Nomance (14 page)

He sagged in his chair.
No, he couldn’t maintain the illusion for one second longer.

‘Thing is, Lou, I ain’t
in line for a monster pay off from
EasyHomes
to keep my
mouth shut.’

Instead of throwing her
tea into his face Louisa said, ‘Yes, but what Mummy and Daddy have
to understand is you’re a fighter. You’re going to work your way up
from the bottom to the top.’

Gwynne was jolted
upright in his chair. These words brought it all tumbling back. The
recollection of what happened last night stunned him for several
seconds. He’d been drinking, that was for sure, and he’d been in
full flow, and yet, and yet . . . he
hadn’t
been
bullshitting!

‘It’s true,’ he said in
awe of himself, ‘what I was saying was true.’

‘Of course it was,
dear.’

‘I’m in line for
another promotion at the
EasyHomes Superstore
,’ he said,
pausing to check yet again that it hadn’t happened to someone else
instead. No, it had to be him, otherwise he’d know the name of the
other guy, the one it had really happened to instead, wouldn’t he?
‘And anyway,’ he continued, ‘Tim, the area manager for West London,
said I should do the accountancy course because they’re paying for
it, and the thing is, accountancy is just a kind of stock-taking,
and believe me, I’m red hot at stock taking.’ He shook his head,
dazed. ‘That’s true too.’

‘You’ll show Mummy and
Daddy, won’t you?’

Gwynne’s conviction
gathered impetus.

‘Hey, accountancy might
not seem as bitching as aeroplane design, but look at Enron.
Accountants make things happen too, you know.’

Louisa gave him an
adoring smile. ‘My little genius.’

He was going to marry
her after all!

‘Fully rested,
darling?’ He murmured softly – for the first time in his life. ‘Do
you want to lie in?’

‘No, no, I’ve got to
get started.’

‘Okay, I’ll shoot down
and rustle up some brecky.’

He went downstairs.

In the hallway he
paused at the living room door on his way to the kitchen. He could
hear voices from within and he readily recognised the smug and
plausible tones of David Chudhury.

‘Poor bitch,’ he
couldn’t help saying to himself. After all, Carla was his
sister.

When Louisa came down a
little later and they were seated at the kitchen table, he
explained that Carla was in a meeting and that she would not be
able to say goodbye.

At the mention of
Carla, Louisa’s brows knotted in thoughtfulness – gradually.

‘Carla’s a very serious
woman, I think,’ she declared.

‘Hmm,’ Gwynne nodded,
chomping toast.

‘And yet, very kind
too,’ she tinkled.

Gwynne gulped hard. The
toast – it hurt.

‘How’s that?’ He
rasped, eyes watering.

‘You said yourself, if
ever we have children we’ll have to fight her off.’

‘She seems to have a
thing about kids, yeah,’ Gwynne said, examining his plate.

‘A lot of women
do.’

Gwynne smiled. ‘Just
the same, Carla’s very, very busy these days. Too busy for
kids.’

‘She’s quite a business
woman, isn’t she?’

‘She works hard, yes.
But sometimes she doesn’t make the best of her investment
opportunities.’

‘Well, I still think
Romance
could do so well.’

Gwynne didn’t answer
straight away.

An
incredible
idea had just hit him – and hit him hard!

‘There are easier ways
to get money, you know,’ he said, staring at her now as if he had
never set eyes on anything so stupendous, such was the potency of
his inspiration.

‘Can’t we at least
think about it?’ Louisa implored.

‘Um? Buying
Romance
? Yes, but then, we should be open to all sorts of
other possibilities, shouldn’t we?’

She gave him an adoring
smile, nodded and leaned over and kissed him. ‘Got to go!’ She
exclaimed, so jolly exuberant all of a sudden that it knocked his
head back.

‘I’ll walk you to the
station.’

‘I’d rather you
didn’t,’ she said. ‘It’s hard to explain. I want to be alone right
now. Do you understand?’

Gwynne shook his head.
‘Sure.’

‘I want to feel single
again.’

‘Alright.’

‘Only for a little
while,’ she reassured him. ‘And I want everyone looking at me to
think I am, when really I’m not. It’s a secret. I love having
secrets on lovely days like this. Don’t you?’

Gwynne nodded and began
to grin. ‘As it happens, I’ve sort of got one too.’

