Molly's Millions (17 page)

Tom spent the whole of Friday night in a state of panic. Would he make the front page? Was this the breakthrough story he’d hoped for? He’d rung Nick at
Vive!
and he’d sounded suitably excited but couldn’t promise him anything, so he spent the better part of Friday night pacing up and down their tiny bed and breakfast room, which really annoyed Flora because every other floorboard squeaked like a mammoth-sized mouse.

‘Go to bed, Daddy!’ she yelled over her duvet sounding scarily like Anise.

‘All right, all right, I’m going.’

‘You said that an hour ago.’

‘Don’t be so tetchy,’ Tom said.

Flora sighed like a weary parent. ‘I don’t know what that means but I don’t care. Just go to bed!’

Finally, he made it into bed but he hardly slept. He just kept playing his story over and over in his mind, creating
headlines, imagining how it might look. This could be the moment he’d dreamt of:
his
moment.

He closed his eyes and a funny thing happened: he was instantly back on
Susanna
. No, make that
Levinson
. He smiled to himself as he buried his head further into his pillow and got comfortable.

‘It’s not often that we have the same guest on the show only a month after their last interview, but our next guest is rather special,’ Levinson announced. ‘It’s my great pleasure to welcome back, by popular demand, reporter extraordinaire, Tom Mackenzie.’ There was a huge eruption of applause from the audience as Tom walked down the steps and shook hands with Levinson.

‘Now, Tom, you caused quite a stir the last time you were on the show, didn’t you?’

Tom smiled, a sexy A-list actor kind of smile, and got an instant whoop from a few audience members.

‘Don’t be modest, now,’ Levinson insisted. ‘The phones didn’t stop all night after you sang for us. In fact, I’m rather surprised to find you’re still writing for
Vive!
. I thought you would have a record deal by now.’

‘It’s funny you should say that,’ Tom said, a boyish grin playing round his face, ‘because I was signed up the very next day after your show, and my first single, “His Own Boss,” will be out next week.’

‘But I’m right in thinking you’re still working as a reporter?’ Levinson asked, stroking his chin in a thoughtful manner.

‘Andre,’ Tom said, leaning forward slightly, ‘I felt I owed it to the nation to keep on reporting the Molly Bailey story. Some stories just have to be told.’

When Molly and Fizz ventured downstairs to the dining room on Saturday morning, Eleanora was sat in a deep winged chair with what looked like a hundred cushions supporting her.

‘Morning!’ Molly trilled.

‘Ah! Morning!’ Eleanora said, lowering her magazine and smiling at Molly.

‘What are you reading?’ Molly asked.

‘
Hello
!
’

‘Really?’

Eleanora’s eyes narrowed with mischief. ‘Just because I live in an ancient pile doesn’t mean I don’t know what’s going on in the world. I know all the latest celebrity gossip.’

Molly was just about to ask her what was going on this particular morning when panic rose. She’d almost forgotten. Chartlebury Court had waved its magic wand over her and she’d almost been able to forget about the outside world where people like Tom Mackenzie operated.

‘You don’t get
Vive!
, do you?’ Molly asked hesitantly.

‘Yes. I couldn’t begin the day without a dose of
Vive!
. Why? Are you a fan too?’

‘No,’ Molly said. ‘Well, yes,’ she added quickly. ‘I mean, do you mind if I read it first when it arrives?’

‘Be my guest,’ Eleanora said and then smiled. ‘You
are
my guest!’

‘When does it normally arrive?’

‘Anytime now. You in a hurry to read your star sign?’

Molly shook her head. ‘What’s for breakfast?’ she asked, keen to change the subject before Eleanora suspected something.

‘Anything you find that hasn’t gone out of date on that table,’ Eleanora said, pointing behind Molly to the longest trestle table she had ever seen.

‘This looks gorgeous,’ Molly said, picking up a pale gold napkin embroidered with the initials
EH
. ‘Are these your initials?’

Eleanora nodded. ‘Eleanora Howard. As in the great Howard family. Believe it or not, I’m a distant relative of Catherine Howard’s.’

Molly’s eyes narrowed slightly. Her history just wasn’t up to scratch.

‘Henry VIII’s number five.’

