The Little Lady Agency

  I breathed in the musky smell of his Creed, and the warm woollen smell of his dinner jacket, and felt distinctly dizzy.

  ‘It’s about you and me . . .’ Jonathan suddenly clapped a hand to his chest and twisted up his face. ‘Oh, shit.’

  ‘Jonathan!’ I said, putting my glass down. ‘Jonathan, are you all right . . . ?’

  But Jonathan slipped a hand in his inner pocket, pulled a face and withdrew his mobile phone. ‘Jonathan Riley?’ he said, putting a finger in the opposite ear and turning away to talk.

  I picked up my champagne glass as casually as I could, although my hands were shaking with adrenalin and delayed embarrassment.

  ‘OK.’ Jonathan clicked his phone shut with a big sigh and looked at me with an expression of extreme regret. ‘Listen, you’re going to hate me. Work. Client in New York who will not stop pestering me about her stupid goddamn house. I have to call in at the office.’

  ‘The penalties for being in demand,’ I said, trying to sound light and unconcerned when in fact my stomach was doing cartwheels.

  Jonathan took the glass out of my hand and put it on the floral arrangement. ‘Honey, if she wasn’t a major, major client, I would tell her that I was at a ball, at the Dorchester, with the most beautiful woman in London. But she is a major, major client. So I have to go.’ He took my hand and raised it to his lips. ‘But you’re welcome to stay if you want.’

  She was a major client? A cynical voice in my head wondered if it was actually Cindy on the other end of the line.

  What with my corset, and the pressure of his lips on my knuckles, and the champagne, I was having great difficulty breathing normally.

  ‘Why would I want to stay if you’re not here?’ I demanded breathlessly. ‘What would be the fun in that?’

  ‘Ah, that’s what I hoped you’d say,’ he replied with a wicked grin. ‘Come on, let’s get a cab out of here.’

  We made our excuses – which everyone seemed to understand perfectly from all the winks and nodding that flashed around the table – and got into a black cab, hailed by the doorman outside the hotel.

  In the back of the taxi, Jonathan took my hand and held it. Since it was his romantic evening, I didn’t see why I shouldn’t let him.

  Annoyingly, Dean & Daniels was only around the corner from the Dorchester, and Jonathan quickly fell into one of his thoughtful silences.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I enquired. If I was being completely honest, I was aching with curiosity to know what it was he was about to tell me before his phone rang.

  ‘Just happy,’ said Jonathan and squeezed my hand.

  That was when I knew I had no right to spoil his evening by inflicting my own confusion on him. Instead I watched the buildings flashing past and enjoyed the feeling of being alone in the taxi with him.

  ‘Are you happy?’ he asked, out of the blue.

  ‘I am,’ I answered, truthfully. Because if he was enjoying being with Honey, I was definitely enjoying being her.

  And then we were outside his office.

  Jonathan fumbled in his jacket for his wallet, and got out of the taxi to pay.

  ‘Here,’ he said to the driver, shoving notes at him. ‘And can you take the lady wherever she wants to go, please?’

  ‘Jonathan, are you, um, OK to go back to work?’ I enquired discreetly.

  He leaned into the cab, screwing up his face in mock outrage. ‘Honey, what are you suggesting? I’m very sober indeed.’

  Now he mentioned it, I couldn’t smell any alcohol on his breath. I blushed. That rather put paid to my ‘he’s drunk, so don’t take him seriously’ rationale.

  ‘Goodnight, Honey,’ he said softly and leaned over until his nose was level with mine. Then he leaned a little further and touched his lips against my cheek, then pressed a little harder, pausing with his mouth a few millimetres from my skin, so I could feel his breath on my cheek.

  ‘Goodnight,’ I whispered, breathing in the clean fragrance of his hair.

  ‘Wow,’ he said so close to my ear that I could feel his whisper. ‘You smell fabulous. Just like a real, old-fashioned, blonde bombshell should smell.’

  Oh my God, I thought, throwing all caution and reason to the winds. He’s going to kiss me, he’s going to kiss me!

  Then, while my eyes were still closed, waiting for his kiss, he was gone.

  I sat there, unable to move or speak, while the driver restarted the cab and set off again. It was several minutes before I could drag myself back down to earth to tell him where to go.

  If this wasn’t falling in love, I didn’t know what was.

  Oh dear.