‘Don’t tell me what it
is then.’

‘Oh no, not yet. I have
to phone someone first.’

‘Is it a surprise
you’ve got for me?’

‘Yes.’ There was a box
of cornflakes on the table and Gwynne’s eye fell on this. ‘It’s a
way to fortify our finances with vitamins, if I can pull it
off.’

‘I’m sure you can.’

‘With your help.’ He
smirked up at her. ‘Anyway, you go on now, lover. Shoo.’

They parted on the back
step.

Gwynne returned to the
hall way and listened at the living room door to be sure that the
meeting between Carla and the shirt-lifter was still in
progress.

It was.

He raced upstairs and
went into the smallest bedroom, which served as the administrative
office for
Romance
. There was a large writing bureau here,
with a dead spider plant on top. Gwynne hunted through the untidy
files and piles of papers till he found a letter from Gerald Lytton
– gynecological consultant and fertility specialist.

He grabbed the phone
and keyed in Gerald’s number.

‘Yes?’ A man’s voice
answered. Both curt and deliberate.

‘May I speak to Gerald
Lytton?’

‘Who is this?’

‘Gwynne Chalcott. I’m
Carla Chalcott’s brother.’

‘And what are you
calling about?’

‘That’s something I’d
like to discuss with the doctor. It’s private.’

‘I’m Lytton, Mr
Chalcott. Is Carla well?’

‘I suppose so. This
doesn’t have anything to do with Carla. I want to talk about my
fiancee, Louisa.’

‘Louisa?’

‘She’s a very calm
person and . . . consistent. Not uptight or anything like that. And
when she sets her mind on something, you better believe she sticks
at it to the bitter end.’

‘Good. You’re a lucky
man, Mr Chalcott.’

‘And she loves the idea
of kids. She’s already going on about them and we only got engaged
last night down the pub.’

‘A very healthy
sign.’

‘Yes, healthy.’

‘And yet, you are
perhaps worried she may have . . . difficulties.’

‘What’s that?’

‘In conceiving, Mr
Chalcott.’

‘Who said that?’

‘I did.’

‘She ain’t got no
difficulties!’ Gwynne was fervent in his assurance. ‘She’s as
strong as a horse. She’s broad like Carla. But nothing like Carla
in any other way. And
that
’s my point. She wouldn’t be a one
off. She comes from a very good family and she knows if you sign a
contract you keep to it. And what it is too, we’re setting up home
and all that. We’re going to need the extra money and if I tell her
we’re going to buy
Romance
then she’ll see that we’ll need
to put out five or six kids at . . . lets say eight thousand each –
’

‘Let me stop you there,
Mr Chalcott.’

‘How about ten at seven
thousand each?’

‘Look, I love what
you’re telling me, but the fact is, I’m relocating to Switzerland
soon.’

‘Louisa loves to
travel.’

‘But you see, I’m also
changing the line of work I do, so to speak.’

‘You’re not going to be
into pregnant women anymore?’

‘No. No more pregnant
women . . . well, I shouldn’t think so. At this early stage at
least. You see, I shall be running a clinic dedicated to offering
the terminally ill assisted suicide. I did mention this to Carla.
I’m surprised that she hasn’t told you.’

‘Well you know, we
don’t do a lot of chat, she and I.’

‘No. So anyway, you see
Louisa wouldn’t have a future with me.’

Gwynne slumped. ‘She’ll
be disappointed to hear that, doctor.’

‘But Mr Chalcott, there
are other fertility clinics she could try. If you like, I can send
you a list of names and numbers.’

‘That’s an idea!’

‘Though I can’t tell
you anything about their fee structures and so forth.’

‘We can only find
out.’

‘Just so! Got a
fax?’

Gwynne had a gift for
numbers and he rattled the shop’s fax number off without having to
think about it. Gerald had to get him to repeat it.

‘Well, that’s that
then,’ Gerald said, ‘I’ll send the list now.’

‘Okay. Cheers.’

‘And congratulations on
your forthcoming marriage.’

‘Yeah, thanks.’

‘I hope, Mr Chalcott,
that you both have many happy and prosperous years ahead of you . .
. but how about if I append the details of my new clinic, just in
case?’

‘Oh, I don’t know
whether you should, man. Might be unlucky.’

‘I’ll do you a
discount.’

