Staying at Daisy's (17 page)

Realization dawned.

‘Oh, bum,’ Daisy wailed. ‘Oh, bugger. That’s
so
unfair.’

‘Hey, watch what you’re saying. I hope you weren’t planning to keep me a secret,’ said Josh. ‘Because I’m telling you now, I could take offense.’

‘You idiot, I didn’t mean that.’ Crossing over to him, Daisy slid an arm affectionately round his waist and stole a bit of toast. ‘Tara’s my best friend. We don’t have any secrets,’ she explained to Josh. ‘She
knows
I haven’t had any kind of a sex life for over a year. I’m just saying
I
wanted to be the one to tell her about us.’

Tara flinched a bit at the mention of no secrets. She hadn’t been able to sleep last night for thinking about Dominic.

‘Don’t worry, you can tell me properly later.’ Adopting a lascivious Benny Hill leer, she added, ‘And I’ll want to hear
all
the sleazy details.’

‘Honestly, why is it OK for girls to do that?’ Josh protested. ‘You’d go mental if two men announced they were going to discuss you.’

‘I know. But it’s fun. And I’ll only be saying lovely things, I promise.’ Daisy’s tone was soothing. ‘Now, I need a shower. Anything happening downstairs that I should know about?’

Tara slipped down from her high stool; it was time to get back to work.

‘Paula Penhaligon’s going to be here at eleven.’ She ticked off the things she had to mention to Daisy on her fingers. ‘I wondered if you were still going into Bristol tomorrow afternoon, because I’m on the scrounge for a lift—’

‘I’m not,’ Daisy apologized. ‘The meeting’s been canceled.’

Tara’s face fell; it was Maggie’s birthday on Friday and she hadn’t bought her anything yet.

‘Oh. OK, never mind.’

‘But Josh is here.’ Brightening, Daisy clutched his arm. ‘You could give Tara a lift, couldn’t you?’

‘No problem. What’s wrong with your car?’ Josh asked Tara.

‘She doesn’t have one,’ Daisy announced.

Josh was shocked. ‘You’re not serious. How can you live out here and not have your own transport?’

‘Easy. Because I don’t drive.’

‘This is mad.’ Josh was by this time incredulous, his sunbleached eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. ‘Why on earth not?’

Tara sighed; she was used to people having a go at her. ‘I just never learned, OK? Not properly, at least. In London it was easier to catch a bus or the tube. Then, when I moved down here, my aunt tried to teach me and that was a disaster.’

Disaster was an understatement. Maggie had kept yelling at her to stop dawdling and put her foot down. Halfway through her second lesson, Tara had driven Maggie’s car into a ditch and promptly vowed never to get behind the wheel of a car again.

‘What about a proper driving instructor?’ Josh was clearly the persistent type.

‘They cost a fortune. And my awful boss pays me a pittance.’ Tara’s tone was mournful.

Her awful boss, currently swigging back lukewarm coffee and checking her watch, said, ‘I offered to give her a couple of lessons, but she’s lost her nerve.’

‘So how
do
you get about?’ Josh was still curious.

Tara squirmed, wishing he wouldn’t keep going on about it. It was embarrassing, for heaven’s sake, like having to admit you couldn’t read or write.

‘Bums lifts. Like the one she’s going to bum off you to get her into Bristol tomorrow afternoon.’ Swallowing her last mouthful of coffee, Daisy headed briskly for the bathroom.

‘Oh, and Barney wants a word with you,’ Tara called after her, remembering the third thing she had to tell Daisy. ‘Bless him, he’s got some exciting news.’

‘So, Tara tells me you have some news.’ When Daisy finally made it downstairs, Barney was still hovering outside her office like a high schooler summoned to see the headmistress. ‘Don’t tell me, you can’t stand this god-awful place a minute longer and you’ve come to hand in your notice.’

Barney, his brown eyes sparkling, said, ‘You know I’d never do that. I love working here.’

‘What’s this about, then?’ Perching on the edge of her desk, Daisy reached for the list of messages left for her by Brenda.

‘Well, I’ve met this girl. And we really like each other. The thing is, she has to leave her flat in Bristol and we really want to be together…’

‘Crikey, I don’t know about that.’ Daisy, who already knew what he was leading up to, pulled a doubtful face. ‘You mean you’d like her to move into your room here? Don’t you think it’d be a bit cramped?’

‘No, no, that’s not what I wanted to ask you,’ Barney exclaimed, moments before realizing he was being teased. ‘Oh, right. Tara’s already told you, hasn’t she?’

‘She may have dropped a couple of subtle hints.’ Daisy’s mouth twitched, because they both knew Tara was a stranger to discretion. ‘The words “Rose Timpson’s cottage” might have been mentioned in passing.’

