An Offer You Can't Refuse Page 11

  Gabe frowned. Wasn’t that…? No, it couldn’t be.

  But as the man moved out of sight, curiosity got the better of Gabe. Opening the rear door of the cab, he climbed out. Ninety degrees of heat hit him in the face. Mystified, Gabe reached the side of the whitewashed building and saw… blimey… that he hadn’t been mistaken after all. Except no wonder he hadn’t twigged at first; it wasn’t every day you saw two members of Hollywood’s A-list sneaking off down a narrow alley behind a service station in order to kiss each other senseless.

  Unless it was for a movie and they were being paid millions of dollars to do it.

  Which certainly wasn’t the case here. This time they were doing it for free.

  Click. Gabe hadn’t even planned on taking their photo; somehow, the camera in his hand came up and there they were in the frame, so completely wrapped up in each other that they neither saw him nor heard the shutter close. Gabe took another photo, this time getting a clear shot of the girl’s face. Then, realizing what he was doing—God, what was he, some kind of snooper?—he turned and hurried back to the cab.

  ‘All right there?’ The taxi driver emerged from the shop with a bottle of iced water and a bag of toffees.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Off we go, then.’

  As they waited to pull out onto the main road, the male half of the couple emerged from the alley. Tom Dutton, Oscar-winning actor, wearing faded denims and a red checked shirt. His long blond hair flopped over his forehead as he loped back to his car. Simply because it would thrill Lola, who had dragged him along to the cinema last summer and noisily sobbed her way through the weepy that had been Tom Dutton’s most recent film, Gabe raised his camera and took one last photo.

  Personally he’d thought the film was crap.

  Chapter 16

  Lola wasn’t averse to a bit of untidiness, but stepping into Gabe’s flat was something of an eye-opener. The initial impression was of utter chaos, Selfridges Christmas department mixed with a charity shop the morning after an all-night party.

  ‘Hi there, I was wondering if you had any black shoe polish—whoops.’ Lola just managed to avoid stepping on a triangle of pepperoni pizza lying on an open copy of Heat. Something told her she wasn’t going to be in luck. Most of Sally’s clothes appeared to be strewn across the floor, along with a couple of damp bath towels. Just as well Gabe wasn’t here to see this.

  ‘I do, I do!’ Sally gaily dropped her apple core onto Gabe’s formerly pristine glass-topped coffee table and pressed her fingers, psychic-style, to her temples. ‘Hmm, shoe polishes, shoe polishes. They’re here somewhere… I remember taking them out of a case and putting them… ooh, I know! On the window sill in the kitchen!’

  Where else? Following Sally into the kitchen, Lola saw a whole range of shoe polishes flung into a pink and gold flowerpot along with a Nicky Clarke hairspray, a zebra print alarm clock, a bag of satsumas, and a skipping rope.

  ‘Brilliant. I’ll only be a couple of seconds.’ Holding her favorite black stilettos, Lola squeezed liquid polish onto the toes. Instant magic. The scuffs disappeared and she recapped the tube. ‘Shall I put this out of the way in the cupboard under the sink?’

  ‘No need. I like things where I can see them.’ Surveying her in her dressing gown, Sally said, ‘Off out somewhere nice?’

  ‘Wine bar in Soho. Work’s Christmas party.’ Lola pulled a face. ‘Fancy dress.’

  ‘Ooh, I love fancy dress! What are you going as?’

  ‘A Playboy Bunny. Don’t laugh,’ said Lola. ‘Everyone had to put an idea into the hat and I drew the short straw. Tim from work has gone over to the fancy dress hire place to pick everything up. He’ll be here any minute with my costume.’

  ‘At least it’s sexy. I always wanted to be a Playboy Bunny when I grew up. But Mum said over her dead body. Oh well,’ Sally said cheerfully, ‘you’ll have to come and give me a twirl before you leave.’

  ***

  ‘Blimey.’ Coming face to face with Tim on her doorstep, lugging an enormous zip-up carrying case, Lola said, ‘That can’t all be for me.’

  Her outfit was a skimpy affair, surely. Black satin swimsuit thing, white fluffy tail and a pair of ears. How much space could that take up?

  ‘Been a bit of a mix-up.’ Tim looked embarrassed.

