CHAPTER EIGHT
The front door was open when she ran up the path to find her dad sitting in the doorway in his wheelchair. He stared past her at the black limo, still purring by the curb, much to the astonishment of her passing neighbours. There was a huge grin on his face.
'Very nice,’ Dad said, giving her a cheeky wink. 'Very nice indeed.' Then he wheeled briskly backwards to let her into the narrow doorway. ‘No wonder you took your time getting home.’
'Evening, dad,' she said dryly, and was glad they had dropped Shantelle off two minutes before outside her mum’s house. This way, she could not see Rose’s embarrassment over this exaggerated reception.
He was still grinning as she closed the door, aware of a curtain twitching in one of the houses opposite. 'I always knew you'd make the big time. I just didn't know it will be so soon.'
'That's Nick Grimsby's car,' she said, bending to kiss him on the cheek, 'as you know perfectly well, dad.'
'Still suits you though.'
‘You’ll get your own chance to ride in it soon. The driver’s waiting to take us to dinner.’ Rose frowned, suddenly noticing his old Christmas jumper and his tatty jeans. 'You're not in your suit yet. Don’t tell me Sally’s running late today, of all days?'
Sally was one of her dad's home helpers, a service paid for partly by them and partly by the council. She’d been due to call at five o'clock and help him get dressed in his glad rags for dinner, and was normally quite punctual over special arrangements like that. His suit and tie had been unearthed early this morning, before Rose left for work. Once her dad was up and in his wheelchair, aided by Constance, his morning helper, she had laid his suit carefully on his bed. That way, she reasoned, he could not pretend later that he hadn’t seen it.
Her dad preferred to do most things himself if possible, but had agreed rather gruffly that squeezing into his old suit – which looked a bit on the tight side now – might have proved tricky on his own.
She checked her phone. The evening traffic had been heavier than usual on the way home, and it was already six forty-five.
'If she doesn't turn up soon, I'll have to help you get dressed myself. Is that okay?'
Dad made a face.
‘I know, sorry.’ She knew her father hated her taking on the role of a carer. But sometimes it was necessary, especially during the night. And she didn't mind at all. He was her dad, for goodness’ sake. She was happy to help him, even if it embarrassed him a little. 'But Ebba – that’s the limo driver – says we need to leave here by seven-thirty, ideally. It’s a pain, I know. But I thought Sally would have helped you dress by now.'
'Ebba, eh? That’s an exotic name. And she’s quite a stunner too, by the look of her.' Her dad winked at her again, and now she realised what that broad grin had been for. Not the limousine, but the woman behind its steering wheel. 'I saw the driver get out and open the door for you. Amazing legs!’
Rose shook her head in disbelief. ‘Are you crushing on my limo driver, Dad?’
He merely kept smiling.
‘I told her not to bother opening the door,’ she continued, shooting him a disapproving look. ‘I said that I could get out under my own steam. But she insisted. Apparently Mr Grimsby wants us to have the full VIP treatment tonight.’
‘You and me, VIPs?’ Dad scratched his head in mock puzzlement. ‘Very Irritating Pests? Or perhaps Viciously Ignorant Protesters?’
‘I expect that’s what his lawyers call us behind closed doors.’ Rose laughed, then studied him again. ‘Seriously though, Dad, you can’t go like that. Much as I love your old clobber, I think this looks like being quite a posh dinner. And although Nick Grimsby is the enemy, I’d rather not give him a reason to look down on us.’
‘Is Paul going too?’
She nodded. ‘I thought it was best to have our legal representative there. He had an appointment last thing, so he’s meeting us there.’
‘Then why do you need me?’
She stared, suddenly recognising the stubborn look on his face, the defiant tilt of his chin, and realised with a shock why he wasn’t wearing his suit.
‘Dad, what are you saying?’
He shrugged, but she was not deceived by his casual air. He had thought this through. Probably been brooding about it all day while she was out.
‘Look,’ he said roughly, ‘I told Sally not to bother coming round to help me with the suit. It was a nice idea, but … She was just like you, moaning on at me down the phone, saying I had to go. But honestly, love, I don’t feel like it.’
‘But why? Are you … unwell?’ She was instantly concerned, bending to check his pulse with the ease of long practice. It was regular and strong, and only slightly faster than usual. ‘You seem okay. What’s the matter?’
‘There’s nothing wrong with me,’ he said, gently pulling his hand away. ‘If you must know, I just don’t want to meet this guy, or let him buy me dinner. This Grimsby character and his posh flunkies.’ He shook his head. ‘No, don’t go on at me, Rose. The high life … It’s not for me. I’d have to be polite, and eat with the right fork, and it would be awkward.’
‘Dad, I need you there. I can’t go to this dinner without you.’ She slumped down in a kitchen chair opposite him, suddenly despairing, and pulled off her boots. The kitchen lino felt cold through her tights but she ignored that. Her whole attention was focussed on her dad as she pleaded with him, ‘In fact, I won’t go tonight if you don’t. And that’s final.’
‘Rose … ’ He shook his head sadly.
‘Dad!’
‘You’ll be fine.’ He rolled forward a few inches, and patted her on the knee. ‘You’re a capable young professional, and you’ve got this.’
