The Little Lady Agency

  ‘But . . .’ My mind boggled as I tried to separate all the strands of confusion into something I dared take at face value. ‘But just now! You told me to get changed just now!’

  ‘I meant you should go and wipe the chocolate off your face!’ Jonathan spluttered. ‘Not go and dress up in your damn wig like you didn’t want to be seen with me yourself!’

  I flushed scarlet. ‘But I thought you were asking for an extra favour – I thought we’d agreed to end our arrangement.’

  ‘We did! And if I wanted to see you, it would be as you!’ Jonathan huffed impatiently. ‘I thought that’s what you were saying to me with all that “you need a new girlfriend!” business. I thought you were basically telling me to date you as Melissa!’

  ‘But that would have been incredibly forward,’ I exclaimed.

  Jonathan’s glare softened into a grin. ‘Well, yes, now you mention it, I did think it was a tiny bit presumptuous, but that’s one of the things I like about you. You know what you want.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ I said. ‘No, that’s not me, that’s the sort of thing Honey . . .’

  ‘Oh, for Pete’s sake . . . Honey is in your head!’ said Jonathan, grabbing me by the arms and shaking me. ‘Not in my head. You know back there? I’ve been telling everyone about this fabulous girl I’m dating. Yes, I call her Honey – it’s our joke – but her real name’s Melissa. She makes me laugh, she’s smart, she knows the best places to buy cheese in London . . . What more do you want me to say?’

  I looked up at him miserably. ‘That’s not me, though. That’s the whole point. You don’t know what I’m really like. I just let people trample all over me like a herd of rampaging elephants.’ I bit my lip and opened up my worst fears. ‘I don’t want Melissa to be an anticlimax. I don’t want you to be disappointed.’

  ‘Oh, give me a break,’ snapped Jonathan. ‘You organised this wedding, you organised me, you organised yourself – OK, so you sometimes wear a wig to do it in.’ He boggled his eyes at me. ‘So what? It’s still you. Do you think I’m completely stupid or something? Or have you got some kind of mental illness you should tell me about?’

  I met his gaze, and it was fierce, as if he were trying to bore a hole in my mind to let the truth in. I’d heard Nelson say the same things, but I hadn’t believed it coming from him, my best friend. Yet now, hearing it from Jonathan, I felt the first, faint inklings that it might really be right.

  Jonathan took my hands and shook them as you’d shake a small child’s. ‘I didn’t fall for you as Honey,’ he said softly. ‘I fell for you that day we went on the London Eye, the day you were so cool, taking my side with Bonnie and Kurt, even though you didn’t need to. And afterwards, when you let me open up to you, and you opened up right back, so I wouldn’t feel so dumb. That wasn’t an act, that was you. And I never thought of you as Honey after that, even though I didn’t know your real name. You’re just not a good enough liar.’

  I dug my nails into my palms and held my breath, unable to speak.

  ‘I really thought we’d cleared all this up the other day. So when I saw you there just now, in your wig,’ he went on, ‘can you imagine how disappointed I was? That you wanted to disguise yourself in front of my friends?’

  I shook my head, unable to take it all in.

  ‘Hey,’ said Jonathan, suddenly. ‘Am I making a fool of myself here? Was this your polite way of telling me to back off? Shit.’

  I snorted. ‘By dressing up in a wig at Emery’s wedding? By risking making a complete exhibition of myself in front of everyone I know?’ I couldn’t stop a giggle breaking through. ‘Getting changed in an upstairs lavatory like Wonder Woman?’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘No, actually,’ I confessed, ‘it was the music room. There wasn’t enough space in the loo.’

  We looked at each other, and I felt as if I were teetering on the edge of a very high diving-board. My stomach fluttered with butterflies as Jonathan inclined his head a tiny, tell-tale angle, and fixed his grey eyes on mine.

  ‘I think we can get rid of this now, can’t we?’ he murmured, and reached forward, gently easing the blonde wig off my head.

  He pulled a few hairs out, along with the Kirby grips, but I didn’t squeak.

  Jonathan carefully placed the wig on a round box tree, and with his strong hands, unpinned my hair so it fell around my face in dark, chestnut hanks. True to pernickety form, he put each hair grip neatly along his top pocket. Then he ran his fingers through my hair, stroking my scalp, outlining my ears with his fingers as if he were sculpting them, then my eyelids, then my lips, until finally his warm hands came to rest on either side of my face.