‘Oh!
Really?
’

‘Silly girl lost her head. Wouldn’t catch me losing my head over a man.’

‘Or me,’ Molly said.

‘Never have and never will,’ Eleanora said emphatically and Molly nodded in agreement. ‘Except for Philip Carr-Forrester,’ she added by way of an afterthought. ‘And Robert Benjamin.’

‘There are always exceptions,’ Molly agreed, remembering beautiful Andrew Fellowes from her horticultural training days.

‘So you’ve no young man now?’ Eleanora asked.

Molly could feel her face heating up like a furnace. ‘No,’ she said, diving into a packet of cornflakes in the hope that she’d avoid further questioning.

‘Ah! Here’s our young paper boy now,’ Eleanora announced, peering out of the window at the young boy cycling up the driveway.

‘That’s OK!’ Molly said, on her feet in a split second. ‘I’ll
get it for you.’

‘Thank you, dear.’

Molly left the room and walked quickly to the front door, Fizz following closely behind her in the hope that he was going to get a walk. She didn’t dare look at the paper when she picked it up but folded it neatly in half and marched back to the dining room.

‘You take your time with
Vive!
,’ Eleanora said, ‘I’m still reading this film premiere report. Well, looking at the pictures at least. Goodness, the things these celebrities wear. Look at this one! There are more holes in it than a golf course!’

Molly sat down and quickly opened the paper. Nothing on page two or three. Or four or five. Six and seven were devoid of anything by Tom Mackenzie too, as were eight and nine. Molly felt a smile warming her face. Had he lost her, then? Had Carolyn’s plan worked? Or had he decided to pack his job in and admit defeat?

Breathing a huge sigh of relief, Molly closed the paper. It was then that she saw it. In letters as thick and black as midnight, the headline on the front page hit her as hard as a boxer’s punch.

My Night with Millionaire Molly.

Tom was beaming like a court jester. He was jumping up and down like a kid on springs. He was laughing like an idiot. He was everything happy that had ever existed because he’d got his front page.

This kind of behaviour
might
have been passable if he’d been in the privacy of his own home, and
might
even have been forgivable if it had been in the middle of a busy street, but it wasn’t; he was in a small Cotswold newsagent’s.

‘Daddy! People are looking!’ Flora cried, tugging at his sleeve.

‘Let them look! Let them look at a front-page reporter!’ he said, doing a little jig in the middle of the shop floor.

‘
Daddy!
’

‘Excuse me, sir!’ a deep voice suddenly interrupted. ‘I’m going to have to ask you to leave.’

Tom turned round and came face to face with a man no bigger than his mother, and she’d only ever been a couple of
inches taller than a washing machine.

‘Excuse me?’

‘You’re going to have to leave, sir. Take your purchases and leave, please.’

Tom stared, eyes wide in disbelief. ‘Do you know who I am?’

‘
Daddy!’

‘No, Flora, I think the man should know who he has in his shop.’

‘I don’t care if you’re Elvis Presley, you’re upsetting my customers and I want you to leave.’

‘Upsetting your—’

‘Daddy –
come on
!’ Flora interrupted, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him outside.

‘Flora! That was really embarrassing,’ he said once they were both outside.

‘You’re embarrassed? What about
me
?
You
embarrassed
me
!’ she shouted, her grey eyes flashing wildly.

‘Get in the car, Flora. You’re causing a scene,’ Tom said very calmly.

Flora’s mouth dropped open as if in miscomprehension. ‘It’s not me who’s causing a scene,’ she said, her voice suddenly very quiet.

‘Get in the car.’

‘No.’

‘What?’

‘I’m not getting in the car.’

‘We’re leaving right now so get in the car,’ Tom repeated.

Flora shook her head. ‘I’m staying here.’

Tom’s eyebrows crashed together. ‘You’re staying here? On your own? In the middle of Gloucestershire?’

‘I’m not going with you.’

‘Why not?’

Flora glared at him. ‘Because you’re turning into a real big head. You’re worse than Ian Evans in my class, who’s always showing off his flipping swimming trophies.’

‘
Flora!
Watch your language.’

‘
Me
watch my language! I’ve been listening to your bad language non-stop.’

