Millie's Game Plan (22 page)

‘Fell off my bike and landed on a lawnmower – I was trying to vault it at the time.’

I giggled and he moved even closer, like he knew my resolve was failing. One of his hands snaked round my waist. ‘You really do have the sexiest brown eyes, Millie.’

And suddenly, I was kissing the glory out of that scar on his top lip, and we were fastened together like our suits were made of Velcro. Eventually, he said, ‘Do you realise, I’m about to fulfil one of my favourite fantasies.’

‘What’s that?’

‘To have you on the boardroom table.’

To…
have
me?

I stepped back. He looked down at me and pulled a lopsided smile. ‘Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you haven’t secretly fancied doing it like that? Never wanted to rip the suit off one of your hot clients and nail him over his desk?’

Well, yes, actually. It might have crossed my mind once or twice – in my fantasies but not in the real world. And certainly not for the first time with the father of my children.

‘Come on, Millie. Charles and Bronwen will be leaving any minute.’ He trailed a finger down my throat and further to the little pink bow at the centre of my bra. I realised then, all the fastenings of my suit were undone, and my skirt was slipping slowly over my hips – helped on its way by his other hand. ‘Let’s start in here and then we can go upstairs and share a bottle of Cristal…I always find it’s the best aphrodisiac for a second or third…’

‘Nooo!’ I shoved him away from me and grabbed at my skirt. ‘What do you mean; you always find it’s the best aphrodisiac?’ I began struggling with the zip. ‘Wow. You certainly know how to make a girl feel special.’

‘Oh, come on Millie. It’s just a turn of phrase. You seemed pretty up for it a moment ago.’

‘I wasn’t up for a quickie against the filing cabinet. I was, I was…’ How did I say I was up for some serious wooing; the kind the man of your dreams indulges in when you mean something to him? And the man of my dreams wouldn’t have been standing there, hands on hips, scowl on forehead like a truculent schoolboy. ‘Oh, forget it, Lex. This whole work/pleasure thing is doomed. I just can’t separate myself that easily.’ But at the back of my mind, I started to worry about Graham’s reaction if I lost the Spritzah! Job and didn’t get paid for the hours we’d already put in. And I needed the business to stave off Simon Sodding Ostler. Yanking my skirt back up, I said. ‘Maybe after the Spritzah! Campaign we could give it another go.’

He looked at me for a long, ponderous moment. ‘I don’t think so, Millie. I’m beginning to see, you’re just far too uptight for me.’

Uptight?!

He turned away and gathered up his notes from the table. I buttoned my jacket, picked up my portfolio and stood silently while he opened the door. A dozen retorts
whistled through my brain – none of them appropriate for a client I wanted to keep. But I did manage to say, ‘I’ll send over the revised designs as soon as they’re ready.’

To which he replied, ‘Fine.’ And I left without shaking
hands, at least, without shaking
his
hand, mine were trembling like I had the DTs.

By the time I reached the street, my eyes were stinging and my breath ragged. I was uptight. True. I’d been off the dating scene too long, and Sacha was right. I’d set so much store by searching for Mr Right, I’d turned into an obsessive, angst-ridden, spinster trying to make any willing man fit the bill.

I headed off down the road, blinking my tears away, bashing into a passing commuter with my portfolio. ‘Hey! You could’ve knocked me over,’ he snapped.

‘But did I?’ I screeched back.

He gave me the finger and beetled off down into the Underground. Which reminded me, I needed to catch the tube back to Waterloo. I turned and sloped down the staircase, feeling wretched.

Throughout the journey home, I replayed every mistake I’d made, every wrong word I’d uttered, every bad decision and misinterpretation. I composed a full concert of self pity; how could I have imagined, for one moment, a guy of his calibre would take me seriously? How deluded had I been to imagine I could be mistress of Marshalhampton House? Vonnie would never be my mother-in-law, and darling Arabella would become some other woman’s beautiful sister-in-law. I would continue to be a sad fantasist.

