‘I wasn’t?’ I said faintly. Was that what they’d been up to? Was this ‘the thing’?
‘It took us weeks,’ said Nelson. ‘Gabi even had to pretend to be you at one point. Her idea, not mine,’ he added.
‘Is that what you’ve been doing?’ I asked, my heart lightening.
Nelson nodded. ‘Well, yes. That and finding Gabi somewhere to live.’
‘Go away!’ said my father, flapping his hands at Nelson. ‘Go away! I am having a private discussion with my daughter!’
‘Fine,’ said Nelson, raising his hands. ‘By the way, are you going to give Mel a bouquet or something for organising all—’
‘For the last time, piss off, Nelson!’ roared my father.
Nelson raised his hands again, and backed off. He didn’t leave, though. I could see him still lingering by the door, making vague ‘I’m here if you need me’ gestures.
‘Now then, Melissa,’ began Daddy in his low-level hectoring tone. ‘I think you should be a good girl and hand over that money, don’t you?’
‘No,’ I said, grabbing my courage and my dignity in both hands and straightening my back inside the corset. ‘No, Jonathan is right. I think you do owe me a thank you. I worked bloody hard to make this a lovely day for Emery, and I did it because I love her and wanted her day to be special, and not ruined by you making a scene. And you have made a scene, but I absolutely refuse to join in.’
I took a deep breath. Daddy’s face was going beetroot and his vein looked set to pop.
‘I do own the Little Lady Agency, yes,’ I admitted, my voice rising in the manner of a WI president. ‘Its aim is to make life easier for men who don’t have girlfriends or wives to smooth things out for them. And I set it up because I didn’t ever want to be taken advantage of by a man like you, a man who expects his wife to be his secretary, his mother, his child and his whore, and yet who still cheats and lies! Everything I do for my clients is appreciated and done with good grace.’
‘And an invoice!’ he shouted.
‘And what’s the difference between that and you footing Mummy’s detox bills when she’s driven mad with your horrible parties?’ I demanded. ‘Or giving your tart tarty underwear?’
‘I have no idea what you mean by such . . .’ faltered Daddy, trying to throw his voice backwards towards Jonathan and Nelson and anyone else who might be listening.
‘But at least I’m not confusing it with love,’ I said, giving him a tentative shove with my finger. Daddy looked horrified, so I did it again. ‘I’d do all that for nothing, if I thought I was getting love in return. I don’t have any love right now, so I’m doing it honourably for money. And I’m doing nothing you could possibly be ashamed about. If you must know, Granny lent me the money to start it up, and she thinks it’s a great idea.’
Daddy laughed. ‘Yes, well, darling, she would, the raddled old tart.’
‘Who’s she, Martin? The cat’s mother?’ Granny appeared at the top of the staircase. ‘Or, in your case, the alley cat’s mother-in-law?’
‘How long have you been there, you old witch?’ demanded Daddy.
Granny descended the staircase with consummate elegance, taking her time with each step. ‘What a way with words you have, Martin,’ she observed acidly. ‘It astonishes me each day that your toxic genes have managed to produce offspring who don’t communicate entirely in grunts and snarls.’
‘Well, it’s obvious where Melissa gets her whorish leanings from,’ he sneered. ‘I wonder if she can make as successful a career of it as you did, Dilys.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Granny paused on the penultimate step, giving herself a height advantage over Daddy’s sneer. ‘Melissa is not a whore, and neither was I. The only person who takes cash for favours in this house is you. You and your grubby little EU cheese producers.’
‘That is a lie!’ he flashed back, with a shifty look in all directions.
I wasn’t listening, though. I was stumped by his previous revelation. Elegant, cosmopolitan Granny – my absolute model of womanhood – couldn’t have been . . . one of those upmarket hookers . . . could she?
‘Granny?’ I said, my heart beating hard. ‘What on earth does he mean?’
Granny looked me up and down, and her proud gaze never faltered. She looked magnificent in the half-light, her skin porcelain pale and powdery, her eyebrows arching in graceful query. If I could look half that lovely at eighty, I thought, I’d be more than happy.
‘Go on, Dilys,’ needled my father. ‘Tell her, why don’t you?’
Then she smiled, as if she was amused, rather than angry, though the twitch in her mouth betrayed annoyance. ‘Why not? I’ve nothing to be ashamed of. What your father is referring to, Melissa, is the fact that for many years, before your mother was born, I lived in a rather lovely flat in Mayfair as the companion of a well-known gentleman.’ She held up a long white hand. ‘I don’t wish to say whom. But we had an arrangement, not dissimilar to yours – I had no desire at the time to marry and become a household matron, and he preferred the company of a charming woman who would be entertaining, and not demanding. I had a wonderful time. So did he.’
