Staying at Daisy's (8 page)

‘Dad, don’t bully him into singing if he doesn’t want to.’ Daisy did her best to protect Barney, but it was too late. Hector was already dragging him over to the Bechstein. The pianist promptly launched into an almost accurate rendition of ‘New York, New York,’ Hector and Barney sang their hearts out and the writers’ group—by this time well away—joined in with boisterous enthusiasm.

Barney, bright-eyed and flushed with success, was giving it his all and clearly having a whale of a time. Daisy, watching from the doorway, decided with amusement that Steven would be turning in his grave and groaning with disgust if he knew that even one small part of him was involved in one of Hector’s infamous impromptu sing-alongs. He had always flatly refused to participate on the grounds that it was, variously, pathetic, undignified, and the kind of activity that only a complete moron would enjoy. Joining in for the sheer fun of it was a concept Steven had never been able to understand.

Oh yes, if he was watching now, he’d definitely be loathing every minute of this.

The song ended and the audience applauded wildly, which just went to show how drunk they were. Laughing, Barney made his way back over to Daisy as a vast blonde woman in her late sixties flung her arm round Hector’s waist and joyfully announced to the room that, ‘Tonight, Matthew, I am going to be Martine McCutcheon.’

‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ Daisy told Barney.

He shook his head in wonder. ‘What’s it like, having a dad like that?’

‘Embarrassing.’ Daisy paused then added cheerfully, ‘But never dull.’

‘Don’t forget that fax.’ Barney nudged the sheet of paper still in her hand.

‘God, no, I mustn’t. I’ll do it now. D’you want to stay here, or come with me?’

The pianist launched into ‘Perfect Moment.’ The enormous blonde woman, her heavily bejeweled fingers clutched to her chest, opened her mouth and began to sing in a quavering off-key falsetto.

Heroically, Daisy kept a straight face.

‘If you don’t mind,’ said Barney, ‘I think I’ll come with you.’

Afterwards, Barney would always be able to recall in technicolor detail the moment he changed the course of his life. He’d been standing in Daisy’s chaotic office with his back to the window and his hands in his pockets, watching her sift through the list of phone messages left by Brenda, the tap-dancing secretary. Daisy was perched on one corner of her desk, her long, brown hair swinging over one shoulder and one foot casually propped up on the swivel chair in front of her. She was wearing a peacock-blue silk shirt and a narrow, emerald green skirt that ended above the knee. As she swiveled round to grab a pen, the letter waiting to be faxed through to the newspaper fluttered to the floor.

Eager to help, Barney bent to retrieve it and said, ‘Do you want me to deal with this for you?’

Daisy looked up, pleased. ‘Could you? That’d be great.’

He didn’t mean to be nosy, but Barney couldn’t help noticing what was on the sheet of paper before he fed it into the machine. It wasn’t a letter, he realized. The hotel was advertising in the local
Gazette
for a porter.

That was the moment it happened.

Catching his breath as the idea came hurtling up at him, Barney stopped and gazed out of the window at the cedar trees, the sweeping lawns, the rush-fringed river, and the rolling hills, now wreathed in mist. Then he looked across at Daisy, busy scribbling something on her calendar. Across the hallway drifted the sounds of a piano being played with rather more enthusiasm than finesse, and twenty or so inebriated writers, led by Hector MacLean, raucously bawling along to ‘We’ll Meet Again.’

‘Problem?’ said Daisy. ‘Want me to show you how it works?’

Barney took a deep breath. Here goes.

‘This, um, job. It doesn’t say anything here about qualifications.’

Daisy grinned. ‘It’s for a porter, not a brain surgeon.’

‘The thing is, how would you feel if… I mean, I know this might seem a bit weird,’ Barney stammered, ‘but, well, what I’m getting at is, would you consider me if I applied for the job?’ He heard himself blurt the words out in a rush. OK, not the smoothest interview technique in the world, but up until twenty seconds ago none of this had even occurred to him. It was the ultimate spur-of-the-moment decision.

Daisy was looking pretty startled too. ‘What? You mean you want to be a porter? But you work for the Civil Service!’

Barney was touched that she made him sound so important, like the head of NATO or something, rather than the lowly pen-pusher he actually was.

