I tailed off as a much less cheery thought dawned on me.
Daddy.
I should pay that money back. I could write off nearly two-thirds of my debt in one fell swoop.
‘What?’ demanded Nelson, seeing my face fall. ‘You are going to treat yourself, aren’t you? You’ve earned that money!’
A solemn sense of obligation and responsibility settled on my shoulders like a very heavy leather coat. ‘No,’ I said slowly, trying to wring every possible ounce of moral satisfaction out of the moment, in order to compensate for the loss of frilly Agent Provocateur knickers, ‘I am going to pay back the money I owe my father and free myself from the shackles of obligation.’
‘Do you want to tell me what you mean by that?’ Nelson put his cup down.
It had to come out sooner or later, I suppose. I took a sip of coffee, and braced myself for the inevitable lecture. ‘I owe my father ten thousand pounds. He lent it to me to invest in Perry Hamilton’s ski business and of course Perry just vanished with it. It’s been hanging over me all this time, and he’s been using it as a stick to beat me with, but now he wants it back to pay for part of Emery’s wedding.’
I looked up at Nelson. He looked furious. ‘Are you mad at me?’ I faltered.
‘Yes, I am!’ spluttered Nelson. ‘Why the hell didn’t you say something? We could have worked something out!’
‘I didn’t want to work something out,’ I protested. ‘That was the whole point – I wanted to pay it back myself! And now I can.’
Nelson looked impressed, despite himself. ‘Well. I still say you should have told me.’
I looked him in the eye. ‘I didn’t want to. You’d have made me feel about four years old.’
‘Only because I care about you, you stupid woman,’ he said, in the caring way I had come to know and love and often mistake for curmudgeonliness.
‘So you think I should pay him the money back, then?’ I said hopefully. ‘Get him off my case once and for all. Fund my sister’s ridiculous wedding dream.’ I paused, as a furious battle began in my heart between Honey and Melissa. ‘Even if it means scaling down Christmas?’
Yet something still didn’t add up, even to my innocent way of thinking. What did Daddy need my money for, when most of the wedding was donated, and he always seemed to have more than enough cash? Was he just trying to wind me up, or did he actually need the money for something else?
Nelson tipped his head to one side, in the manner of a TV relationship counsellor. ‘What do you want to do?’
I pulled a face that I hoped reflected the titanic struggle between self and family.
‘How much are you charging them for the dress, by the way?’ he asked, waving at the waitress for another two cappuccinos.
‘I’m not,’ I replied, surprised. ‘I mean, Emery’s paid for the material and everything. I’m just making it.’
Nelson jotted a figure down on a napkin. ‘OK, then, are you charging them anything for planning the wedding? Phone calls, faxes, emails . . . that sort of thing?’
‘Er, no. I’m just doing it from the office. The office they’re not meant to know about, before you say anything,’ I added.
‘And the planning – you billing them for your time?’
‘No, but, Nelson, don’t go down that road – it isn’t worth it, honestly.’
He looked up. ‘You know, if I were you, I’d inform your father that since you’ve saved him at least three thousand pounds, you should amend your debt accordingly.’
‘I can’t do that!’ I protested, trying to imagine the look on Daddy’s face.
‘Melissa,’ said Nelson, his voice very serious. ‘Think about it. You’ve negotiated some cracking deals for this wedding. You’ve been tougher with those printers than I’d dare be with anyone at work. You’re organising the lives of men much scarier than your father. What’s stopping you taking that attitude home?’
I didn’t want to say, ‘It’s Honey, not Mel,’ because I knew he’d dismiss it out of hand. It was starting to sound like a lame excuse even to me. But that was the bottom line. I couldn’t pretend to be someone I wasn’t with people who actually knew me of old.
‘He knows the right buttons to press,’ I said wearily. ‘It’s just easier to pay the money and draw a line under the whole sorry mess.’
Nelson sighed. ‘Fine. Be like that. But as your accountant, I strongly advise you to invest in your business.’ He gave me a meaningful look. ‘In whatever way you think best. If you get another wig, you could double your bookings. You could be Honey and Ginger.’