  ‘What kind of a mix-up?’

  His cheeks flamed. ‘When I ordered a Bunny outfit they thought I meant… well, a bunny bunny.’

  ‘You mean…? Oh God, let me see.’ Lola unzipped the carrying case and was confronted by a full-size rabbit suit made of white nylon fur. ‘I have to wear this?’

  ‘Sorry,’ Tim said miserably.

  She pulled out the suit and gave herself a static shock. On the bright side, she wouldn’t need to spend the evening holding her stomach in.

  On the less bright side, what a waste of polishing her shoes. She was destined to spend the night with her feet encased in giant furry white rabbit’s paws.

  ‘I’m going to get hot in there.’ The nylon fur crackled and gave Lola another zip of static as she stroked it.

  ‘You can swap costumes with me if you want to,’ said Tim.

  The ‘if you want to’ part didn’t fill her with optimism. ‘Why, what’s yours?’

  ‘Well, I was going to be a gladiator. Kind of like Russell Crowe. But the breastplate snapped and they couldn’t let me have it.’

  ‘So you’re not a gladiator. Instead you’re…?’

  Tim mumbled, ‘Barney the Dinosaur.’

  Lola sighed. ‘Thanks, but I’ll stay with the rabbit. Purple was never my color.’

  ***

  ‘You’re all pink!’ Cheryl, looking glamorous and suitably exotic in her hula skirt, danced up to Lola.

  All pink. Fancy that.

  ‘Imagine how hot it feels, being trapped inside an all-in-one bunny suit.’ Lola reached for a bottle of ice-cold water. ‘Then double it. Actually,’ she paused and glugged down several mouthfuls of the water, ‘quadruple it.’

  The DJ started to play ‘Last Christmas’ by Wham!, causing a stampede (why? why?) onto the dance floor.

  ‘Fancy a dance?’ said Cheryl, shimmying her hips.

  ‘Not really, no.’

  ‘Couldn’t you take the bunny suit off now?’ Cheryl tilted her head sympathetically to one side.

  ‘I could, if I’d thought to bring a change of clothes with me.’ Huffing her damp fringe out of her eyes, Lola couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to her. But beneath the nylon fur she was scantily clad and jolly though the crowd at Bernini’s were, she didn’t feel they were ready to witness her in her pink and green polka-dotty knickers and matching balcony bra.

  Mind you, it was a salutary experience dressing up like a rabbit. Until tonight she hadn’t realized how nice it was to be paid attention by members of the opposite sex. Being eyed up was something she’d pretty much taken for granted.

  ‘You know, I feel as if I’m wearing an invisibility cloak,’ said Lola. ‘Nobody’s looking at me.’

  ‘Oh, that’s not true.’ Cheryl did her best to sound convincing.

  ‘It is.’ Lola could see the gaze of men sliding over her without pausing in their search for an attractive girl to flirt with. Tonight, she couldn’t help noticing, the attractive girl was Cheryl in her undulating hula skirt.

  ‘Look.’ Eager to help, Cheryl pointed across the dance floor. ‘Those people over there are looking at you.’

  ‘They’re laughing. That’s different. They’re pretending to clean their whiskers and lick their paws.’ Lola took another swig of water. ‘I don’t mind. I’m just saying. Actually, those celebrities who whine and moan about being pestered every time they go out could do a lot worse than get themselves a nice bunny suit.’

  ‘Hey, at least you aren’t Barney the Dinosau
r.’

  Poor old Tim, his outfit was even hotter and heavier than her own. Lola watched him attempting to dance like George Michael when he was still straight, wincing as his dinosaur tail swung lethally from side to side. Helen, dressed as Cleopatra, was gamely bopping around with Batman, aka Darren, who had legs like string beans. In the far corner of the dance floor a group of Hogwarts students with black bin-bag cloaks were climbing onto their broomsticks—

  ‘I can see someone looking at you.’ Cheryl gave her a nudge.

  Lola didn’t get her hopes up. ‘Where?’

  ‘Over there, just come in.’ Cheryl nodded at the door. ‘The one in the blue shirt, see him yet? He hasn’t taken his eyes off you since he got here. Actually…’ Her voice trailed off as she peered more closely at the new arrival. ‘He looks familiar. Where have I seen him before? Ooh, and now he’s coming over!’