I drove back to Bridgeman Villas and hauled my pathetic spinster arse up the stairs and into the flat.

‘Mii-ii-ll-ii-ee!’
Sacha shrieked.

From her position on the sofa – and it was quite some position – plus the look on Marcus’s face, I’d say I was interrupting something.

‘Sorry – I’ll get out of your way.’ I said, turning my back on them and sidestepping towards my bedroom. Just what I needed – a night in, listening to the Torvill and Dean of sofa-dancers.

‘I thought you were supposed to be at your mum’s,’ she whined after me, ‘with the vicar.’

Well…who’d have thought
that
would be a worse situation?

Standing there, in Copulation Central, I imagined Mum’s reaction if I let the coward in me cry off – not to mention the havoc she might wreak in my absence.
Raising my chin from my chest and taking a deep breath, I waved to the couple behind me and headed back out.

I arrived at Mum’s ten minutes later. Josh’s car was on the drive, all gleaming and pristine. My Fiat hadn’t been buffed up with turtle-wax in a long time. We were both suffering from neglect.

Josh opened the door to me. ‘Hi. Your mum’s in the kitchen.’

‘Hi,’ I responded, awkwardly bashing cheeks with him. My interpersonal skills desperately needed adjusting.

The kitchen was steamy. The smell of herbs and garlic indicated she must be doing her signature roast chicken. ‘Where have you been?’ she asked, ramming a tray of golden roast potatoes back in the oven.

‘A meeting in London. Is there any wine open? I think I’ll stay here tonight.’

‘Josh brought a lovely bottle of wine. It’s in the fridge.’

The Pouilly-fuissé certainly wasn’t a supermarket brand. I fished in the drawer for a corkscrew.

‘Don’t you think you should ask Josh to do that?’

‘Mum, we’re emancipated now. We can open our own bottles.’

‘Out of politeness, Millie.
He brought it, ask him if he’d like to open it.’ I must have grunted like a teenager because Mum shot me a look that transported me back in time – by about fifteen years.

I traipsed into the living room. Oh boy. The white tablecloth was out, along with wedding-present silver, a vase of sweet-peas and proper linen napkins. Josh was standing, looking out over Mum’s dinky back garden, hands in the pockets of his stone coloured chinos. I pushed the bottle towards him. ‘Mum thought you might like to do the honours. She’s old-fashioned like that.’

‘Of course.’ He smiled at me and said something about the garden but I was lost in my thoughts about Lex and whether the wine could have been imported by Marshal & Crowe. Damn. I hadn’t even learned anything about wine; no trips to sunny vineyards in France…no complimentary case of mixed vintage...

‘Busy day?’
Josh asked, as he wound the cork off the corkscrew.

‘Sorry, yes. I was miles away.’

‘Would you like a glass of wine?’

‘Is the Pope Catholic?’

He grinned. ‘Far as I know. Unless the A B of C has staged a coup.’

‘A B of C?’

‘Archbishop of Canterbury.’

I’d forgotten about his day job. Standing there in his pale blue Oxford shirt, he could have been a colleague at work. Oh hell.
That made me think about Graham and Simon Sodding Ostler.

Josh handed me a glass of wine. I
hovered my nose over it and sniffed. Should I slurp it over my tongue, suck air through it and choke or (my preference) neck it and hold my glass out for a refill?

‘You look like a connoisseur,’ he said.

‘Looks can be deceptive.’ I took a sip. It was actually nice – very nice; crisp, fragrant and beautifully chilled. In my current mood, I could easily sink two glasses before dinner. ‘Lovely. You chose well.’

He asked me about my meeting, which I didn’t even want to think about, never mind talk about. ‘Oh, a typical client meeting; I showed them our designs…they didn’t like them.’

‘Sounds disappointing. What are you working on?’

‘Panty-liners.’