Oooh. My mind wandered happily down that road. Ginger could be a more feisty version of Honey. I could save her for the difficult jobs: the dumping of girlfriends, or the firing of cleaners. She’d have the same sexy undies as Honey, but in frothy sea-green lace, and deep midnight-blue satin . . .
‘So. You want to hear the bad news?’ interrupted Nelson.
The visions of deep suspender-belts vanished as I spluttered on a mouthful of milk foam. I knew it was too good to be true.
‘OK,’ I said bravely. ‘What is it?’
‘You’ll have to pay tax,’ he said. ‘And you’re paying for lunch.’
He leaned forward and wiped some chocolate off my lip. ‘And you still can’t drink cappuccino without covering yourself in froth.’
‘Is that it?’ I said, relieved. I peered more closely at Nelson’s sudden shifty expression. ‘Nelson? Why are you looking so guilty?’
He drummed his spoon on the table nervously. ‘Oh and I, er, told Gabi she could stay with us for a few days until she finds another new flat.’
‘You did what?’ I demanded. ‘I thought she’d found one!’
Nelson adopted his ‘appalled saint’ expression. ‘Mel, don’t be so mean. Gabi told her mum she was moving out, her mum went spare, crying, wailing, everything, then Gabi discovered there was some major problem with her new place. She couldn’t face going through all that again, so she asked me if she could crash at ours while she found somewhere else. And I said yes.’
‘I notice she didn’t ask me,’ I observed meaningfully.
‘Yes, well, it’s not your house.’ Nelson looked guilty even before I had time to take offence. ‘Sorry, you made me say that.’
‘Fair enough.’ I lifted my chin.
‘Oh come on, Mel,’ he said. ‘I let you stay when you needed somewhere, didn’t I?’
‘Yes, but I wasn’t trying to . . .’ Our eyes met, and there was a slight moment of awkwardness. Was it really fair for me to stop Gabi and Nelson maybe getting together, just because he didn’t want to get together with me?
The meanness of it shocked me. What kind of a cow was I turning into?
I swallowed, then said, in a bright tone, ‘No, you’re absolutely right! Of course she should stay!’
‘Listen, I can sleep over at the office if you want,’ he suggested.
‘No need for that!’ I trilled.
I wanted that bed kept in reserve for myself.
We parted on good-ish terms, and bearing Nelson’s instructions about investing in my business uppermost in my mind, I decided to treat myself to a new suspender-belt anyway. I reckoned that Honey deserved a bonus, after earning all that money.
I knew my way to Agent Provocateur well enough: apart from my own shopping needs, I’d popped in several times recently on buying missions for shy clients. By now I knew better than to ask whether the measurements provided were for wives or girlfriends; after innocently putting my foot in it, I’d come to realise it was best not to enquire.
I was browsing through the various tiny hangers, enjoying the faint sense of naughtiness in the air and getting all tingly with excitement at the lovely fabrics and unexpected holes, when I heard a male voice sleazing away at one of the assistants.
‘What size would you say you were, my dear? About a thirty-six D? Really? Fancy that! Yes, well, I am a pretty good judge!’
It sounded horribly like my father.
I froze for a second, hoping it would turn out to be no one of the sort. But then I heard him say, ‘Do you get a discount if you buy the matching set?’ and all doubt was removed.
My immediate thought, I regret to say, was one of adolescent panic. There’s surely only one thing worse than catching your parents having sex, and that’s catching your father buying raunchy underwear for your mother. From a shop you buy your own seduction pants from.
I edged my way to one side, still clutching two forties-style balcony bras and matching tap pants with keyhole backs, to see if there was a way out.
There wasn’t.
And now one of the assistants – Nicole, who had personally kneed me in the small of the back in order to lace me into the most dramatic corset ever – was approaching me with a handful of wispy undies.
‘Hey, Melissa!’ she said. She didn’t have to raise her voice – it was a very small shop. ‘Have you seen the new teddies?’ she asked. ‘They’d look fabulous on you. You need a bit of something up top to make them work, and a teeny waist like yours, of course.’