‘Look, I don’t want to sound creepy, like some weirdo or something. I know I came here to meet you today because of… you know, what happened to Steven. But that’s not why I want the job, I swear.’

‘Well, good,’ said Daisy. ‘Because you’re right, that would definitely give me the creeps.’

Barney shook his head vigorously. ‘The thing is, the moment I got out of the taxi this morning, I just thought what a fantastic place this was. The village is… amazing. And the people were so friendly! Then I met you and you showed me over the hotel and it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Where I live, it’s… well, pretty rough, to be honest. Lots of drug addicts, violence, flats getting broken into, people getting mugged. It’s scary, you don’t ever really relax. Unless you’ve lived there, you can’t imagine what it’s like. It’s the opposite of here. I mean, look at this.’ Turning, he gestured out of the window. ‘Imagine waking up in the morning and seeing this view, instead of boarded-up shops and burnt-out cars and people dealing hard drugs on the street. Living here would be—God, it would be like a
dream
.’

Daisy’s gaze had dropped to the sheet of paper he was still holding. Barney realized that his hands were trembling with excitement.

‘What about your job?’

‘I hate my job.’ He said it with a passion. ‘I do, I can’t stand it! I loathe being stuck in an office where you can’t even open the windows. It’s like being back in the hospital, it drives me mad. I’d much rather be a porter, I know I would!’

‘You’d be a long way from home.’ Daisy was concerned. ‘And there’s your family to consider. How would your mum feel about you moving away?’

‘She knows I hate my job. Mum just wants me to be happy,’ Barney said eagerly. ‘She’d be pleased. If she could see this place, she’d love it as much as I do!’

‘This portering business,’ Daisy warned. ‘It doesn’t pay much.’

‘I don’t care!’

‘It’s shift work. Days and nights.’

‘No problem!’

‘Do you know what hotel porters actually
do
?’

Uh… no. Not a clue.

‘Carry cases?’ Barney hazarded. ‘I can carry cases,’ he added proudly, in case she thought he was some kind of invalid. ‘I’m really strong.’

‘Carry cases,’ Daisy agreed. ‘Clean people’s shoes. And deliver their papers. Basically, you’d be a gofer. Anything the customer asks for, you sort it out. If they want a prostitute at three o’clock in the morning, you arrange it for them.’

Blimey. Barney’s eyes widened.

‘I’m joking,’ said Daisy.

‘Oh. Right.’

‘And the staff quarters are pretty basic. You wouldn’t be living in a suite like the ones I showed you upstairs.’

‘I know that,’ Barney said patiently. ‘I’m not stupid.’

Daisy smiled. ‘Of course you aren’t. May I?’ She held out her hand for the sheet of paper. Barney passed it over, expecting her to rip it up and say cheerfully, ‘Well then, looks like we won’t be needing this after all!’

He watched in horror as she promptly fed it into the fax machine.

‘Oh, but—’

‘No, I’m not going to say yes now.’ Daisy was firm. ‘You have to go home and think about this. Sleep on it. The advert’s going into the paper this weekend because we need a porter and you might change your mind. Talk it over with your family. Think of the friends you’d be leaving behind. Give me a ring on Friday and let me know what you decide. If you want the job, it’s yours. If you don’t want the job, we’ll find someone else. Now, would you like to have a look at the staff quarters before you go?’

‘No.’ Barney shook his head. ‘Because I’ve already decided, and it doesn’t matter what the staff quarters are like. You could show me a wooden rabbit hutch in the back garden and I’d still say yes.’

He meant it; he’d never been so sure of anything in his life.

For a mad moment he thought of asking Daisy if she knew the name of the girl he had met in the village, the one with the straight dark hair and the startlingly blond, blue-eyed baby. Daisy would be bound to know her, wouldn’t she? Plus, she’d be able to tell him whether the girl was as single as her ringless hands had seemed to suggest…

No, no, no, he
couldn’t
ask that. What would Daisy think, that he was actually some kind of creepy stalker-type after all? That he only had to be in a new place for five minutes before getting fixated on some innocent young mother?

Barney inwardly shuddered with relief. God, thank goodness he hadn’t actually said it; she’d think he was a complete saddo.

‘Go home and have a chat about it with your family,’ Daisy repeated. ‘Give me a ring on Friday.’

