Molly's Millions (15 page)

Since the disagreement over Tom’s
Susanna
interview, Flora hadn’t uttered a single word to her father. Instead, they’d driven in stony silence, their faces etched with fury. God, he thought, she was so like him sometimes that it was frightening but, he supposed, he’d rather have it that way than her taking after her mother. He couldn’t think of anything worse than being trapped in the car for the duration of the summer with a mini-Anise. But, what was even more frightening was that Flora really did have a point. What if he’d taken the wrong angle on his story and this Molly Bailey was just a genuine do-gooder? He shuddered at the phrase. He was sure that nice people and good deeds didn’t sell as many papers – there
had
to be another angle if he was to make his story the biggest this summer.

For a moment, he thought about his victim. What was she really like? He only had that photograph he’d found of her on the Internet the day before, winning some florists’ award, and
the rare physical description with which to try and pin her down. He brought to mind Lord Henry’s ardent observation of her:
bare legs up to her armpits and a bosom to die for
. Tom grinned. Then there’d been the
big, black, bouncy curls like I’ve never seen before
. Yes, this Molly Bailey sounded as if she might be a real corker. In fact, she sounded rather like the kind of woman Tom himself went for.

Realising that he’d best find somewhere to park so he could check his email for any potential Molly sightings, he pulled off the main road and headed into a sleepy village. There was no telling what Molly might have been up to or where she might have headed since he’d gone to Manchester for his television appearance.

Parking on a quiet street, he unclipped his seat belt.

‘Can I go and get some sweets?’ Flora asked. Tom looked up in surprise. It was the first thing she’d said in ages.

‘Where?’

‘There’s a shop over there,’ she said, her voice subdued and sulky.

Tom looked across the road at the village shop. ‘OK,’ he said, ‘but don’t be long, and, here,’ he added, handing over a five-pound note, ‘buy us a copy of all the tabloids.’

‘
Vive!
too?’

‘Of course.’

He watched as she looked both ways before crossing the road, and then he sighed. He hated it, really hated it, when they fought. It always seemed such a huge waste of energy: energy they should be spending in having fun and making the most of their summer together. It wasn’t often that he got to see so much of her. He really shouldn’t be wasting time fighting with her.

As Flora disappeared into the shop, Tom turned his attention to the laptop and watched in amazement as it downloaded his emails. Thirty-two in total. Wow! He was becoming popular. He opened them up, one by one, and a huge smile soon filled his face. He had fans! Real-life fans from all corners of the country. He’d been expecting some
up-to-date
sightings of Molly but most of the emails were about his very recent appearance on
Susanna.

Hi there, Tom. Fancy tracking me down?
Rebecca Collins from Bristol had written, signing off with six kisses and attaching a photo. Tom opened it, his eyes widening at the voluptuous redhead that greeted him. Not bad, not bad.

He opened the next message.
I didn’t notice a wedding ring on TV, so thought I’d drop you a line,
Faye Asher had written in a dark-red font. Tom could feel his face heating up as he trawled through the messages. He’d never had so much attention before.

For a brief moment, he flirted with the idea of replying to red-haired Rebecca from Bristol. How far away was Bristol? He quickly got the road atlas out and realised that it was quite a stretch. Still, if Molly headed down that way, what harm would a quick hello do? He felt as if he deserved some fun.

‘I’ve got them,’ Flora said, opening the back door of the car and interrupting her father’s thoughts of extra-curricular research in the West Country.

‘Thanks,’ Tom said, quickly flicking through
Vive!
to check that his stuff was still being prominently displayed.

‘It’s on page three,’ Flora said.

Tom grinned. ‘Is it?’

Flora nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘And what did you think of it?’

‘’Sokay,’ she said, reaching into a white paper bag for a strawberry bonbon. ‘But I still think you’re mean to Molly.’

‘You don’t even know her,’ Tom pointed out.

‘Doesn’t mean you can say horrid things about people just because you don’t know them.’

Tom swallowed hard. He was torn between clouting her and hugging her and, remembering his resolve not to waste any more energy in fighting with her, he grabbed hold of her and planted a fat kiss on her cheek, which was swollen with the undissolved bonbon.

‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘You’re Daddy’s little philosopher, aren’t you? To keep me on the straight and narrow.’

‘Aw! Daddy!’ she yelped, pushing him away before he could kiss her again.

‘Just keep an eye on me, won’t you?’ he said, brushing a strand of her fair hair out of her eyes.

‘Daddy,’ she said, looking up at him with wide eyes.

‘Yes?’ he said, loving how adult she could sound.

‘You’ve still got your make-up on.’

It had been easy for Carolyn to slip out of the bed and breakfast. She’d told Marty she was just popping down to the local convenience store for some moisturiser and he hadn’t asked any questions. As soon as she was out of the B & B, she rang Molly from her mobile.

