It Had to Be You (7 page)

Yes well, it
’s not quite like buying a handbag is it? I wipe my tears and stuff another mince pie into my mouth, after all Lucy did say they had tons over didn’t she?

Twenty
-five minutes later and I am a new woman. My long blonde hair is shiny again and looking thicker with
lovely layers, courtesy of Wesley.

‘
I’ve taken ten years off you my dear,’ he smiles.

I wouldn
’t quite say that, unless he gave me a face lift when I wasn’t looking. He’s right though, I do look much better.

‘
Bugger him,’ Wesley says, kissing me on the cheek. ‘The sod isn’t worth crying over. Bad hair styles yes; men never.’

‘
Thanks
Wes
,’ I say.

Stick that in your 38D Brown Nipples. I leave the salon feeling ten times more confident than when I arrived. I also leave ten times poorer than when I arrived but hey, beauty doesn
’t come cheap right? And I’m a woman of means now, a landowner. I can’t believe I tipped Lucy two quid though. I should have put it towards the skin graft I’ll need on my scalp.

I’m thirty minutes early. I don’t know whether to go in and hope Mr Hayden will see me, or drive around for another fifteen minutes. Parking in London is such an ordeal. If I park
now it gives me one hour on the clock, and you can be sure that one minute before my time is up there will be a warden standing at the side of my little Kandy, dribbling with pleasure at the thought of slapping a ticket on the windscreen. The trouble is I can’t be sure of being seen early, which means I will certainly go over the hour. I could drive around and hope there will be another space but if there isn’t I’ll most certainly be late. I chew
my nails and decide to take my chances and
grab a Starbucks to kill some time. Hopefully what I make on the house will more than pay for a parking ticket.
I stroll into Starbucks and order a latte to take out. My stomach is fluttering with butterflies. I’m so excited and nervous all at the same time. I’m trying not to raise my hopes and tell myself that the property is probably only a tiny run down cottage and is only worth a few bob, but right now even a few bob would balance my bank account very nicely. Maybe I can do it up, not my bank account obviously but the house. After all, I’ve got plenty of time on my hands. That’s all I’ve got plenty of, mind you, as my credit card bill practically wiped me out. Christmas, why do we have it? I wonder if there is furniture in the cottage. I pull my phone from my bag and text Muffy and take a sip of latte as I turn the corner towards Hayden and Carruthers Solicitors of Repute, and bang. My latte and phone are knocked out of my hand, and my handbag slips from my shoulder as I collide with a hard firm body. I feel myself lurch backwards as I try to recover the handbag. The latte splashes over my hand, down my coat and onto my boots. Oh great. They’re only real suede and cost over a hundred quid. The contents of my handbag are strewn all over the street and I watch miserably as a black cab squashes my make-up bag.

‘
Christ,’ I exclaim as the scalding liquid runs over my hand.

‘
Nathan, I’ll call you back,’ says the firm hard body in a deep well-cultivated voice.

‘
I’m sorry, are you okay?’ he asks, pushing his phone into his jacket pocket. His soft fragrance wafts over me.

Do I look okay? I
’m covered in latte and half my life is strewn all over London. Bloody typical city ponces, prancing around and conducting their businesses on their mobile phones. God forbid us mere mortals should get in their way. They think they own half of London.

‘
Perhaps if you hadn’t have been chatting to
Nathan
in the first place this wouldn’t have happened,’ I snap, rubbing at my coat with a tissue. ‘Don’t you have an office to go to?’

‘
I
think you walked into me. You’re making a terrible mess of your coat.’

I look down at the coat to see it is covered in bits of tissue. Bugger it. I look at my boots and sigh.

‘You’ve ruined my boots,’ I say, kneeling on the ground to retrieve the contents of my handbag. He scoops up my phone and a bottle of aspirin.

‘
I
think you’ve lost a few of these.’