  17

  Outside our front door the lavender window boxes were bushy and fragrant and I sank my nose into the cushion of purple heads, breathing in the glorious scent until I felt dizzy. Only the distant noise of traffic spoiled the absolute peacefulness. London could be so lovely, between late night and early morning, I thought, with a burst of affection for the place. Then I slipped my key into the lock before I caught sight of any dog poo or wheel clamps, and let myself in.

  I wasn’t prepared for the scene that greeted me in the sitting room. I wasn’t even prepared for all the lights to be on. Blinking in the brightness, I tried to absorb the bizarre tableau: Gabi, on the sofa, sobbing her eyes out; Nelson, in his yellow waterproof sailing jacket, automatically passing her tissues; Roger Trumpet, also in full sailing gear, twitching in embarrassment and fiddling with a sequinned cushion.

  In turn, when they heard my entrance, all three looked up and gaped at me in my evening dress, blonde tendrils falling down round my face, slingbacks in one hand, gold clutch bag in the other.

  There was a brief pause, then Gabi resumed her wailing with renewed vigour. I could just about make out the odd word: ‘your fault’, ‘lucky bitch’ and, oddly, ‘forensics’.

  ‘Well, thank God you’re back at last,’ said Nelson, making to get up.

  It seemed to me that every time I arrived anywhere these days, people said, ‘Thank God you’re here’ and abandoned me to whatever crisis they’d just initiated.

  Roger also scrambled to his feet. ‘Where’ve you been?’ he demanded. ‘Stars in their Eyes?’

  I put up my hand to stop the boys in their tracks. ‘I’ve been to a dinner-dance at the Dorchester. Would you mind telling me what’s happened?’ I asked, and nodded towards Gabi.

  ‘Gabi? Do you want me to tell her?’ Nelson asked. His voice was tired, but full of kindness.

  Gabi hiccuped, nodded and reached for another hanky. Then reached for a biscuit from the half-eaten family packet of Jaffa Cakes in front of her.

  ‘Well. It seems Aaron and Gabi have had a, um, row, because Aaron wants to give up his spread-betting job and have a, um, a career change,’ said Nelson tactfully.

  ‘He wants to retrain as a forensic pathologist!’ bawled Gabi, spraying biscuit crumbs onto the sofa. ‘He wants to go back to college and all that guff about wanting to get married was just so that I’d have to support him through his bloody course! The bastard!’

  Nelson and Roger exchanged ambiguous looks.

  ‘Right,’ I said.

  ‘It’s good that you’re getting angry now,’ said Roger, helpfully. ‘When you arrived, you weren’t quite so positive, were you? It’s good to move on to anger. Much more cleansing.’

  ‘Thank you, Roger,’ I said with a warning tone. ‘Don’t you have a tide to catch?’ Since his successful rebranding as a New Bachelor, Roger had taken to pontificating on relationship matters with all the profundity of an Esquire letters page.

  ‘We’ll go in a minute. Why don’t you get changed?’ said Nelson. He cast a meaningful look at my billowing cleavage. ‘Into something less formal, maybe.’

  ‘Good idea. Two minutes, Gabi!’ I said brightly. ‘Roger, why don’t you put the kettle on?’

  In my room, I stripped off my dress and set about unfastening the black silk clips and ties of my stockings and corset. It wasn’t the glamorous disrobin
g I’d planned in the taxi on my way home; I’d imagined myself rolling the stockings down my legs, pretending Jonathan’s strong fingers were flicking the fabric out of the clips. My skin had shivered deliciously, thinking about the long, slow way I’d unhook the corset, his seductively hooked eyebrow at the forefront of my mind’s eye.

  And yet, I reflected, as my fingers clumsily hurried over the fastenings, I’d gone from femme fatale to Brown Owl the moment I’d walked into the sitting room. So my sexy lingerie didn’t have quite the magical spell I’d thought it had.

  I shook my head in an effort to dispel the leaden anticlimax spreading through me. There was no point taking it out on Gabi – it wasn’t her fault. I pulled on my black lounge pants and a jumper, and set my wig back on its stand, where it spooled out over my dressing table in sexy caramel waves. I made a mental note to give it a good wash. My own hair was a bit flat from being in a cap all night but I shook it out as best as I could, and pulled it into a high ponytail.

  ‘That’s more like it!’ said Roger when I went back in. ‘Much more comfy, eh?’

  I ignored him.

