Millie's Game Plan (8 page)

And me, I thought; self-made entrepreneur, in a really great business.
Sunny vineyards drifted across my inner vision. I continued the interview. ‘You must travel a lot, then?’

‘A fair bit, although I’ve established most of my contacts now. But it’s nice to spend a few days out in the field, so to speak.’

‘Oh, I imagine it’s a fascinating business to be in.’

‘Marketing always sounded rather exciting to me,’ chipped in Vonnie.

‘Is that what you do?’ Lex asked.

I nodded. Maybe if I played my cards right, I could swing a contract with him.

Vonnie stood up. ‘I must see to the veg. You two carry on chatting.’

Like we wouldn’t? Perhaps she thought we might leap into each other’s arms and pick up where we’d left off in the dining room. I went hot just thinking about it.

At that moment, a peel of bells rang out. My head turned in the direction of the church.

‘Ah, Wednesday night, bell-ringing,’ Lex said. ‘Got to hand it to old
Warwick, he’s busting a gut to save his flagging congregation.’ He raised his glass in a mock toast. ‘Poor sod.’

‘Why?’ I asked, more than a little interested in Lex’s opinion of Josh.

‘Oh, what do I know? Arthur Simmonds was a drunken old fart, so they whipped him out and shoved Josh in, probably hoping a bit of beefcake in a dog-collar might get the housewives to swell the congregation.’ He laughed. ‘Imagine all those horny women, squirming in their pews. God! I bet he feels like a rock star when he’s in that pulpit.’

I laughed too…and squirmed. I’d very nearly become one of them. ‘I met him at the cricket. He seems like a nice guy.’

‘Does he?’ he said, impassively. ‘Sadly, I think his days are numbered.’

‘Really?’

‘They’re closing churches all over the place and turning them into unique, desirable homes…or bistros; bloody good use of it, if you ask me. Our family may have built the church but I can’t say we have much to do with it, these days. There’s a church in Romwick people could travel to. It’s happening everywhere – consolidating the congregations.’

I nodded. I had no idea.

‘Nope, Josh Warwick’s not long for this parish, I’m afraid.’

Lex drove me home in his Maserati, which was low and sleek and powerful. ‘So, Millie, are you planning a career taking discreet, salacious photos of bored housewives, trying to revive their flagging love lives?’ He looked across at me and, despite the only illumination coming from the dashboard and a silvery moon, I’m pretty sure I detected a cheeky twinkle in those eyes.

I smiled back, feeling that stomach-churning thrill you get at the start of a potential relationship, when you become aware of mutual attraction. ‘Erm…actually, it hadn’t occurred to me, till tonight. It might be a novel way to boost my income.’

There was a deep hum of recognition from him as he concentrated on the road, like he absolutely
knew
he’d sparked something in me. And I absolutely knew he was going to ask me out.

As we pulled up outside Bridgeman Villas, he switched off the engine and opened his car door. ‘Hang on, I’ll let you out.’

How gallant, I thought. So I sat there, licking my lips and ruffling my hair – praying I didn’t taste too ghastly after the Irish coffee Vonnie had pressed upon me.

He opened the boot.
Of course. All my kit was in there. Maybe I could open my own door, it’s not as if I was totally incapable but, quick as a flash, he was there, holding it and offering a warm, strong hand to help me. I took it and stepped out and forward into the space between him and the car – only much nearer to him. To my delight, he didn’t step back but looked down at me in that ‘will-we-won’t-we?’ kind of way that had my nerves leaping with anticipation. My injured hand was strapped to my chest in a rather earnest fashion – like an American reciting the Pledge of Allegiance.

‘It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Millie.’

‘You too,’ I said, feeling my body drifting closer towards his.

He raised my good hand and dipped his head to kiss my fingers.

Well, that was a first, let me tell you. Warm breath, stubble and lips against my skin – he struck a direct stream from my knuckles to my knickers. I think I even made a croaking sound. Truly. I had to cough to disguise it, which was pointless as he absolutely bloody knew he’d got me exactly where I wanted to be.

He smiled. ‘If you’re not busy on Saturday evening, would you like to come to a party? It’s in
London.’

Would I?

‘Can I let you know tomorrow?’ I asked, deploying another one of Sacha’s rules.

He was still smiling but held his bottom lip between his teeth momentarily. ‘Sure. Let me give you my number.’ He had to drop my hand to reach into the breast pocket of his jacket for his wallet. I watched as he deftly took out a business card and handed it to me.

I thanked him and he bent down to retrieve my camera case from the pavement. Maybe a full blown, no-holds-barred snog was out of the question, then? I made sure I gave him a lingering, under the eyelids glance that said,
Alexander Marshal, you can have me – and soon
.

As I walked through the gate that fronted Bridgeman Villas, I thought to myself, Millie Carmichael – this could well be the husband of your dreams and father of your children. Remember this night. Don’t blow it.