‘Is it OK?’ Barney was visibly relieved. ‘I mean, you’re sure you don’t mind?’

‘Barney, it’s absolutely fine with me, why would I mind? I’m just wondering how your girlfriend feels about it. Isn’t Brock Cottage a bit grim?’

Actually, grim was an understatement. Marveling at his optimism, Daisy realized she couldn’t imagine how it must feel to love someone so much you wouldn’t mind living in a hovel.

‘It won’t be grim by the time I’ve finished with it.’ Eagerly, Barney said, ‘Bert Connelly’s brother’s coming over this evening with a big van, to clear the place out. And tomorrow’s my day off,’ he reminded Daisy, ‘and Bert’s sending one of his sons over to help me with the cleaning up.’

No longer scared of Bert, Barney now thought he was a wonderful generous man with a heart of gold beneath those baggy brown overalls.

Daisy smiled and said, ‘I’m glad you’ve met someone nice. I’m sure the two of you’ll be very happy.’

‘Actually, there’s three of us.’ Barney swelled with pride. ‘She’s got a baby, a little boy. He’s fantastic.’

Blimey, a single mother. This would give the village gossips something to whisper about. Daisy, about to ask what their names were, was stopped by the phone ringing on her desk.

It was Pam, putting through a transatlantic call from an American organizing a surprise party for his wife at the hotel. Lots of complicated arrangements needed to be finalized. Covering the receiver, Daisy pulled a face and said to Barney, ‘Sorry, bit busy.’

‘No problem, I’ll get back to work. Thanks for everything.’ Barney thought again how lovely she was, how lucky Steven had been to have married her.

‘Good luck with the cottage,’ Daisy whispered. ‘I’ll have to come and see it when it’s finished.’

‘Definitely,’ Barney told her with a grin. ‘You’ll be amazed, I promise.’

***

For the first time in a very long time, Maggie felt her heart flutter with excitement at the sight of someone other than Hector. He was here! At last! Exactly on time and looking reassuringly efficient. Even the way he locked his van and headed up the front path was impressively brisk.

Delighted, Maggie darted away from the living-room window to answer the front door.

‘Hi! Fantastic! Have you got the spare part?’

It was a different repairman today, which could only be good news. Balding and squat, rather like a toad, and wearing an identity tag announcing his name to be Owen Jones, he held up a small polythene bag containing something technical-looking swathed in bubble-wrap.

‘It’s right here, Mrs Donovan, don’t you fret. Soon have you sorted. Bet you thought this day’d never come, eh? Well, don’t you worry yourself. Never fear, Owen’s here!’ Proudly he tapped his laminated ID badge. ‘That’s me, see?’

Maggie, so overcome she could have hugged him, said the only thing applicable under the circumstances.

‘Coffee? Or tea?’

‘Ah, a lady who talks my language.’ Owen beamed as he followed her through to the kitchen. ‘Tea please, three sugars. But it’s only going to take a minute or two to fit this little beauty here. Chances are, I’ll be finished before you’ve even made it.’

‘Owen.’ Joyfully Maggie reached for the kettle. ‘You’re a man who talks
my
language.’

By the time she’d made him his mug of tea Owen was indeed finished. In no time flat he had dismantled the washing machine, attempted to fit the long-awaited spare part, and discovered that it was the wrong spare part. Maggie was still piling in sugar when she realized he was closing the machine back up.

‘Heavens, that
was
quick!’

‘Sorry, Mrs Donovan, bit of a hitch.’ Owen shook his head, evidently despairing of the incompetence of others. ‘This is the wrong spare part.’

As Maggie stared at him he puffed out his cheeks, looking more toad-like than ever.

‘Owen. Please tell me you’re joking.’

‘Thing is, see, this is the code number that was written on the order form.’ Shuffling over to her, he pointed to the battered sheet of paper in his left hand. ‘But someone made a mistake somewhere along the line. See that four there? Well, it should have been a seven. I can guess how it happened, it’s the way some people have of putting those fancy foreign horizontal lines across ’em, and then the next person copying it out just thinks it’s a four.’

‘So my machine isn’t fixed.’ The mug of hot tea trembled ominously in Maggie’s hand.

‘Look, I’ve said I’m sorry, but it really isn’t anything to do with me. I’ll order another part,’ Owen assured her. ‘And we’ll get back to you as soon as it comes in.’

‘In a fortnight, you mean? That isn’t good enough! I need a washing machine that
works
.’ Maggie plonked the mug of tea down on the drainer behind her; she was damned if he was getting it in return for doing sod all. ‘I tell you what, you can take this one away with you and wait for the spare part to arrive. In the meantime, your incompetent company can loan me a fully functioning machine. That’s only fair, surely?’

