Valentine Present and Other Diabolical Liberties (7 page)

     
‘Look, I’m really sorry about your grandmother,’ I say sincerely, ‘but surely someone like you has a girlfriend. It can’t be that difficult surely? You said
grandsons
, what about the other one, hasn’t he got a girlfriend?’

He lowers his eyes.

      ‘I broke up with my girlfriend. Grandmother hated her. As for my cousin, he couldn’t care less about the family business. Look, I just need you to pretend to be my fiancée for a few weekends. She’s expecting to see my new girlfriend at our spring break in Scotland. I can’t go there without one. I’ll make it worth your while. All you have to do is come away for a weekend in Scotland and make the odd visit to the house in Hampstead Heath. Once she thinks I’m engaged she’ll change the will and that’s it.’

I gape at him.

      ‘That’s all is it?’

He nods.

      ‘Oh well, I’m sure I can spare a few weekends and popping up to Scotland shouldn’t take long. I mean, honestly what do you take me for? I can’t lie to your grandmother, especially if she’s dying, that’s immoral. And besides I have a boyfriend.’

     
‘Think how happy you’ll make her.’

     
‘Think how unhappy I’ll make him. And it’s still deceiving your grandmother,’ I insist. ‘And anyway, there is no guarantee I will make your grandmother happy. If how happy I make my mother is anything to go by then it’s unlikely. I’m bleeding awful at family stuff, always have been.’

     
‘For pity’s sake,’ he cries. He tries to get up from the couch, but the springs are so knackered since Diamond’s little visit that he falls back down again.

     
‘I could lose everything. Do you have any idea what that will feel like?’

     
‘I’ve got a vague idea.’

     
‘I’m offering you twenty thousand. My family’s future hangs on this.’

Jesus, that’s a bit of a responsibility. I stop with my hand on the door h
andle. Twenty thousand, twenty thousand pounds? That would pay the finance on the van and clear a good part of the bank loan.

     
‘I just have to pretend to be your future wife, that’s it?’

He nods eagerly, pushing himself out of the couch.

      ‘I don’t have to actually marry you or anything?’

He shakes his head, looking at me expectantly.

      ‘No, by the time she meets you she’ll only have four months and she won’t be expecting us to get married that quickly. In fact, you don’t have to see me ever again.’

This is ridiculous, I can’t do that. It would be a complete disaster. I’m all wrong for a start, I wouldn’t have a clue how to dress and they would realise right away it was a scam. I don’t talk like he does. But if I don’t agree to do it what the hell
will
I do. I’m completely exhausted, not to mention freezing. If I stay in this flat I’ll die from hypothermia. I look to my goldfish for inspiration. Julian won him at a fair last year. I’m not sure how much longer he will last either. I will probably be driven by starvation to eat the little bugger with some oven chips if I don’t sort out my finances soon.

     
‘Okay, I’ll make it twenty-five thousand. I can’t say fairer than that can I? Half now and the rest when the job is done.’

Does he have to make it sound like we’re going to kill his grandmother? I hesitate.

      ‘Okay, thirty thousand, but I can’t go any higher than that,’ he says urgently. ‘You can’t tell anyone about this. Everyone has to believe we’re engaged and are getting married before the end of the year.’

Holy shit.
I wonder if I stay silent long enough he’ll offer me fifty thousand. I could pay all the debts and take a holiday.

     
‘But …’

     
‘The spring break is in ten days. I’ve set up all the people to prime you …’

He is becoming animated and his eyes have lit up.

      ‘Prime me?’

     
‘You’ll need to speak better, and dress …’

I raise my eyebrows.

      ‘Differently,’ he says quickly.

     
‘I don’t know,’ I say hesitantly. ‘I really can’t see something like this working.’

     
‘I assure you it will. Everyone will have to believe it though, and that includes your friends and family, and most importantly my grandmother. She has to love you.’

Bloody hell, even my own grandmother doesn’t love me. He’s expecting a lot. Mind you,
Mum
will
be proud, and it will be one over on Caron’s Gary.

     
‘Alistair will know, and Fiona,’ I remind him, ‘and my mum will think it rather odd that I got over Julian so fast. I may have to tell her.’

He nods thoughtfully.

      ‘Yes, but no one else must know.’

He looks into my eyes.

      ‘Well, what do you think?’

