Читать книгу Under The Mistletoe: Mistletoe Mansion / The Mince Pie Mix-Up / Baby It's Cold Outside - Jennifer Joyce, Kerry Barrett - Страница 21
ОглавлениеMy KimCakes Ltd venture was almost over before it started as:
I got up late – having hardly slept after Walter’s thuds. It was too tempting, you see, not to ask him everything I’d always wanted to know about ghosts: “Can you still eat chocolate?”, “Do you spy on people having sex?”, “Can you walk through walls?” and “Have you seen Michael Jackson or Elvis yet?” Strangely enough, there was no further response. I’d try again soon and find out why he was hanging around Mistletoe Mansion.
Once up, showered and hair blown dry, I then wasted time trying to decide what to wear. By the sounds of it, the local golfers’ wives were a conservative bunch. I didn’t own many outfits that hid my knees or covered every centimetre of my boobs. Then, by chance, I stumbled across an apron in the kitchen, draped over a chair, as if it had been especially left out. It was navy with white stripes, your standard butcher’s job. Tied around my black skirt and white top, it really made me look the part of professional caterer. To add the final touches, I pinned my freshly straightened hair into a bun. Instead of my bronze foundation and purple shimmer lipstick, I plumped for a brush of translucent powder and smear of Vaseline. It’s what Cut-Above-Couture’s style guru called the “chameleon effect”: sometimes, rather than stand out, it was better to blend in.
I had to ring Deborah to tell her the appointment with her clients was off. Her voice lost its warmth until I mentioned the terrifying ordeal of the night before. Cue apologies from her that we hadn’t slept well – guilty conscience or what? She duly bumped the appointment to eleven o’clock the next morning. I raced upstairs to tell Jess the good news but – asleep or not – she was hidden under the covers. I hadn’t the heart to wake her up.
Luke, on the other hand, got up early and sat in the kitchen like a bed & breakfast guest, so I rustled up soft-boiled eggs with toast. No doubt he’d spent ages trying to look so effortlessly appealing, just to wind me up. I did my best to ignore him swaggering around in nothing but boxer shorts, sitting really low on his flat waist, and a man’s dressing gown he’d found upstairs, which he left deliciously – I mean annoyingly – undone. There was something so basic about him… Almost dirty. My cheeks flushed. I certainly didn’t, in any way, feel the urge to run a hand, fleetingly, across his thighs. If the paparazzi guys were around, and IF (that’s capital letters) I fancied Luke, this scene might just grab Adam’s attention, coupled with the headline: “Handy Hunk Dips his Soldier into Kimmy’s Yolk.”
I still had business cards to make, so put something simple together on the laptop and cut them out. Each was a small rectangle of paper with “KimCakes Ltd” written at the top, my full name underneath, then my mobile number.
Worst of all, Melissa rang me (although that’s best of all too, I mean, how cool is that?) to remind me to set up at half nine and – get this – to ‘not forget the savoury nibbles’. Huh? When I hinted that we’d only spoken about cakes, the velvet tones disappeared and she suggested I sort it out toot sweet. ‘No problem, see you soon,’ I’d cheerily replied, before screaming silently on my fist.
‘Thanks, Terry, you’re a lifesaver,’ I said and stood back as he came into the hallway. I’d rung him as soon as I put the phone down on Melissa. Thank God for my brainwave. Laden with packets of frozen food, we hurried into the kitchen. The worktop was covered with an array of herbs and salad items. That was the good thing about sharing with vegetarian Jess – there was always plenty of fresh stuff in the fridge and cupboards.
‘Are you sure about this?’ said Terry. Today he wore a pea-green jumper over tight, tan plus fours. ‘I’d stay to help, but despite the poor weather forecast, I’m due to tee off in half an hour.’
‘You’ve done enough already. I’ve just got time to make this lot look presentable.’
He sniggered. ‘Just imagining Melissa’s face if she knew her savoury nibbles were actually my leftovers from BargainMarket.’
