The One You Really Want (41 page)

Rennie walked over to the pool table. ‘Carmen? Time to go home.'

‘Cry me a ri-verrr,' Carmen wailed into her microphone, hideously off-key.

‘Come on, sweetheart. That's enough now.'

‘Heyyy! Rennie's here,' shouted Carmen, almost losing her balance and clinging to her singing partner for support. ‘Three cheers for Rennie!'

‘See what I mean?' said the pub landlord, materialising at Rennie's side. ‘She's just bought another eight bottles of champagne.'

‘Don't worry your pretty little head about it.' Carmen wagged her finger at the landlord. ‘I can afford eight hundred bottles of champagne, OK? I've got
loooaaads
of money. Hey, Rennie, come on up here and sing with us, we're doing great!'

All around them, people were knocking back champagne from an assortment of wine glasses, tumblers and pint mugs. Some were swigging it straight from the bottle.

‘Carmen. Let's go.' Rennie held out his hands.

‘No. I'm
singing
.' Defiantly Carmen said, ‘I'm fantastic.'

‘Of course you are, but sometimes it's better to leave your audience wanting more.' Reaching up, he managed to prise the microphone from her hand and seize her by the wrist. ‘Now just climb down onto this chair, good girl, and down again . . . that's it, excellent. OK, let's get out of here, shall we? I've got a car waiting outside.'

‘You're no fun,' Carmen grumbled, stumbling against him. ‘I only gave the landlord your number so you could come down here and join in. We've been having the best time, you know. I've made loads of new friends. Bye bye, everyone.' She waved and blew kisses at random, then twisted round to blow an extra big goodbye kiss at Wyclef Jean, still up on the pool table. ‘See you all again soon . . . I'm going now . . . missing you already - whoops, who moved that door?'

Outside the pub, the cold night air hit Carmen like a brick. All the co-ordination went out of her and feeding her into the waiting car was like trying to fit an eel into a shoebox. With difficulty, Rennie persuaded her to stay on the back seat.

‘I say, this is posh . . . it's years since I was in one of these.'

‘Couldn't get a taxi.' In his hurry to rescue Carmen, Rennie had been forced to commandeer one of the stretch limos outside the cinema. The driver now turned and gave him a doubtful look.

‘Not going to be sick, is she?'

‘I'm never sick,' Carmen loftily proclaimed.

‘Just take us to Fitzallen Square,' said Rennie.

‘Oh look, all my friends have come out to say goodbye.' Carmen waved pointlessly through the blacked-out windows at the gaggle of regulars who had congregated on the pavement to gawp at the limo as if it were a spaceship. It clearly wasn't every day of the week that someone like Rennie Todd materialised in their little backstreet pub.

‘What happened?' Rennie said bluntly as the limousine pulled away from the kerb.

Carmen wilted, rubbed her hands across her face and slumped back against the seat.

‘A pipe burst. The flat got flooded.'

‘And?'

Her eyes closed, Carmen said, ‘Joe James arrived to fix it.'

‘Ah.'

‘Nick's gone. It's all over.' She took a deep shuddery breath. ‘
Again
.'

‘Oh, sweetheart.'

‘He hates me. And I don't blame him.'

‘That's stupid,' Rennie declared.

‘It's not stupid! I lied to Nick. I didn't trust him and I should have done. I knew he wasn't like Joe, but I carried on anyway and now I've lost him.'

Good, Rennie found himself thinking, and wondered why. Perhaps that was something he'd better not dwell on. Aloud he said, ‘Did you explain why you did it?'

‘He wasn't interested. As far as Nick's concerned, I thought he was a gold-digger.'

‘Maybe when he's had time to think it through—'

‘He's not going to change his mind.' Carmen raked her fingers through her hair and shook her head helplessly. ‘It's over. He despises me. Of course he despises me, I did a terrible thing . . . he's the most honest, decent person in the world and I didn't
trust
him . . .'

If he was that honest and decent, thought Rennie, he'd surely understand why Carmen had done what she had.

‘Do you want me to speak to him?'

‘No point. Oops, head's gone spinny.' Swaying against him, Carmen mumbled, ‘He wouldn't recognise you, you know, if you went to see him. He's never even heard of Red Lizard.'