As we reached the door, I realised I needed more help. My keys were somewhere in my handbag and with only one hand, finding them was going to be a problem. I held it towards him.

‘Are you giving me permission to rifle through your handbag?’

I smiled. ‘Could you just hold it while I rifle for myself?’

He slung my camera case over his shoulder and leaned the light-stand against the wall. I placed my bag in his outstretched hands and pulled open the catch. I could hear the keys – down and to the left – but I wanted to make the most of spending this delicious moment close to Lex, feeling his warmth and hearing his breathing inches away from me.

Clearly, Lex liked it too, because he leaned forward and rested his head against mine and said, very quietly, ‘Sure you don’t want a hand?’

I giggled. Swear to God I did. Like a teenager. ‘Nearly there,’ I said, my voice muffled by lust.

Finally, I could eke it out no longer and pulled the elusive bunch from the bag. He raised his head and looked down at me, a knowing smile on his face, as he stretched out a hand to take the keys from me and unlock the front door. Pushing it open, he stepped aside to allow me through.

‘Thanks,’ I said. The obvious next line would have been: Do you want to come up for coffee?
But the last thing I needed was for him to catch Sacha with her uniform unbuttoned and hair dishevelled, lying on the sofa looking like she needed a good seeing-to. No. This was one man I wanted to keep to myself. Instead I whispered, ‘Could you just pop my camera things inside the hall?’

Did I detect a pause? Was he waiting for the coffee suggestion? I’d killed the mood and I knew it. But that was okay. I had an invitation to a party and his phone number, which gave me the whip hand. And it felt good.
Super good. This was the start of something big – for sure.

‘I’ll call you tomorrow,’ I said. ‘And thank you so much for looking after me and bringing me home. Not quite the evening you had in mind, I imagine.’

‘True.’ He nodded, his eyes half-lidded. ‘It was much better.’

I smiled and leaned against the door frame.
‘Night, then.’

‘Night Millie,’ he said.

I watched as he walked away. He was tall and perfectly in proportion, with short, thick, dark hair tapering into his neck. How long till I ran my fingers through it? I wondered.

After letting myself into the flat, I pulled the silliest of silly faces at myself in the mirror. ‘Yessss!’ I hissed at my reflection. ‘Millie’s scored.’

‘That you?’
Sacha croaked from her bedroom.

I wandered through. She was lying on her tummy, not fully awake but happy to hear about my evening. I sat on the bed.

‘Guess what?’ I whispered.

‘His holiness was there?’

I shook my head and told her about Lex and his invitation to the party. She was momentarily interested till I told her it was in London. Had it been local, she’d have been in with a shout.

‘Long way to go if it’s crap.’

She had a point. If things didn’t work out, I might find myself stranded and pissed in the city, with no quick cab ride home. I didn’t even know which part of
London. ‘I can’t see it being crap. He’s a wine merchant and has really posh friends who sail over from France…in their own yacht.’ She nodded in acknowledgement then looked at me again.

‘What happened to your hand? Did the vicar break it, after all?’

‘No. It was really embarrassing…’ I proceeded to tell her the whole story, which had her fully awake and propped up on her elbow.

‘Great. That lets you off the cricket, then,’ she said.

Hmmm…if I was to be really thorough with my project, I shouldn’t be counting my chickens just yet.

As I stood to go she said, ‘Is that the same hand your cute vicar whacked?’

I looked down. ‘It is.’

‘Strange.
Night.’

Strange indeed.
But it highlighted how much the first injury had been a rehearsal for the real thing. My focus had changed. Top priority was Lex Marshal.

Lex.

Lex and Millie…Millie Marshal…Mrs Millie Marshal of Marshalhampton House. I supposed I should have been grateful it wasn’t Marshalhampton Manor.

Next day, my performance at Zealand Pharmaceuticals was – although I say it myself – outstanding. Overnight, I had assumed the status of heiress apparent to the Marshal estate, which gave me an astonishing inner-confidence. Even Gus from the graphics department, who carried my gear, remarked on how well I’d pitched. Although, the level of surprise in his praise rather took the edge off. So, as the train pulled out of Waterloo Station and the client rang to say we’d won it – I felt invincible. Simon Sodding Ostler had as much chance of catching up with me now, as a tortoise on roller skates.

High on my success, I went and stood in the corridor to ring Lex. I wanted to call while I was still buzzing. I would come across as thrusting, corporate and businesslike, which was bound to be exactly the kind of girl a man in Lex’s position would want. I also thought I might lose my nerve if I left it till later. I got his voicemail. ‘Hi Lex. It’s Millie Carmichael here. We met last night…’ Duh! He’d need to be senile to have forgotten me in less than twenty-four hours. ‘Thank you so much for driving me home and yes, I would like to come to the party. Thanks.’