‘Right O!’

Sixteen
Me Jane You Jane

Head down, zig-zagging
between the knee-high ferns, Carla pushed on in the sweltering heat
till she could pitch herself down behind a cluster of palms. She
paused just long enough to wipe away the sweat beading her forehead
and, sick with dread, she clawed aside some of the glossy fronds
and peered out.

Juliet was standing on
the other side of the street.

Carla recoiled, letting
the fronds spring back into place. She cringed in the sweltering
green shade. Had she been spotted? She cursed herself for not being
more careful and hunkered down lower so that she could squint
between the leathery leaves of a yucca.

Juliet had begun to
pace along the pavement, trying to look casual, but she was casting
suspicious glances up and down the empty street.

Carla craned round as
far as she dared, so that she could also scan the street. There
wasn’t another soul in sight. She just couldn’t understand it. The
street outside
Romance
was always crowded with pointless
pedestrians. In the past, she had spent whole days watching a
perpetual stream of non customers stroll by. And now, when they
could at least act as witnesses to the movements of Juliet before
she murdered her, they didn’t even bother to turn up!

Carla cursed.

Juliet looked more
likely than ever to commit murder. She had gone downhill pretty far
since her divorce from Philip, five months ago, piling the pounds
on and dressing in cheap sports wear (fighting gear). As usual she
was carrying her large handbag, a piece of boho chic left over from
a previous lifestyle and into which you could all-too-easily fit a
sawn-off shotgun.

The blood pounded in
Carla’s ears. Juliet had stopped pacing so as to study the palms,
yuccas and ornamental grasses filling the shopfront of
Romance
. Inspired by Vietnam, Carla had installed the
‘green’ in order to provide cover, and yet she couldn’t help
feeling that those burning, haunted eyes were able to penetrate it
and expose her.

She whimpered and
inched back. Too late. Juliet was now crossing the road. Carla
scrambled away, crawling through the dense undergrowth of potted
ferns till she could stand upright and make a clear dash for the
counter. There was a click at the door. Carla ran like she was
wading through mud and hit the counter with a dull thud. The
counter top was up, but the low swing door below tended to stick on
its catch.

It stuck now.

Carla flapped at it
like a circus seal.

The bell over the shop
door tinkled.

She swung around and
pressed herself back against the counter.

Juliet was standing at
the threshold. She swept the scene with a hooded gaze,
familiarising herself with the lie of the land.

‘Good morning.’ She
said in a low, deliberate voice, just before her blazing eyes
rested on Carla. ‘Here again.’

She smiled mechanically
as she closed the door behind her.

Carla faced her with a
frozen smile, while scratching for the catch. It sounded like she
was hiding a rat behind her back.

‘And lovely to see you,
I’m sure,’ she answered, a tremor in her voice.

Juliet responded by
coming at her, at a slow, steady pace.

Carla’s hidden rat
scrabbled at the catch in wild desperation and suddenly it
flipped.

She lurched backwards,
almost crashing to the floor as her foot caught on the tub of
fertiliser. The one she had been meaning to move for the past six
months.

‘Shit!’

She brought the counter
top down with an almighty bang.

‘Beautiful morning,’
she gasped, tottering back against the shelves for support. ‘I’ve
never known it so quiet.’

Juliet reached the
counter. ‘They’re all on holiday.’ Her voice was robotic.
‘Normandy, Algave, Tuscany.’

She stopped dead and
was immobile for a moment. Abruptly, she jerked back to life and
began to rummage round in her boho bag.

Carla’s heart missed a
beat. She had forgotten about the sawn-off shot gun. The sweat
prickled at the back of her neck. Her own weapon was in the kitchen
– the extra powerful airgun that Gwynne had been so generous as to
leave her when he and Louisa moved to Billericay.

Bleeding typical! Like
the pointless pedestrians, Gwynne had buggered off just when, at
long last, he had come in useful for something. I.e. to manhandle
Juliet out of the shop whenever she became hysterical.

Carla had been loathe
to call the police for help, because by stalking her, Juliet had
become one of
Romance
’s best ever customers. The last thing
Carla wanted right now was Juliet locked up where she couldn’t buy
anything. Why upset the status quo when she was doing such wonders
for
Romance
’s balance of payments? Especially when Carla was
starting to get serious interest from potential buyers.