‘And so did many other people,’ sniped my father.
‘Oh, do be quiet, Martin.’ Granny didn’t even bother to look at him, holding my gaze instead. ‘It wasn’t love, and we both knew that. When I did meet love, it all changed. But he and I remained friends until he died, and I have hundreds of wonderful memories. And I don’t feel a moment’s shame. That’s what your father’s trying to insinuate – in his tacky, small-minded little way.’
‘Oh,’ I said, faintly. Certain things were falling into place now. Half-comments, old photos, all those amazing clothes . . .
‘I’m terribly proud of you, Melissa,’ said Granny, seeing my distress and taking my hands in hers. ‘We all are. You’re a charming, practical young woman, far more resourceful than your sisters, and a much nicer person than the rest of us put together. You don’t think badly of anyone, and that’s something we could all learn from. But you must stop being such a wilty wallflower!’
‘Oh, you know how I hate blowing my own trumpet . . .’ I began, embarrassed.
Granny shook my hands until her bracelets rattled. ‘No, none of that. It’s about time you did. You’ve always been so kind and thoughtful and clever – it’s just taken you until now to find the right outlet for your talents!’
‘How extraordinarily remiss of us not to have considered courtesan as a career option,’ said Daddy. ‘I knew there had to be something she was good at. Remind me to get on to the careers department at Melissa’s old school, first thing Monday.’
‘Oh, for pity’s sake, Martin, bloody well shut up!’ snapped Granny. ‘Just because you’ve never had an original idea in your life! I will not have you putting her down any more! Melissa,’ she said, turning back to me, ‘if you give up this wonderful agency idea, I will personally haunt you for the rest of your days. Just get on with it. It’s a gift.’
I looked from her, to Jonathan, to Daddy.
Granny’s face shone with an encouraging smile.
Jonathan looked amused, and rather impressed.
Daddy looked as if he was about to spontaneously combust.
And suddenly I felt a real warmth spread through me. A sort of strength. I don’t think I’d ever heard anyone be so believing in me before, and it was, well, rather nice. What was stopping me, after all? I had bookings for months.
‘Very nice, round of applause everyone,’ said Daddy, coming back to life. ‘Now, give me that cash before I put you over my knee and wallop you like the little tart—’
I didn’t let him finish. I flashed him one of his own imperious looks and said, ‘You can have what I owe you and not a penny more. I’ll pay back your loan, I’ve paid back Granny’s loan, and I’m damned if you’re going to make me feel bad about doing something I’m actually rather good at. So let’s draw a line under this conversation and . . . try not to spoil Emery’s day any
more than we already have.’
I wanted to finish with something rather more dramatic, but adrenalin was slowly tightening up my throat.
Jonathan nudged me in the back. ‘Where’s that thanks?’ he muttered.
‘Forget it,’ I muttered back.
‘No, I won’t. Mr Romney-Jones,’ he said, in the brisk, arsey tone I recognised from the office, and never thought I’d be glad to hear, ‘isn’t there something you want to say to Melissa?’
My father looked as if he’d been forced to swallow a pint of fish guts, but being a consummate politician – with a captive audience behind him – he knew when to stop. ‘Erm, thank you, Melissa.’
‘How touching,’ said Granny. ‘But I think this deserves a wider audience, don’t you?’
And with her diamond rings digging into my hand, she dragged me down the drive, into the paddock, past the flower displays into the marquee, through the crowd of assembled guests, who parted like the Red Sea to let us through, and up onto the raised platform where the toastmaster had been stationed.
Daddy scuttled along behind, trying feverishly to rearrange his features into an expression which suggested that it was his idea all along, while Jonathan and Nelson followed on, to make sure he didn’t scuttle off in a different direction altogether.
Granny silenced the band with a dismissive gesture – midway through ‘Fly Me to the Moon’ – and waved for attention.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ she said, raising her voice. She didn’t need a microphone. ‘Could I have your attention for a moment? There’s one more person we need to thank today, someone without whom none of this would have happened.’
I felt my face turn crimson.
She put her arm around me, enveloping me in a cloud of Shalimar. ‘Melissa arranged everything, in her own time, and with the sort of brilliant attention to detail that she’s famous for. So I think her father would like to say a few words on behalf of her terribly grateful family.’
There was a round of applause and I saw my father mount the stage, assisted by a small shove in the back from Jonathan.