And that’s when Molly had asked her. Carolyn still couldn’t quite believe it: her and Molly in cahoots: the Bailey women against the Bailey men. It was naughty, it was exciting, and it was really rather stupid.

Carolyn sighed as she sat down in an old Lloyd Loom
chair in their rather tatty, chintzy room. Marty was sprawled out on the bed, snoring sonorously. She bit her lip as she watched him. What if he was to find out? First, she’d lied to him about knowing Molly had won the lottery, and now she was going to hide Molly’s whereabouts from him whilst feeding him duff information. Was Molly sure she was doing the right thing? Carolyn had warned her about Tom Mackenzie’s column in
Vive!
and how he had the whole nation looking out for her.

‘Shouldn’t you think about trading Old Faithful in?’ she’d suggested.

‘There’s absolutely
no way
I’m parting with my car over this. Why should I? Anyway, Caro, don’t worry. He can’t possibly predict where I’m going next or what I’m going to do. He’s always going to be one step behind me.’

But Carolyn wasn’t
so sure
. Tom Mackenzie was a smart guy with a moneymaking agenda, and that spelt trouble. As for Carolyn, was she really up to blatantly lying to her husband? She watched him as he slept, blissfully ignorant of the plan that she and her sister-in-law were hatching.

‘It’s dead simple,’ Molly had said. ‘All you have to say is that you’ve gained my confidence and I’ve confided in you.’

‘And you think he’ll believe that?’

‘He’ll
want
to believe it, Caro, and that’s the main thing.’

But
would
he? As he stirred in his sleep, Carolyn became more and more nervous. She hadn’t even told him about her pregnancy yet; there just hadn’t been a good time. The only moment they’d had to themselves all day had been after lunch when Magnus and Old Bailey had gone to the Gents’, but Carolyn hadn’t felt like breaking the most important news of her life in a Little Chef car park.

As Marty slept on, she became more and more paranoid. What if he didn’t want this baby? When they’d got engaged, they’d sat down and written a long list of what they’d both wanted out of life. Well, Marty had written it; Carolyn had just watched in amazement. Did people really make
life-changing
decisions with lists?

‘I’d like to have pets,’ she’d suggested. ‘Would you?’

Marty had shaken his head. ‘No. Too many allergies are caused by pets.’

‘What about children?’ she’d said hesitantly after a few minutes’ silence.

Marty had blushed. ‘All in good time,’ he’d said in a very subdued voice.

All in good time, but was
now
a good time? Carolyn wasn’t sure. With all this Molly and
Vive!
business, she might have to wait before she broke the news to him.

Picking up Marty’s discarded copy of
Vive!
, Carolyn thumbed through it until she came to Tom Mackenzie’s column. The cheek of the man, coming to her house thinking she’d help him to ensnare her own sister-in-law! And now making a plea to the nation for sightings of Molly. Was there no limit to the depths this man would plunge in order to make a few quid? He’d even published a photograph of Molly winning her much treasured florists’ award a few years ago.

Carolyn started as she thought of something. No, it couldn’t possibly work. Could it? She threw the paper back onto the bed and quickly found a pen and some paper.

Just off for a quick walk
. Love, C, she wrote, placing the note on Marty’s bedside table. Then, picking up her handbag, she left the room, sneaking down the stairs and out of the front door before anyone could notice she’d gone. Reaching
into her handbag, she found her mobile again and the little fawn card she’d been given. She shook her head. Either she was completely mad or her hormones were getting the better of her already, but her hammering heart told her that she could just be on to something.

‘Hello? Tom Mackenzie?’ she said a few seconds later. ‘It’s Carolyn Bailey here – Molly Bailey’s sister-in-law. Look, I have some information you might be able to use.’

It was late Thursday evening and Molly had quite a few miles under her belt. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it herself, and couldn’t quite believe that it had been Carolyn who’d come up with the idea. It was a stroke of sheer
sister-in-law
genius from the old sparky Caro – the girl Molly hadn’t seen for such a long a time.

Molly smiled as she remembered Carolyn’s excited phone call.

‘I’ve got his phone number right here, Moll. He asked me to give him a call if I found anything out. So, what do you suggest I find out about you?’ There’d been a definite playfulness in her voice and it had made Molly laugh.

The beauty of this plan had been that, whether or not Marty believed that Carolyn knew where Molly was, he’d believe it once he read it in
Vive!
. The only thing to worry about was the public sightings. That could seriously confuse things. Still, she wasn’t the only yellow Beetle on the road,
was she? Anyway, it would probably get him off the scent for the next couple of days.

From Derbyshire, Molly had dipped in and out of several counties, depositing an awful lot of money and endless yellow flowers. Now, winding her way through the golden villages of the Cotswolds, she was screaming for a good meal.