  ‘Melissa,’ he whispered, gazing into my widening eyes.

  And I knew, this time, he was definitely about to kiss me.

  ‘No!’ A familiar female voice scythed through the night air, followed by a ringing slap. Was that . . . Bobsy?

  ‘You little hussy!’ That was definitely my father’s voice.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I said, fearing the worst. There were still a couple of photographers lurking around. ‘I really should . . .’

  ‘No, excuse me,’ said Jonathan and swiftly pulled me close to him, sliding one arm around my waist and reaching up to cradle my jaw with his other hand. Then he leaned forward and kissed me so hard I thought I was going to faint with the sudden flood of pleasure surging through me: the smell of his suit, his shampoo, his musky Creed cologne in my nose, the warmth of his lips on mine, the sweetness of the champagne and chocolate in his mouth. He kissed me so hard and so sexily that it took me a couple of seconds to regain enough control over my motor functions to kiss him back.

  ‘Jonathan,’ I began.

  ‘Melissa,’ he said, deadpan, just like Rhett Butler, and pulled me close again, nuzzling his lips against the hollow behind my ear, while one hand buried into my hair and the other stroked my back. His warm breath and surprisingly confident manner melted my insides like the chocolate fountain.

  ‘Martin!’ screeched Bobsy, now sounding nearer than before.

  With a massive triumph of will over desire, I pulled away from Jonathan. My father really was the ultimate passion-killer. ‘Jonathan, I’m so sorry . . .’ I bit my lip and strode off towards the sound.

  Enough was enough.

  It didn’t take me long to stumble over the unpleasant scene unfolding by the rose garden. Daddy and Bobsy were circling each other like cats around a large lavender planter: Daddy with a livid red slap mark on one cheek, waving a mobile phone, and Bobsy clutching a brown envelope.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I demanded.

  They both spun round in surprise.

  ‘Ah, Melissa,’ said Daddy, as if we were all having cocktails inside. ‘You remember Eleanor, don’t you? She’s a hooker these days. And a blackmailer in her spare time. What little there is left of it, given her devotion to her job,’ he added with a spiteful glare in her direction.

  ‘Blackmail?’ I stared at her with a prickle of self-interested panic but she was too busy grabbing for the phone in my father’s hands.

  ‘Yes.’ Daddy moved effortlessly out of range. ‘Eleanor seems to think that the national press would be interested in the sordid details of our meetings and—’

  ‘Not the meetings, Martin,’ Bobsy interrupted in her new breathy voice. ‘In the awful things you made me—’

  ‘Enough!’ I roared, holding my hands up. ‘I do not need to know.’

  ‘I’m just phoning Eleanor’s parents now, in fact, to break the dreadful news to them,’ he explained, very reasonably.

  ‘You are not,’ hissed Bobsy.

  ‘Then give me the money back!’

  ‘No!’

  My father studied the phone. ‘Melissa, do show me whether I’ve pressed the right button . . . Oh yes, it’s ringing.’ He looked up at Bobsy with a charming smile. ‘Your mother still a practising QC, Eleanor, or is she a judge these days?’

  ‘Give me the phone!’ she howled.

&nb
sp; ‘If there’s one thing I’ve learned in politics it’s that everything has a price,’ my father hissed at her.

  ‘And the price of your embarrassing proclivities is ten thousand pounds,’ she hissed back.

  ‘Ten thousand pounds?’ I shrieked.

  In other words, I’d been slaving my arse off to pay Bobsy to eat whipped cream off my father’s riding boots or whatever he’d had her doing.

  ‘Give me that!’ I snarled, catching them both unprepared, and grabbed the envelope out of her hands. Then for good measure, I grabbed the phone too.

  They both glared at me.

  ‘Don’t bother,’ I snapped, holding up a warning finger. ‘Either of you. I feel I should warn you both that I have finally reached the end of my tether.’

  ‘Well, in that case,’ Bobsy retorted, dropping the breathy tones and glowering at me in a very unladylike manner, ‘there’s something else you ought to know, Martin.’

