The Christmas Surprise
Page 49

Pamela had turned up earlier and lain about reading Italian Vogue in front of the fire, accompanied by Mr Dog, who, to Rosie’s extreme annoyance, absolutely adored her. Then she’d announced that seeing as Rosie didn’t seem to need her in the kitchen, she was going to get ready.
The doorbell rang. Vainly attempting to plaster down her hair, Rosie rushed out of the kitchen, only to be greeted by the door of Lilian’s room being thrown open. She couldn’t help it; she gasped. Pamela, who was tall anyway, appeared even taller in enormous spiky heels, towering nearly as high as the door frame. Her long skinny legs – that before had looked a bit spindly and sad, but now looked utterly magnificent – were encased in tight shiny leather trousers, the kind Rosie would look at in shops and wonder who on earth would ever buy such a thing. She was wearing some kind of shimmering translucent high-collared black shirt, made of a material Rosie didn’t recognise, and over it a shaggy fake-fur gilet in pure black with one studded shoulder. Again, Rosie would have passed it by thinking it was hideous, but on Pamela it looked absolutely outstanding.
Her hair was a miracle: a great thick cascading bouffant of shiny blonde locks that didn’t look at all as if their owner survived on a diet of cigarettes, miso and (Rosie had noticed) the odd purloined Sherbert Dip Dab. And her face looked as if it were barely made up at all, just long, innocent, shiny eyelashes, flawless creamy skin, natural lips …
‘Bloody hell,’ breathed Rosie. ‘You look like you’ve beamed in from another planet.’
Pamela tried her normal scowl, but underneath it all she was clearly pleased.
‘A good planet?’
‘Amazing,’ said Rosie truthfully, thinking it was no use her trying to put more make-up on now; she’d only look like the hired help.
‘I’ll get the door,’ said Pamela. Rosie looked at her. Pamela didn’t normally offer to do anything.
‘Cool,’ she said, removing the tea towel that had somehow ended up hanging off her shoulder.
There, standing in the doorway clutching a bottle of Malik’s second cheapest wine, his face looking so bemused and startled that Rosie wished she had her camera to take a picture, was Roy Blaine.
‘Uh … uh,’ he stuttered. It was the first time Rosie had ever seen him speechless.
‘Hi,’ said Pamela coolly. This was not at all the nervy, stressy woman Rosie had got to know over the last few days. No wonder she’d been so successful at work. She held out a perfectly manicured hand. Roy held out a slightly sweaty, pudgy-looking one.
‘Well, come in then,’ said Rosie, smiling as warmly as she could manage. Where were Stephen and Apostil? This was going to be a long night as it was.
But Roy was still standing on the doorstep, seemingly transfixed and unable to let go of Pamela’s hand.
‘Yeah?’ said Pamela.
Roy shook his head in disbelief.
‘You,’ he said. ‘You have the most perfect teeth I have ever seen.’
Pamela smiled, and Roy smiled back, and between the two of them Rosie thought they might be able to abolish street lighting, so she hurried them inside, Roy still utterly transfixed.
‘Hello,’ she said, steeling herself to kiss him on the cheek and not make a face afterwards. ‘Thanks so much for coming.’
Roy handed her his coat without looking at her, making Rosie feel like the under scullery maid, and Pamela announced she’d make some drinks. Had Rosie not had a lot of things on her mind, she would probably have had something to say about this, but a pot was boiling over and she could see Jake and Tina marching nervously up the road, Jake looking uncomfortable in … oh my God, was that a tie he was wearing? Wonders would never cease … and before she knew it, she could hear Pamela’s American tones going, ‘I think I’ll make martinis!’ and Roy saying, ‘I’ve only ever had Martini Bianco,’ and Pamela laughing and saying, ‘Doctor Blaine, you are so funny!’ and Roy preening and saying, ‘Actually, in the UK not many people know to call their dentist “Doctor”, and Pamela saying, ‘Really, in America, EVERYBODY does’, and Rosie rolled her eyes and went and answered the door.
Tina and Jake shuffled in, looking shy, and Rosie hugged Tina and told her not to worry, her coq au vin would win him over, and if it didn’t, Pamela probably would. Then Moray turned up with Lilian, a glint in his eyes. He brought two bottles of champagne and a box of toothpicks and said the only way to get through tonight was if everyone was thoroughly trollied, and she’d best feed Apostil now because she’d be asleep later, and Rosie said, don’t be ridiculous, she was a sensible mother now, and Moray asked her if the social worker had installed secret CCTV and Rosie said possibly, but Lilian would serve the same function.
Lilian, comfortably installed in the best armchair, harrumphed very loudly at this, but one second later made a cheerful noise as she took a tentative sip of the glass Pamela had offered her.
‘Oh!’ she said. ‘Finally, SOMEBODY in Lipton who knows how to make a martini.’
Rosie gave her a sharp look. She’d tried Lilian’s version; it tasted like rubbing alcohol.
‘When do you drink proper martinis? Have you had a million secret trips to the Ritz that I know nothing about?’
Lilian looked at her severely.
‘I’ve done all sorts of things you know nothing about,’ she said sternly. ‘Have you never heard of the sixties?’
‘You were forty by then, though, weren’t you?’
‘I am very, very disappointed in you,’ returned Lilian. ‘Oh, where’s your baby? Have you put him down somewhere and forgotten about him again?’
‘I’m just going to the kitchen,’ said Rosie.
Tina sat down beside Lilian.
‘I want to hear about the sixties,’ she said eagerly.
‘You should,’ said Lilian. ‘Might learn a thing or two.’
Rosie noticed that Pamela was making Roy another cocktail. That was good, hopefully. Maybe they could get him to sign something whilst incapacitated.
As she went back into the kitchen, she heard a rapping at the back door. It was Stephen, Mr Dog and Apostil, all jolly and pink-cheeked.
‘How’s it going?’ said Stephen. ‘Me and Apostil aren’t coming in unless everyone’s being nice and my sister is behaving herself.’
‘What about Mr Dog?’