‘It’s not funny! My reputation’s at stake.’
‘You’ll be fine.’ He patted his portly stomach. ‘Once they taste those cakes, those women will be in sugar rush heaven and won’t want to eat anything else.’ A whistling attracted his attention. ‘Luke’s here?’
I stifled a yawn.
‘Late night?’ He winked.
‘You think me and Luke…?’ I pulled a face. ‘I’d rather become a nun.’
‘Kimmy! Have you seen his pecs? And from behind, in just the right pair of trousers…’
We both giggled.
‘Honestly, Terry. He acts as if he’s some megastar and I’m his groupie.’
‘What’s he doing here, so early?’
‘Last night… I couldn’t sleep. There were noises… smoke.’ My stomach scrunched as I recalled that thing grasping my ankle. ‘It’s a long story.’
His cheeks burnt red.
‘Terry?’
‘Really must go, now,’ he muttered.
‘You knew about all this? Why didn’t you warn me?’
‘Um…’
‘This house… Sometimes…strange things happen,’ I said. ‘How long has this been happening?’
‘Apologies…’ Terry shrugged his well-rounded shoulders. ‘You’re right. Once night-time falls, I know from the other housesitters that scary stuff happens…Ever since Walter died, this funny business has been going on. It’s held up every sale. I hoped this time would be different. New, permanent neighbours would be great.’
‘You know, something grabbed my leg last night.’
Terry bit his lip. ‘Jean, the last woman, said it clasped her arm and tried to pull her out of bed. No one’s ever been badly hurt though – just shaken up.’
I thought for a moment. ‘Did she ever mention random smoke or… or Christmassy music?’
‘No music, but yes, smoke, locked doors and a bizarre noise of a blowing gale. How about I fill you in properly later? Who knows, maybe if you stick around for long enough, whatever this thing is will get bored and disappear.’
Blimey. So I really was living with something paranormal. I didn’t know whether to gasp in fear or jump with joy.
‘Do you believe in ghosts?’ I said and followed him back to the hallway. ‘Luke thinks I’m bonkers.’
‘Ever watched Most Haunted?’
‘I love that show!’ I said.
‘Me too! Aren’t the celebrity episodes hilarious?’
I grinned. ‘But Walter’s house isn’t ancient. And according to Luke, before Badgers Chase was built, there was nothing here but fields and rivers. No cemetery. Or jail. Or psychiatric hospital.’ I shuddered.
‘It’s a mystery.’ Terry ran a hand over his bald head. ‘Anyway, got to go. All the best for this morning. I look forward to hearing the details!’
I closed the door behind him and raced back into the kitchen. First things first: heat up the frozen goodies – most only took twenty minutes. Whilst they were cooking, I prepared the garnishes. When the buzzer went I took out the snacks and laid them on platters.
I reached for a jar of black olives. I could scatter those with some flat-leafed basil, in between the pizza and cheese bites. As for the mini hot dogs… I quickly fried up some chopped onion and put a spoonful on top of each with a squirt of mustard – that looked well cute. I’d lay the tempura prawns out on a bed of lettuce and sprinkle cherry tomatoes and slim cucumber sticks on top. Natural yogurt, another of Jess’s favourites, would help make yummy dips.
I looked at the time: nine o’clock. For good measure, I’d also take a couple of tubes of Pringles. Well, these guests weren’t celebrities.
I to-ed and fro-ed with all my boxes and plates, stacking them in the hallway. Hands on hips, I surveyed the pile. I’d just have one last check of the kitchen, where I stopped dead at the door. There, on the worktop, stood a couple of silver cupcake stands. They were beautiful, with silver wire swirls to hold the cakes, the stands in the shape of trees. Where on earth had they come from? What an exquisite, beautiful design. It was as if they’d been left there on purpose, just like the apron.