Daddy coughed, then switched on the sort of charm that could blind small animals. He wrapped one arm paternally around my shoulders and used the other to make statesman-like sweeping hand gestures around the marquee as he spoke.
‘Melissa, as you all know, is my middle daughter.’ Pause for uncertain laughter. ‘And as some of you may know, Melissa is a very busy working girl these days, so it was particularly good of her to make time in her heaving schedule to help us out.’
Did he deliberately say working girl there?
‘Fortunately for us, she’s generously devoted nearly all of her spare time, when she could have been out trying to find a rich husband of her own, to making her little sister’s wedding a day to remember. I think we all agree she’s certainly done that.’
Pause for applause. I cut a sidelong look at Daddy. I was sure he was taking the mickey. I just wasn’t sure quite how.
‘So thank you, Melissa, for all your hard work,’ said Daddy. ‘And as a little token of our appreciation, your mother and I have arranged a special surprise holiday for you!’
Round of loud applause and whistles.
‘Have you?’ I gasped, as my father embraced me for the cameras that were suddenly flashing all around.
‘No,’ he hissed back. ‘Well, not yet.’
He disentangled himself. ‘Anyway, ladies and gentlemen – especially gentlemen! – I should stress once more that Melissa is unattached at the moment, and it’s my duty as a father to announce that she’s available for weddings and parties, and at very reasonable rates!’ he trumpeted.
Now that was uncalled for. I hesitated, sensing from long experience that his temper was cracking under the strain of appearing jovial.
‘Don’t say a word,’ he hissed through a wide smile.
Fortunately for me, a press photographer appeared right in front of us before he could say anything else, and Daddy’s politician’s instinct took over, as he embraced me warmly and smiled into the lens, clicking his fingers out of shot for Emery to come up and join us for an even better ‘family values’ picture.
I astonished myself by thinking immediately of the business, and the attendant publicity, and I embraced the old bastard right back.
Then without warning, Granny was back on the podium with us, this time equipped with a microphone to override any attempts from my father to shout her down.
‘Will you join us for the next dance, please?’ she announced. ‘“You’d Be So Nice to Come Home To!”’
I looked out into the mass of tipsy guests and saw Jonathan stretching out his hand to me with a smile that lit up his face and crinkled up his eyes. My heart flipped over in my chest.
And as the band struck up the opening bars, and Granny began singing in her husky but still clear alto, I stepped down from the platform and took Jonathan’s warm hand in mine. He slipped his arm around my waist, and pulled me so tight that my nose was buried happily in the woollen shoulder of his jacket, and I let him guide me around the crowded dance floor, which suddenly felt like the soundstage of an MGM studio.
Over Jonathan’s shoulder I could see Mummy and Daddy swirling round the floor like an exhibition couple, toes practically touching as they locked eyes fiercely; I could see William hauling Emery around in small circles, her feet trailing off the ground; I even spotted Lars and Allegra stalking up and down to a completely different rhythm altogether. I caught sight of Gabi leaping up and pulling Nelson onto the floor, where they began to move so well one barely registered the height difference.
But no one was dancing as well as me.
I was dancing on air. I was dancing like Ginger Rogers. And that was largely because I was dancing with Gene Kelly.
‘Thank you,’ I whispered.
‘No, thank you,’ Jonathan said. ‘Please don’t change ever again.’
‘I won’t,’ I said happily.
I leaned my forehead into Jonathan’s shoulder as he manoeuvred me expertly around the floor, and sighed in absolute bliss.
‘Melissa?’ Jonathan muttered into my hair.
‘What?’
‘Stop leading, honey.’
‘Sorry,’ I said, happily, and closed my eyes.
Hester Browne’s Polite Thank You Notes.
I simply must acknowledge the wise and gentle guiding hand of Lizzy Kremer. Also her big stick, which gets results when the wise and gentle guiding hand is not enough. I am most grateful for both. Without her, the Little Lady would still be merely the interfering voice in my head, telling me not to waste money on fashion shoes.
Thank you also to Sara Kinsella, and Sheena Craig, for great patience and good humour; and to all the charming Nelsons, Rogers, Hughies and Jonathan Rileys I know. May your repartee sparkle, your trousers hang perfectly, and your engagement diaries always be bursting at the seams.
About the author
Hester Browne bakes a perfect sponge, collects bright red lipsticks and etiquette books, and divides her time between the King’s Road and Waitrose in Great Malvern. This is her debut novel.
Table of Contents
The Little Lady Agency
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Hester Browne’s Polite Thank You Notes.
&
nbsp; About the Author
Hester Browne, The Little Lady Agency
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