Who's Afraid of Mr Wolfe? (7 page)

How come other people’s great-aunts smelled of lavender water and face powder, while hers smelled of gin? Ellie peeped round the kitchen door to check on her again. Yup, still upright, still singing. The loud noise she was producing definitely matched her personality rather than her stature. As Ellie’s father used to say, ‘Edith is tiny enough to put in your pocket, but there’s no way to keep her there.’

Ellie loaded everything on to a tray and carried it through to the living room.

‘What was it this evening, then? Book club, darts club or whist?’

‘Ah now, something different.’ Edith picked up a sandwich. ‘We went for an interesting talk on the role of the servant in Shakespearian literature, and that led to a
discussion on dining customs in Elizabethan times, and then, well, it naturally seemed to lead to the pub. Did you know that small ale was a watered-down version of the proper-strength stuff?’

‘Yes, I did know that, Edith.’ Ellie passed her a cup of tea. ‘They don’t do small gin, obviously.’

Edith took a bite out of her sandwich and her eyes twinkled. When she had finished chewing, she said, ‘That would be sacrilege, my dear. Your great-uncle George always used to say to the servants in India, “Small glass, large gin.”’ Edith had impersonated Great-Uncle George’s voice perfectly and Ellie had a sudden recollection of his bristly chin and watery blue eyes.

Edith reached for another sandwich and hummed merrily away while eating it. So much energy. For as long as Ellie could remember, Edith had lied about her age and had recently taken to telling people she was in her mid seventies, whereas Ellie was sure she was nearly eighty. Edith worked diligently to put people off the scent by dressing in what her affronted daughters called an ‘age-inappropriate manner’. Where hair and make-up were concerned Edith believed you could never have too much of a good thing. Tonight, in addition to the pink Lurex and tweed ensemble, she was modelling red wedge sandals, gold hoop earrings and her trademark peroxide ‘helmet hair’.

Edith stopped mid-bite. ‘Oh, the knickers, I forgot to ask … Yes or no?’

‘Oh, a big yes. A big thumbs-up from the Wolfman.’

Edith clapped her hands, scattering bits of sandwich all over herself. ‘I am so pleased, darling. Clever you and clever Lesley. You were always a bright little thing and you’ve grown up to be a bright big thing too.’

‘You make me sound like a fluorescent elephant.’

‘Now stop it, Ellie. You can’t fool me with that jokey thing. You’re embarrassed at being paid a compliment. You never could take them. You know exactly what I meant – lovely on the outside, clever on the inside.’ Edith raised her teacup in a toast. ‘Here’s to you.’

They chinked teacups, Edith sloshing a lot of tea over her hand.

‘It was a bit hairy, though, Edith, presenting the idea. Jack wasn’t very nice to the other two teams.’

‘Well, I don’t suppose they pay him to be nice. I expect he can be quite a scary prospect with all that height and those dark, brooding looks.’ Edith gave a little shiver.

‘Tall with dark looks? I don’t think so, Edith. He’s tiny with a bald head and wears thick, thick glasses.’ Ellie laughed a little at her own joke.

‘Oh, I’d presumed with a name like that he’d be a bit more imposing. A bit of a knickers-flutterer.’ Edith looked disappointed. ‘I’d imagined he was the kind of man who could walk past you and make you want to rip his clothes off, closely followed by your own.’ She grabbed another
sandwich. ‘Well, that’s a blow. I was picturing some Heathcliff-type figure and you’ve given me Mr Magoo. Most, most … underwhelming.’

Ellie was tempted to put Edith right, but she resisted. It was comforting that in one person’s mind at least, Jack was not Heathcliff.

‘No Sam tonight, then?’ Edith said when she had finally finished the sandwiches.

‘Out entertaining Germans again, I’m afraid.’

Ellie braced herself for what she knew was coming next – those eight little words that she didn’t want to hear, particularly tonight when her bed was calling out to her to come and sleep in it.

‘Well, how about a game of Scrabble, then?’ Edith said with a manic look in her eye.

Ellie groaned but got the board out anyway. Every game with Edith followed the same pattern. A few minutes of normality and then she would start to put down filthy, blush-making, paint-stripping words and pretend that she didn’t know what they meant.