‘OK.’ Barney grinned at her. ‘You’re the boss.’

***

Shortly before nine o’clock that evening, Daisy and Tara arrived at the Clifton Wine Bar in Bristol. Tara couldn’t wait to hand out her phone number to heaps of men then snub them when they rang her up. She’d been looking forward to it all day.

‘So what’s this Barney fellow like?’ she asked Daisy, once they’d been served at the bar.

‘Sweet, young, and very innocent.’ Daisy gave her a don’t-get-your-hopes-up look. ‘You’d scare the living daylights out of him.’

‘I don’t know why.’ Tara was fretful, clutching her drink. ‘I mean, it’s not as if I’m a scary person.’

A group of lads three feet away, having overheard her, promptly threw up their hands in terror and in unison screamed, ‘Aaarrgh!’

‘Oh ha ha, very droll. But tell me honestly,’ Tara pleaded, turning to them, ‘how could anyone look at me and find me frightening?’

The tallest of the boys stepped back and pretended to assess her from head to toe.

‘Seriously?’

‘Seriously.’

‘OK. The makeup, the chest, and the jacket.’ He paused. ‘Especially that jacket.’

‘But it’s new!’ cried Tara, plucking in distress at the fitted, faded denim with the embroidered collar and satin-trimmed facings.

‘It’s naff,’ the boy kindly informed her.

‘Oh no, it definitely can’t be naff. Nigella Lawson wears embroidered denim jackets and she’s a goddess. That’s why I bought this one,’ Tara earnestly explained. ‘So I could look like Nigella.’

‘But you don’t.’ Struggling to be honest, the boy surveyed her short, white-blonde hair, top-heavy curves, skin-tight jeans, and pointy-toed boots. ‘You look like Dolly Parton with her wig off.’

Daisy felt sorry for Tara. OK, so tonight’s outfit wasn’t helping, but it didn’t seem to matter what Tara wore, she always managed to look faintly… wanton. Even in her chambermaid’s uniform she exuded an air of availability. This was probably why her love life was so disastrous; any man meeting her for the first time automatically assumed that she was a saucy good-time girl up for a bit of fun.

‘Oh, cheer up.’ The boy gave Tara a reassuring nudge. ‘At least you aren’t ugly. Tell you what,’ he added generously, ‘I’ve got to go now, but why don’t I take you out for a drink some other night?’

This was another thing Tara had come to notice over the years.

If men were genuinely interested in a girl, they invited her out for dinner. In her case it was almost always a drink.

Still, what the hell, she didn’t fancy him either. Him or any of his smirking mates.

‘Sounds great. Give me a ring.’ Pleased with herself, she scribbled her name and number on the back of a beer coaster.

‘I’ll call you tomorrow,’ said the boy. ‘My name’s Jerry, by the way.’

By eleven thirty, thanks to some pretty intensive flirting, Tara had managed to give her real number out to four more men as well as the joke number to a total nerd. As they made their way back to Daisy’s car she did a little twirl of satisfaction on the pavement, narrowly missing a lamppost.

‘Now that’s what I call a decent night’s work. Five men are going to ring me tomorrow and I’m going to tell each and every one of them to get stuffed. God, I can’t wait.’

‘They might not all ring,’ Daisy warned.

‘Oh, stop it, you’re just jealous, you can’t stand it that I’m irresistible and you’re not. I really, really enjoyed myself tonight!’ This time Tara spotted the lamppost in the nick of time, grabbed hold of it, and swung herself round it like Gene Kelly. ‘Ha, and I’m going to enjoy myself even more when those phone calls start rolling in.’

Daisy wished she had six glasses of wine sloshing around inside her like Tara instead of a gallon of Coke.

‘Isn’t it about time you learned to drive? I thought Maggie was going to teach you.’

‘Excuse me, have you
seen
the way that woman drives? No thanks.’ Tara hiccupped and shook her head vigorously. ‘Get her behind a wheel and she turns into Jenson Button. It’s terrifying. She’d just be yelling at me to go faster all the time. Anyway, don’t change the subject. I’ve had a brilliant time tonight, tomorrow’s my day off and I’m going to dump loads of men. Well, at least three.’

