She sat back as the car purred along, feeling like royalty and quite tempted to wave graciously at the poor people trudging along the pavements on the other side of the tinted glass.
The house, when they reached it, was a huge double-fronted Victorian affair in Barnes, as impressive as Lola had imagined. There were plenty of cars in the driveway and discreet twinkling white Christmas lights studding the bay trees in square stone tubs that flanked the super-shiny dark blue front door. Lola was hoping to be sophisticated enough, one day, to confine herself to discreet white Christmas lights; as it was, she was more of a gaudy, every-colour-you-can-think-of girl and all of it as über-bling as humanly possible.
She tried to tip Ken, the driver, but he wouldn’t accept her money. Which felt even weirder than not having to pay the fare.
Even the brass doorbell was classy. Lola clutched her Accessorize sequinned handbag to her side
— as if anyone was likely to steal it here — and took a couple of deep breaths. It wasn’t like her to be on edge. How bizarre that attempting to beat up a couple of muggers hadn’t been nerve-wracking, yet this was.
Then the door opened and there was Mr Nicholson with his lovely welcoming smile, and she relaxed.
‘Lola, you’re here! How wonderful to see you again. I’m so glad you were able to come along tonight.’ He gave her a kiss on each cheek. ‘And you look terrific.’
Compared with the last time he’d seen her, she supposed she must. Not having uncombed, blood-soaked hair was always a bonus.
‘It’s good to see you too, Mr Nicholson.’
‘Please call me Philip. Now, my wife doesn’t know I’ve invited you. You’re our surprise guest of honour.’ His grey eyes sparkled as he led her across the wood-panelled hall to a door at the far end. ‘I can’t wait to see her reaction when she realises who you are.’
Philip Nicholson pushed open the door and drew Lola into a huge glittering drawing room full of people, all chattering away and smartly dressed. A thirty-something blonde in aquamarine touched his arm and raised her eyebrows questioningly; when he nodded, she grinned at Lola and whispered, ‘Ooh, I’m so excited, this is going to be great!’
‘My stepdaughter,’ Philip murmured by way of explanation. Nodding again, this time in the direction of the fireplace, he added, ‘That’s my wife over there, in the orange frock.’
Orange, bless him. Only a man could call it that.The woman, standing with her back to them and talking to another couple, was slim and elegant in a devoré velvet dress in delectable shades of russet, bronze and apricot. Her hair was fashioned in a glamorous chignon and she was wearing pearls around her neck that even from this distance you could tell were real.
Then Philip said, ‘Darling .. and she swivelled round to look at him. In an instant Lola was seventeen again.
Adele Tennant’s gaze in turn fastened on Lola and she took a sharp audible intake of breath.
‘My God, what’s going on here?’ Her voice icy with disbelief, she turned pointedly back to Philip Nicholson. Did she just turn up on the doorstep? Are you mad, letting her into the house?’
Poor Philip, his shock was palpable. Lola, who was pretty stunned too, couldn’t work out who she felt more sorry for, him or herself.
‘How did you find out where I live?’ Adele’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘How did you track me down? My God, you have a nerve. This is a private party—’
‘Adele, stop it,’ Philip intervened at last, raising his hands in horrified protest. ‘This was meant to be a surprise. This is Lola Malone, she—’
‘I know it’s Lola Malone! I’m not senile, Philip! And if she’s come here chasing after my son ...
well, I can tell you, she’s got another think coming.’
Yeek, Dougie! As if she’d just been zapped with an electric cattle prod, Lola spun round; was he here in this room? No, no sign of him unless he’d gone bald or had a sex change.
‘I’m so sorry.’ Philip Nicholson shook his head at Lola by way of apology. ‘This is all most unfortunate. Adele, will you stop interrupting and listen? I don’t know what’s gone on in the past but I invited Lola here tonight because she’s the one who came to the rescue when you were mugged.’ His voice breaking with emotion he said, ‘She saved your life.’
And what’s more, thought Lola, she’s starting to wish she hadn’t bothered.
OK, mustn’t say that. At least Philip’s pronouncement had succeeded in shutting Adele up; while her brain was busy assimilating this unwelcome information her mouth had snapped shut like a bronze-lipglossed trap.
‘I thought you’d like the opportunity to thank her in person,’ Philip went on, and all of a sudden he sounded like a headmaster saddened by the disruptive behaviour of a stroppy teenager.
People were starting to notice now. The couple Adele had been talking to were avidly observing proceedings. The blonde who was Philip’s stepdaughter — crikey, that meant she was Dougie’s older sister — came over and said, puzzled, ‘Mum? Is everything all right?’
‘Fine.’ Recovering herself, Adele managed the most frozen of smiles and looked directly at Lola.
‘So it was you. Well .. . what can I say? Thank you.’
‘No problem.’ That didn’t sound quite right but what else could she say? My pleasure?
‘It was such a brave thing you did,’ exclaimed Dougie’s sister. What was her name? Sally, that was it. ‘I can’t bear to think what might have happened to Mum if you hadn’t dived in like that.
You were amazing!’
Lola managed to maintain a suitably modest smile, while her memory busily rewound to that eventful night ten days ago. Euurrgh, she had stroked Adele’s ankle, she had squeezed Adele Tennant’s thigh .. .
Except she wasn’t Adele Tennant any more. She was Adele Nicholson.
‘So you remarried,’ said Lola, longing to ask about Doug and feeling her stomach clench just at the thought of him.
‘Four years ago.’ Adele was being forced to be polite now, in a through-gritted-teeth, I-really-wish-you-weren’t-here kind of way.
‘Congratulations.’ Lola wondered what Philip, who was lovely, had done to deserve Cruella de Vil as a wife. Presumably Adele did have redeeming qualities; she just hadn’t encountered them yet.
‘Thank you. Well, it’s ... nice to see you again. Can we offer you a drink? Or,’ Adele said hopefully, ‘do you have to rush off?’
Rushing off suddenly seemed a highly desirable thing to do. Excellent idea. Since every minute here was clearly set to be an excruciating ordeal, Lola looked at her watch and said, ‘Actually, there is somewhere else I need to—’
‘Here he is!’ cried Sally, her face lighting up as she waved across the room to attract someone’s attention. ‘Yoohoo, we’re over here! And what sort of time do you call this anyway? You’re late.’
Lola didn’t need to turn around. She knew who it was. Some inner certainty told her that Dougie had entered the drawing room; she could feel his presence behind her. All of a sudden every molecule in her body was on high alert and she was no longer breathing.
Dougie. Doug. Whom she’d thought she’d never see again. ‘Sorry, I was held up at a meeting.
Some of us have a proper job. Hi, everyone, how’s it going? What have I missed?’
Lola was zinging all over; now she’d completely forgotten how to breathe. Except how embarrassing if she keeled over in a dead faint in front of everyone; when a woman had done that in the shop last summer she’d lost control of her bladder.
Imagine coming round, surrounded by Dougie and his family, and discovering you were lying in a puddle of wee.