When I returned to my seat, Gus was engrossed in a game on his mobile phone and had his iPod plugged into his ears. Would Lex reply? I stared out of the window and, as the miles and minutes whizzed past, began to imagine Lex building a bullet-point list of reasons
not
to date Millie:

* 
Nosy

* 
Clumsy

* 
Skinny

* 
Feeble – faints at the sight of blood (probably due to being skinny)

* 
Too mean to invite a guy in for coffee

* 
Too uptight to invite a guy in for coffee

* 
So uptight – undoubtedly frigid

Putting it that way, why would anyone go out with me?

My phone buzzed a text message at me:

Will pick you up at seven.
Lex

Ha! I glanced up at pasty-faced Gus. I bet he didn’t have a fabulous party in
London to go to on Saturday. I replied:

Great.
Mx

I didn’t think the kiss was too forward – at first. But he didn’t send a reply and I began to doubt it. Sophisticated women didn’t put kisses on texts to men they’d only just met, did they? Who was I kidding – sophisticated? If you asked fifty people what word sprang to mind when they thought of me, I’m pretty sure ‘sophisticated’ wouldn’t feature.

I forced myself to think,
If it’s meant to be…it’s meant to be
. Which was exactly what Dad would have said. Though what Dad would have thought about Lex, I could only imagine. He always said the most important thing any man could do for either of his daughters, was to cherish her. He didn’t care whether they were rich or poor, so long as they were honest and looked after his girls. ‘Just like I look after your Mum,’ he’d say and they’d exchange a dewy-eyed look. At least his emotional investment had been good even if the grasp of fiscal security had escaped him.

Gus dropped me at Marshalhampton House so I could pick up my car. I’d dispensed with the sling, and could manage to hold the steering wheel without too much pain.

‘Tidy old place,’ he said. ‘Who do you know lives here?’

‘A lady I met at the cricket,’ I said, loftily.

‘Cricket?’ He threw me a look of disbelief. ‘D’you watch it or play?’

‘Watch.
Occasionally.’ I opened the door before he’d applied the handbrake. I wanted out before he could quiz me further. I stood by the boot, pointedly waiting for him to extract my portfolio so I could be shot of him, before Vonnie or Arabella could appear and invite us in for tea. If that happened, Gus might find out about me and Lex, and I had every intention of keeping my private life to myself.

‘It may surprise you to know, but I play for Saddlehampton.’ He came round and opened the boot, grinning at me as if he’d found a soul mate.

‘Excellent.’ I leaned in and pulled out my laptop bag. ‘Thanks for the lift, really appreciate it.’ I headed off towards my car, Gus following with the portfolio.

‘We’re doing well this season. I scored a personal best, too; my first half-century. Not bad considering I never played cricket at school. Fancy you being a cricket fan,’ he added, clearly seeing me through new, rather doe-like, eyes.

Yikes!

‘I’m not. Not really. I’m a fair-weather fan. I like sitting in the sunshine, drinking a glass or two…you know…great British summertime and all that.’ I opened the tailgate of my car.

‘You should come see us play. We’ve got a pub skittles team, too – Nag’s Head Nerds, we’re called. Great laugh.’

I’d take his word for it. ‘Well, thanks again for the lift.’ I slammed the hatchback closed as soon as he’d deposited the portfolio, and gave him a dismissive, cheery nod.

‘No problem. Sure you’re okay to drive?’

‘Good as gold,’ I beamed, flexing my hand and instantly wishing I hadn’t.

‘Right then. See you tomorrow.’

Finally, he was gone. I glanced up at the house. There was no sign of life but Vonnie’s Volvo was parked at a jaunty angle and next to it, a sleek black BMW. Could Lex have another car? I wondered, optimistically, my heartbeat picking up a notch. Surely it would be rude to leave without popping in to say hello, wouldn’t it? Just as I approached the back door, I heard a distant, ‘Yes! Yes!
Right there. Omigod! Yes!’

So that would be Vonnie entertaining her gentleman friend. I spun round quickly and headed to the car. I figured it would be ruder to stay.

It’s odd how you can think you’re acting like you always do,
then someone suspects you’ve had a personality transplant. Daley – aka Danny Zuko – sauntered up to me during a break in the evening’s rehearsal to inform me I was in a good mood.

‘Thanks, Daley,’ I said.

‘It wasn’t meant to be a compliment,’ he grunted. ‘You’re usually mega-stressed this close to a show. You taking happy pills or somethink?’

‘I don’t need artificial stimulants to be cheerful,’ I said, completely overlooking the oceans of plonk and vodka I’d consumed over the years.

‘Must be getting something else, eh, Millie?’ Ben Jones – my Kenickie – nudged Daley and winked at me.