She’d passed several candidates for pubs: there was The George Inn, which looked extremely upmarket for the middle of nowhere; she’d be way too conspicuous there in her great silver boots. There was the tiny Dog and Gun, but that would probably be full of farmers. No, she wanted something nice and ordinary; somewhere she could relax, have something to eat and leave without anyone noticing her.

Finally she chose The Swan, parking her car at the side of the road and making sure Fizz had a drink before she took her own fill. The pub looked like a setting from a Grimm’s fairy story, emerging as it did from a small forest of trees. The honey-coloured stone was worn and weather-beaten, and there was moss growing on the roof. It looked more like a private residence than a pub and that made it all the more inviting.

It looked quiet from the outside but as soon as Molly opened the double doors a wall of noise hit her. She looked round in surprise and noticed that the pub was chock-full of tiny men. It was the most bizarre thing she’d ever seen. Molly, who’d always thought her five-foot two was tiny, felt positively Amazonian in comparison, wearing her favourite silver boots with the three-inch heels.

Walking to the bar through an avenue of low wolf whistles, Molly tried hard not to smile. Even though she wanted to let her hair down, she knew she had to be on
her guard. After all, she had over two and a half thousand pounds in her handbag, and it wouldn’t be a good idea to start flirting with someone who might take advantage of her: moneywise or otherwise.

Ordering a meal and a drink and snack, she sat on a bar stool. It was high but it was bliss to be able to stretch her legs out after a day behind the wheel. She sipped at her white wine and opened her bag of crisps. It didn’t matter how much money you had in your bank account, it was still hard to beat a glass of white and a bag of salt and vinegar.

‘What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?’ a deep Irish voice asked from behind.

Molly rolled her eyes at the cliché. She usually managed at least half a drink whenever she dared to go out before men tried to pick her up. This guy obviously didn’t trust the competition. Turning round, she saw the tiniest man she’d ever laid eyes on. How come somebody so small had such a deep voice? she wondered. His voice had been that of a
six-foot
six rugby player yet he barely came up to her shoulders, and that was when she was sitting down.

‘Hi,’ he smiled a cheeky smile. ‘I’m Declan,’ he said, holding a hand out for her to shake. Molly hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should shake it or snub him, but snubbing was little fun so she took the easier option of shaking.

‘Molly,’ she said.

‘Pretty,’ he replied, the low light of the pub making his eyes glint. ‘I’m a jockey,’ he added.

Molly’s eyebrows rose. ‘Oh?’

‘In case you were wondering.’

‘I wasn’t.’

‘I’m here with me mates. We’re all jockeys in case you wondered why we’re so vertically challenged.’

‘I wasn’t,’ Molly said.

‘Ah, come on! I bet you were.’

There was such an irresistible twinkle in his eyes that it was impossible for Molly not to smile. ‘OK then, I was, but only because it’s such an unusual sight.’

‘We’re nothing if not unusual,’ he said, winking. ‘Now, let me get you another drink.’

‘I’ve not finished this one yet,’ Molly said, realising that, now the preliminaries were over, he was trying to move on to the serious business of getting her tipsy.

‘Ah! You’ll be wanting a second in no time, won’t you?’ Again, his eyes twinkled.

Molly thought of the meal she was about to have and the choice to either sit in the corner of the pub on her own, watching everybody around her having fun, or to take a chance and have a bit of fun herself.

‘I’ll have another white wine, then,’ she said, her eyes twinkling right back at his.

‘Bloody wild goose chase,’ Tom muttered as he flung his body under the shower, which dribbled over his body like a baby. It had been a long and uncomfortable drive south before heading into Wales, and he was almost sure it was all in vain. He’d received two emails of sightings of Molly around the Cotswolds but Carolyn Bailey had informed him that she was now in Wales.

‘She told me she was heading to Rhosllanerchrugog but then she’s planning to go to Betws-y-Coed,’ she’d said, even spelling the places out for him oh-so-carefully, but Tom
wasn’t convinced. These places were in the middle of nowhere and he had every suspicion that that was exactly where Molly wanted to place him. But were the email sightings any more reliable? There was surely more than one old-style yellow VW Beetle on the roads. It didn’t automatically follow that the ones seen were Molly’s.

Reaching out for a fluffy white towel, Tom stepped out of the shower. He’d have to sit down and reassess things tomorrow. He couldn’t afford to lose readers at this stage of the game. Although he had quite a fan club owing to his TV appearance, that wasn’t going to help him secure a good post in the long run.

Combing through his wet hair and running a hand over his two-day stubble, he determined one thing: if Molly and Carolyn Bailey were going to play dirty then he was jolly well going to play dirty too.

Food eaten and her second glass of wine long emptied, Molly gazed across the tiny table at her new friend.

