Miranda's Big Mistake - Jill Mansell [42]
Sitting up, Miranda hugged her knees.
`Don't tell me, you ate all the vanilla truffles. No, better than that, Jason kicked you too. You went berserk and dangled him by his ankles out of the window until he squealed for mercy.'
If Jason had tried to kick her, Florence thought, she would certainly have been tempted to go in for a spot of ankle-dangling.
`I told Bruce and Verity I couldn't give them the money they wanted because I needed it for myself. I said I'd got myself a toyboy and that we were going to take off together on a round-the-world cruise and spend spend spend until every last penny was gone.'
`You didn't!' Miranda squealed and clapped her hands. `Oh yes. You should have seen their faces. Sheer bliss,'
sighed Florence. `When I assured Bruce that if we married he wouldn't have to call Orlando Dad, he almost had a panic attack on the spot.'
`They really believed you?'
Miranda was by this time crying with laughter. She wiped her eyes with the front of her black lacy top; being black, it was handy for soaking up mascara.
`They believed every word.'
`But… Orlando!'
`Seemed like the kind of name a gigolo would have.' Florence looked pleased with herself. `I didn't plan any of this in advance, you know. All spur-of-the-moment stuff. I just made it up as I went along. It was brilliant, I was so impressed with myself… heavens, I could become the next Barbara Cartland.'
`One's enough,' said Miranda. `Anyway, there isn't enough pink lipstick in the world for the two of you. A fortune-hunting gigolo,' she went on, reaching for the box of vanilla truffles and generously offering one to Florence. `What gave you that idea?'
`Tom Barrett and his mail-order bride, the girl he brought over from Thailand. I told you about him, remember?' Miranda nodded.
`You told me it wouldn't last.'
`He knows that. Tom isn't stupid. But he's having fun, doing what he wants to do,' said Florence. `And his daughter isn't giving him grief about it. As long as Tom's happy, she's happy. She isn't having a nervous breakdown at the thought of all the money she won't be inheriting.'
`So how long are you going to keep this up?' Miranda spoke through a mouthful of truffle.
`Ooh, a couple of months, I thought.'
`A couple of months! Isn't Bruce going to want to meet this no-good lover of yours?'
`Probably.' Florence shrugged. `But he won't be able to, will he?' She took a jaunty swig of Scotch. `I'll tell him Orlando's fussy about who he meets and that, basically, Bruce just isn't rich enough.'
Chapter 18
For Chloe, the next two weeks were a nightmare. Every day, during her lunch hour and after work, she trudged from hideous flat to even more hideous flat, desperately searching for anything remotely habitable.
Every evening, when her mother phoned from Manchester, Chloe lied brightly to her, insisting she was fine and giving the impression that the only reason she hadn't found somewhere else to live yet was because there were so many gorgeous properties to choose from.
And then there was work itself, more of a minefield nowadays than a shop, with Bruce feigning concern for her well-being when all the time - Chloe just knew - he was desperately plotting how he was going to sack her. His mood hadn't been improved, either, by the news that his mother had taken up with some unscrupulous toyboy and was evidently planning to squander all her money on him instead of giving it to Bruce.
`She's gone barmy, completely barmy. I could get her sectioned for this,' he raged. `As for the business,' he muttered ominously, `I don't know how I'm going to keep it together, I really don't.'
The atmosphere in the shop wasn't a happy one. And,
sod's law, the harder Chloe tried to be the perfect employee, the more things went wrong. Having never been late back from lunch before, she promptly earned herself two black marks in a week.
`I'm so sorry, the bus broke down