Whilst I love working with teenagers, you do tread a fine line. Give them a hint of something personal, and the next thing you know, they’re digging around in your private life like Jerry Springer.

‘It’s the sunshine, Ben. It’s recharged my batteries.’

Big mistake.

‘Solar-powered is it, Millie? Not seen them in Anne Summers.’ The lads guffawed and their sheer cheek made me smile. I shook my head and wrote:
further work on opening number needed
, just to distract them.

I looked around the hall. ‘Where’s Lulu Gilbert?’

Daley and Ben glanced at each other. ‘Taking refreshments,’ Daley grinned. ‘Know what I mean?’ There was a conspiratorial look between them.

‘No. Tell me.’

He held his hands out. ‘S’not for me to say, Millie.’

I looked at them both. ‘What is it?’

Ben looked at Daley and then held an imaginary glass to his lips and knocked his head back, before going cross-eyed.

‘What – she’s out drinking?’

‘Most likely,’ Ben answered.

I took a deep breath. Lulu had been outstanding in the auditions and (when she turned up) brilliant in the role of sassy Rizzo, but I hadn’t bargained on her being so unreliable when it came to attendance. ‘Either of you got her mobile number?’

‘Jess will. Hey! Jess!’ Daley yelled across the hall. ‘Over here!’

‘Daley,’ I said, ‘Don’t make a big public thing of this, please. You might be completely wrong.’

‘Huh. Like…yeah.’

After a word with Bob, it was agreed I’d phone Lulu but just as I dialled, the door to the rehearsal room crashed open and she swanned in. Her face was
flushed, there was a stain on her t-shirt and a grin on her face. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ she gushed. ‘I missed the bus.’

‘Fell off it, did ya?’ Ben heckled.

I walked over and knew, within three feet of her, she’d been drinking. ‘Glad you’re here, now,’ I said, catching her arm in mine. ‘Let’s do some work on your number.’ I turned to the rest of the group. ‘Okay, we need to focus on Lulu’s solo now. You can stick around if you want or you can go. But if you stay – keep quiet.’

Bob seemed to be reading his score, while actually looking at us over the top of his glasses. Lulu was trying hard to appear sober. Loose-limbed, she hurled herself into the number. Across the room, a few too many people were loitering in the hope of catching some juicy scene of soap opera magnitude. I let her complete the number and listened to the others whoop and clap their appreciation. We ran through it a couple of times, but her performance became looser and sloppier. Finally, I packed the rest of the cast off and sat her down. ‘Lulu, how much have you drunk, tonight?’

‘What?’ she shrieked. ‘Nothing! Honest to God. Nothing. I missed my bus, that’s all.’ Her eyes had turned a malevolent shade of magenta and hazel – and were only inches from my face. Her breath told a different story. ‘Fuckinell! What are you – the fuckin’ vice squad?’

And with that, she snatched up her handbag and stormed out.

Bob shrugged. ‘These girls today, eh?’ he said, retreating behind his notes. ‘You’re doing such a good job with them, Millie.’

‘Am I mad to keep her in?’

‘What’s the alternative?’ he said. ‘In any case, it’s probably just a one off. She’s got a great voice, you know.’ He came over and put a fatherly arm round my shoulders. ‘This could be the making of her, Millie. And we’ve given her the chance.’

He was right. Lulu was a rough diamond. Maybe Hamlets could make her shine. I leaned into him.
‘Thanks, Bob. Let’s hope so, eh?’

When I arrived at Mum’s, ten minutes later, she was serving mashed potato onto a plate already laden with beef casserole, all of it for me. ‘Ah, Millie, I was just wondering what you’re taking to Trina’s on Sunday? I liked that couscous and mint salad you made last time.’

Yikes. I’d completely forgotten. Trina and Elliot were celebrating their tenth wedding anniversary. ‘Probably,’ I said, nonchalantly. ‘How about you?’

I didn’t listen to her reply. I was too busy thinking about the logistics of getting to Trina’s, down on the south coast, after a rampant first night with Lex. Always assuming Lex was planning a torrid, no-holds-barred tussle between the sheets, in the shower and...
actually, that got me thinking. If I was serious about finding Mr Right, should I be considering instant gratification? Might it be more prudent to keep him at arms’ length for a while? Nice girls didn’t, at least not too soon.

‘Millie.’ My mother’s head was tilted to one side. ‘You’ve not heard a word I’ve said, have you?’

‘Er…lasagne, was it?’

She pursed her mouth and lifted my plate. ‘Were you dreaming? Is it about this new man in your life? The good Lord knows, ever since you dropped that hint last week, I’ve been praying you’ve found the right one, this time.’ She walked through to the lounge-diner and put my plate on the table. ‘Now…are you going to tell me who it is?’ She sat down, resting her hands in front of her, fingers interlocked and the thumbs rotating frantically round each other like the ball pendulum of an antique clock.