‘How’s about another?’ Declan asked, nodding at her empty glass.

Molly chewed her lip thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know.’

‘How’s about a bottle of white this time – cheaper than endless glasses?’

‘Oh, don’t worry about the cost. I’m getting them in.’

Declan’s eyes widened happily. ‘Hey! I’ve always wanted to find a rich woman to look after me.’

‘Well, you’ve found one,’ Molly said and then hiccuped. Perhaps she shouldn’t have said that.

‘Well, in that case, I’ll just sit here and watch you get them in.’

Molly smiled. What harm could another glass do?

An hour later, she had her answer. She hadn’t had so much to drink in one go for ages and the pub food didn’t seem to be doing its job of soaking it all up.

‘I don’t think I should drive anywhere,’ Molly slurred, suddenly realising that she should try and find somewhere to stay for the night.

‘You don’t have to,’ Declan said. ‘There’s a hotel just round the corner.’

Molly nodded, trying to compute this new piece of information. ‘I’ve got a dog.’

He gave her a quizzical look. ‘Where?’

‘In my car,’ she explained.

‘Well, I’m sure he can come too. As long as he’s not a Rottweiler.’

Molly dissolved into laughter, as if his line was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. ‘He’s a terrier!’ she said, wiping the tears away from her eyes.

Declan grinned. ‘A real guard dog, then?’

‘Oh, yes! So don’t try any funny business or he’ll have your arm off.’

‘So you want to give this hotel a try?’

Molly nodded. ‘Do you think they’ll still have vacancies?’

‘There’s only one way to find out.’

‘Oh!’ Molly said, seeing he was following her as she made to leave. ‘I don’t want you going to any trouble. I’m sure I’ll be able to find my way.’

‘You obviously don’t know the sorts of dangers there are lurking in the Cotswolds at this time of night,’ Declan said in a dramatic whisper.

‘You mean,
other
than you?’ Molly giggled.

‘Ah! Really!’ he said, pushing the door open and letting Molly through first. They left the pub accompanied by a few low wolf whistles from Declan’s jokey jockey chums, who were still knocking back the spirits. Molly tutted. What did they think they were up to? He was only making sure she found the hotel safely.

‘Those are the most amazing boots I’ve ever seen,’ Declan said, eyeing Molly’s silver legs. ‘And I bet there’s a great pair of pins inside them too. Hey! Steady on there,’ he added as Molly swayed towards him. He held out his hand for her to take.

Molly placed her hand in his. ‘You’re tiny!’ she said, a little giggle bubbling from her mouth. ‘Sorry! That was very rude of me.’

Declan looked at her and then leant into her face to whisper something. ‘I’m not that tiny, you know.’

After grabbing a small overnight bag and putting Fizz on his lead, they found the hotel and were given a room on the first floor.

Molly flopped down onto the bed in relief. It was soft and saggy: perfect for a quick doze. But she couldn’t fall asleep yet, could she? That would be very rude after he’d walked her from the pub.

Through a wine-warmed fog, she watched as Declan unbuttoned his shirt. He was small, but perfectly formed. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him and his chest was smooth and tanned. He was lovely and, all of a sudden, he was very close.

‘Has anyone ever told you you’ve got the most beautiful eyes?’ he whispered, his breath spirit-scented.

‘Has anyone ever told you that you come out with the
most awful clichés?’ Molly whispered back, swallowing a giggle.

‘As a matter of fact, no, they haven’t.’ With that, he kissed her. Molly closed her eyes. Well, there was no harm in a kiss, was there?

The next morning, Molly woke, her eyes seeming to spiral like Ka’s in
The Jungle Book
. Sitting up slowly and pushing her dark curls out of her face, Molly took the measure of the night before. She hadn’t intended to sleep with him. Not after the Lord Henry fiasco, but it had just sort of happened. Not that it had been an unpleasant experience – far from it. Declan had shown his riding technique off to fantastic effect and they’d completed at least a couple of Grand Nationals together. But she knew that it hadn’t been the wisest of things to do in the circumstances. She didn’t know anything about this man. She could have had her throat slit. She could have been robbed.

‘
Oh my God!
’ Molly suddenly shouted, looking round her room for her handbag and finding it on the floor by Fizz. She opened it up, her heart beating madly.

It was gone.

Of course it was gone. What had she expected? Two and a half thousand pounds. That was the most expensive night she’d ever had, and she had nothing to show for it but a nasty love bite at the base of her throat.

‘Fizz! You really aren’t a guard dog, are you?’ she said, her eyes crinkling in consternation. He looked up at her with blissful ignorance. ‘You know that was for the animal home we passed, don’t you? To help homeless dogs, like you once were.’ Molly groaned. ‘Two and a half grand,’ she said,
shaking her head in disbelief. ‘And I bet he doesn’t even need it.’