  ‘Tea?’ said Nelson, wielding the pot.

  I nodded and cast a worried glance at Gabi, who was clutching her knees and rocking backwards and forwards like a distraught Weeble. ‘Why don’t you two get away now, and leave us to it?’

  ‘Maybe after a cup of tea,’ said Roger. Clearly now I was here, the prospect of listening to an expert interviewer extract the full drama of Gabi’s mercy dash was more appealing than just passing her hankies while she sobbed incoherently into Nelson’s shoulder.

  ‘No, we should go now,’ said Nelson firmly. ‘I don’t want to miss the tide. Roger, can you put the bags in the car?’

  Roger got up with visible reluctance and shouldered the kit bag.

  Nelson drew me tactfully into the kitchen. ‘I don’t know exactly what’s happened,’ he murmured, ‘but go easy on her, will you? She’s really upset.’

  ‘Of course I’m going to go easy on her!’ I exclaimed, hurt. ‘What else would I do?’

  He gave me one of his annoyingly superior looks. ‘What I meant was, this is not the time to discuss your romantic evening with Remington Steele, or give her one of your speeches about how marriage just turns women into Stepford wives.’

  ‘As if!’

  Really, Nelson could be so off sometimes. And since when had he been Gabi’s Father Confessor anyway?

  ‘I defrosted one of my shepherd’s pies – she couldn’t face it, but maybe now you’re here it might be a good idea to get some food into her.’ Nelson pulled a face. ‘Poor Gabi. I hope he’s worth it.’

  I bundled him and Roger out of the house and put the shepherd’s pie in the oven. Never mind Gabi, suddenly I was ravenous.

  ‘Supper’ll be in twenty minutes,’ I said, slipping onto the sofa next to her. ‘So that gives you time to tell me what’s happened.’

  ‘I can do that in six words,’ she said, holding up her fingers to count off. Her massive engagement ring was conspicuous by its absence. ‘Aaron. And. I. Have. Split. Up.’

  ‘Not. Necessarily,’ I replied, counting with my fingers. ‘You. Can. Always. Make. It. Up.’

  ‘We can’t. Not now.’

  ‘Gabi, it’s gone two o’clock,’ I sighed, picking up my mug of tea. ‘Just tell me what happened.’

  Gabi drew in a shuddering breath. ‘You know you blew me out for discussing bridesmaids’ dresses tonight?’ she began.

  ‘Mmm,’ I said, cautiously.

  ‘Well, instead, I asked Aaron if he’d come with me to try out a restaurant I was thinking of, if we had a morning wedding, you know, with a lunch reception.’ Her face creased. ‘Aaron got really narky and said we should be trying to economise, not spend thousands on the wedding. And I told him not to be so tight, when he had a big bonus coming, and he . . .’ Gabi bit her lip.

  I took her hand and squeezed it. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He said he wouldn’t be getting the bonus. He told me that now he knew he’d have me by his side, he could make the biggest decision of his life, and give up the City job to retrain as a lousy forensic pathologist!’

  ‘But, Gabi, that’s a jolly noble thing to want to do,’ I said, racking my brains for three positives. ‘The police need brainy types like Aaron and, um, it’s a secure job, isn’t it?’

  Gabi let rip with a howl of sheer frustration. ‘I know! I know it’s frigging noble! But why does he have to do it? Why can’t he carry out a public service by earning lots of money and paying top-rate tax!’

  There was no unsanctimonious answer to this. So I gathered my courage in both hands, and offered the sanctimonious one.

  ‘Gabi, maybe Aaron feels there’s more to life than money. Maybe he wants to do something more rewarding?’

  ‘Maybe he just watches too much Silent bloody Witness!’

  We sat in silence for several minutes while I wondered what to say next. I had a sinking suspicion that all this was somehow my fault.

  ‘It’s your fault,’ she said, as if she could read my mind. ‘You put all those doubts in my head.’

  Doubts? Doubts?

  ‘Oh, now, come on . . .’ I began.

  Gabi turned to look at me. Her face was red and streaky, like a frustrated toddler’s. ‘Wasn’t it you who said that I should leave him if I was only in it for the Audi? Wasn’t it?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ I said, horrified. ‘But I was hoping you were joking. And that deep down you actually loved him for something other than his bank account. I didn’t think you meant it.’