That, of course, was a red rag to a bull to my father – how could he help but turn round? The look on his face when he saw who the Melissa was, however, was almost as horrified as mine.
But Daddy had had many years’ experience in recovering from embarrassing situations, and immediately transformed his expression from horror into paternal delight.
‘Melissa,’ he said, smoothly. ‘What a surprise!’
‘Um, yes,’ I said, trying not to look at the large turquoise bra in his hands. My mother was nowhere near a thirty-six D. Nor did I imagine she’d suit the 1970s porn actress look that I understood could be very sexy on the right sort of woman.
‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you,’ he said, wagging his finger. ‘You’re very elusive these days.’ He peered at me beadily. ‘That temp agency must be keeping you very busy.’
‘It is,’ I said, fighting the flush of blood to my cheeks. ‘You know how it is, Christmas rush and all that.’
‘Indeed.’ He took a step back, gestured to get Nicole’s attention, and waved the bra at her. I stared in fascination at the way the cups swung gently back and forth. You could have caught tiddlers in them. ‘Nicole, could you put this on my pile, darling?’
Pile? He’d bought a pile of underwear? He wanted my mother to run through entire costume changes? I felt mildly faint.
‘Um, which pile, Mr Romney-Jones?’ asked Nicole discreetly.
He gave her the most lascivious wink I’d ever seen outside a Carry On film. ‘Pile C, I think.’
Oh God, it got worse and worse.
‘Now, Melissa, we need to talk,’ he said, looking pointedly at the underwear in my hand. ‘Because I think you have more pressing financial commitments than buying yourself frilly knickers, haven’t you? Not what you’d call a necessity, in your case, eh?’ He gave me a lechy look. ‘Unless you’re planning on reeling in a titled bloke to pay off your debts?’
If I’d had any reservations about paying that debt off and freeing myself from the lingering sense of obligation to this dreadful man, I had no doubts now.
‘Actually, I want to talk to you about that,’ I said, hoisting my chin high. ‘I can give you a cheque.’
‘For how much?’ replied my father, quick as a flash.
‘For five thousand pounds,’ I said, bravely.
‘Five thousand, eh?’ Another beady inspection. ‘What sort of temping have you been doing, Melissa? Hmm? Quite lucrative, is it?’
How did he do that? How did he know where the vulnerable spots were?
‘I’ve been saving up,’ I said, going to put the pants back on the nearest rail. It didn’t feel right, holding sexy knickers in front of my father. Then I heard Nelson’s voice telling me to stand up to him. So I didn’t put them back, I clung to them.
‘And when can you give me the rest?’ he demanded.
Oh God, this was it. The big test.
I could think of places I’d rather have faced it than surrounded by voluptuous models in thongs and nipple tassels. There were two barely covered crotches either side of Daddy’s head. I didn’t know where to look.
‘Well, I’ve taken some money off for the wedding dress,’ I began, determined to stand my ground, no matter what he threw at me. ‘I’ve spent hours and hours on it, and I’ve saved Emery thousands of pounds by making it for her. And then there’s all the wedding planning – according to Emery’s magazines, it would have cost you at least three thousand . . .’
‘Hold it right there, little lady,’ said my father, raising a hand to stop me.
I stopped. Stupidly. But he had that magic effect on me.
Daddy picked up a transparent apricot chiffon chemise, inspected it, held it out for Nicole to collect. ‘Pile B, I think, Nicole,’ he murmured, then turned back to me. ‘Really, Melissa. Talk about sharper than a serpent’s tooth! You’re going to charge your father to make your sister’s wedding dress? And you’re going to bill your family for the time you’ve spent organising what should be a happy family moment? I can barely believe I’m hearing this. I lent you that money in all good faith, did I not?’
I nodded sulkily, though this wasn’t exactly true – he’d spotted a business opportunity, whereas I’d wanted to help out a boyfriend. It was unfortunate that his business acumen had, on this occasion, been as lousy as my taste in men.
