Chapter 3
The Montague feels different today. A large part of it is being able to give the employee entrance around the back a wide berth and make a beeline for that beautiful, iconic entrance, flanked by plump garlands, plumper Christmas trees, and not at all plump, but very smiley doormen, clad in festive red and gold.
One of them, an older gentleman who reminds me a bit of Da, tips his red top hat and grins at me as he pulls open the door to the side of the main rotating door.
I beam back at him. ‘Thank you,’—I peek at his badge—‘Norman.’
‘Most welcome, Madam. You have a good day, now.’
‘Thank you. You too.’
Oh, it’s pure magic, sauntering through the opulent lobby with its huge tree literally stuffed full of baubles, so there’s very little green left on show.
The air smells of oranges and cloves, and on all the central tables through the lobby sit enormous festive flower displays, heavy on the eucalyptus and poinsettia and gold-sprayed pine cones.
It’s simply gorgeous. Someone old—Bing Crosby, probably, croons over the speakers.
I practically float over to the lifts. It’s easy to imagine I’m a guest and to forget why I’m really here, and that everything I’m wearing is Primark or New Look or, at best, H an icy blue silk tie hangs open around his neck.
I could help him with that tie.
I could go full Pretty Woman on him right now, given half the chance.
I scramble to my feet.
‘You came. Good.’ He nods and his eyes flick over me, but not in a good way. My blue coat and ancient red tights are definitely not having the same effect on his man parts right now as his get-up is having on my lady parts.
‘Morning, Mr Montague.’
He waves a dismissive hand. ‘Miles, please. The more informal we are, the more comfortable Bea will feel with this situation.’ It’s like he’s parroting words someone has told him to say, and his grimace suggests he doesn’t believe them any more than I do.
Bea chimes in. ‘Saoirse looks like Paddington Bear, Daddy! Doesn’t she?’
I look down at my blue duffel coat and beam. ‘That’s exactly the look I was going for!’ It really is. I saw the blue coat and had to have it. ‘And I didn’t have red wellies. So I put red tights on, instead.’
When I look up at Miles, he’s blinking at me. Clearly, he and his daughter don’t always see eye to eye sartorially. Though his style choices are working well for him.
Very well indeed.
‘Right.’ His tone is clipped. ‘I need to get going, so let me give you the rundown.’ He strides over to a console table and dumps his mug.
Runs his hand through his still-damp dark hair, and I swallow.
He fastens his top button and ties his tie as he talks.
If I remember anything he says while watching him do that, it’ll be a miracle.
‘Coffee machine is there, in the kitchen.’ He points.
‘Don’t worry; I only drink tea.’ I have a sandwich bag full of Barry’s tea bags in my bag. PG Tips is revolting.
‘Fine. Kettle’s in there too. You have complete freedom till four o’clock.
You can stay here, you can take her to The Playroom, or take her out.
I’d like her to get outside once a day, if possible.
I suspect you two will find lots of festive things to do.
’ He grimaces as if festive is a swear word. ‘Here’s my Amex.’
Holy moly. The guy’s just put a platinum Amex on the table.
‘Take her shopping, take her out for lunch, hot chocolate, museums, whatever you like. I would like to see some kind of plan for the month. You can draw that up today, and I’ll put you in contact with my executive assistant, Angela, to get things booked.
Perhaps the ballet. I’d like her entertained but not over-scheduled. When she’s overtired, it’s—’
He breaks off, looks down at his daughter, who beams back at him, and makes a face at her. ‘Let’s just say you want to avoid that state. She’s been up since six this morning, FYI. Fully dressed since six-ten. She was excited about seeing you.’
My heart constricts. The sweet, sweet little thing. I bend and tickle Bea on her tummy. ‘Did you wake your daddy at six? Oh my goodness! You cheeky girl!’
‘I was already up. I have business interests in Asia… Anyway. She’s a fussy eater, but the hotel is used to her.
Room service will suggest some dishes that you can order for her.
Make sure she eats some vegetables. Otherwise Signor Sassi in Knightsbridge is a safe bet.
Or Daphne’s or Scalini’s in South Ken. Italian, in short.
Get the concierge to make any reservations. ’
I’ve never heard of those places, but I’d put money on them not being like Pizza Express.
‘You have the run of the hotel. Obviously. If there are any parts you’d like to explore, call Reception and ask for Sandra Robson. She’s our front-of-house manager. She’s been with us for a long time and she’s a big fan of this one.’
He grins at his daughter, and it’s like the sun has come out for a second.
He has dimples. Dimples! They transform his entire demeanour.
He’s smiling at Bea with his rich brown eyes, as well as with that mouth, and they go from impenetrable to the warmest, crinkliest eyes I’ve ever seen. It’s extraordinary.
I gape.
He turns and strides over to the mirror to adjust the knot on his tie. My eyes drop to his bum. Jesus, it’s a lovely bum, and those trousers are worth every single pound he spent on them, which is probably thousands. They definitely earn their keep.
Oops, he’s looking at me in the mirror.
‘Sandra will get you access to the kitchens if you want to watch the pastry chefs preparing afternoon tea. Other items: keep her well wrapped up when you go out, please. That includes a hat. My driver is with me today, but she loves buses. Especially upstairs. Hates tubes. Please use the Amex to feed yourself too. Obviously. I’ll message you if I think of anything else. ’
‘Got it. That all sounds fine. Would you like receipts from everything we use your card for?’
‘Not necessary. I get alerts on my phone when it’s used.’
I expected him to be more prescriptive, but it’s clear he’s anxious to get away to work.
‘Oh. The hotel’s hosting a Christmas party this afternoon for families who are staying with us, and friends of Montague Group. It’s in the Austen ballroom. I need you to take her down there at four and I’ll see you both there.’
And then he’s shrugging on his jacket, which again looks to have been stitched by the hands of angels, or at least fairytale birds and mice, because it’s the Cinderella’s dress of jackets.
He fastens the middle button, pulls on the softest looking long black coat, and throws a soft-looking grey scarf around his neck.
That gesture nearly undoes me. Imagine if I walked over to him, and grabbed both ends of the scarf, and kissed him! Put my lips to his beautiful, firm mouth before tying his scarf for him and wishing him a good day at work. I let out an involuntary squeak and clamp my lips together.
He frowns at me. ‘Everything all right?’
‘Yes, Mr Montague. Miles. Everything’s great. We’ll have a grand time together. Don’t you worry.’
And then he’s gone. And I have the weirdest sensation of breathing an enormous sigh of relief that Bea and I can have fun without his disapproving stiffness, while also feeling completely bereft.