Owen sighed and shook his fat bald head once more. ‘No can do, I’m afraid.’

‘But it’s under guarantee!’

‘We guarantee to fix any faults, yes.’

‘And you haven’t!’ Frazzled, Maggie banged the flat of her hand against the top of the useless machine. ‘You haven’t fixed it!’

‘The guarantee covers parts and labor.’ Owen was no longer chirpy; the smiling woman who had greeted him so joyously at the door had turned into the stroppy customer from hell. ‘If you read your policy,’ he added stiffly, ‘you’ll see that we don’t provide replacement machines, nor are we required by law to—’

‘This is PATHETIC,’ Maggie roared before he could finish. ‘It’s not good enough! You’re going to give me the name and number of your boss so I can ring him up and tell him exactly what I think of his rotten lousy
shoddy
little company.’

Owen couldn’t scuttle out of the cottage fast enough. When he’d gone, Maggie glared at the scrap of paper upon which she had scrawled his boss’s details. She fantasized about what she would say to him and pictured him cowering in his office, apologizing profusely, and offering her all kinds of extravagant bribes to stop her contacting
Watchdog
.

Then she came back to reality with a bump. Who was she kidding? Customers who made a nuisance of themselves ended up getting treatment that was worse, not better. Just to teach her a lesson, they’d probably keep her waiting two years for the vital spare part.

It was like customers in a restaurant sending their food back to the kitchen with some complaint or other. All the chef did was spit in it before sending it back out, everyone knew that.

Her toes curling with frustration, Maggie ripped up the scrap of paper and chucked the pieces in the bin. Ranting and raving would do no good at all. She may as well bite the bullet and accept—damn and blast—that she’d be washing by hand for a while yet.

Oh Hector, come round and cheer me up.
Please
.

***

Barney did his best to retain his composure but it was hard not to stare at Paula Penhaligon as she stepped from the car. She smelled fantastic, for a start. Her neat high-heeled shoes were the most expensive-looking he’d ever seen. From the feet up, she was wearing pale stockings, a honey-colored narrow suede skirt, and a chocolate-brown fitted shirt with a kind of creamy stole thing wrapped around her shoulders. Her glossy red hair was worn in the kind of bob shape that looked as though it had been precision cut in a car factory, her makeup was film star flawless, and she was wearing dark glasses. Even though the sun wasn’t out.

Barney wasn’t stupid, he knew he mustn’t point out to her the fact that the sky was currently one vast eiderdown of grey. Wearing sunglasses when it wasn’t sunny was just one of those things celebrities liked to do, pretending that it meant they could walk around incognito.

Not that Paula Penhaligon could go unnoticed anywhere. She might be knocking on a bit now—nearly fifty, Barney guessed—but she was still pretty stunning for her age.

Daisy had been waylaid on the phone, so Barney smiled his warm smile and said, ‘Mrs Penhaligon, welcome to Colworth Manor.’

‘Why, thank you.’ In return, Paula Penhaligon fluttered her narrow fingers in the direction of the boot. ‘My cases are in there, if you wouldn’t mind—
oops
.’ As she turned, her ivory cashmere wrap slipped from her shoulders. Like lightning, Barney reached out and caught it before it hit the wet gravel.

‘I say, well held.’ Paula Penhaligon removed her dark glasses in order to gaze at him with admiration. ‘I like this hotel already.’

Her eyes were heavily made up, but there was no mistaking the marks beneath them, faint yellowish bruises just visible through the concealer. With a jolt, Barney remembered that she was currently going through a traumatic divorce. By the look of it, she’d been physically assaulted. Shocked, he realized that her husband must have beaten her up.

‘And your name is?’

‘Um… Barney. Barney Usher.’

‘Excellent reflexes,’ Paula Penhaligon remarked with a playful twitch of her lips. ‘Well done.’

Lost for words, Barney wondered how he was supposed to respond to this. Thankfully, Daisy appeared and took over, freeing him to lift the cases out of the boot. Paula Penhaligon had certainly brought a mountain of luggage with her. Then again, if she was fleeing an abusive husband, maybe these cases contained everything she owned.

‘Darling Lionel recommended your hotel to me,’ Barney heard her telling Daisy. ‘Now, I don’t want any kind of special treatment, I’m just here to relax and recharge my batteries. Any inquiries from the press are to be referred directly to my agent.’

Barney felt sorry for the poor woman. She didn’t want anyone knowing she was a battered wife.

‘Don’t you worry,’ Daisy assured Paula Penhaligon with a grin. ‘If you don’t want special treatment, you’ve come to the right place. We’re equally horrible to all our guests.’