  ‘What’s that, Eleanor?’ asked my father silkily, but he was looking at me too. And I knew that he knew already.

  ‘Your goody-two-shoes daughter—’ she began, but Daddy’s mind was working faster than hers ever could.

  In one swift motion, he moved to my side and put his arm round me.

  To be on the safe side, I tucked the envelope of cash down my bra where he couldn’t get at it.

  ‘Eleanor, I do hope you’re not attempting to add slander to your tacky repertoire,’ he chided. ‘We have no secrets in this family. So if you’re about to tell me that Melissa was involved in your seedy operation, let me disabuse you, my dear. Melissa’s involvement was purely to investigate how best she could help her father extricate himself from your sordid grasp, wasn’t it, sweetheart?’

  ‘Er, yes,’ I stuttered.

  Bobsy looked as though she’d been kicked in the stomach by a particularly sneaky horse.

  ‘Really, there’s nothing you can tell me that Melissa hasn’t confided in me already. Please don’t degrade yourself any further, my dear. So, now we’ve got all that cleared up, shall we return to the party?’ He paused. ‘I think it’s time you went home, though, Eleanor. Shall I ring for your father to come and collect you?’

  With a snorting sob, Bobsy spun on her heel to storm off. Unfortunately, the gravel was rather sparse and her heels were rather flimsy, and she stumbled over a miniature rose bush, revealing a sturdy rear end and a string of horsey expletives.

  Daddy steered me away from the scene, but instead of returning to the marquee, he headed for the house.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I asked.

  ‘Out of earshot,’ he snarled through the wide smile he was flashing at passing guests.

  I realised with a burst of dread that I wasn’t out of the woods yet.

  He marched me up the drive and into the hall where a large flower arrangement filled the fireplace once used to roast oxen. I had a feeling it was now my turn to be similarly roasted. Once we were alone, he turned to me with a look of absolute fury on his face.

  ‘Give me that money,’ he demanded.

  ‘No!’ I said, clasping a protective hand to my bosom.

  ‘Give me the money!’ he repeated.

  ‘No,’ I said stubbornly. ‘It’s mine! And besides, I’ve just saved you from blackmail, haven’t I?’

  ‘Christ Almighty, Melissa!’ he roared. ‘You could have destroyed me! What the hell did you think you were playing at? I knew you were a bit thick, but I had no idea you were living in some kind of moronic fantasy world!’

  My lip trembled. ‘How did you find out?’

  ‘Oh, for . . . How did you imagine I wouldn’t?’

  We glared at each other. I was practically nauseous with fear, but there was no way I was handing that money back. I’d earned it. A large vein was throbbing on my father’s forehead and he looked on the verge of apoplexy.

  ‘I must say, for a hooker, you dress very badly,’ he added. ‘Did no one tell you that you don’t have the legs for that dress? Eleanor at least has a decent pair of pins on her.’

  ‘And you’d be the best judge of that, wouldn’t you?’ I retorted. ‘That flat of Granny’s must be like the Royal Enclosure at Ascot, the number of fillies you parade around it.’

  It wasn’t as coherent as I’d have liked, but it was the first time I’d ever dared talk back to my father and I don’t mind admitting I was pretty scared. Not so scared I wasn’t raging, though.

  ‘How dare you be so disrespectful?’ bellowed my father. ‘How dare you? After all I’ve done for you! After all the sacrifices I’ve made for my family, you dare to bring my name into disrepute with your filthy gutter behaviour!’

  The sheer hypocrisy of this took my breath away, but even though I knew it was utter tosh, part of me was still quailing beneath the onslaught.

  He hadn’t finished, merely dropping into the oily nastiness he used to such deadening effect in the House. ‘What have you done with your life, Melissa? Hmm? With your myriad advantages? Absolutely nothing. So much for all your talk about having a career and being independent.’ Daddy laughed offensively. ‘Come to think of it, considering your track record with men, you couldn’t have picked a less auspicious career to follow.’

  I felt sick to the stomach. My knees were starting to buckle and I wobbled on my high heels, when I heard a discreet cough behind me.

  My father spun round. I didn’t even want to look to see who it was.

  ‘What the hell do you want?’ Daddy demanded. ‘Can’t you see we’re having a private conversation?’