I told you I didn’t want to talk about it.

He nodded slowly. ‘So, Millie, how are you going to fill your evenings now?’

‘Erm…’ Did he already know about me and Lex?

‘Do you start rehearsing for another show?’

‘Ah…yes. We’ll be putting on a variety show in September.’

Mum came in, bearing a vegetable tureen with a chip on the rim – also wedding-present vintage. ‘Now, sit yourself down, Josh. Millie – will you give me a hand?’

She loitered to make sure I followed and once we were in the kitchen, pushed the door closed behind me and hissed, ‘What’s got into you, Millie? This may not be what you want but please respect my reasons for inviting him round, and take that look off your face.’ Her lips clamped in a fine line. ‘I mean it.’

I certainly wasn’t about to tell her I’d just been dumped. ‘Sorry. I had a really crap client meeting.’

‘Well, you’re home now. Don’t let business intrude on your private life.’

Oh, the irony.

She handed me the gravy boat. ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘And smile!’

Mum might not do sophisticated haute-cuisine but she can knock out a scrumptious roast chicken with a Mediterranean twist. She’s good at drawing people out, too, something I’d always found intensely embarrassing as a child – thinking she was nosy and interfering. But by inviting people to talk about themselves, she put them at ease. And that’s what she did with Josh, drew him out; covering his sporting prowess, the jobs he did and his family background. And Josh was the same – would she ever return to Spain to live? ‘I couldn’t leave my lovely grandchildren.’ And had she nurtured the bedding plants from seed? ‘Oh yes. I can’t afford garden centre prices.’

Too soon, he turned his attention to me. ‘Will you be coming to the Marshalhampton Summer Ball?’ he asked.

By now, I was performing my daughterly duties with a smile. ‘No,’ I said brightly. There was a summer ball? ‘Will I be missing anything?’ I’d learned this technique on a sales training course. When you don’t want to get drawn on a subject or don’t know the answer, seize power by countering the question with one of your own.

‘I’ve absolutely no idea. I’m told it’s the highlight of the year.’

‘Surely, your wine-chap will be taking you, won’t he?’ Mum chipped in.

‘Lex?
I believe he’s going to France, that weekend. Coffee anyone?’ I stood up.

‘We’ve not had dessert, yet.’ Mum said, placing her hand on my wrist to stay me. ‘I’ll go and get it.’

We had strawberries with ice-cream. I was onto my second mouthful, when she said, ‘I suppose you’ll be going to the ball, Josh?’

‘I will.’ He smiled at us both. ‘If you’d like to go, Dolores, I dare say I could find you a willing partner.’

Mum raised her hand and laughed. ‘Dios mio! My dancing days are behind me, thanks to the arthritis. And I wouldn’t have a decent dress to go in, anyway.’

‘Talking of that, Mum, we must go shopping, sometime. You said you needed a new outfit.’

‘Did I? Probably. My wardrobe is very out of date. Although, I must say, Millie…that suit of yours is rather severe for this evening.’

I looked down at my navy two-piece. I’d have taken the jacket off but all I had beneath was a lacy bra. ‘It’s my business suit. I came straight from the meeting.’

‘Well, it’s not very feminine, is it? You look so much prettier in jewel colours – what about that ruby coloured dress you wore the other day or that lovely blouse with the aqua print?’

‘Not corporate enough.’

‘Hmm,’ she placed her spoon in the empty bowl. ‘So, who will you be taking to the ball, Josh?’

My buttocks tightened. Any minute now, she’d offer my services.

‘Not sure, at present.’

I felt a curious twang in my chest. I didn’t like to think of missing out on the ball or, oddly, Josh going with someone else. When Mum offered coffee, I leapt up. ‘I’ll do it.’

Josh stood and began stacking the dishes. I fully expected Mum to wade in and deter him from sullying his hands with domesticity but she just sat there, neatly folding her napkin.