Feeling more like a professional than ever, I carried them into the hallway. Luke rushed past, said he had to go. If that was Adam, he’d have insisted on staying to help me get my stuff over to Melissa’s. Three quick journeys on foot I’d need, to dump everything outside the Winsfords’ house. By the time I’d made my last trip up the drive and past the garages and golf club shaped fountain, it was bang on half past nine – and the gathering grey clouds had turned black. Rain was becoming a bore. With Christmas exactly two weeks today, I was dying for at least a sniff of snow.
I rapped the eagle knocker, which was in the middle of an amazing Christmas wreath, made from miniature gold and white baubles, interspersed with glittery fake bronze holly. Jonny’s Bugatti wasn’t on the drive and I was kind of relieved not to meet him for the very first time in my sexless outfit. As for my make-up free face, I had no intention of meeting such a hot celebrity guy as nature intended. Shivering without a coat on, I smoothed down my hair. The Winsfords’ gardener wore an out-of-season man-from-Del-Monte hat and smiled as he trimmed the hedges at the front of her lawn. I smiled back then flicked a fly away from the tempura prawn platter. Tasty smells escaped the foil cover and my stomach rumbled.
The door opened. Wow. Melissa had theme-dressed for the occasion. Her hair was twisted back in a conservative chignon and she wore modest cream plus fours with a beige, diamond-print, jumper. And as for that demure pearl necklace… Ten out of ten, I thought. It was all very modest.
‘Kimmy, darling… Glad to see you on time!’ Melissa led me into the hallway.
I didn’t see the assassin. I’d been murdered, right? That was the only way I could have died and gone to heaven. I mean, OMG! I’d officially walked into a virtual Hello! magazine spread. Was the décor romantic, or what, with the damson chaise longue and delicately carved telephone table running along the right side of the stairs?
‘That’s an amazing chandelier,’ I murmured, eyes raised to the high ceiling. It had silver effect leaves curling around each glass candle and a hundred times more crystals than on Walter’s.
‘Imported. Cost a fortune,’ said Melissa as she repositioned a large vase of white lilies, mixed with gossamer light feathers, on the window sill at the front.
On the far wall, as you entered, was a large framed quote on a white background:
“Nothing is too beautiful,
Nothing is too expensive.”
Ettore Bugatti
‘And all those trophies,’ I said, in a daze, staring at a glass cabinet straight ahead, behind the chaise longue.
Both of us went over. Melissa opened the glass doors and talked me through each one. She knew exactly when and where each prize had been awarded and carefully lifted them out, one by one – the big silver cups with enormous handles, bronze figures in the middle of a swing, glass golf balls perched on gold tees, a silver golf bag inscribed with the number one, and shield after shield. They were all on full view to potential burglars. No doubt they were protected by some laser beam alarm system, like in Mission Impossible.
Next to the cabinet was a six foot Christmas tree. It was artificial silver, with co-ordinated tinsel and baubles in black and sparkly grey.
Set in the wide turret on the left was the kitchen, and Melissa called the gardener to help me carry in the food. For a moment I stood transfixed by the black circular breakfast island and matching stools with gold legs. In the middle was a black vase filled with exotic black roses, intermingled with gold-sprayed leaves. Another chandelier, in gold, hung from the pointed ceiling.
‘Feel free to use the fridge-freezer,’ said Melissa, graciously, showing me to an industrial-sized fridge even bigger than Walter’s. There was plenty of room inside for my BargainMarket platters. In fact, it didn’t look like Melissa and Jonny ate in much at all. There were some diet colas, low calorie ready meals, chilled champagne, a half-eaten bar of king-sized chocolate and various jars of cosmetics. And… oh my God, I’d seen pictures of that in magazines: a shallow sky-blue and gold tin of Beluga caviar. Next to the fridge was a tall gold rack filled with wine bottles. I stared at a door on the right, at the end.
‘The dining room’s through there,’ said Melissa. ‘Take a look. We really ought to use it more often.’
As instructed, I peeked my head in. It was sumptuous – all mahogany, buttercream and fuchsia pink, with billowing curtains that looked like ships’ sails. To one side was a smaller Christmas tree, in the more traditional colours of green and red. In the middle of the table stood a pearl shell vase filled with candy-coloured fake tulips. At the back of the room was part of a simple, white conservatory; it must have stretched further across, out of sight, to the back of their lounge.