  ‘Forgive me, sir,’ he said in a mild tone, ‘but I couldn’t help overhearing. And I’ll have to ask you to take that back.’

  Oh hell. It was Jonathan. If he’d thought I was Honey deep down before, this was going to crush the illusion for him for good.

  ‘And you are?’ enquired Daddy unpleasantly.

  ‘My name is Jonathan Riley, and I am one of Melissa’s clients,’ he said, with more courtesy than I thought possible under the circumstances. ‘A client of her agency.’

  ‘I should have guessed. I can see she takes her customer service responsibilities very seriously,’ said Daddy. ‘Even makes sure they’re invited to her sister’s wedding. The hooker with a social conscience. Well done, Melissa.’

  Jonathan bridled. ‘I’m also a friend of the groom. And I must take great exception to your calling Melissa a hooker. She is nothing of the sort.’

  I looked nervously from one to the other. I wasn’t sure if Jonathan talking like something out of Gone with the Wind was going to make things worse.

  ‘Really?’ Daddy’s face softened into a reasonable expression that I knew of old was not a signal to relax. ‘Do enlighten me,’ he oozed dangerously. ‘I should so love to be proved wrong. It isn’t every day one discovers one’s daughter is selling the pleasure of her company.’

  Jonathan, to my relief, wasn’t taken in by the change of tack. ‘You couldn’t be further from the truth if you tried. Melissa runs a life management agency, with more charm and efficiency than I’ve ever encountered in an office, either here or in the States,’ he said. ‘It’s not an escort agency in any way you may have encountered. It’s more like a nanny agency for grown men. I can see how cynical people might make insinuations, but Melissa is a talented and ingenious young businesswoman. You should be proud of her.’

  I could tell Daddy was a bit taken aback by this unexpected back chat, and Jonathan pressed home his advantage by taking a step forward. Daddy, trapped by the extravagant flower arrangement behind him, was forced to meet his eye.

  ‘More than that, don’t you owe Melissa a debt of gratitude for all she’s done today?’ said Jonathan mildly. ‘I gather that she undertook most of the arrangements for Emery’s wedding, and yet she wasn’t mentioned once in the speeches. Not once.’

  ‘We’re not all brash about our achievements,’ snarled Daddy. ‘Modesty is still a virtue amongst Englishwomen. And I hardly think it was appropriate to start advertising the availability of
my unmarried daughter on Emery’s special day, do you? Particularly when I imagine her services are probably being gossiped about on most tables already.’

  I cringed.

  ‘Do you realise how talked-about Melissa’s agency is?’ demanded Jonathan, not entirely truthfully, I suspected. ‘She even has her own magazine column!’

  ‘I hardly think Melissa’s advice is worth the paper it’s written on,’ sneered my father. ‘She has the business acumen of a hamster. Has she told you about that? Or should I say, have you invested in any ski resorts recently, Mr Riley?’

  ‘Well, actually . . .’ said Nelson, who had appeared behind Daddy’s shoulder, summoned, presumably, by the bat-sonar distress calls I’d been emitting. ‘Mel’s made a bit of a profit.’

  Daddy wheeled round at the magic word, profit. ‘What? Nelson, this is a private discussion, if you don’t mind. Really, can a man not get any privacy in his own home?’

  Since we were standing in a marble-floored hall, with wood panelling and echoing stairwell, I thought this was a bit rich. Still, it served him right for being unable to contain his need to get his mitts on the cash long enough to drag me to the lockable confines of his study.

  But even I didn’t want to be bawled out in public, nor did I want Nelson fighting my battles for me. ‘Can’t it wait, Nelson?’ I appealed. ‘We’re, er, just sorting something out.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Nelson, apologetically, ‘but no. I’ve been trying to catch up with you for days. I was going to take you out for lunch and surprise you, but you’ve been so busy. You haven’t even been picking up Gabi’s calls. Anyway, look, I drafted a letter of investment based on the notes and emails you had from Perry and got him to ratify your share in his business.’

  ‘He still has a business?’ I gasped. Honestly, I thought I had seen the last of that money when Perry stopped returning my emails. I assumed Watchdog had been onto him. ‘Really? How did you find him?’

  ‘Well, Gabi and I had a job finding him. You weren’t really looking in the right places,’ explained Nelson, kindly.