Miranda's Big Mistake - Jill Mansell [100]
`Look, I know you're fed up at the moment,' Fenn went on more kindly. `You're bored and you want some fun. I just don't want you taking it out on my flat.'
Miranda's shoulders sagged in defeat. He was right, of course - deep down, she knew they had wildly differing tastes. It would be like asking Margaret Thatcher to sashay down the catwalk in a Vivienne Westwood basque.
Oh, but how long was she going to feel like this, hollow with misery and so lonely she could cry?
Wearily Miranda reached for another sandwich. Soggy already, like her life. Fun, had Fenn said?
The way things were going, she couldn't imagine ever having fun again.
Chapter 41
It was even more depressing deciding to become an entrepreneur and having your brilliant new idea laughed at.
`Miranda,' said Fenn when she had finished explaining it to him at work the next day, `you can't do that.'
`Why not? It's recycling! Anita Roddick would be proud of me.' Miranda gestured at the floor with her broom. `You cut hair, I sweep it up, it gets chucked in the bin… can't you see how wasteful that is? We're talking famous hair here, Fenn. People would pay good money for hair belonging to their favourite celebrities. What I thought we could do was curl up little strands, set them in perspex and sell them as jewellery… say you were a huge Barry Manilow fan and you could wear a necklace containing a little piece of Barry Manilow… imagine the thrill!'
Silence. She had run out of breath.
`And Corinne does our pedicures,' said Fenn. `She can save all the clippings. We could call them Toenails of the Rich and Famous.'
Miranda looked at him.
`You're making fun of me.'
`And then there's the waxing, we could call that Leg-Hair to Treasure.'
`This is the best idea I've ever had,' she wailed, `and you won't even take it seriously. We could be rich!'
Fenn, who was already rich, glanced over Miranda's shoulder as the salon door was pushed open.
`Miranda, trust me, stealing other people's toenails isn't the way-'
`Oh, now you're just twisting things.' Exasperated, Miranda could have kicked him. `All I said was hair. Stealing the toenails was your idea, not mine.'
Another stunned silence. Oh dear, maybe she'd been a bit loud. She really hadn't meant-'
`Don't you just love it,' drawled an amused voice behind her, `when you overhear part of a conversation and can't imagine for the life of you what it's all about?'
Not only an amused voice, but a familiar one. Miranda felt all the hairs at the back of her neck leap to attention. She swung round, mouth idiotically agape, and came face to face with Miles Harper.
He was standing there laughing at her, wearing a black polo shirt and black jeans and looking so drop-dead gorgeous she had to struggle to breathe normally. Heavens, this was embarrassing, it was her turn to speak and she was terrified of trying to say hi in case it came out as something else altogether.
Something excruciating like, Oh, Miles, what are you doing wasting your time with that awful brain-dead Daisy Schofield when you could have me instead?
The name brought Miranda crashing back to earth with a thud. Damn, this must be why he'd come to the salon. Her tongue magically untied itself.
`She isn't here.'`Who?'
`Daisy.' Oh, those wicked green eyes, how unfair was this?
`I know she isn't here.' Miles grinned. `She's in Sydney.' Floundering, Miranda said, `So, um, do you want to make an appointment?'
`To see Daisy in Sydney? No thanks.' Miles was clearly enjoying himself.
`Okay if I borrow her for a moment?' He raised his eyebrows at Fenn.
`Hang on to your fingernails,' said Fenn.
Miles led Miranda away from the crowded central section of the salon. When they could no longer be overheard he said, `I came to see you.'
Miranda felt her knees begin to buckle. She leaned against the chair behind her, forgetting that it was a revolving one. With his legendary reflexes, Miles grabbed her in the nick of time.
`I had to come.' His tone was soulful. `You never wrote, you