‘Look! I’m not going to stand in the middle of the street talking about this. Get in the car.’

‘No.’

‘
Flora!
’ For one brief moment, Tom really felt that he could have smacked her but, as he looked down, he saw an anxious ten-year-old girl, as fragile as a buttercup, and he just wanted to hug her.

‘Flo,’ he began again, his voice calmer now. ‘I’m sorry if you haven’t liked me much of late, but I’ve been under a lot of pressure to get this story right. If my reaction to getting a front page doesn’t please you, if I swear too much and show off too much, then I’m sorry. Really, I am.’

Flora kicked one of her pink sandals against the other and chewed her lip.

‘Flo? Do you accept my apology?’

Flora looked up at her father, her eyes diamond-bright as if she might be about to cry. ‘OK,’ she said in a tiny voice.

Tom smiled with relief. ‘Come here!’ he said, his arms enclosing her in a hug. ‘I love you, you know,’ he whispered into a perfect pink ear.

‘I love you too, Daddy.’

Tom blinked hard. This was turning out to be quite an emotional day. ‘Shall we get going, then?’

‘OK,’ she said. ‘But I want you to promise not to get all silly and big-headed again. And to stop swearing too.’

‘I promise!’ he laughed, and they got into the car.

Leaving the village, they headed out into the countryside. They hadn’t been driving for more than five minutes before Tom spoke.

‘Do you know how hard it is to get a front-page story?’

‘Daddy! You promised!’

‘
Front page
, though, Flo! Pretty bloody good, eh?’

Flora sighed wearily and stared out of the window in resignation.

Molly scanned the front-page article quickly and quietly, her heart racing like a marathon runner’s as she read Declan’s account of their night together.

What Declan O’Hara didn’t realise was that his pretty bedfellow was none other than Molly Bailey – England’s new Robin Hood. ‘I bought a copy of Vive! the next morning and read the Molly column, and it just clicked,’ he said.

‘Just clicked!’ Molly said under her breath. ‘Bastard.’

‘She’d told me about a few of the people she’d helped recently but I thought she was just a nice person. I didn’t realise that she was Molly Bailey.’

‘
Lying
bastard!’ Molly corrected.

‘What’s that?’ Eleanora called from the other side of the room.

‘Nothing!’ Molly said quickly. ‘Just talking to Fizz.’

‘Has he had his breakfast?’

‘Yes, thank you, he has,’ Molly said and, seeing that Eleanora was still deeply involved in celebrity gossip, took the first page of the newspaper and scrunched it up into a
tiny ball and stuffed it up the sleeve of her jumper. She could always blame it on Fizz if the page was missed.

‘Drat it! What does this say?’ Eleanora suddenly asked, pointing a long finger at the magazine caption. ‘These glasses don’t seem to be working anymore and the print’s too small for me to read.’

Molly crossed the room and read the brief article for her, then, sitting on a footstool opposite her, said, ‘How would you like to go shopping?’

Eleanora’s lipsticked mouth dropped open. ‘Shopping?’

‘We could buy some new glasses for you, some lampshades, new cups and saucers, clothes—’

‘But I can’t aff—’

‘I can,’ Molly interrupted.

Eleanora looked baffled, her eyes narrowing with just a hint of suspicion.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Molly said. ‘You’re thinking, what do
I
get out of this? Why should a complete stranger do a good deed for you? Am I right?’ She paused and saw Eleanora’s nod of affirmation. ‘Please,’ Molly began, ‘you don’t have to worry about that with me. I’m not after anything. This is simply something I do.’

‘But—’

‘No buts. It will be my pleasure.’

‘I haven’t been shopping for years,’ Eleanora said.

‘Well, you’ve got some catching up to do, haven’t you?’

It was slow progress at first. Eleanora didn’t even want to accept a free cup of tea from Molly.

‘I won’t accept charity!’ she said when Molly tried to push her into a ladies’ boutique.

‘This isn’t charity,’ Molly told her. ‘It’s two women having a bit of fun.’

But she soon got into the swing of things and, before they knew it, they had spent four fun-filled hours in Cheltenham and came away having ordered two brand new pairs of glasses and bought two sets of china cups and saucers, a new rug for the hallway, five picture frames for homeless photos, four lampshades, a new television, and about a hundred other bits and bobs.

