the mess she’d made. Especially if the whole truth was revealed.

‘OK,’ she said finally, ‘I’ll plan the party.’

‘Of course you will,’ Rodney smirked. ‘It’s not bloody difficult, even someone like you should be able to manage it relatively easily. Just make sure you do a good job.’

What was he insinuating? She had run her own business for years, hadn’t she?

‘Oh I’ll do a spectacular job, just you watch. This will be the best party you’ve ever attended in your whole life. The best and most expensive.’

Rodney shrugged. ‘Whatever. Mummy has agreed to pay for it. I’ll email you my address book. Oh, and Jools, I’d like to have the party next Saturday.’

‘The day before the wedding?’ He must be joking. How was she going to look on her wedding day without her usual 14 hour sleep? But before she could protest, Rodney turned on his handmade heels and left.

Shit. Double shit. Forgetting her cupcakes, Jools leaped out of bed and fired up her beloved laptop. What did she need? Think Jools. Remembering the cupcakes, Jools consumed four in a row, then began making her lists – caterers, DJs, maids and florists. Probably not as hard as it first seemed, especially with the aid of the Internet and Lady Wetherspone’s unlimited funds.

Within an hour she and a kooky man called Chop Choi had decided on an Asian-themed menu with hot appetizers and an on-site chef to make dim sum to-order for all the guests. ‘I have portable deep-fryer’, he told Jools, who began salivating at the thought of crisp, freshly made spring rolls.

There would be a full bar with a special cocktail to celebrate the impending nuptials. Of course, the cocktail needed a name so Jools came up with ‘Gay Abandon’: vodka, creaming soda and Baileys with ice. An homage to their whirlwind romance, and an ironic ‘up yours’ at Rodney. Jools planned to drink at least eighteen of them.

By the second hour, she had a florist on board too. A rasping young girl told Jools she needed to cover the entire house in white lilies and add a jungle-inspired vine to drape over the light fixtures. She also recommended loads of candles and white lights to be dotted around the foliage, but Jools was aiming for a dark and dreamy atmosphere that would hide her excess baggage so the lights were vetoed, but the candles got the nod.

Four cupcakes provided the strength to carry on, so she went online dress shopping and found the perfect outfit on a designer shopping site (courtesy of Rodney’s credit card of course) and prayed it would fit. It was a black, kaftan-type ensemble with ruffles and sequins. Slightly over-the-top, but she hoped it would hide her many problem areas. Or, at least her large derriere.

Dress sorted, she moved onto the DJ, and a funky Aussie couple called Bazz and Jazz told her they could guarantee the ‘tops bash’ of the year. She instructed them to play the music as loudly as possible, so that she wouldn’t have to talk to anyone and if she was lucky the cops would shut the whole thing down in the first hour and she and Chop Choi would be left alone to finish off the dim sum.

The only thing left was the invitations. Jools checked her email. Sure enough, Rodney had sent her his address book – only a hundred of his closest friends, co-workers, political cronies and family acquaintances.

A hundred people in their house would feel a bit cramped. Jools would need to open up the roof-deck and make it party-ready with heating lamps and tiki-torches. She’d have to call that florist girl with lung problems back but tomorrow would do. As long as Lady Wetherspone was paying whatever it took, the suppliers would comply.

It was strangely thrilling to be so extravagant, and although she did have a slight twinge of guilt at the exhorbitant costs she was being quoted, Jools decided that it was only what Rodney and his disfunctional family deserved.

Right. What’s next? Ah, the all important invitation. Drafting an e-vite, she checked it over quickly. What date was Saturday? She clicked the calendar on the computer, typing in the date. There – done! Clicking ‘Send’, she sat back, feeling chuffed at getting everything finished so quickly. I might just become a great politician’s wife after all, she thought smugly.

While Jools was busy planning their extravagant lie of a party, Rodney was on his way back to the office.

He, too, was fed up with the idea of marrying for his career and was considering throwing in the towel on the whole silly affair. It certainly didn’t help that the sight of his future wife made him want to heave. Given her penchant for food, shopping and sleeping, he doubted she could pull off the role.

Maybe he should just come out of the closet. Even that might be better than living with a fat lazy cow the rest of his life, or as long as it took to divorce her without recrimination.

He shook his head, sadly remembering his original hopes for Jools. He’d stupidly fancied himself as Professor Higgins; Jools his Eliza Doolittle. Take a lager-swilling, lower-class girl – obviously going through a rough patch – and transform her into an elegant, top-notch woman. But all he’d managed to do was create the human form of a saggy mattress.