***

Tara woke up at ten o’clock the next morning, feeling all-powerful and extraordinarily good about herself. When she looked in the bathroom mirror she saw an attractive, desirable person. Her stars in the
Daily Mail
informed her that today was the day to initiate change and prove to the world that she wasn’t a pushover.

Which was all excellent news. Tara could hardly wait to get started.

The trouble was, the phone didn’t ring. Not even once.

His name was Otto, but that wasn’t his fault. He was six years old and he was sobbing so hard he could barely speak.

The same, sadly, couldn’t be said of his mother, who was showing no signs of running out of breath.

New Yorkers. Couldn’t you just gag them? That shrill nasal whine like a dentist’s drill was reverberating right through Daisy’s head.

‘Mrs Wilder, I know Otto’s upset, I can see he is, but I promise you I
can’t
dial nine-nine-nine. The fire brigade only rescues people or animals. They really wouldn’t like it if we called them out to rescue a plastic airplane from a tree.’

‘But he’s cryin’ here! Look at his little faaace,’ shrieked Mrs Wilder as Otto’s sobs doubled in volume. ‘And it’s not like it’s some kinda
cheap
plastic airplane. This cost a lotta money, we got it in Harrods, let me tell you. Jeez, Otto baby, willya give it a rest? You’re gonna burst Mommie’s eardrums with all that racket.’

It was certainly a bit much at nine thirty in the morning.

‘I’m really sorry, but we still can’t call out the fire brigade,’ Daisy repeated patiently.

‘But I’d pay ’em!’ Mrs Wilder wrenched open her bag and flipped open a wallet bristling with credit cards. ‘They’d come then, wouldn’t they? If I gave ’em, say, two hundred of your English pounds?’

‘P-p-p-please,’ sobbed Otto, huge tears rolling down his pale freckled face.

Daisy’s heart melted. Mrs Wilder might be a nightmare but Otto was actually a sweet little lad, cheerful as a rule, and far nicer than you’d expect. Yesterday he had shyly confided in Daisy that his favorite film was
The Sound of Music
.

‘Come on,’ Daisy said, with an inwardly sinking heart. ‘Let’s go and have a look. Why don’t you show me where it is?’

Otto, his eyes lighting up with hope, slipped his small hand trustingly into Daisy’s.

‘You’ll be able to help me, won’t you?’ His lower lip trembled as he blinked up at her from behind his round, Harry Potter spectacles. ‘You’ll get my airplane back.’

***

The cedar tree out on the front lawn was sixty or seventy feet high. Bert and Kelvin, the hotel’s handymen, had propped an aluminum ladder against one of the lower branches. Otto’s red and white airplane was lodged thirty or so feet above the top rung of the ladder.

‘We gave it our best shot, love.’ Bert shook his head apologetically at Daisy. He would address the Queen as love if she rolled up in her royal carriage. ‘Kelvin got up as far as the third branch, but then ’e lost ’is nerve.’

‘It’s dead slippery up there.’ Kelvin’s tone was defensive. ‘Joe and Barry had a go after me, but they couldn’t do it neither. We’ve tried everything now.’

Otto’s face crumpled once more. He was still hanging on tightly to Daisy’s hand.

‘OK, OK.’ Daisy realized she had to at least try. As a child she’d always been brilliant at climbing trees. ‘Ssh, don’t cry, sweetheart. Bert, lend us your coveralls. I’ll give it a go.’

‘Wow-ee,’ Otto screamed delightedly, jumping up and down. ‘You’ll be like Wonder Woman!’

Well, maybe.

Three minutes later, feeling absolutely nothing like Wonder Woman, Daisy began to scale the lower branches of the tree. She was wearing Bert’s poo-colored coveralls over her cream leather trousers and burgundy cashmere sweater. Her feet were bare, for better grip. And every time she moved, droplets of water showered down from the leaves above. Which was unexpected, seeing as it hadn’t rained for over a week.

‘Why’s it so
wet
up here?’ Daisy called down to the small gathering below.

‘Kelvin’s idea,’ Bert bellowed back. ‘He tried to dislodge the plane wiv an ’igh pressure ’ose.’

Oh, fantastic, Kelvin. Top marks. Daisy blinked as yet another avalanche of water splattered her face. Her feet were icy and her hair was dripping, but she was making progress. As she strained to reach the next branch, a car roared up the drive and swung round into the car park.