‘Did I ask you to repay your school fees when you failed to get a decent job?’ he demanded. ‘Did I ask you to repay that money I spent sending you to that ridiculous finishing place your mother insisted you attend?’
A tiny angry voice inside me wanted to tell him exactly why he should be very proud of me indeed, but it was swamped by a tidal wave of guilt and misery. When you looked at it like that, I had let them down – what had I achieved, after all, but a series of dead-end jobs, and now a stupid pretend career, in which I’d met the man of my dreams, screwed it up, and exposed myself and my family to all manner of danger and scandal?
I fought back the hot tears that prickled at my eyes.
No, I thought fiercely, I am not going to let him make me cry in Agent Provocateur!
My father leaned in closer, and dropped his voice.
‘And while you’re here in person, Melissa, there’s something I’ve been meaning to mention to you,’ he murmured in his most dangerously silky tone. ‘I’m happy that you’re able to repay your debt, but I would warn you to be very careful about this . . . temping of yours.’
I gazed at him wide-eyed, like a rabbit caught in a tractor beam.
Without breaking eye contact, he reached into his pocket and withdrew something that he pressed into my hand. ‘I have a reputation to uphold, even if you do not. And if I find out you’ve been using my flat as a knocking shop ever again, I will come down on you like a ton of bricks. You will not know what’s hit you!’ he hissed.
I looked down at the fabric he’d pressed into my hand. It was a white cotton hanky, still crispy with something. I’d never seen it before in my life. I furrowed my brow, trying to think what it could be when it came to me in a flash: it was Jonathan’s – the hanky he’d used to mop up his spilled tea the one and only time I’d held a meeting in Dolphin Square.
I looked up, about to explain, but Daddy cut me off.
‘Don’t even try to lie your way out of it,’ he said with a self-righteousness that he carried off astonishingly well for an accomplished liar. ‘I was in there myself this week. Jim the porter enquired as to how my interior decorations were going. I was taken aback. Until he explained that you had been there . . . meeting an interior decorator. Who just happened to be an attractive American man.’
I stared at him. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he had a crystal ball.
‘Don’t deny it,’ snapped my father. ‘You were seen. Dressed like some kind of upmarket hooker too, by all accounts.’
Given the stash of upmarket hookerwear he was buying, this seemed a little
rich, but I was in no state to begin fencing now.
‘I always had such high hopes for you, Melissa, but you’ve always let me down,’ he said, with a final blast of menace. ‘And I am running short of patience.’
I bit my lip until it went numb.
‘Anyway,’ he said, straightening up and adopting a warm, gentleman’s club tone, ‘you can let me have that cheque as soon as you like. I would hate Emery to get married in some sort of agricultural tent. Just think,’ he added, patting me in what must have looked to the shop assistants like an affectionate gesture, ‘it’ll be your industry putting the roof over everyone’s heads at her wedding. How proud you’ll feel. Surely that’s worth more than mere money?’
Mustering up every ounce of dignity I had, I said, ‘I am doing this for Emery, because I love her. Unlike you, I can’t put a price on that.’
Then I spun on my heel, ditched the bras and pants, and walked out, making myself walk calmly, even though my legs were burning with the desire to sprint away.
I couldn’t bear to go back to the office after that. I just started walking in a sort of misery trance and before I knew it, I was outside my own front door, with my own straggly plant pots and my own gold doorbell.
I let myself in, walked through the empty house and threw myself face down on my bed, feeling like a lumpy, friendless, last-to-be-picked-at-games twelve-year-old again. I was too shattered even to cry.
I don’t know how long I lay there. I couldn’t move my arms and legs anyway. It was as though Daddy had drained my whole body of energy, leaving me an inert lump. Eventually, I heard Nelson come in.
‘Mel?’ he yelled, dropping his keys and his briefcase on the table.
Nelson didn’t want me either. He had a new lame duck to help out. A new lame duck he’d probably end up falling in love with. It would all be like a Richard Curtis movie, but with me in the Kristen Scott Thomas brittle posh-bird role.