Which only made him more of a dickhead as far as Rennie was concerned. The chauffeur turned into Fitzallen Square and he murmured, ‘Never mind. Nearly home now.'

‘Thanks for coming to fetch me.' Carmen leaned her head against his shoulder. ‘I knew I was getting a bit drunk.'

‘How much did you spend in the pub?'

‘About seven hundred pounds. Lucky they took American Express.' Ruefully she said, ‘You wouldn't believe how popular I was.'

‘I'll bet.'

The limo pulled up outside the house. Rennie paid the driver and helped Carmen out of the back seat.

‘Nancy and Rose are out. They're gone to the theatre.'

‘I know. The pub landlord tried to ring them earlier, didn't get any reply. That's why I gave him your number.' Carmen looked at Rennie, evidently noticing for the first time that he was wearing a smart suit. ‘You weren't doing anything special, were you?'

‘Nothing special at all. Come on now, will your legs work? Let's get you inside.'

 

Rennie settled Carmen on the sofa with a duvet and a mug of strong black coffee before disappearing upstairs to change out of his suit. By the time he headed back to the living room in jeans and an old black T-shirt, he fully expected Carmen to be asleep.

Instead she was clutching the phone, gazing into space.

‘I just rang Nick. He wasn't kidding when he said he didn't want to see me again.' Shifting over so that Rennie could sit down, Carmen said, ‘He doesn't want me working at the shelter any more.'

Total
dickhead.

‘Tell him to get stuffed,' Rennie retorted. ‘He can't stop you.'

‘He's in charge. I'm only a volunteer. He says there are plenty of other charities I can work for.'

‘What a tosser.'

‘Oh God, what am I going to
do
?' Chucking the phone across the room, Carmen covered her face.

‘Easy. Find someone who deserves you,' Rennie said bluntly. ‘Because you can sure as hell do better than him.'

‘Right. Silly me for asking.' Carmen raised her slanting dark eyebrows. ‘And who exactly do you suggest this time? How about Prince William? He wouldn't let it bother him that I've got a few bob in the bank. Or Hugh Grant, maybe? Or . . . ooh, I know,
Hugh Hefner
.'

Or me.

Rennie didn't say it aloud. He kept this renegade suggestion to himself, firmly packed down somewhere deep inside his chest, in the place he had kept it hidden for the last two months. Since Christmas night, in fact, when he had realised for the first time the true extent of his feelings towards Carmen.

‘What?' Carmen demanded irritably. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?'

‘Prince William's too young. Hugh Grant's too st-st-stuttery. Hugh Hefner wears too many dressing gowns.' Rennie shook his head. ‘He's really not your type.'

‘You're so critical.'

‘I know you. I know you better than almost anyone else on this planet.' And I love you, Rennie silently added, because it was true. Now might not be the time to tell her, but he did.

‘Oh God,' groaned Carmen, ‘my life is such . . . crap. Whatever's going to happen to me?'

‘Hey, you'll be fine.'

‘Give me a hug.' She turned to him, craving reassurance and comfort, and Rennie told himself he could do this, he
could
. Even if he did feel like Cyrano de Bergerac.

With a smaller nose, naturally.

He put his arms round Carmen and she rested her head against his chest.

‘Mmm. You smell nice,' she mumbled.

‘Carbolic.' Rennie stroked her dark spiky hair and wondered what Carmen would do if he kissed her. Not that he could allow himself to do it.

‘You know, you're a pretty good hugger.'

‘Years of practice,' Rennie said lightly. This was killing him, just killing him. The timing couldn't be worse. All he could do was be patient, let her get this latest idiot out of her system, then let her know how he felt. And maybe use the time in between to prove that he had changed for the better.

Plus, a bit of celibacy probably wouldn't go amiss.

Drowsily Carmen said, ‘Want to watch a film?'

‘Fine. Any favourites?'

‘You choose.'

Easing himself away, Rennie sorted through the pile of DVDs next to the TV. Having selected one, he sat back down and settled Carmen comfortably against him once more before pressing Play on the remote.

‘
Brigadoon
.' The corners of her mouth lifted with amusement. ‘You're such an old softy.'

‘It's a brilliant film.'