  Gabi broke down into fierce sobs. ‘Oh, Mel! It’s not his fault. Or yours. It’s all mine. I hate myself! I’m such a cow!’ she wailed, pummelling her knees with her clenched fists. ‘I’m the worst kind of bitch! What am I going to do?’

  I couldn’t bear to hear her so unhappy, even if she was liable to turn violent. I flung my arms round her, hugging her face into my ample chest.

  ‘You’re not horrible,’ I soothed. ‘If you were a real money-grabbing cow you’d just walk away and not feel bad at all. I mean, it’s a good sign that you feel so guilty and revolted with yourself.’

  ‘Oh, Mel,’ she hiccuped. ‘I thought I had it all sussed, I thought as long as I had enough money I could make the rest come later.’ Tears were running down her face. ‘But Aaron loves me! I never realised just how . . . Oh, God, his face when he said he could manage anything as long as I was there with him! I wanted to die. But I just couldn’t walk out like you said! He doesn’t deserve to be screwed like this. So now I feel I’ve got to marry him, even though I know I like him, but I don’t love him. Oh God!’ she sobbed, ‘I’m such a bi-i-i-i-itch!’

  Actually, I wasn’t sure Aaron was being quite as noble as he’d like to think, and if he was half the operator I thought he was, this was a rather smart move on his part. But I was too tired to come up with useful advice, so I just let her cry herself out until the oven timer pinged.

  ‘Now then,’ I said in a reassuring, nanny-ish voice. ‘Let’s have some supper.’ I glanced at the clock – ten to three.

  Ten to three!

  I dished up the shepherd’s pie into large bowls, which I’ve always found more comforting than plates in dark times, then squirted tomato sauce liberally over the mash, and we sat down at the table to eat. After several restorative mouthfuls, a weird second wind overtook me, and I no longer felt tired.

  Gabi too seemed to recover somewhat, and shovelled forkfuls of mince into her mouth with an enthusiasm I hadn’t seen since she embarked on her pre-Vera Wang diet.

  ‘Mel, I’m so sorry,’ she said when her bowl was clean. ‘You’re a good friend and I shouldn’t dump on you. Everyone else does, and it’s not fair.’ Her face creased. ‘That’s another horrible thing I’ve done.’

  I patted her hand. ‘I’ve got broad shoulders. Anyway, it’s better that you get this sorted out now, isn’t it? No point leading Aaron on if you don’t love him enough.’


  Gabi stuck her hands in her hair and put her elbows on the table. ‘Ohhhh. When you put it like that . . . I’m so angry at myself.’ She looked at me from under her thick fringe. ‘I was fine about this until I started talking to you. Am I the most wicked person you know? Tell me honestly now.’

  ‘You’re no worse than several members of my family,’ I said sadly, thinking of Allegra’s shameless totting-up of Lars’s off-shore assets the night before the wedding.

  ‘That’s what I’m worried about.’ Gabi scraped some crusty bits off the dish. ‘But if I didn’t feel something for Aaron, would I feel so terrible now? What if I could persuade him not to pack his job in?’

  ‘Honestly, Gabi,’ I said quickly, ‘you need more than money to make a marriage work.’ I thought about the marriages I knew well – Allegra’s, my parents, Emery’s. Jonathan’s. They all had plenty of cash, and look where it had got them. Jonathan didn’t even get to keep his old life, let alone his assets.

  An image of Jonathan in his sexy dinner jacket floated into my mind, and I pushed it away. I wasn’t going to think about Jonathan now.

  ‘So what do you need?’ demanded Gabi. ‘And can you try not to sound so much like a Relate counsellor, please.’

  ‘Well, you need a bit of independence. And respect. And some shared interests. Um, the same sort of sense of humour helps.’ I thought hard, trying to pin down what I’d want in a husband. ‘You need to be able to live together, and understand each other. Know when to give each other some space, and when to be close.’ Actually, now I’d started, the words were tumbling out. ‘You want a partner who can make you feel secure, and loved, so you can reach your full potential, someone who can inspire you, and encourage you to try again if things don’t work out. Someone who loves you for who you are, not who you might turn into, or who you once were.’

  Gabi looked at me with narrowed eyes. ‘So why don’t you marry him then?’

  ‘Sorry?’ I blinked.

  She gave up picking daintily at the crusts and slopped a second helping of shepherd’s pie into her bowl with more force than was necessary. ‘You’ve just described your relationship with Nelson.’