‘Molly,’ Eleanora started when they got back to the car, ‘why did you just do all that for me?’

‘Because I wanted to,’ Molly said but she could see that Eleanora didn’t look convinced. ‘Let’s just say that I’ve come into some money, and I want to share it.’

‘Really?’ Eleanora said. ‘Ah! I see!’

‘What?’

‘You’re like that girl in the paper.’

‘What girl?’

‘That girl they’re calling the new Robin Hood.’

Molly panicked. She knew, didn’t she? Molly had recognised that knowing look in her eyes that morning as soon as they’d started talking about
Vive!
. Eleanora had said she read all the stories and knew exactly what was going on in the world. So why hadn’t she mentioned anything?

‘I wouldn’t believe everything you read in the papers,’ Molly cautioned.

‘Wouldn’t you?’

‘No. It’s probably written by some unscrupulous journalist who’s made half of the facts up.’

‘Really?’ Eleanora said, sounding somewhat deflated, as if the thought that newspapers might actually tell lies had never
occurred to her.

‘I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised.’

‘But can you imagine what it would be like to have a big win on the lottery like that?’ Eleanora asked. ‘What would you do with the money?’

‘I don’t know,’ Molly shrugged, hoping that she wasn’t blushing and giving herself away. ‘What would you do?’

Eleanora gave a little chuckle. ‘Chartlebury Court has done a good job of spending all my money in the past. I’m sure it could handle a few thousand more.’

Molly nodded, remembering the crumbling plaster ceiling in the dining room.

‘And it would certainly stave off those heritage people for a bit longer. Don’t get me wrong,’ she said, ‘I admire the work they do but I want to do it myself.’

Molly nodded but she could see that that would never happen, not without a large injection of funds, but it was nice that Eleanora was so determined and independent.

‘How will you raise the money you need?’

There was a loud sucking of air through teeth. ‘In the usual way, I expect. Open days – which I loathe. Hosting the local garden fete. Sending out begging letters to anyone who’ll read them, and selling the occasional painting – though I only resort to that if there’s major work needing doing. There’s not much point hanging on to a painting if the roof above is letting rainwater in to damage it, is there?’

‘It must be difficult for you.’

‘And for my father before me. Each generation has owned a little less and had to repair a little more.’

Molly sighed and they drove in silence for a few minutes, heading out of Cheltenham and winding through the golden
villages which lined the route back to Chartlebury Court.

‘I suppose you’ll be heading off soon?’ Eleanora said. Was it Molly’s imagination, or was her voice tinged with regret?

‘I was hoping to stay,’ Molly said, ‘but something’s come up and I’m afraid I’d best be moving on.’

‘Where are you heading?’

Molly smiled. ‘I haven’t made up my mind yet.’

Eleanora nodded. ‘That’s fine,’ she said, her eyes misty and wistful as if she thought such indecisiveness was delicious.

After unpacking Eleanora’s goods and packing the new overnight bag she’d bought herself, Molly took out the latest instalment of money she’d withdrawn from her bank accounts and placed it in a creamy envelope. She hesitated before putting the yellow gerbera inside but it just wouldn’t be right not to leave her own personal calling card.

Sneaking into the kitchen, she propped the envelope against the mug tree for Eleanora to find later and then headed outside to take Fizz for a walk, breathing in the luxuriant scent of the sky-scraping hedges. It was a beautiful place. A place a person could fall in love with very easily. Molly could quite easily imagine a quiet, unobtrusive sort of life here. A life of rose pruning and chicken feeding; of mowing lawns and making jam.

Fizz pulled hard on his lead, tugging her out of her daydreams. She watched as he pushed his snowy nose into the long grass at the side of the road and came out wet with dew. He looked up at her briefly, before shoving his nose into a clump of dandelions. Molly threw her head back and gazed up into a sky so blue that it hurt her eyes. No, she really didn’t want to leave but, after the Declan declaration, she’d have both her family and Tom Mackenzie seeking her out
before long and she didn’t intend to be caught just yet.

‘Come on, sweetheart,’ she said to Fizz. ‘It’s time we moved on.’