  Lola surveyed him, glad she hadn’t got her hopes up. ‘He’s one of our customers.’

  ‘God, you’re right, it is. Did we invite customers along tonight?’

  ‘No.’ Mystified, Lola watched the man who wasn’t a private detective. When he reached them she noticed that the usual easy smile was tinged with something else, possibly nerves.

  ‘Hi.’ As she nodded in recognition, one of the bunny ears flopped down into her field of vision, which didn’t help.

  ‘Hi there. I wasn’t sure at first if it was you.’ The smile became a grin. ‘Nice outfit.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Lola paused as Cheryl melted tactfully away into the crowd. ‘So is this a coincidence, you turning up here tonight?’

  ‘No, it isn’t. When I was in the shop yesterday I heard your friend talking about the party here tonight.’

  At least he was honest. ‘So are you a stalker?’

  Another pause. Finally he shook his head. ‘Not really. I mean, I suppose so, kind of. But for a reason. Not in a creepy way, I promise.’

  That was the thing; he just didn’t seem creepy. ‘Well, good,’ said Lola, indicating Darren on the dance floor, ‘because otherwise I’d have to set Batman onto you.’

  The corners of the man’s eyes creased with amusement but beneath the surface he was still on edge. ‘Look, is there anywhere we could talk?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Something important. Sorry, I know this place isn’t ideal, but I didn’t want to do it at the bookshop. There’s a free table over there in the corner.’ As he steered Lola gently towards it, he eyed the empty bottle of water in her hand. ‘Can I get you another drink? Maybe a… carrot juice?’

  Lola stopped, gave him a look.

  He raised his hands. ‘OK, sorry, sorry. I can’t believe I said that.’

  ‘I can’t believe it either. So far this evening eleven people have asked me if I’d like a carrot juice. Eight have asked me if I’d like some lettuce. Four have made hilarious jokes about popping out of a magician’s hat. Honestly, this place is just one huge comedy club bursting with Billy Connollys.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m usually a bit more original than that. Put it down to nerves.’

  They reached the table. The man pulled out a chair for Lola then sat down himself.

  ‘Why are you nervous?’ Her right ear was falling over her eye again; impatiently Lola tossed it out of the way.

  ‘Sure I can’t get you a drink?’

  ‘I’d rather know what all this is about.’

  Wham! finished playing and was replaced—surprise surprise—by Slade belting out ‘Merry Christmas Everybody.’ Noddy Holder’s cheese-grater voice vibrated off the walls and everyone on the dance floor punched the air, pogo-ing madly and singing along not quite in time with the music. Having watched them for a few seconds, Lola turned her attention back to the man and said, ‘Still waiting.’

  In the dim lighting of this corner of the bar his expression was unreadable. ‘Twentieth of May?’

  Something squeezed tight in Lola’s chest. ‘That’s my birthday.’

  He sat back, exhaled, pushed his fingers through his dark hair then half smiled. ‘In that case you’re definitely my daughter.’

  The furry white nylon ear flopped once more over Lola’s face. Little stars danced in her field of vision as she fumbled with the Velcro fastening her costume at the neck. But her fingers couldn’t manage it and heat was spreading inexorably through her body. Finally she managed to say, ‘Please, could you help me take my head off? I’m feeling a bit… um, faint.’

  Chapter 17

  One minute she was in a wine bar more or less blending in with the twenty-two other people cavorting around in fancy dress, the next minute she was sitting in an all-night café with a mug of hot tea, attracting all manner of smirks and funny looks from everyone else in the place.

  Lola still couldn’t assimilate what had happened; her brain had stubbornly refused to believe what he was telling her. Apart from anything else, this man wasn’t even American. Yet… why would he be here doing this if it weren’t true?

  ‘Sorry.’ The man sitting opposite her said it for the third time. ‘I knew it was going to be a shock but I couldn’t think of any way of saying it that wouldn’t be.’

  ‘That’s OK.’ At least it was cooler in here. The urge to pass out had receded. Her head was still spinning but out of shock rather than syncope. ‘You can’t imagine how unexpected this is.’

  He did that rueful semi-smile again. ‘For me too.’