I turned back to the kitchen and gazed out of the sparkling windows. Huh? Little greens and bunkers?
Melissa shook her head. ‘Don’t ask. Jonny wanted a mini golf course landscaped into the back garden.’
‘Is that…?’ I pointed to a massive looking shed. It was well smart, with a flag on the top and…
Melissa nodded. ‘His own little clubhouse. It’s got its own bar, a snooker table, juke box… What more could a man want?’
I could just imagine Adam and myself living in a similar place. Infamous magazine would make us their lead story: “Reunited cake magnate Kimmy and partner show us around their lush lovenest…”Luke would be the hired help and I’d make him obey one of those wacky celebrity rules where he wasn’t allowed to look me in the eye.
‘You’ll serve the food in the lounge, darling,’ said Melissa’s velvet tones. I followed her into the room on the other side of the hallway. It was bigger than Adam’s whole flat, especially with the other end of the humungous conservatory at the back. It was ultra modern, unlike Walter’s which was filled with various bits of traditional furniture which didn’t necessarily match. Everything here was co-ordinated, right down to the colour of the drink mats. There were no cosy touches like Walter’s dog-eared books or Lily’s needlework box with multi-coloured threads hanging out. Even the little row of gold Christmas socks, hanging from the mantelpiece, looked brand new. Plus there was a third Christmas tree, again perfectly co-ordinated, this time in plum and gold. No homemade baubles dangled from its branches, no wooden ones or clip-on fake robins… Everything looked as if it was there for effect. Inwardly I chuckled. What would Melissa think to the little one I’d hit Luke over the head with?
She chatted about a small table she’d set up by the window, for the cakes, but I hardly listened. It was as if I’d dived into my favourite celebrity homes TV show. I gazed at the velvet red curtains and glistening glass coffee table, the fragrant bowls of purple and red potpourri, a wicked gold ornamental birdcage and massive, gilt wall mirrors… Two armchairs matched a plum, curved sofa, and ornate ottoman, and on every seat in the room was a palatial cushion, neatly positioned into a diamond. As for the carpet, it was even more luxurious than the thick pile in Lily’s bedroom. If it was green, Jess would have said it needed a damn good mow. If only I had time to text Terry – he’d be well jealous.
‘When the ladies arrive, darling, make the coffees toot sweet. After a drink and one of your creations, I’ll introduce Sandra, my nail lady, and she can get out her needles. Whilst she’s knocking off the years, nearer to lunch time, you can fetch the savoury food.’ The front knocker rapped. ‘Shirley, the ex-captain’s wife cancelled, by the way.’ Melissa’s mouth sunk a little. ‘Apparently she’s woken up with a headache.’
We walked into the hallway, and she opened the door to a tiny, plump-ish lady with bobbed grey-blonde hair in a short-sleeved white medical coat. Her perfectly pink painted nails curled around the handle of a plastic case.
‘You must be the caterer. Lovely to meet you,’ she said to me, before air-kissing Melissa. ‘Where shall I set up?’ she asked.
‘The conservatory,’ Melissa said. ‘It’s airy and cheerful and should ease the nerves of the Botox virgins.’
Sandra placed a hand on Melissa’s arm. ‘I’m sure it will be a great success. I’ve brought my varnishes and files too, thought I could throw in a free manicure, have them leaving here looking really glam.’
‘What would I do without you? That’s a fab idea!’ She linked her arm with Sandra’s. ‘Make yourself at home in the kitchen, Kimmy,’ she said, as they went into the lounge.
Minutes later, the phone rang and after a short conversation echoed into the hallway, Melissa’s face appeared around the kitchen door. ‘Pamela’s cried off now – something about a domestic emergency. So that’s four of them left. Although Sandra says not to worry, that’ll give her more time to do the manicures.’