As I filled the kettle, Josh began clearing the sink for the washing up.

‘Don’t do that. I mean, we’ll do it when you’ve gone. Really, I’ll bring your coffee through.’

But he began running water into the bowl. ‘I can get these done while you make coffee. Your mum deserves a rest.’ He rolled the sleeves of his shirt up, exposing strong, tanned forearms dusted with sun-bleached hairs. ‘By the way, did you accept the police’s offer of counselling?’ he asked, totally wrong-footing me.

‘No.’ I hadn’t even considered it. After all, I was okay, wasn’t I?

He looked at me then. His blue eyes fixing on me till I looked away. ‘But have you talked it over with somebody – a friend?’

‘Well, I told Sacha and my family about it.’

‘Good. I think it’s too easy to bury these things, or you end up with troubled sleep, and little anxieties can take over.’

‘Did you have counselling?’ I asked

‘I talked it over with one of my colleagues.’

‘Did it help?’

He nodded. ‘It allowed me to explore what might have happened; how much worse it could have been, and be grateful for what actually did happen.’

‘Grateful?’

‘If you think of the worst outcome, then what we experienced doesn’t seem so bad.’

‘It’s thinking of the worst outcome that scares me.’

He stopped washing cutlery and turned to look at me. ‘You’ve been scared?’

Had I? I studied the small white buttons on the front of his shirt. Cutting through the whiff of roast chicken, was the familiar fragrance of freshly laundered shirt, shampoo and Josh. They say the sense of smell is the most evocative and, in that moment, I recalled the unique, somewhat magical mood of our night together. ‘Well…scared of what could have happened. But it didn’t. So, like you say, what really happened was…’ I looked him in the eye then, and realised what I wanted to say was far from bad; it had been uncomfortable – yes, but getting to know him had been…I swallowed. ‘Let’s say, it wasn’t too traumatic, at all,’ I finished.

‘Good. But if you ever want to talk, I’ll be happy to listen.’

‘Thanks.’

Mum was in the armchair with Mungo on her lap, leaving the sofa free for Josh and me. I was grateful she didn’t wheel out my old photographs but, inevitably, she wanted to understand more about our night in the crypt. Josh fielded her questions with gentle efficiency. But her Latin emotions still got the better of her, so I moved across to hug her and joked, ‘Hey, you always said I should go to church more.’

Big mistake.

‘Mass, Camilla.
And confession. It’s because of a lifetime of saying prayers for your safety, that God spared you.’

A lifetime of prayers hadn’t stopped me from getting whacked, nor had it kept Dad alive. I clenched my teeth.

She blew her nose, sniffed and patted my cheek. ‘Mi niña querida. Mi hija tan preciosa.’ My darling girl, she was saying, my precious daughter.

I smiled back at her and breathed steadily.

After one final sniff, she turned to Josh. ‘Are you good friends with Lex?’

I closed my eyes and silently cursed.

‘He’s more an acquaintance. I know his mother; she’s very involved with village life.’

‘Is it a good family? Do you think he’s worthy of my daughter?’

‘Mother!’ Calling her
Mother
, was like her calling me
Camilla
.

She shrugged. ‘I am your mother, yes. And that’s why I have to look out for you.’

She turned to Josh, waiting for his answer. He looked from her to me and back again. ‘I’m sure Millie can work that out for herself.’ And with the most charming of smiles, he slid forward. ‘Now, Dolores, I’m afraid I must go.’

Mum stood up and hugged him. ‘Praise God you two survived your ordeal. And I thank Him every day that my Millie had the good fortune not to be locked in there all on her own.’

‘Me too,’ was all he said.

‘I’ll leave Millie to see you out,’ she said, lifting Mungo off her recently vacated cushion and sitting back down. ‘Her car is blocking yours in.’

‘Here, Mum,’ I held my hand out for the dog. ‘I’ll take Mungo for a quick walk.’

I needed a breather.