  Lola sipped her tea, burning her mouth but appreciating the sugar rush. ‘So you’re… Steve?’

  The semi-smile abruptly disappeared. ‘No. That’s not me.’

  So. Not American, not called Steve. Something wasn’t right here. But he seemed so genuine, so convinced…

  ‘What’s your name then?’

  What’s your name? What a question.

  ‘Nick. Nick James.’ Shaking his head, he said, ‘I can’t believe your mother didn’t tell you that.’

  ‘Tuh, that’s nothing! She told me you were from New York.’ She looked at him suspiciously. ‘Are you?’ Was he, perhaps, pretending to be British?

  His eyebrows went up. ‘What else did she say?’

  ‘Oh God.’ Lola almost dropped her cup. ‘Your eyebrows. That’s just how mine go when I’m surprised…’ Tea slopped onto the table as her trembling increased, because the similarity was almost uncanny. ‘You’ve got my eyebrows!’

  ‘Actually, you’ve got mine,’ Nick James pointed out.

  ‘That’s incredible! And we have dark hair.’

  ‘You have your mother’s eyes and freckles.’

  ‘But not her hair. Before you saw me, did you think I’d be a redhead?’

  He shook his head. ‘I knew you weren’t. I visited you once, when you were a baby.’

  Lola felt as if all the air had been squeezed from her lungs. ‘You did?’

  ‘Oh yes. Briefly.’ He smiled. ‘You were beautiful. Seeing you for the first time… well, it was incredible.’

  Her eyes abruptly filling with tears, Lola said, ‘And then you buggered off again.’ The tears took her by surprise and she brushed them away angrily; it wasn’t as if she’d had a miserable life without—

  ‘No, no. God, that’s not what happened at all.’ Horrified, Nick James said, ‘Is that what you think, that I was the one who walked away? Because I didn’t, I swear. I loved your mother and I wanted the three of us to be a family, more than anything. She was the one who wouldn’t have it.’

  ‘Hang on.’ Lola stopped him, because this was just too surreal; there had to have been some kind of misunderstanding here. ‘This is Blythe we’re talking about?’

  She had to double-check. Imagine if he sat back in dismay and said, ‘No, not Blythe! I’m talking about Linda.’

  And the eyebrows had just been an eerie coincidence.

 
But he didn’t, he just nodded and said simply, ‘Blythe Malone, that’s right.’

  ‘Anything to eat, love?’ A waitress bustled over to their table, mopping up the tea Lola had spilled on the Formica.

  ‘No thanks.’ There was so much to take in, not least the discovery that her own mother had lied to her.

  And in a pretty major way.

  ‘Sure? We’ve got a lovely lamb hotpot.’ The waitress helpfully pointed to the appropriate photograph on the laminated menu. ‘Or faggots and chips, everyone likes our faggots.’

  Normally Lola would have thought of something funny to say to this, but her brain was all over the place. ‘I’m fine. Really.’

  ‘She’d rather have a plate of carrots.’ One of the men at the next table chuckled and nudged his friend, who broke into a buck-toothed Bugs Bunny impression.

  ‘Sorry.’ Nick James looked at Lola. ‘I should have found somewhere better than this.’

  Offended, the waitress sniffed and said, ‘Charmed, I’m sure.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Lola shook her head. ‘I wish I wasn’t wearing a bunny suit, but that can’t be helped. And the tea’s great.’ She smiled up at the waitress. ‘Actually, I’ll have another one.’

  ‘My flat’s not far from here. We could go there if you want to,’ Nick James offered. ‘But I thought that might seem a bit strange.’

  ‘A bit.’ Much as she’d have preferred to be wearing normal clothes, Lola had felt the same way about inviting him back to Radley Road.

  He nodded in agreement. ‘Neutral ground’s better. For now, anyway.’

  His voice was nice, well-spoken without being posh. He was wearing well-cut navy trousers and a mulberry and blue striped shirt. The watch on his wrist was a black and gold Breitling. And—she now knew it was true; believed him absolutely—he was her actual biological father.

  ‘When I was little I always thought my dad was a film star,’ said Lola, ‘because the only Americans I knew were the ones I’d seen on TV.’

  ‘And you got yourself an advertising exec instead. Bad luck.’