Most opponents faced with the prospect of having to explain them to her simply gave in. Not long after that Edith usually won. When Ellie’s parents had been alive, her obscene Scrabble had become so bad that they had banned her from playing it with the children.

Half an hour into the game and Ellie knew that if the vice squad raided her flat tonight, both she and Edith
would be hauled off to prison, no questions asked. Ellie wasn’t even sure what one of the words meant.

After having pulverised Ellie in three successive games, Edith started to yawn alarmingly.

‘Come on, you,’ Ellie said. ‘Let’s call it a day.’

Edith did not object and sat quietly while Ellie slid the letters back into the box, folded up the Scrabble board and went to put it away. When Ellie returned, Edith was getting carefully to her feet. Ellie put her arm out for her to lean on and they walked slowly to the door of the spare bedroom.

‘Have a lie-in tomorrow, Edith. You can stay here all day if you like. Take it easy.’ She was careful not to sound as if she was fussing.

‘Oh, there’s no need for that, Ellie dear. A few hours’ sleep and I’ll be ready for anything.’

Ellie was not fooled. As Edith leaned on her arm, she could feel how light she was, how frail she had become beneath all that bluster and bizarre clothing.

‘A little lie-in, eh?’ Ellie cajoled. ‘Just for me. You know I think you do too much.’

Edith patted her hand. ‘I know you do, dear, and it’s very sweet of you, but I like to keep busy.’

That was something of an understatement; Edith was rarely still, and Ellie had noticed that every time one of her great-aunt’s ageing circle of friends dropped off their perch, she redoubled her efforts to make the most of every hour of every day.

‘I understand all that, Edith,’ Ellie said gently, ‘but sitting here with your feet up would recharge your batteries. Put the telly on, get the heating toasty. I could make you something to have for your lunch before I went to work.’ Ellie saw Edith do a little gesture as if she were about to remonstrate. ‘Now, don’t make me get all sentimental,’ she said quickly, ‘or I’ll start telling you how much you mean to me now Mum and Dad are … well, you know.’

She felt Edith squeeze her arm. ‘You’re a sweetheart Ellie dear, but don’t worry about me, please. I’ll rest when I need to. You concentrate on those knickers of yours.’

Edith offered her cheek for kissing before toddling off into the spare room.

Ellie wandered back into the kitchen and found a spare key to the flat and put it in an envelope. She’d leave it on Edith’s breakfast tray in the morning. If she was going to keep turning up on the doorstep, she might as well be able to let herself in.

Sam got back in the early hours of the morning, smelling of beer and giggling inanely. He snuggled up to her back, winding himself round her, and Ellie told him that her knickers had gone down well. She wriggled against him, being deliberately provocative and hoping he’d take the hint. He didn’t, simply patted her on the bottom, said, ‘Well done,’ and then fell asleep.

*

Next morning Ellie stood in the lingerie shop and gulped. It was a real eye-opener. She held up a hanger and looked at the price tag on the attached knickers. Never had so much been charged for so little. Two teeny wisps of material held together by rhinestone-covered laces cost as much as a three-course meal for two. With wine. It was unbelievable what some people would pay for underwear.

Then Ellie’s eyes strayed to the other things in the shop. Nipple tassles, blindfolds, handcuffs. All in the best possible taste, of course. She felt a bit uneasy. It was as if she were peeping through a keyhole at slightly forbidden stuff, stuff that people with more glamorous lives than hers would wear.

Silk, satin, marabou feathers: it was difficult to know what to choose. In the end she picked out a pair of the hottest, pinkest knickers with tiny black ribbon bows up each side. Perfect for the sex-kitten character. On the way to pay for them, she was distracted by a set of bra and knickers in pale gold with delicate cream lace trimmings. She expected that they only did the bra in svelte model-girl cups, but the assistant gave her an assessing once-over and produced Ellie’s exact size.

In the changing room, designed to look like someone’s idea of a brothel, Ellie looked at her reflection and actually blushed. The bra pushed her up in all the right places, and the knickers barely covered any of her important bits. She had never seen herself like that before. The colour
complemented the gold and red in her hair and her skin tone, and the feel of the material was lovely.

She automatically crossed her arms over her breasts. She wasn’t used to ‘getting them out’. Her preferred way of dressing was to cover them up. Her breasts had arrived a good year earlier than any of her schoolmates’ and the boys had all made icky comments. Hiding them had been her only defence.