‘Nearly there, nearly there,’ screamed Otto, delirious with excitement.

Daisy’s heart lurched into her mouth as she momentarily lost her balance. She grabbed the branch above her head and clung on for dear life, steadying herself before taking a deep breath and searching for the next secure foothold. The brightly painted plane was just a few feet out of reach, she couldn’t give up now. Blimey, it was a long way down.

An incredulous voice, drifting up from below, said, ‘Rescuing a what? A toy
plane
? What kind of idiot would climb a tree that size to rescue a toy?’

Daisy paused to hear Otto, her hero, reply with passion, ‘She isn’t an idiot, don’t call her that! She’s Wonder Woman.’

Gazing down in disbelief, Daisy saw Dev Tyzack peering up at her.

‘Daisy, you must be mad.’ He had his hands on his hips and his expression was serious. ‘Come on now, that’s enough. Just get yourself down in one piece.’

Was that his don’t-mess-with-me, I’m-the-boss voice? The one he used when he was ordering other people around? Daisy couldn’t resist giving the branch she was currently clinging to a quick shake, hoping to catch him before he dodged out of the way.

Damn, he was quick.

‘Daisy! This is dangerous,’ Dev warned.

‘Nearly there,’ she sang back, more determined than ever not to give up now. Curling her toes against the rough bark, she climbed higher and higher. At last the airplane was within reach.

‘Hooray!’ screamed Otto, clapping his hands. ‘Don’t break it!’

Daisy tugged the plane free from the v-shaped branch in which it had become wedged and sent it sailing down to earth.

Dev Tyzack. Of all the times to bump into him again. It was just typical.

Climbing back down was harder than getting up the tree. Feeling ungainly and less than alluring in her poo-colored coveralls, Daisy wished they’d all go away and leave her to it, instead of gathering around like some enthralled circus audience, watching her bottom getting bigger and bigger as it approached them.

Finally reaching the ladder, she looked down and saw that Dev was holding it steady.

‘Let go,’ she told him crossly. ‘I can manage.’

‘You’ve got this far, Wonder Woman,’ he drawled back. ‘No point breaking your legs at the last minute.’

Daisy’s feet were by this time so numb with cold she could barely feel them. Water from the leaves had drenched her hair and was running into her eyes. If Dev Tyzack put his hands on her hips in order to guide her down the last few rungs, she would know he was one of those overfamiliar, touchy-feely men and be forced to accidentally kick him in the ging-gangs.

He didn’t. Realizing that she had been holding her breath waiting for him to make physical contact, Daisy reluctantly conceded the point.

He was laughing at her. ‘Nice job, Wonder Woman. Well done.’

Otto, running up and flinging his arms round her legs, cried, ‘Gee, thanks, Daisy! I knew you could do it. You’re brilliant. I’m gonna go and show my dad!’

‘You could have killed yourself,’ Dev Tyzack said flatly as Otto raced off across the grass. ‘All for the sake of a toy plane.’

‘A toy plane from Harrods.’

He nodded gravely, acknowledging the difference. ‘I hadn’t taken you for the tree-climbing type.’

‘It’s one of my talents. What are you doing here anyway?’ As she spoke, Daisy unzipped the coveralls and stepped out of it, in case he thought this was the kind of gorgeous thing she normally wore on duty.

‘Like Wonder Woman in reverse,’ Dev observed. ‘Actually, I came to see you.’ He paused, quite deliberately, before adding, ‘I need to book a conference room.’

‘Really? And you’d like me to recommend a hotel? Well, there are several good ones in Bristol and Bath—’

‘I thought maybe here.’ He watched with amusement as Bert stepped forward to retrieve his coveralls, handing over Daisy’s boots in exchange. ‘Do you need a hand getting those on?’

Daisy wished her balled-up purple socks weren’t unceremoniously stuffed into the tops of her tan leather ankle boots. Oh, sod it, just head for the hotel and sort the footwear out later. Why was she even worrying about being caught in possession of a pair of dodgy socks?

Back in her office, she sat down and flipped through the bookings diary on her desk.

‘Yes, the conference room’s free on that day. We can do it. If you’re sure you want us to.’