What was wrong with those women? Weren’t they dying to see the house of someone famous?
Melissa looked at her watch. ‘Hadn’t you better switch the coffee machine on?’ She nodded towards a contraption on the unit, just along from the wine rack. Next to the compact black and silver machine were stacked china cups and saucers, white with black flowers.
Close up, it looked like something out of a spaceship’s control tower. Adam and I thought we were posh when we bought a percolator, but this… And just look at that stack of cute little sealed coffee punnets! I picked one up – oh, pardon moi, they were actually called “Disc Beverage Pods”. I’d be able to take individual orders, such as a Latte, Espresso, Medium Roast and Cappuccino, then Macchiato (huh?), Chocolate and – get this! – Tiramisu flavour!
Having whetted my own appetite, I switched on the machine and filled it right up to the two litres mark. I unpacked the cake stands and took the lids off the cake boxes. The rich mincemeat cupcakes and Santa Coladas looked awesome staggered up one silver tree, the Malibu buttercream icing easily overpowering the scent of those black roses. On the other stand, I carefully balanced the dark chocolate logs and skinny Stollens, then found a large serving plate to set out the cinnamon and spice muffins. I placed everything perfectly on the lace cloth in the lounge, having managed to find plates to match the cups and small silver forks. Melissa had left out some fancy holly and ivy paper cocktail napkins.
The doorbell rang and I stood to attention, feeling like the kitchen maid out of Downton Abbey.
‘Vivian!’ Melissa said. ‘So glad you could make it.’
I peered around the door and saw a busty women in her sixties barge in, black patent handbag (her court shoes matched) clasped to her chest, blue silk blouse bolstered tightly into a beige skirt. Her tanned, wrinkled face revealed a lifetime of golf and cigarettes – she was clearly the perfect candidate for Botox.
‘And Denise. Hello. How are you?’ asked Melissa.
She was the doctor’s receptionist, married to one of the pros, with two kids at secondary school. Middle-aged, with short mousy hair and no make-up, Denise wore a military design grey dress with buttons all the way up. Her slim legs cried out for stylish shoes but instead she’d chosen a flat trainer type. She wore what looked like one hundred denier flesh-coloured tights and on her back hung a mini rucksack.
‘Good morning, Melissa,’ said Denise stiffly, and looked around. ‘Rather isolated here, isn’t it? Give me the hustle and bustle of an estate, any day.’
Vivian was already over by the trophy cabinet. ‘You should see my Geoff’s collection of prizes; takes me a whole day to polish them. It’s just one of the responsibilities of being the captain’s wife.’
‘Ladies, what would you like to drink?’ Melissa said, her smile already looking a little fixed, like those actors at the Oscars who’ve just found out they haven’t won. ‘Cappuccino, Espresso…?’
‘Got anything straightforward,’ said Denise, ‘like black tea?’
‘Why don’t people sell coffee in English any more?’ said Vivian’s clipped tones. She turned to me. ‘White coffee, please dear.’
By the time I took their drinks into the lounge, the doorbell had rung again and two younger women were in there too, chatting. One had her hair tied back in a scrunchie and wore sporty culottes, a cute pink hooded cardigan and cute stud snowman earrings. She had to be Kate, who, Melissa said, had two toddlers and worked in a gym. Melissa liked her best. That meant the other was Saffron, with hair as yellow as her name and a tan which clearly didn’t come from one of those exotic holidays the Winsfords enjoyed. She’d given Kate a lift and had just slipped her keys into her Louis Vuitton handbag, which I subtly scanned. It was fake, just like the one I’d bought off St Albans’ market. You could tell because there was no monogrammed LV on the zipper pull. Saffron stared around the room, lip-lined mouth open, kohl-rimmed eyes like saucers. Her nails were turquoise with red jewels and her frilly dress was both higher at the bottom and lower at the front than any of mine. I could have sworn I’d seen that exact dress on sale last week in one of my favourite discount shops in Luton.
‘Thank you, dear.’ Vivian took her coffee from me.