I think it’s the maddest idea I have ever heard. Thirty thousand pounds, I bet even Gary couldn’t compete with that
, I think with a little smile, but what would Julian think about it, me pretending to be engaged to some rich toff? What’s wrong with me, why am I giving a toss about Julian? He has left me in a right mess and not even bothered to phone. I could forgive him if they have actually cut out his tongue and he couldn’t actually talk. But he still has his tongue and both ears, not to mention my Mini. At that moment there is a knock on the door and before I can stop him Hamilton Lancaster has opened it.

     
‘Bailiffs lady, we’ve been instructed to take your hi-fi unit and laptops, and any furniture not pertaining to your landlord,’ says a ginger-haired man pushing past Hamilton and barging into my lounge.

What is it with these men with ginger hair?

      ‘I’ve got a gold filling,’ I say sarcastically. ‘Do you want that too? I can lend you some pliers.’

Hamilton looks horrified while the bailiff considers it.

      ‘Make it thirty-five thousand and it’s a deal,’ I say.

The bailiff sways.

      ‘You wanna give us thirty-five thousand quid to take out your filling?’ he says startled.

     
‘Deal,’ Hamilton says holding out a hand. ‘Shake on it.’

I clasp his hand. Thirty
-five thousand pounds and all I have to do is pretend to be someone else for a weekend. How hard can that be?

* * *

      ‘Are you serious, but this is brilliant news.’

After a week of silence Julian finally phones and I nervously tell him of Hamilton’s offer, fully expecting him to go crazy. Instead he is enthusing so much about the plan that I feel depressed. I look around at our dreary kitchen and listen to the dripping tap and feel like screaming.
Out of the window I see the yobs teasing my elderly neighbour. I open the window noisily.

     
‘Hey, you little gits leave him alone or I’m calling the police.’

They give me the finger and run off. My neighbour smiles at me and I feel some tension leave my body.

      ‘Thanks sweetheart but I have this nice little spray now which blinds the buggers for a few hours,’ he laughs.

     
‘Harry, are you listening to me?’ demands Julian.

     
‘When are you coming back?’ I ask crossly. ‘And why haven’t you phoned? I was beginning to think Jack Diamond had cut out your tongue.’

His voice softens.

      ‘I’m sorry babe, you must think me mercenary …’

     
‘Well …’ I begin.

     
‘The thing is,
I have found someone who will invest in the restaurant …’

God, this restaurant is driving me to distraction.

      ‘I just need a bit more time and we can get the money together, meanwhile you can pay Diamond with the first half and …’

Has he gone out of his mind?

      ‘For God’s sake Julian, the first half is to pay the back rent, or I’ll have nowhere to live, and the loan repayments at the bank. Plus there are all the household bills you didn’t pay, or did you forget about those? Then there are the staff at the restaurant, it’s not fair not to pay them, it’s not their fault, and of course there are the repayments on that bloody van of yours, and there are also my studies. I’ve never had a bad credit rating in my life and I’m not getting one now.’

     
‘For God’s sake Harry, can’t you forget the bloody studies? You know you’ll never finish it, and you certainly won’t be going out to Angola or wherever it is you want to go. You’re not Angelina Jolie you know.’

Bloody cheek, is everyone trying to tell me I am plain stupid and ugly.

      ‘Don’t I know it? I bet Brad Pitt would be more supportive.’

     
‘I bet Brad Pitt has more sodding money.’

     
‘I bet Brad Pitt doesn’t owe money,’ I snap back. ‘He’s certainly more appealing,’ I add spitefully, ‘and it’s South East Asia actually, not Angola.’

     
‘Same thing. Come on Harry, I can’t come back yet, you know that. I need to get the money for Diamond or God knows what Babyface Jack and Mad Jack Junior will do.’

     
‘Who are Babyface Jack and Mad Jack Junior? I thought it was Jack Diamond you owed money to?’

Christ, no wonder I could never follow
The Godfather
.

     
‘They’re his sons.’

     
‘How can they all be called Jack?’

Julian sighs.

      ‘I don’t know. They’re bloody insane though. Mad Jack Junior is a total nutcase. He’ll kneecap anything that moves. I daren’t set foot in Battersea until I have their money.’

     
‘I don’t think you dare set foot in Battersea, period. Everyone you owe money to is after you. I would think Jack Diamond, Baby Diamond and Mad Diamond are the least of your worries. I could happily kneecap you myself.’