Carmen, her eyelashes beginning to droop, mumbled, ‘I'm quite sleepy now.'

‘Go ahead. You can even snore if you like.'

‘You're such a gentleman.'

I could be, thought Rennie as her eyelids fluttered shut. If you'd just give me the chance to prove it.

 

‘Morning, sweetheart. How are you feeling?'

‘Ancient.' Nancy pulled a face.

‘You're in your prime,' Zac chided, reaching behind the workroom door and producing with a flourish a lavishly wrapped present awash with trailing silver ribbons and iridescent gauze. ‘Ta-daaah. Happy birthday!'

‘You really shouldn't have,' Nancy lied happily, tearing into the gauze and the lilac embossed paper. ‘My God, you can tell you're gay. No straight man would ever bother to wrap like this.'

‘Classic gay guy trick. Wrap fabulously and it makes up for a crap present.'

‘Oops, you made a mistake,' said Nancy. ‘You accidentally gave me a good one instead.' She separated the mounds of tissue to reveal a squashy, pyramid-shaped shoulder bag made from soft purply-blue leather striped with pink and green velvet and dotted with multi-coloured twisted leather butterflies. She gave Zac a hug, overwhelmed and secretly relieved that he hadn't presented her with one of his eccentric one-armed sweaters. ‘In fact it's better than good, it's amazing. I don't know why you don't—'

‘Stick to bags and give up the clothes?' Zac aimed a playful swipe at her head. ‘Cheeky wench. I know how you feel about my collection.'

Yes, but I'm
right
, thought Nancy. The clothes Zac designed might be completely weird but his bags were divine with a quirky charm all of their own.

‘Never mind. I love it. Thank you so much.' She kissed Zac on both cheeks. ‘I don't even mind being ancient now. Are you still OK for tonight?'

Rennie had booked a table at the Tipsy Prawn in Mayfair, undoubtedly because it was a present he couldn't be expected to wrap.

‘Try and stop me,' said Zac. ‘I hear the waiters are out of this world.'

‘Eight o'clock. Don't be late. Now, whose turn is it to make the coffee?'

‘Yours.'

‘But it's my birthday,' Nancy said smugly. ‘I'm twenty-nine. Plus I'm too busy admiring my lovely new handbag.'

‘I don't know.' Zac scratched his head in despair. ‘One of us is the boss here. I just wish I could remember who.'

The Tipsy Prawn, a riot of red and gold decor teamed with saucy waiters and chandeliers the size of dustbin lids, was already packed by eight o'clock. Nancy, greeting everyone as they arrived, wondered just how much of a masochist you had to be to welcome the object of your affections and his new girlfriend along to your own birthday party. Then she felt guilty, because Tabitha was great and she genuinely liked her. Plus, of course, they shared the same excellent taste in men. It was just her bad luck that Connor preferred Tabitha.

Anyway, she hadn't had much choice tonight. Rennie had invited Connor and Mia, and Mia had been the one to suggest that Connor brought Tabitha along too. Nancy knew that Mia was keen to encourage the budding relationship, both because she liked Tabitha and because it meant Connor wouldn't be tempted to drift back to Cyanide Sadie.

‘Oh my God, let me see that,' Tabitha exclaimed. ‘Where did you
get
that bag?'

‘It's one of Zac's.' Nancy gave first Tabitha, then Connor, a kiss. ‘You can shower him with praise when he gets here; he'll love that.'

 

‘
Another
one? Rose, you're drinking like a fish tonight,' scolded Rennie.

‘It's water, pet.'

‘That's what you say. Looks more like neat gin to me. Now, are we ready to sit down?' Rennie was busy being in charge. ‘Mia, you're over there. Carmen, you're next to me. What time's the stripper booked to arrive?'

‘I hope you're joking,' said Nancy.

‘Never presume, sweetheart. It's Brigadier Brough-Badman in a thong.'

Nancy swiped at Rennie with a napkin. ‘Don't. Zac's still terrified you're going to say something to Marjorie.'

‘As if I would. Soul of discretion, me. Bloody hell,' Rennie exclaimed, gazing past Nancy in disbelief. ‘Who's Zac brought along with him? Don't tell me that's his new boyfriend.'