‘
Well that’s the suicide
cancelled then isn’t it,’ I say sarcastically. ‘I was
looking forward to that too.’

‘
I’m sure things aren’t that bad.’

I lift my head to look at him. Mr firm hard body has a gorgeous face to go with it. His dark curly hair has been combed back expertly revealing a high forehead. His grey eyes are twinkling and his lips have a half
-smile on them. I stare at his appealing cupid’s bow. His perfectly tailored suit has escaped my latte. Yes, that’s about right. He’s as cool as a cucumber in his dark blue shirt.

‘
I’m very sorry about the boots. Let me pay for the dry cleaning of the coat at least,’ he says casually, pulling out a leather wallet from his pocket.

Oh that
’s right, pay off the peasant.

‘
Are you offering to pay for the skin graft on my fingers too?’ I ask.

‘
You don’t even take part blame do you?’ he says smiling, handing me a fifty-pound note.

‘
You walked into me,’ I insist, feeling rather glad I had my hair done.

‘
You were on your phone too. This should cover it.’

I stare at the fifty
-pound note. God, I feel sure my eyeballs are whizzing round like a one-arm bandit arcade machine. Fifty quid, I mean, every little bit helps doesn’t it? But I can’t take money from a stranger can I, especially in the middle of London? Good God, it looks almost sordid.

He looks at me curiously.

‘You don’t think it’s enough?’ he says questioningly.

‘
No, I mean yes,’ God what do I mean? ‘It’s just I don’t often get offered money by men in the street.’

What do I mean often? I
never
get offered money by men in the street. What am I talking about? I never get offered money by men, period. What will he think of me?

He raises his eyebrows.

‘I assure you it’s only for dry cleaning,’ he says impassively.

Oh God, I didn
’t mean. Is that what he thought? He is no doubt thinking the worst of me now.

‘
Well obviously,’ I say blushing.

‘
Would you be more comfortable sending me the dry cleaning bill,’ he says in matter-of-fact voice and offering
his card. I wonder what he’ll be offering next. Binki, what is wrong with you? Men are off the menu remember. And this one would be a very expensive item
and has probably been purchased cooked and consumed already. Ooh what a delicious thought. He smiles
and his eyes crease into a sultry gaze. I take the card and glance nonchalantly at the name printed in gold lettering, ‘William Ellis, Investment Consultant.’ Well, I won’t need his services in the near future will I? The only thing I’ll be investing in is the Notting Hill job advertiser if this bloody inheritance turns out to be a park home.

‘
Thanks but no thanks. I’m sure it will come out,’ I say, reluctantly handing back the card. I push my hands into my coat pockets so as to stop myself from snatching the fifty-pound note off him.

‘
If you’re sure?’

I
’m not in the least sure. He crouches down to pick up my scarf.

‘Sorry again,’ he says
and before I know it he has turned the corner and the soft fragrance of him has gone. What an idiot. I should have at least taken the business card. No, I am resolved not to have a man in my life. I sigh and check my phone. Shit, I’m late. Typical that it should be a man who messes up my plans yet again.

* * *

I burst into the solicitor’s office and almost pass out from the heat. A girl with bleached hair and bright pink lips smiles at me. Her top is cut so low that I can see the swell of her breasts; it seems that I am destined to be reminded of Miss Brown Nipples everywhere I go. I pull off my coat and fan my face. It’s hotter than the Caribbean in here.

‘
Cold out there isn’t it?’ she says.

‘
Lovely and warm in here though,’ I say as I feel a bead of perspiration run from my forehead.

‘
How can we help you?’

‘
I’m Binki Grayson,’ I say, feeling the temptation to remove my jumper but not wanting to compete with her huge breasts. Why is it that everyone has bigger tits than me?

‘
I have an appointment with Mr Hayden. My aunt has left me a property,’ I say excitedly. ‘I’m here to collect the keys.’

She chews her lip as she checks her computer screen.