‘I’ll have one of Melissa’s lovely Macchiatos please,’ said Kate.
‘Got any green tea?’ said Saffron. ‘If not, I’ll have a black coffee, ta. Got to watch my figure – otherwise the men won’t, know what I mean?’ She smiled smugly. ‘Although I couldn’t do nothing so energetic as Melissa. All that sweat. Don’t you get bored of your own exercise DVD, babes?’
‘I’m with Saffron,’ said Denise. ‘And I couldn’t sit through all those manicures and hair appointments, either.’
‘I see it as my duty, as one of the national birdies,’ said Melissa, in a tight voice. ‘People expect me to look my best at all times.’
Vivian was on her feet, studying a portrait of the golfing wife.
‘It’s very brave to hang that up,’ said Saffron, innocently. ‘Was it drawn before you went on a diet?’
‘Just look how the artist’s captured Melissa’s fine bone structure and glossy hair,’ said Sandra firmly, as she passed by and winked at Melissa. ‘No amount of weight loss could achieve those two things.’
Saffron wrinkled her nose.
‘Kimmy, isn’t it?’ said Kate to me, as I tried to make my escape. ‘The cakes look delicious.’
‘Yes, maybe you could hand them around, Kimmy,’ said Melissa, in a measured voice. ‘KimCake Ltd’s products are very exclusive.’
‘Never understood people paying for fairy cakes,’ said Vivian.
Denise nodded. ‘Especially us mums. Having kids makes you your own expert on icing and sprinkles. And just because they cost the earth doesn’t mean they’re the best quality. We had a patient in the other day who’d ordered some fancy ones online. They’d taken a big bite and almost choked on a plastic twist tie.’
‘These are rather special though, and Christmas-themed,’ said Melissa, through gritted teeth. She glared at me.
‘Um yes,’ I stuttered, and gave them a tour of the two pretty stands. Kate clapped her hands when I mentioned the mincemeat cupcakes’ brandy buttercream icing. Vivian sniffed and said she’d try the Santa Colada, only because Denise was driving. Saffron, in between gazing at Melissa’s lush furnishing, interrogated me as to the number of grams of fat in each skinny Stollen and said I should really offer gluten-free, as that was a very trendy diet. Modest Denise said she’d try a cinnamon and spice muffin, as that was the least fancy. So I served their requests onto the delicate china plates and left the room. At least whilst they ate, it went quiet.
I mean, jeez! Friendly Wysteria Lane of Desperate Housewives it wasn’t! I’d always thought that being a celebrity meant people would like you, or at least pretend. But Saffron was obviously jealous, Denise unimpressed, Vivian competitive… Thank God for Kate. If anything could bond this mismatched bunch together, it would be eating cakes with the melt-in-mouth buttercream icing and kick of sugary sponge.
When I went back, Vivian was onto her second Santa Colada and Denise was asking Melissa if she could have a plain biscuit instead of another cake. Kate gave me the thumbs up and wiped some brandy buttercream icing from around her mouth. Saffron was playing with her healthier skinny Stollen, a tortured look on her face as she refused to let herself eat it. Melissa should have shared her tip about chewing it then spitting it out. But there was no need as Saffron finally put down her plate. Then she ran her hand over the expensive sofa.
‘Have to say, I am rather impressed, young lady,’ said Vivian to me and raised her cupcake, a popping candy fizzing noise coming from her mouth. ‘This Malibu icing is delicious and the dessicated coconut’s texture just sets off the richness.’
‘Same for the brandy buttercream icing,’ said Kate and licked her thumb. ‘Good thing I’m not driving home.’
‘Don’t know what’s wrong with simple flavours nowadays,’ muttered Denise. ‘Go to buy a chocolate bar and you have the choice of about ten versions. And it’s impossible to understand the list of ingredients. One of our patients has a nut allergy and is always coming in with Mick Jagger lips, after eating something that’s been cross-contaminated and not clearly labelled’
‘Kimmy has an impeccable record,’ said Melissa, in her velvet tones. ‘I was lucky to find her.’