The dripping tap drums incessantly into a dirty saucepan in the sink.

      ‘For God’s sake Harry, you’re supposed to be supporting me.’

     
‘Julian, you deceived me. I don’t see why I should help you pay back all your debts. They’re your problem …’

     
‘But Harry, they may kill me. I promise to stay in touch and I love you Harry. I appreciate what you’re doing for me. I really do. I’m really sorry for what I did. I only did it for us. My only crime was loving you,’ he says with a small sob which I’m not sure is real.

     
‘You still love me don’t you?’ he asks in a self-pitying voice.

I mumble something incoherent which he seems to ignore.

      ‘Well at least the restaurant is still up and running. How many more months can you pay the staff?’

     
‘I’m not sure.’

     
‘If I can get this guy to invest then we can give Diamond his money and get him off our backs for good. I’ll have to get rid of this phone, I don’t trust them. They may be able to trace me if I keep using it.’

     
‘They’re East End gangsters Julian, not the sodding FBI,’ I say irritably.

     
‘Still, best to be safe. I’ll contact you when I have a new number. I love you Harry, I really am grateful for what you are doing.’

I click off the phone. Angola,
when did I ever say I wanted to go to Angola? They have bloody landmines there for Christ’s sake. I’m charitable, but not that bloody charitable. Has he ever listened to me? More to the point, has he ever really loved me? What a predicament. I can’t very well tell Hamilton that I’ve now changed my mind can I? I certainly can’t wait for Julian either. Bloody men.

      ‘This one really becomes you. This is the crème de la crème,’ gushes Marcus.

So far I’ve looked like a prize prat in all of them if you ask me, but who am I to argue with the man who has supposedly dressed Victoria Beckham and the Duchess of York? Mind you, that’s not much of a recommendation is it? I mean, have you seen the Duchess of York lately? I go to nervously bite my nails and remember they’re not my own any
more. I don’t mean I’ve stolen someone else’s, just in case you thought I was wearing the Duchess of York’s nails. My own bitten nails have been magically replaced by beautiful false ones, which have rendered me totally helpless. I can’t hold a knife and fork anymore without looking like someone who’s had a stroke. I just about manage to get the fork to my mouth before I lose my grip and drop food down my new designer clothes. I’ll be ripping these nails off just so I can eat something. I could be the inventor of the
False Nail Diet
, and will make a fortune writing
The Amazing False Nail Diet Book
. Seriously though, how do women wear these things? If I have an itch I almost scar myself by scratching. As it is I’ve got injuries on my thighs from pulling up my knickers. I must be the most glamorous laundrette manager ever. Celia Blakely nearly had a fit when she saw me. I told her it was a birthday present from Julian.

     
‘Oh, a makeover,’ she had said, ‘it must have cost him a fortune.’

He owes a fortune more like.
I’ve had hair waxed from places I didn’t know I had hair. My lovely shaggy blonde look is now a neat shoulder length bob, and is so silky that I slip and slide on the pillowcase. I feel like a Barbie doll, and Fiona doesn’t help by telling me I look like one. I’m wearing shoes that I’ve only ever seen transvestites wear and I’m wobbling all over the place in them. I swear roller blades would be easier. I take a peek at myself in the mirror. I look like an oversized ballerina in a tutu. I could seriously be auditioning for a comedy
Strictly Come Dancing
contest. This is a complete disaster. Every dress I try on looks ghastly. Oh, that’s a new word I’ve learnt. Every time I feel myself about to say this is
crap
, I replace it with
ghastly
. It’s working so far. I just have to remember not to say
I’m taking a ghastly.
I honestly must have been mad to have agreed to this. I’m having elocution lessons and am constantly chatting away to myself on the bus. I am surprised no one has had me sectioned. Mum barely recognised me when I popped round for tea. Now she is like the cat that got the cream, and double cream at that. Caron’s semi has dropped considerably in her estimations, and as for the Platinum card, as soon as I flashed Hamilton’s American Express Centurion, Gary was old news. I wasn’t strictly honest with Mum, I just said I had met this really nice man who had a bob or two, but he was just a friend. Let’s face it she’s the one person who will open her mouth and put her foot straight in it.