‘I like this hotel.’ Dev was openly grinning at her now. ‘You’re handy for the motorway. Although I’d prefer it if your chambermaid didn’t seduce my guests.’

‘I’ll make a special note of it. Nooo sed…uct…ions,’ Daisy slowly repeated as she wrote it down. ‘How’s your friend Dominic, by the way?’ She raised her eyebrows, feigning interest. ‘Still married?’

There was a knock at the door. Pam, the receptionist, stuck her head round.

‘Daisy, the electrician’s on the phone. Is tomorrow afternoon OK for the safety check?’

‘It’s my day off tomorrow. Could you arrange it with Vince?’ Vince was the assistant manager. Daisy watched Pam give Dev Tyzack a swift once-over and waggle her eyebrows in appreciation behind his back. Pam might be forty-three and a grandmother several times over but in her mind she was still twenty-two.

‘Would you like me to organize coffee?’ Pam was still admiring the view available to her of Dev in faded jeans and a charcoal-grey sweater.

‘No thanks, we’re fine.’

Pam was dispatched back to reception. Asking questions and taking notes, Daisy arranged the conference booking for Dev Tyzack’s management development company. Modestly known as Tyzack’s. He also owned a video production company, Daisy learned, which made training videos.

‘Right. All sorted.’ She sat back in her chair finally, ran her fingers through her hair, and realized it was still dripping wet.

‘You looked like that the last time I saw you,’ Dev Tyzack observed with a brief smile. ‘Not quite so muddy this time. What are you doing tomorrow?’

Caught off guard, Daisy wondered what he meant.

‘Sorry?’

‘Tomorrow. Your day off.’

She felt water trickling not very seductively down one temple.

‘I don’t know. Brush up on my tree climbing, maybe. Get the crampons out and tackle one of the big oaks down by the river. Why?’

‘I just thought if you were free… well, there’s something you could help me out with.’

Stalling for time, Daisy reached down for her boots. Slowly and deliberately, to prove she wasn’t embarrassed by her woolly purple socks, she put them on.

‘Help you out with what?’

‘Something important. A decision I have to make. How about if I pick you up at ten o’clock? We’ll drive into Bristol, do what we have to do, then I’ll treat you to lunch. Sound good to you?’

The cheek of it. He was already assuming she’d say yes. Just because he was Dev Tyzack, who had once captained the England rugby team and earned himself God only knows how many caps, he was taking it for granted that she’d collapse in a heap of gratitude, clasp her hands together in girlish delight and squeal, ‘Oooh, yes please!’

Bloody cheek!

‘If you aren’t going to tell me what this is about, forget it.’

Infuriatingly, Dev Tyzack smiled. ‘Oh, come on. Where’s your sense of adventure?’

‘Up a tree.’ Picking up her left boot, Daisy stuffed her foot into it, willy-nilly. The bad news was, it was her right foot. His smile broadened.

‘I thought you of all people would be game on. So that’s it, is it? You’re turning me down?’

Daisy managed to get the right boots zipped up on the right feet. She gave him her best don’t-mess-with-me stare.

‘Am I supposed to be overcome with curiosity? Because I’m not. If you won’t tell me where we’re going, I’m not doing it.’

Even more infuriatingly, Dev Tyzack shrugged. ‘OK.’

She waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

‘Bye then,’ said Dev.

Bastard.

‘Bye.’ Daisy flashed him a professional smile as he moved towards the door.

He was leaving, he was actually
leaving
, dammit.

This was outrageous.

‘OK,’ said Daisy, her fingernails digging into the palms of her hands. God, he was probably loving every second of this.

Dev Tyzack paused in the doorway, as if he’d known she wouldn’t be able to resist him. No doubt he’d used this ploy dozens of times—the old magical mystery tour ploy—and it had never failed him yet.

‘Good. See you tomorrow then. I’ll pick you up at ten thirty.’

‘Hang on,’ Daisy blurted out as he was about to leave. ‘This isn’t a date, is it? I’m just checking, making sure it’s nothing like that.’

‘Good grief, the very idea. I wouldn’t dream of it.’ Dev Tyzack’s wicked dark eyes flashed with triumph. ‘No worries, Wonder Woman. It’s definitely nothing like a date.’