Page 51 of Hit For Six (Balls and Banter #1)
‘I’ll cut straight to the chase.’ Frederick rested his buttocks against the netted pocket of the billiard table where Monty had stashed his condom.
Heaven help Lola. ‘You seem like a lovely girl, but you’re not one of us.
’ Her breath became ragged. The bolstering effect of the Maltesers, the wine and that quite palatable starter had soon worn off.
Now Lola thought she might vomit. ‘Don’t think that I haven’t been in Monty’s shoes.
Naturally, I can understand the attraction.
Especially after your grand reveal at the cup final.
’ Frederick let out a sarcastic chuckle, conveniently shirking any responsibility where the design of his company’s couture was concerned.
‘It’s all kinds of wonderful to have a bit of fun.
But when all’s said and done, my son is in a different class, another league.
We’d prefer to keep it that way. I’ll see that you’re financially compensated in due course.
I can imagine how devastating it must be to lose out on a privileged lifestyle and all that comes with it.
But I’m not asking you, I’m telling you to do the right thing and walk away.
ASAP and once this soirée is over. I’ll have a cheque sent to your office at Old King Street via recorded delivery. Have I made myself clear?’
‘I…I’
Lola’s breath hitched in her throat and Frederick winced at her inability to produce the words he wanted to hear.
I love your son. I’m in too deep. It’s too late for this.
‘Good.’ He picked up a cue, walked to the end of the table and smashed the triangle of balls, potting two; a blue and (in this light) a pink, signalling the end of the matter, as if one was Monty and the other Lola.
‘Let’s keep up appearances and make our way separately to the table for the main course.
I’ll hover around here for a smoke so as not to arouse suspicion with Monty. ’
Lola wasn’t sure how she connected foot with floor as she picked her way back down the red-carpeted hallway, her world shattered into a million irreparable pieces. How was she supposed to sit straight-backed at the long gathering of guests and pretend everything was fine?
She could just imagine Monty catching her eye as he walked back to the table from the opposite direction. ‘You okay?’ he would mouth, waiting to receive Lola’s beam of a smile before winking and blowing her a kiss. She knew there and then that she couldn’t fake it.
The light was fading, which was perfect in some ways but not so ideal in others.
Lola looked over her shoulder to check nobody was watching, then took her chance and ran out the front door, cutting across the fountain and its parking circle, snapping a kitten heel and removing her footwear to sprint down the drive as fast as her legs would carry her.
‘Fuck!’ she cried, sensing the blisters forming already.
She wanted to add a larger and louder ‘fuck my life!’ to this but she needed to remain incognito.
Switching her brain back into gear and defecting to the soft grass that fringed the hard concrete, Lola jogged alongside the red maple trees until the mammoth gates swung into view.
And then she wondered how the hell she was going to scale them.
But just at that moment she heard a car pulling up outside and a pair of shoes tramping about on the ground as its owner tackled the keypad embedded in the waterfall of ivy, eventually locating a buzzer.
The gate slowly opened to reveal the bonnet of a shiny yellow Audi.
Lola hung back behind a tree trunk, wishing it were wider, sucking in her stomach.
Thankfully, she knew that the gates were slow to close too.
Once the custard monstrosity was on the drive, she’d furtively come out of hiding and slip through them undetected, although this horror of a house no doubt had undercover cameras everywhere.
Monty would be out of his mind with worry soon– if not already– but Lola couldn’t stay in this world where she was surplus to requirement.
Gingerly, she peeped around the trunk as the tyres met the tarmac, heart in her mouth as she took in the profile of the driver.
‘Woop! Let’s get this party started!’ she heard his alarmingly familiar voice declare before the car tore up the driveway.
A stunned Lola took a deep breath, unable to process what she’d just witnessed.
She sped to the gates, before limping on to the main road, where it soon became clear that she had two choices; neither particularly thrilling.
She could foolishly flag down a lift back to Bath and hope that she’d been shat on enough for one day; that the driver wouldn’t turn out to be an axe murderer.
Or she could walk until she came across a welcoming cottage, crossing her fingers that it wasn’t the modern day version of the Hansel and Gretel honeytrap.
She imagined Squiffy’s heartfelt miaows as she padded around the kitchen in search of food and opted for the former, sticking out her thumb and holding her breath.
Lola’s hairdresser, it soon transpired, was the fairy godfather of the highway as well as the salon.
Monty could keep his versions, who hadn’t even raised a bushy eyebrow during their wine-fuelled debates at the table, oblivious to the poor singer’s fate.
Her panic momentarily subsided when the sugar-purple Snippet’s branded VW Beetle pulled up next to her in the layby and Joaquín hopped out.
‘ Madre mia! Lola, I thought you were a ghost in that dress. What are you doing in the middle of nowhere?’ he screeched.
‘Get in the car. And if you’re going to pull this stunt on me again, I suggest you wear something fluorescent next time.
Let’s get you home. You can explain yourself en route and I’ll tell you about my own noche de mierda : rescuing one of my Upper Badminton client’s hair-dos.
Would you believe it? They left the salon this afternoon with a glorious blonde tousled mane and two hours later it had turned a wiry Smurf blue.
There’s something in the air in these posh villages, I tell you. ’
‘Yes,’ muttered Lola, as she attempted to buckle her seatbelt with trembling hands and fathom out why she couldn’t keep nice things in her life. ‘I think you might be right.’