     
‘Have you gone totally insane? There is no way you can pull this off,’ Fiona had said, and I’m starting to think she might just be right. I am going up to Scotland this weekend to meet the family and I am now the proud owner of my own tennis racket, but unfortunately, unless Hamilton can arrange a few private lessons with Steffi Graff, there isn’t very much I can do with the damn thing. I look great in my perfect little tennis outfit, although a lot of good that will do me. I’ve never hit anything with a bat in my life. I’m shit-scared of meeting the grandmother. No, must not say
shit
. Apparently Hamilton’s parents abhor swearing, so that’s half my vocabulary gone. I’m never going to pull this off. I’m bound to miss my mouth when eating an hors d’oeuvre and send it down my posh frock. I’ll just have to starve that’s all. I really am digging a grave for myself. If only Julian would call me again. I’m seriously beginning to think that maybe Jack Diamond has had him topped. Oh God, I can’t think about it. When I do, I have visions of him at the bottom of the Thames wearing concrete boots. How did we ever get to this? It was only a little French restaurant for Christ’s sake. It’s no good. I have to stop thinking like this. I have to get through this weekend, whether I want to or not. I’ve taken half the money now and paid off a lot of the debts. There’s a few left but with the other half I’ll be able to clear those and have enough for my studies. I look at my reflection in the mirror. I’m totally exhausted. I have been trying on outfit after outfit all morning. I now own inexpensive designer-free corduroys and three very dull-looking sweaters. Not to mention a very smart pair of gumboots.

     
‘One must look as though one spends a great deal of time in the country madam. Clothes need to look used.’

     
‘My own clothes are most certainly used Marcus, so why can’t I wear those?’

     
‘Because madam, ladies do not wear Boho ponchos to walk the dogs.’

I’ve no intention of walking any bleeding dogs, and I’ve never been called
a lady
in my life. I turn from the mirror and smile wearily at Marcus.

     
‘You don’t think I look a little too sparkly in this one? Or a bit too puffy or even a bit …’

Marcus holds his hands up in horror.

      ‘Puffy? You? My darling, my sweetie, that is not even possible. You always sparkle no matter what you try on but this one my darling, you look fabulous. It is perfect for your first dinner.’

I glance at the price tag and grab a satin
-draped chair for support. My God, who pays two thousand pounds for a dress? That would pay the rent and bills for two months. I wish Fiona were here, I so need a second opinion. She promised to be here for this all important fitting. Honestly, I can’t rely on anyone. I glance at myself in the mirror and twirl to see the back of the dress. I suppose Marcus knows better than me. He drapes a silk scarf around my neck and sighs.

     
‘You look beautiful madam. Simply stunning.’

There’s a snigger from behind

      ‘If you don’t mind me saying, you look like an oversized fairy. It might look good on Julian Clary. All you need is a wand and you’re sorted,’ says a familiar soft voice.

Marcus looks like he may faint on the spot.

      ‘Well really …’ he gasps.

I turn to see Brice Edmunds handing over a silk tie to the assistant. He’s wearing khaki trousers and an open necked shirt, and I can see his deep tan. His smile is stunning and he has the loveliest eyes. What a shame I’m a soon
-to-be engaged woman. Mind you, he probably isn’t good enough for me, with my aristocratic standing and all. Well, I have to keep up the show don’t I? Of course, the reality is that he is far too good for me if he buys his ties here. I am surprised he even noticed me. Not many people notice me when I’m trying on clothes in Oxfam, unless you count the old dears who are serving, and they always say
everything looks terrific.

     
‘Hello,’ I say, blushing in front of him and looking like a huge marshmallow, ‘fancy seeing you here.’

I lick my
lips and take a deep breath to stop my heart from beating too fast. This is ridiculous. How dare he have such an effect on me? In my whole life I’ve never turned to jelly when a man looked at me.

     
‘Preparing for another wedding are you? I don’t think you’ll find anything for a fiver in here,’ he smiles.

I shrug.

      ‘I thought I’d give Oxfam a miss this time.’

I look down at the dress and feel myself blush.

      ‘You really think I look like a Christmas decoration?’

He nods solemnly.

      ‘Oh sod it,’ I mumble and bite my lip.

He smiles and takes the tie from the assistant.

      ‘Excuse me sir, but this dress is a unique one-off handmade design,’ states Marcus, so offended that you’d think he’d designed the awful thing himself.