‘You know,’ she drawls, ‘that appointment was for two.’

I follow her eyes to the clock and to the minute hand that shows I am ten minutes late.

‘I had a little accident on the way here,’ I say apologetically.

‘
With some coffee?’ she says, wrinkling her nose.

God, does she have to rub it in?

‘Still, I’m only ten minutes late,’ I say cheerfully.

She studies her purple painted nails.

‘Mr Hayden has a tight schedule,’ she says, making him sound like the bloody prime minister.

‘
Yes well, I’m not here to discuss world peace so I shouldn’t be with him too long,’ I say sweetly.

‘
I’ll see if he is free,’ she says nonchalantly.

‘
Oh why, did you have him tied up?’ I say with a chuckle.

She gives me a stony stare. Obviously no sense of humour with the solicitors of repute then.

‘Right,’ I say. ‘Thank you.’

‘
First door on the right,’ she says while checking her nails.

I open
the door and step into a smoke-filled room. The smell of pipe smoke sends me reeling.

‘
Miss Binki Grayson, a pleasure,’ says a grey-haired man wreathed in smoke. ‘An unusual name,’ he adds questioningly.

‘
Yes, I suppose it is,’ I say, not wishing to explain that my mother, when she was expecting me, found the name in a novel. I should be grateful I suppose. I could have been Scarlet, or Vanity or God forbid, Constance. Still, it would have been nice to have been named after a classic rather than a Mills and Boon romance called
Hot Surrender
.

I shake his hand.

‘First of all, let me wish you a Happy New Year,’ he smiles. ‘I trust you had a good Christmas.’

I sigh.

‘An unusual one,’ I say, staring at his grey bushy eyebrows that have a yellowish tinge from the tobacco smoke. And there was me thinking it was illegal to smoke in a public place but I refrain from saying anything.

‘
Lovely, now let’s have a look at what your aunt left you. A property in Hampstead Heath, a lovely part of London. Very much sought-after area and
Driftwood
is a nice little house I’m told.’

I
’m beginning to feel like I’m in an estate agent’s office.

‘Although, I can’t tell you much about it I’m afraid. We don’t even have a photograph.’

He sucks on his pipe making it emanate a little squeak. I half expect him to swallow the damn thing as he is sucking it so hard.

‘Is there anyone living in it?’ I ask.

‘
Maybe the odd bit of driftwood,’ he snorts.

I roll my eyes.

‘No, not unless it has a poltergeist,’ he laughs heartily, his laugh turning into a fit of coughing by virtue of the pipe smoke. I stare at him stony faced.

‘
I always carry a crucifix,’ I say in a deadpan voice.

‘
Erm yes,’ he mutters. ‘The thing is, we don’t even know if it is habitable. Best you take a look. Obviously we would be happy to handle the sale if you decide to move in that direction.’

I splutter on his pipe smoke and pull off my jumper. I
’m thinking I should make a hasty exit before I end up stripping off completely.

‘
Did you know my Aunty Vera?’ I ask.

He shakes his head.

‘I’m afraid not. Now, if you could just prove you are who you say you are.’

Oh trust me no one would pretend to be me. I pull my passport from my handbag. He studies it intently before handing me a brass key. I feel like a character in a horror movie, you know the kind of thing, where everything starts off nice and calm in a solicitor
’s office where they pass over the innocent-looking key which everyone knows will end in high-pitched screams and figures moving through the darkness. I shudder and pop it into my bag.

‘
Now here are the directions to Driftwood and I hope it is everything you dream it to be.’

Now, that
’s a typical line from a horror film if ever I’ve heard one. He points to a map with the tip of his pipe.

‘
Thank you,’ I say, choking on the smoke.

I tuck the instructions neatly into the zip compartment of my handbag and fight back the impulse to jump up from my seat and shout YAY. I
’m the owner of my own house. Okay, so it may not be in the best condition, but the important thing is it belongs to me.