‘I so have not,’ she wailed. ‘He’s a … a flipping billionaire, for goodness’ sake. Rolling in filthy lucre. Who am I in comparison with Nick Grimsby? I’m nothing, I’m nobody. He and his corporation … They’re huge. And they’re going to crush me underfoot like just another bug.’
‘Rose Mistletoe, you are not nobody. Your mother and I brought you up to consider yourself equal to anyone, whoever they are. Now sit up straight, and have a little self-belief.’ He met her eyes, serious for once. ‘Trust me, kid, you can deal with this schmuck.’
She sat up, exhaling slowly. ‘Can I?’
‘Every day of the week and twice on Sundays.’ He pinched her leg playfully. ‘Now get upstairs and change into your party frock.’
‘But Dad … ’
‘Hurry up now,’ he said sternly, ‘before that long-legged blonde knocks at the door and sends my blood pressure shooting through the ceiling.’
Shaky and rather distressed that her dad would not be at her side tonight, Rose ran upstairs and dragged off her work clothes, then slipped into the shower for a quick hose-down, taking care not to wet her hair which she had already washed that morning. She would not have time now to blow-dry it anyway. Padding back into her bedroom, she checked out of the window, but the limousine was still parked outside, taking up all of the parking spot usually reserved for her dad’s visiting helpers, and the next space along. She could imagine her neighbour’s fury when he got home. But with any luck, they would be gone before then, as he worked late shifts.
Still suffering from wobbly nerves, but starting to buzz with a curious adrenalin, Rose put on fresh underwear, figure-hugging skin-tone tights to keep her somewhat generous hips and tummy under restraint, and then did her make-up as quickly as possible. Soft brown eye shadow, plum lipstick so as not to clash with her red hair, and a touch of blusher. No time to do her nails, so Grimsby would just have to put up with her blunt-nailed, florists’ paws. At least they were clean, which was not usually the case.
Upside-down went her head as she brushed out her hair with brisk, vigorous strokes. Once she looked vaguely presentable, she stepped hurriedly into her chosen dress, pulled it up over her shoulders and fumbled with the zip. It was a tight silver-blue dress with a flared hem mid-thigh, and much cheaper than it appeared, because she’d picked it up at a jumble sale in the summer. Steep black heels completed the picture, as they were the only pair of heels she owned, apart from boots – which would have looked odd with such a posh dress.
Turning to check herself in the wardrobe door mirror, Rose gasped, ‘Oh my God!’ and took a quick step back
She looked almost … sexy.
No, that couldn’t be right. She was Rose the florist. More usually to be seen in jeans and a woolly festive jumper, often with a knitted hat on her head, and even fluffy ear-mufflers when the weather required it.
It was hard to take in, she thought, staring at herself, wide-eyed. But she might not look out of place among the rich and famous tonight.
Unless she managed to squirt tomato ketchup over her large chest …
No, that was silly. Top London restaurants didn’t hand out bottles of ketchup to their clientele. They probably wouldn’t even have chips on the menu.
Or would they?
‘Rose?’ Her dad was calling for her up the stairs. ‘The driver’s at the door. She says you need to leave.’
‘Right, okay,’ she called back uncertainly, ‘I’ll be down in … in a minute.’ She grabbed her evening bag, which contained only her phone, house keys, wallet, and lipstick, and ran down the stairs. Her dad was waiting at the bottom, his eyes like saucers as he looked her up and down. She felt hot and embarrassed. ‘Don’t say a word!’
‘But you look so … ’
‘Hush!’
‘I was only going to say,’ he continued gently, ‘that you look just like your mother. When I first met her.’
‘Oh, Dad.’ Her eyes filled with tears, which was the last thing she wanted, though luckily she had eschewed mascara, so there was no danger of her looking like a giant panda. She bent to kiss him on the cheek, and gave him a tight squeeze while she was there. ‘Are you sure you won’t come?’
‘One hundred percent. Out with you, and make sure you have a great time tonight, ogre or no ogre.’ He was looking a bit teary too, she noticed. But he was smiling. He headed for the front door, and dragged it open. ‘Your carriage awaits, my lady.’
‘I’ll see you later. For bedtime.’
‘I’ve asked Sally to come round at ten, so don’t hurry back on my account.’ She hesitated on the threshold, looking at the sleek dark limousine under the street lights, and he gave her a nudge. Then winked outrageously. ‘You could even stay out all night if required.’
‘Dad!’
Shooting him a quelling look, Rose grabbed her black coat off the hook and then plunged into the night. But, of course, she ought to have known that disaster was only one step ahead. She promptly stumbled, falling sideways into the hedge, having forgotten that she was wearing ridiculous heels that would not cope well with the cracks in their garden path.
Especially not at that speed!
Landing on her bottom on the damp patch of grass that passed for their front lawn, she glared back at her dad, who was snorting with laughter, and then sensed a shadow behind her. Turning her head, Rose found herself looking up into Ebba’s puzzled face.
‘Can I help you to your feet, madam?’ the driver asked politely, and held out a perfectly manicured hand.
Oh, bloody bloody bloody …