Page 25 of Hit For Six (Balls and Banter #1)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Monty

If you’d told Monty this time last week that he’d be slow blinking at a cat as he counted its biscuits into a bowl, gradually opening his eyes to gaze into the marmalade madam’s striking green pools so she was in no doubt that he could be trusted, he would have belly laughed until he passed out.

And yet, here he was, taking domestication to new levels and feeling rather proud of himself.

It helped to make up for the disappointment that nothing else had developed between himself and Lola, anyway.

It wasn’t for lack of trying. But every time Monty attempted to give her a certain look, she’d quickly turn away and every time he went to woo her, she’d deftly change the subject, turn it into a joke, or quip sarcastically.

And Monty knew that he needed more than friendship with Lola if she was to become a constant in his life.

Friends to lovers might be a film and book phenomenon that worked on screen and page.

Mediums where romantic stories could be gobbled up in a matter of hours.

But this was the real world, where he’d fallen for Lola in practically the same timeframe, and he was far too impulsive to wait.

That’s why he played T20 and not the long, drawn out game of test cricket.

Even a One Day International was akin to watching paint dry for Monty.

Yes, as a fellow cricketer he admired the skill when those occasional sixes or fours came along, and he could appreciate the discipline that was patience.

But he couldn’t be cautious if he tried.

When opportunity came his way, he liked to grab it with both hands.

He was already beginning to suspect this was a result of all the restrictions set upon him as a child.

He’d learnt so many things about himself in these few days that he’d known Lola.

After breakfast at Roly Poly, he’d gone in for a kiss cheek, only to be presented with Lola’s outstretched hand and her supercilious grin.

But maybe that was best, even if he could still feel the tingles from their shake hours later.

If he’d gotten too loved-up, he’d have floated into the meeting with London and Will Curtis and given them both a full on snog.

Once the contract formalities were over, the press had arrived to take photos.

There would never usually be this much pomp but Seth and Sanjay had signed on the dotted line right after Monty, and London thought his personal hattrick was deserving of a write up in some of the national papers.

It was flattering to be the centre of attention, however Monty would have preferred for this to happen when he was looking less haggard.

He bargained with everyone that he’d only take off his cap if the eye bags could be airbrushed away.

Now he had to hope they’d kept their word.

Another thing he was hopeful for was sleep.

And maybe (just maybe) by offering to look after Squiffy, he’d inadvertently created another date opportunity.

Lola had given him a tentative yes to his proposal without even realising what it involved.

Which meant he had one more (and probably last, unless she found a future cat sitter) chance to impress her.

No pressure.

Squiffy cleared her bowl and Monty was about to tidy up, when his phone vibrated against his arse.

Fishing his mobile out of his back pocket, and hoping that it might be Lola telling him how much she missed him, he let out an exasperated sigh when he saw his mother’s number flash across the screen.

But he couldn’t continue putting Helena off, especially when he’d been absent from the office.

Tongues would already be wagging and he needed to do what he could to build bridges and reinstate a sense of harmony in both his family and work life.

Completely overlooking the fact that he should have handed in his notice by now as far as the business was concerned.

‘Darling! I’ve finally caught you. What an elusive man you are! But I– we – just wanted to say a huge congratulations.’

‘Erm… hi, Mum. The news is out already?’

‘A little bird saw the announcement on social media, which you know I don’t particularly approve of, but in this instance…

’ That would be Saskia. His sister was glued to her phone in-between playing taxi to Roddie and his older brother and sister, Archie and Charlotte, who were ferried about to all manner of extra-curricular activities– piano, French lessons and riding meeting with their grandmother’s wholehearted approval.

‘Anyway, well done to you and your teammates. If there are future fixtures in Paris, Madrid or Rome, do let me know, I feel a European cultural city break coming on.’

‘Will do.’

His mother had always been typically two-birds-with-one-stone about watching him play T20 in the flesh, alleviating her disappointment with a more civilized tonic. It sounded as if he’d been given a glow up in the papers, at least. She’d be the first one to comment on an unkempt photo.

‘So, your father and I are off to the summer house in Provence at the end of next week. One final holiday before the season is over. The Cotswold house staff are taking their annual leave and I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind calling in every other day to water the plants. Stay away from the orchids, though.’

At this, Monty had to let out a chuckle, recalling the time he’d pulled the snowy white petals from his mother’s favourite flowers, stuffing them in the drawers of the antique dresser and trying to pin the blame on his sisters.

Hmm, perhaps Helena still held a grudge and that was why he so often found himself frowned upon.

And ha, so this was the reason his mother had called.

Always a thinly veiled agenda. She hadn’t as much as asked him about his new training schedule.

He could only just commit. One week later and he’d be in the grips of a full-on fitness regime.

‘Sure. Say bonjour to France for me.’

