There’s only one problem. Everything is extortionate. Miles told me there was no budget, to buy what we needed to buy, but this is insane. Each bauble is around twenty pounds. I’d spend thousands and thousands in here to kit out the penthouse. I decide the best plan is to let Bea choose one special Harrods decoration and call The Montague’s concierge for help with where else I should go. Miles works far too hard for me to splurge all his money on something he’s not even into.
MILES
I don’t consider myself a man easily blindsided. I’ve been in business long enough that very little surprises me. But when I insert my keycard into the door of the penthouse that evening and push, I am utterly gobsmacked.
It’s as if the hideous tackiness of Winter Wonderland has infiltrated my precious sanctuary in this beautiful hotel. Everywhere I look: flashing lights. Tack. One of those revolting fibre-optic garlands hangs on the mantlepiece, its ends morphing slowly from green to blue to purple. And is that an inflatable snowman through the French doors to the terrace? Eighties Christmas music blares so loudly through the sound system that I can barely think straight.
My first thought: what the fuck has happened to my penthouse?
My second thought: why the fuck is Dave sitting on my sofa, tucking into tea and biscuits?
Dave jumps to his feet as soon as he sees me. ‘Hiya, boss. Sorry.’
‘Daddy!’ Bea launches herself at me. Her mouth is smeared with chocolate and her little face is flushed. ‘We decorated! We buyed loads of things for you!’
‘I can see that.’ I bend to give her a smacker, but my tone is dry.
Saoirse appears from the bathroom. She’s in the same clothes as yesterday, which makes sense. Skinny jeans, and that clingy white t-shirt I remember all too clearly peeling off her. No makeup, and her hair is pulled back, a messy cloud of baby curls framing her face. She’s beautiful.
‘Hi.’ She looks at me and then around the room self-consciously. Almost as if she’s scared of my reaction.
‘You’ve been busy.’
‘You have no idea!’ Her natural enthusiasm takes over, and she comes towards me, hands going, speaking speed ratcheting up at a scary pace. I focus hard on processing her accent.
‘We went to Harrods, and it was absolutely gorgeous, but everything was so dear, and I felt guilty spending so much of your money on things that really were a crazy price, so I called the concierge and asked if there were any garden centres we could drive to that might be cheaper than Harrods, and she suggested one in Hounslow, so Dave took us, and we?—’
‘Hounslow?’
‘Osterley, boss,’ Dave chips in. ‘There’s a pretty decent garden centre out there. Nice trees, too.’
What looks like a real tree stands over in the corner, in front of the French doors. It’s a fine tree. Shame it’s covered in all manner of tack and flashing coloured lights. Revolting.
‘How the hell did you get that up here?’ It must be eight feet.
‘Dave helped. And there was a nice porter downstairs—Carl.’ She giggles. ‘He was very muscly. He and Dave got it in the stand.’
Was he, now. It’s unclear why the mention of muscular Carl makes me want to act churlishly. I’m feeling usurped in my own hotel suite.
‘You can get going, Dave.’ My tone is gruff. ‘I don’t need you this evening.’
A flash of annoyance crosses Saoirse’s face and she rolls her eyes at me. ‘Thank you, Dave.’ She skips over and gives him a bear hug, and the surprised delight is clear on his face. ‘You’ve been an absolute rockstar. We couldn’t have done it without you. Sorry for trashing your car.’
Wait, what? ‘The car is trashed?’
‘Only a few pine needles, Grooge. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.’
‘It’s fine, boss,’ Dave says hurriedly. ‘I’ve been charging the cordless vac over by the door. See? I’ll get it all cleaned up right now.’
I’m planning on laying into her once Dave shuts the door behind him, to tell her she shouldn’t speak to me like that, especially not in front of my other employees, but then Bea kisses my face.
‘You’ve got to see the bathroom, Daddy. It’s sooo beautiful.’
She can’t saythproperly yet, so it comes out asbarf-room, which is appropriate, considering last night’s shenanigans.
I put her down. ‘Okay, squirt. Show me.’
She bolts into the main bathroom, which I noticed last night Saoirse cleaned up impeccably, and I follow her. I can sense Saoirse trailing behind us.
