Miranda's Big Mistake - Jill Mansell [107]
`What? Oh, no hurry, that can wait. So Alice, did you crochet that amazing waistcoat yourself?'
Johnnie looked as if he'd quite like to bring a dinner plate crashing down on Miles's head. If you couldn't trust the Lone Ranger to get you out of trouble, who could you trust?
Tonto rode valiantly to the rescue.
`It can't wait.' Miranda's voice was firm. `I'm sorry, but your godmother phoned up twenty minutes ago,' she told Johnnie. `It seems she's had a bit of a mishap with a pair of handcuffs and somehow managed to get herself manacled to her Nautilus machine. She needs you to sort things out. Apparently you're the only one with a spare key.'
A disappointed - but understanding - Alice was dropped off outside Parson's Green tube station. Miranda winced with sympathy as she heard Johnnie, outside the car, awkwardly mumbling his way through the it's-been-great-and-I'll-ringyou routine.
`Yes, but when?' Eagerly Alice clutched at his arm. `Tomorrow morning, tomorrow evening?'
`That was a nightmare,' Johnnie groaned, collapsing back into the driver's seat. As they sped away, he lit a cigarette. `And you were no bloody help, you pillock.'
`She's still waving.' Miranda peered over her shoulder at the sad, droopy-hemmed outline of the figure on the pavement. Since nobody else was going to, she waved back.
`We turned up, didn't we?' Miles grinned. `I knew she'd crocheted that waistcoat. Jesus, you won't be doing that again in a hurry.'
`Isn't this a bit mean, dropping her at the tube?' complained Miranda. `Couldn't you at least have given her a lift home?'
`My godmother's handcuffed to her Nautilus machine. No time to lose,' said Johnnie, after a moment's hesitation. `Thanks, by the way,' he told Miranda. `If it hadn't been for you we'd still be there, discussing crochet stitches and bloody horoscopes.'
`Who set you up?' Miranda marvelled. `I mean, I don't get it. Which of your friends seriously thought you two lovely young people would get on like a house on fire?'
Another pause, a longer one this time.
`Hang a left,' said Miles. `We'll go to my place. Miranda wouldn't let me jump into the shower at hers.'
`That's because you wanted to jump in with me.'
`Save water, shower with a friend, that's what I always say.' Miles thought for a second. `So long as it's a female friend. Wouldn't catch me sharing a shower with Johnnie-boy here. Hairy backs.' He shook his head. `Always a bit of a turn-off.'
`That's the other reason I wouldn't let you in,' Miranda told him. `So you wouldn't see mine.'
Miles's flat was on the ground floor of a four-storey Edwardian house just off the King's Road. In the living room the walls were conker-brown and hung with framed prints of Formula One cars old and new. The highly polished wooden floor was strewn with multicoloured rugs. Miranda was relieved to see that Miles didn't go in for putting photographs of himself on display.
The sofa, in burnt-orange soft leather, was Olympic-sized, as were the TV, the hi-fi and the bookcase housing every motor-racing book known to man.
`Very tidy.' She nodded at the stacks of magazines in serried piles beneath the glossy walnut coffee table.
`Only because my cleaner's been in.' Amused by her evident astonishment, Miles pulled his white sweatshirt up over his head. `My turn for a shower. Johnnie will get you a drink. Unless you'd rather keep me company in the bathroom, stop me getting lonely…?'
`Johnnie can get me a drink.' Miranda bounced on to the sofa, which was impressively squashy. `Gosh, you could sleep on this thing.'
`You can do all sorts on it.' Miles winked as he headed for the bathroom. `But don't try anything too exotic before I get back.'
`Can I have a look around while you're gone?'
`Feel free, snoop all you like. Nothing embarrassing in my drawers,' said Miles. `No ancient knickers with pictures of pretty-boy pop stars on them in this flat.'
Miranda hurled a cushion at him. Laughing, he exited,singing, `When, will I, will I be famous?' in a breathless falsetto.
It was no good, some things were