Maybe one day she’d eat herself to death, he thought hopefully. The perfect ruse would be a grieving widower. If there was no chance of getting caught he might even do the deed himself.

Sitting in a queue of traffic at Knightsbridge, Rodney pondered the fact that if he didn’t know any better, he’d almost think his parents had hired her to make his life even more miserable.

She repulsed him. Admittedly there wasn’t any need to be attracted to a fake wife – to any woman for that matter – but it was impossible to fathom how believable she would be as a bride, wearing a hideous white concoction created by his mother. Worse, how was he going to make a public declaration of his love without laughing or crying or running for dear life?

Lost in thought, Rodney didn’t even notice his assistant waving at him as he entered his office. Slamming the door shut, he slid into the massive leather deskchair and dropped his head to the table.

For the first time in a very long while, Rodney wanted to talk to his mother. Let’s see what Mummy really thinks about all of this, he thought, dialling the number. She’d been surprisingly silent about the whole marriage, choosing only to speak to Jools about the arrangements.

Maybe there was still a way out. Mummy had a good way of making things, and people, disappear – without resorting to violence.

Rodney and his mother had never been close, but over the years their relationship had become strained to the breaking point. Desperate for grandchildren to boss about, she took Rodney’s refusal to get married as a personal affront. Before he’d presented Jools to his parents, his mother had become convinced that Rodney would never settle down.

‘She’s crass, materialistic and obese. She’s changed since we first met. I don’t think she was ever honest about who she really was.’ As soon as the words were out, Rodney felt like a giant weight (something approximately the same size as Jools’ backside) had been lifted from him.

His mother laughed, as if she found him hilarious. Not a first, Rodney thought petulantly, remembering report cards, football matches and excruciating attempts at school plays.

‘I don’t understand why you think this is funny,’ he whined.

‘Chin up, Rodney dear. Of course she’s not the same person she was when you first met. People change, sometimes for better and sometimes for worse. If I’d left your father the first time he showed signs of change, we’d have separated soon after the honeymoon when he asked me to pick the fluff from between – ’

‘Mother!’ Rodney shuddered. More information that any sane person required. Why defend her future daughter-in-law to this extent? She hated sloppiness – even fired a gardener after catching sight of his builder’s cleavage.

‘You’re overreacting, as usual,’ she told him. ‘Julia is just as lovely now as she was when we first met her. Yes, she’s put on a few pounds but she’s the same girl on the inside.’

‘Lovely?’ Rodney asked, incredulous. ‘Are you losing your sight?’

‘Not at all. She’s a fine match for you,’ Lady Margaret responded. ‘It’s time you got serious and settled down. Yes, she may need some additional grooming but given time she will make an excellent wife. And mother.’

Rodney couldn’t believe his mother was so taken with Jools. What did she see that Rodney didn’t? Grandchildren, obviously. She probably sensed Jools was her last hope.

Margaret Wetherspone would probably embrace Myra Hindley if it served her purposes.

As much as he wanted to shove Jools back onto the streets where she belonged, his mother’s words did calm him slightly. She hadn’t insulted him nearly as much as she usually did. If his family was actually on board – if they believed that the relationship was real – maybe, just maybe, they might eventually respect him.

The issue of producing a child with Jools could be addressed at some later stage. Clearly copious amounts of alcohol and male porn would be required.

‘Maybe you’re right,’ Rodney sighed.

‘Of course I’m right,’ his mother said. ‘I always am.’

*

When Friday night rolled around, Rodney stayed late at the office and waited until everyone had gone home.

His wedding was in two days and he needed some light relief, especially as tomorrow was the pre-wedding party Jools had better have organised to perfection.

It might have been advisable to check the details with her, but that would have meant bothering to speak to her, and he didn’t much fancy doing that.

He changed into tight leather trousers, clinging wife-beater and black cowboy boots, slapped on a wig and cap, and went out for a night on the town with his special friend.

Jools could fend for herself – as she had done nearly every night since she’d moved in.

Jools was used to spending her nights alone. When Rodney didn’t show up for dinner the Friday before the pre-wedding bash, she assumed he’d gone out to do whatever it was he was so fond of doing at night. She settled in for a quiet, calorific evening by herself.

First, a calming tomato-peel mask which smelt a little like feet – or maybe that
was
her feet? Next, her favourite ratty pyjamas – about four sizes too small with burping pigs dotted on the front and behind (they didn’t quite make it over her bum, but no one was around to see, were they?). Finally, a position right in the sofa with a box of Celebrations (oh, the irony!) in one hand, a bag of crisps in the other and a glass of Merlot at the ready on the coffee table.