Apart from developing a penis-shrivelling sense of humour.

Nonetheless, she still had that hiding thing going on. Her mother had been constantly pulling her shoulders back, telling her she’d get a stoop.

Ellie thought of Rachel and uncrossed her arms and stuck her chest out. Well, perhaps she’d save that for Sam’s personal viewing. She did look hot, though. She gave her everyday underwear, lying on the floor, a pitying look as if it were some ugly relation who insisted on following her. Another twirl round in front of the mirror and she wondered whether she had the nerve to buy a blindfold too. No, definitely not. The only way she’d ever be able to tackle that was through mail order; she couldn’t face an assistant. Although, by the look of the assistant on the till, she probably wouldn’t have batted an eyelid if Ellie had wanted to buy a full-length, crotchless rubber suit with thigh-high tartan waders.

It was almost lunchtime when she got into the agency
and ended up sharing a lift with Jack and Mike, fresh from a client meeting in the City. Mike was talking nineteen to the dozen and doing his usual impersonation of an overenthusiastic puppy, which made Jack seem even more like a large block of granite.

It didn’t take Mike’s eyes long to lock on to the distinctive carrier bag from the lingerie shop. Ellie could almost see the drool on his shirt. Funny how most men were so predictable when faced with anything involving skimpy underwear. It pressed all the right buttons.

Except for Sam, apparently. He’d hardly been able to find the bed last night, let alone locate any of her erogenous zones. Another night without anything more than a beer-induced cuddle.

Ellie felt the bag being lifted out of her fingers by an almost panting Mike. Before she could stop him, he said, ‘Let’s see what you’ve got in there, then,’ and pulled out her matching bra and knickers. He whooped with delight and held them up.

‘Very nice, Ellie. Very classy, but sexy too. What’s the bra for, though? Thought you were only doing knickers?’

‘Those are mine.’ Ellie said, grabbing the carrier bag from Mike and shoving the knickers back into it, cross that she had become so flustered. ‘These are the ones for the campaign.’ She pulled out the hot pink satin knickers and put them on the palm of her hand. They didn’t take up much room.

Mike made a lunge for them and then whistled in awe at the price tag. ‘Don’t get much for your money, do you? I’ve never seen knickers that expensive.’

Ellie wished Mike would shut up. If he went on like that, Jack was going to think she’d been wasting agency money. Even now he was giving her that intense stare of his, the one that made you feel that he could actually see what you were thinking. Suddenly the lift seemed too small and Jack seemed too close and Ellie wished that she had taken the stairs.

Slowly Jack reached over and lifted the knickers from Mike’s hand. He casually flipped over the price tag. ‘Looks OK to me,’ he said. ‘Ellie’s obviously an expert.’ He dropped the knickers back in the carrier bag.

Ellie studied the lift floor in minute detail and tried not to think about how the knickers had looked in Jack’s hand.

As the lift reached the next floor, she chanced one more look at Jack, only to be met by his cool, grey gaze. She felt the colour rise and spread across her cheeks. What was this? She was turning into some kind of chameleon that only appeared to do red.

When the lift doors opened, she darted out, glad to escape even though it was not her floor. She thought she’d got away with it too, until she heard the ever-helpful Mike say, ‘You know you got out at the wrong floor, Ellie?’

‘I do, Mike,’ she said, thinking frantically. ‘It’s just the
sign in the lift says it can only carry seven hundred kilograms and I’m a bit worried about how much all of that testosterone and drool of yours weighs.’

Hurrah, she had timed it perfectly: the lift doors closed before either of its occupants could say anything in response.

Ellie knew from the moment she saw Mr Hetherington and the Sure & Soft team that things weren’t going to go well. Hugo had obviously got his facts wrong because Hetherington was telling them that he was still very much in charge, although this was his last big outing. Pauline Kennedy stood next to him, her smile looking a little forced, and they all knew she wouldn’t be making the decisions today.

It was no consolation to Ellie that Jack was glowering at Hugo, or that Hugo’s eyes were bulging in a distressing way. She and Lesley were the ones who actually had to stand up there and sell the idea.

Ellie took another look at Mr Hetherington as he was introducing his team members to Jack. She imagined he was the kind of man who referred to ‘monthlies’ and ‘having the painters in’. He was going to hate the singing knickers.