     
‘Well thank God for that, I’d hate to think there was more than one.’

I try to hide my smile.

      ‘Sir, I can assure you I have undressed and dressed many women in my time. Many titled women in fact. I think I can categorically state that I know what I am talking about,’ says Marcus, looking extremely hurt.

     
‘I’m having a hell of time finding a decent dress,’ I butt in. ‘It’s a total nightmare. I’ve got this fancy dinner you see, do you really think I look like a fairy?’

     
‘It’s just my opinion of course, but unless you’re planning to sit on top of a Christmas tree I would say this is a reject, but then again I haven’t dressed or undressed a titled woman,’ he says, raising his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner.

I feel a tingling where I really shouldn’t.

      ‘May I point out sir …’ begins Marcus.

     
‘However, I rather think that white one over there might look good on you,’ he continues, pointing to a dress.

Marcus gasps.

      ‘That’s a Giovanni, not in the least suitable for the occasion. It’s far too, too …’

     
‘Cheap?’ says Brice with one of his heart-stopping grins.

     
‘Well really …’ Marcus flicks his hair back in an agitated manner.

     
‘I’ll try it on,’ I say.

     
‘But I was specifically told …’

     
‘It’s all right Marcus. I’ll take full responsibility.’

I spin round to face Brice, whipping him with my tutu as I do so.

      ‘That dress is one dangerous weapon,’ he laughs.

     
‘If you think this is dangerous sir, just thank your lucky stars you were not here when we tried on the riding outfit. I thought madam was going to whip us all into shape with her riding crop,’ says Marcus dryly.

Brice laughs, his eyes twinkling.

      ‘Looks like I arrived too late,’ he says grinning.

I blush.

      ‘It wasn’t that bad,’ I say.

     
‘Yes, well it’s a matter of opinion madam. You were holding the whip while we were at the other end of it. I was only grateful madam didn’t have to hold a shotgun while trying on her shooting outfit. I fear there would have been a massacre.’

I sigh and look at Brice.

      ‘He has a tendency to over dramatise,’ I say, shrugging. ‘Have you got a minute, just to give an opinion? I’m getting a bit desperate.’

Marcus sighs.

      ‘I think
desperate
is a slight exaggeration madam.’

     
‘Sure, it sounds like fun,’ Brice says, pulling out a satin-draped chair and reclining back.

I grab the white dress and dive into the cubicle, pulling Marcus in with me as I do so. Two minutes later I reappear with a groaning Marcus trailing behind. Brice raises his eyebrows.

      ‘Better, but still not quite right. How about that purple thing over there?’ He points to a rail and Marcus convulses so much that I think he is having an epileptic fit.

     
‘That, that is, well
that is
not the dress of a lady. I really must protest. I cannot possibly allow you to even try that on …’

Brice removes the floor length strapless dress from the rail and holds it against me. The chiffon feels cool against my skin and the bright colours feel so me.

      ‘It’s
perfect,’ I smile.

Brice takes a shawl from a stand and slides it around my neck and I feel myself shiver. Oh, this is not what I need, not right now. Not with Julian at the bottom of the Thames wearing concrete boots and a soon
-to-be pretend fiancé. My life is way too complicated right now, and this is not the time to fancy gorgeous men in an expensive dress shop. Anyway, he is way out of my league.

     
‘This would enhance the dress,’ he says, meeting my eyes.

     
‘Really sir, I have to disagree …’

     
‘Let me just try it Marcus,’ I plead, finding myself unable to drag my eyes from Brice’s beautiful ones.

     
‘Oh dear oh dear,’ mumbles Marcus following me reluctantly into the changing room.

     
‘I know I have to look like a lady Marcus but I have to be comfortable too and feel a bit like me. I’m shit-scared about this weekend,’ I whisper.

     
‘Yes madam, but my instructions are to make sure you don’t look like
you
. No insult intended.’

I grin.

      ‘None taken.’

I pull the dress over my head and Marcus wraps the shawl around me in an expert manner and appraises me.

      ‘Well, I’m astonished. It actually becomes you madam. The criss-cross ruching really enhances your figure. With the right earrings and accessories, we may have a winner, and you don’t resemble the real you at all.’

     
‘Really?’ I say, trying to adjust the scarf without tearing it to shreds with my vampire nails.