‘Who else have you catered for, dear?’ asked Vivian.
‘Um, most of the national team,’ I said, with an air of confidence, despite crossing my fingers. ‘And some footballers.’
‘Really?’ Saffron sat upright. ‘That’s mental!’
Vivian shook her head and smiled, as if to say the young woman would eventually grow out of being impressed by celebritydom.
‘I’m holding a hen night for my big sis this Friday,’ continued Saffron. ‘We’re having a buffet – you know, finger food, like on those frozen food supermarket adverts. You could give me your card. It’s not too late, is it? I’m thinking pink and glittery with her name on, and all the better if you have a recipe that’s low-cal… I saw one in Starchat last month for chocolate fudge cupcakes. They done a list of all the celebs eating healthy at the moment. Gluten-free cupcakes are the latest must-have,’ she said and shook back her bouffant blonde hair, as if she’d just made some important announcement.
Blimey. She sounded just like me yakking to Adam about the latest celebrity gossip. I passed her one of my, ahem, business cards – they were tucked in the pocket at the front of my apron.
‘It’s my niece’s seventh birthday in a few weeks,’ said Kate. ‘I’d love a boxful to take along, if you could theme them around Disney Princesses.’
‘Um… of course.’ I handed out another paper slip, successfully containing my excitement until I got back to the kitchen. Adam would be well impressed with this.
‘Open a bottle of champagne, will you, darling,’ said Melissa, as she appeared right behind me. ‘Everything okay?’
She’d caught me jumping on the spot, clapping my hands.
‘Just a bit of cramp.’ I grabbed a bottle out of the fridge, whilst she put some glasses on a tray.
‘I think these ladies need loosening up a bit before I bring out the Botox.’ Melissa grinned.
I carried the filled glasses through and Melissa encouraged them all to have at least a few sips.
‘Far too early in the day for me,’ said Denise and put down her glass.
‘Never too early, as far as I’m concerned,’ joked Kate.
‘So tell us, dear,’ said Vivian to Melissa, in a booming voice (maybe I’d overdone the Malibu). ‘Which charity are we supporting? How much would you like us to contribute for every cake we eat – or…’ she eyed the remaining Santa Coladas, ‘… buy to take home?’
Melissa cleared her throat. ‘You’ve probably been wondering who Sandra is, to-ing and fro-ing in her white coat.’ She nodded towards the conservatory at the end of the room, where the nail lady had just finished setting up.
‘I assumed she was your cleaner,’ said Denise. ‘We’d already met the gardener. It must be nice to have so much help.’
‘No. I mean I do have a cleaner but it’s her day off. Sandra’s… well perhaps she should explain.’
‘Is she a nurse?’ said Saffron. ‘You trying to help her raise money for new hospital equipment?’
Melissa waved to Sandra, who made her way past the gold birdcage and over to the plum sofa and chairs where the guests sat. I stood in the doorway, ready to bolt to the kitchen for more champagne if required.
‘Um, this isn’t exactly a charity fundraiser,’ said Melissa and beamed. ‘I thought I’d do all of you hardworking wives a favour instead. Sandra?’
The tiny woman gave a warm smile. ‘Good morning, ladies. I’m the answer to your prayers. Ever looked in the mirror and wondered who that was looking back? Ever bought a new outfit, had your hair done, and still felt inadequate? From behind her back she drew out her hand, her long red-nailed fingers grasping a needle. ‘Botox, ladies,’ she said. ‘It’s the easiest way to get the face that reflects the real you.’ She jerked her head towards Melissa’s portrait. ‘By the time I’ve finished with you, you could look almost as glamorous as the lovely Mrs Winsford.’
Smugly, Melissa folded her arms. This was her pièce de résistance. Er, yes, resistance, all right. Denise’s eyebrows knotted across so far they almost became one. Kate and Vivian’s mouths fell open.
‘Botox?’ they gasped, in horror.