It had been too long since he’d visited the family’s second residence.

It was a place that had warmed his heart, not least because everyone seemed to relax there.

At blessed last. Monty suspected this had much to do with the swathes of heady summer lavender and the perpetual drone of the bumblebees that surrounded the smaller house.

Time had always stood still in Provence.

No more competition or keeping up appearances.

Just bread, cheese and wine. Well, lemonade for the minors– which Saskia topped up with champagne when the grown-ups weren’t looking.

‘And then you must come over as soon as we’re back.

I’m not sure that we’ll fit something in for just the immediate family until the autumn, although it’s well overdue– besides, you and your father will be in the thick of the post season analysis and merchandise planning.

’ Monty gulped. He’d clean forgotten what time of year it was.

‘But we do have the annual end of summer party to look forward to.’

‘Can I bring a plus one?’ Monty jumped in before Helena could drone on about the menu of the soirée that was customarily held just before the autumn equinox. ‘Actually she’s more than that.’

She really was. Lola was unlocking so many realisations in him. But what was he saying? He was a fool to tempt fate like this when they weren’t even an item! Anything to stop Helena inviting the likes of that woman who’d been rammed down his throat at Roddie’s party, though.

‘Oh, Monty! Finally!’ Idiot. ‘I mean that’s wonderful. Background info check, though: we’d prefer to know something about your lady ahead of time.’

‘Well, I think it would be rather nice if Lola told you that herself when she comes to the party. She’s a lovely girl. You’ll get on brilliantly, you’ll see.’

‘Monty! I can’t believe you just used that word.’

Monty replayed his side of the dialogue but he was none the wiser.

‘Excuse me?’

‘The dreaded N word!’ Helena sounded exasperated. ‘Surely you haven’t forgotten what you were taught at school during prep: there are infinite ways to better describe something that’s to one’s liking.’

Monty had zero recollection of such a petty lesson.

What was wrong with saying nice ? Plenty of things were nice.

Lola described things as nice. Just like she had in the queue the other day at the Roly Poly when she’d stealthily nabbed, and then eaten, most of the cinnamon roll.

Curiously, Helena didn’t take umbrage with the French city of the same name, which she visited every summer for a sojourn within a sojourn.

‘I think we’ll have to agree to disag–’

‘Just a moment, darling. Your father wants a word.’

Christ. Monty had rested on his laurels. Not that this had been the easiest conversation with his mother. She’d played good cop admirably, though, paving the way for Frederick to come along with his two pennies’ worth.

His father cleared his throat and Monty steeled himself.

‘I was… erm… hoping to extend an olive branch,’ Frederick’s monotone voice assaulted his eardrums, suggesting anything but, sending poor Squiffy zooming off to the retreat of the lounge.

How Monty wished he could join her. ‘What you did the other day was preposterous. Why anyone would go to such lengths for a complete stranger is beyond me. But let’s put it behind us and get back to business. ’

Monty grimaced. That was going to be interesting if Lola did agree to accompany him to the party that she knew nothing about.

There was also the terrifying matter of breaking the full-time T20 contract news to his father.

The right moment never seemed to present itself and at this rate, Monty wasn’t sure that it ever would.

‘I can do that,’ he said, cursing himself for not having the balls to stand up to his family, but determined to keep his emotions out of it.

Of course Monty didn’t want to agree to anything.

There was a principle in all of this. But there was also no other way around things.

He’d made his point and he had to accept that Frederick was in charge.

If Monty truly wanted autonomy within Beau-re-mi, then one day it would be his, regardless of his imminent resignation.

But he’d never wanted anything less. It was a feeling that was becoming clearer to him at an astonishing rate.

There was no going back to his old self who’d toed the line.

Best then to let this matter go. It helped that he could hold his head high.

He’d genuinely tried to do the right thing and he could take a smidgen of comfort from that.

‘I’m not sure if you’ve been checking your emails, Monty?

We’ve tried to keep everyone in the loop.

’ For the love of God, what now? ‘Over the past few days, the sales of a certain dress have gone through the roof and the factory can’t cope with demand.

’ His father paused for effect. ‘This is categorically not the kind of publicity we want to attract. We’re a wholesome upmarket brand with a classy clientele. ’

Monty wasn’t sure what any of this had to do with him. He’d already put forward his suggestion to make amends and the buck should have fallen with the root cause of the problem: the designer and those who’d signed off on the collection.

‘What I’m trying to say is Keanu Reeve’s endorsement of the brand has worn off and this has become your team’s problem , Montgomery.

Just like I warned it would in the meeting.

You’re the one heading up the digital marketing department and you need to come up with a solid strategy to shift the attention elsewhere.

I’d like it on my desk by the end of the week so your mother and I can go to Provence and drink some wine in the sun. ’