Chapter 15
Paula is immensely relieved to find it is just Audrey in the car waiting outside her house the next morning. For all her nice hair and expensive skirts, the idea of sitting on Teddy’s lap again does not appeal.
‘Paula, darling!’ Audrey exclaims when she sees her, leaping out of the low car with ease and running up the front path, pashmina flying in her wake. She sweeps Paula up in her arms, breathing warm car air onto her neck.
‘Hello,’ Paula squeaks from inside the tight hug. It feels nice to be held this time, if unfamiliar. She realises how much she needed a hug after last night’s horrible encounter with those men.
She’s been up half the night, pacing the house, unsure what to do.
She’s still processing how she feels about it all, but she recognises hot, bubbly anger working its way through her veins.
How dare these men turn up like that at her house?
How dare they try to frighten her? And how dare they try to get her to turn on her husband like this?
Because of course there’s no way it can be true.
It can’t be. John wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t be so irresponsible.
Yes, he played a lot of snooker but there was no money involved.
It’s far more likely that these men are chancing their arm.
They saw the news about her lottery win and are now trying to get money from her by besmirching John’s good name.
She won’t believe it, not without proof.
On the other hand, true or not, they seem serious about the money.
But do they really expect her to get fifty thousand pounds out of her account and hand it over?
To these nasty, threatening, grimacing strangers?
And what would happen once they got it? How likely is it that these men – these loan sharks – will keep coming back for more? There’s no way she can give it to them.
And apart from anything else, she’s pretty sure the cash limit on her card is ￡250 per day.
How long will it take Paula to gather together that vast sum at such a slow rate?
She can’t do the maths, but it must be months, surely.
And that man Craig didn’t seem like he’d be willing to wait months.
Going into the bank, requesting such a large amount would no doubt raise a lot of red flags, too.
So what to do? She daren’t go to the police, not with her new friends from The Lottery Winner Widows Club hanging about, and she can’t get her children involved.
Because what if . . . what if John really did do this? No, it can’t be true. Can it? If it were true – if there was proof – what then? It would destroy Tilly and Seb, knowing their father had done such a thing. It would destroy her.
And something else keeps ringing in her ears.
What that man, Craig, said as he left – what he said about John getting himself killed . She can’t stop thinking about that. Is it possible . . . Is there any way that John did what he did . . . deliberately? What if he knew this was coming and—
She can’t think it. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t .
Audrey releases her from the hug at last and they head back towards the car.
‘Is it just us for shopping today?’ Paula asks shyly, trying to put John and the debt out of her head.
‘Gosh no. Four Musketeers and all that.’ Audrey grins. ‘We’ll meet the others there. The showroom we’re heading to is near where Teddy lives. And Ivy stayed with her last night. I was in a hotel near here.’
‘Oh! I’m so glad Ivy is coming with us,’ Paula says with genuine warmth. They may have only met a few days ago, but she felt an immediate kinship with the silent young woman all alone in the big house.
Paula climbs into the Jag, almost landing on the dog, who squeaks in protest.
‘Oh, it’s you again,’ Paula says to her, then turns to Audrey. ‘She’s yours? I wasn’t sure who she belonged to.’
‘Of course she’s mine!’ Audrey exclaims happily, then adds, ‘Paula.’
‘Yes?’ says Paula.
‘No,’ Audrey laughs. ‘Her name is Paula.’
‘What?’
‘Her name!’ Audrey reaches over and scratches the dog’s head.
Hair flies in every direction. ‘My baby is called Paula. She’s twelve years old, a Jack Russell Bichon Frise mix – a Jackie-B – and she doesn’t like belly rubs.
She has sensitive nipples.’ Understanding, the dog rolls over, revealing six proud little nipples, buried in coarse, messy fur.
Her tongue lolls out as she grins, one ear folded over in the wrong direction.
‘Her name is Paula?’ Paula asks, feeling a bit miffed. ‘That’s very confusing.’
Audrey grins widely. ‘I know, but I can’t help what her name is.’ She reaches over to pat her hand. ‘Never mind, eh, my darling? Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll call her Paula the Dog from now on. How does that sound?’
For some reason, this offer really affects Paula the Human. She is not used to being put ahead of someone else. Not even ahead of animal -someone elses.
‘Thank you,’ she whispers and Paula the Dog yips in response, flipping back over and licking the gear stick.
Paula the Human looks over at Audrey as she starts the car and they move off.
She’s starting to really like this overly affectionate woman with her layers of floral clothes and signature pashminas.
How funny that they haven’t known each other long, and yet, she already feels like one of them, like she has been granted unconditional access to their group, with a lifetime guarantee.
They sit in comfortable silence for a minute, heading in the direction of Central London. Paula wonders if she should double check Audrey has paid the congestion charge, but doesn’t. Audrey is a grown-up. And she can afford the fine.
Of course, a part of Paula is frightened by all of this. These women have all confessed to killing someone. Each of them! Three women, all lottery winners, all murderers. She should be running a mile in the opposite direction.
But, Paula has to admit, she . . . likes them.
She likes all of them. She can’t help it.
It’s all so new, so different, so exciting.
She understands why each of these women did what they did.
She doesn’t quite know why, but she trusts them all.
And she’s OK with what they’ve done. She wants to help them, protect them.
There definitely won’t be any more calls to the NHS non-emergency number.
Paula jumps in her seat when Audrey sighs beside her, reaching up to adjust her rear-view mirror. ‘Columbo’s back,’ she mutters. It’s the first time Audrey has sounded anything but totally delighted by life.
Paula strains to look behind them. In the distance, there’s a dark non descript car hanging way back. She can’t make out any person or persons.
‘Did you say Columbo ?’ Paula is flummoxed. ‘As in . . . the TV detective from the seventies?’ She squints into the distance. ‘The actor was called Peter something, wasn’t he?’ She cheers with the memory. ‘I used to watch that show every week. I had quite a crush on him!’
‘Well’ – Audrey machine-guns her now-familiar cackle – ‘this Columbo hasn’t got the lazy eye, but he has got an old beige mac. And – most annoyingly – he’s got Columbo’s dogged determination.’
‘Determination to do what? Why is he following us?’
‘He’s not following us. He’s following me .’ She reaches over and pats Paula’s hand reassuringly. It is not reassuring how long her eyes are off the road. ‘He thinks I killed my husband. Which, of course, I did, but he doesn’t know that. Not for sure anyway.’
Paula’s head whips round, straining to see the car behind them, then – instinctively – she ducks way down in the seat. ‘Are you serious?’ she shrieks, half-hiding behind her seatbelt. Paula the Dog gives her a withering look.
‘Don’t worry, my darling,’ Audrey says happily.
‘He can’t see you or anything much of anything from this distance.
’ She gives Columbo a happy little wave in the mirror, which makes Paula sink even lower in her seat.
Audrey glances over, looking amused. She has her tweed coat collar popped, her pashmina tucked inside.
It makes her head look tiny. ‘He hasn’t got an iota of proof.
Paula darling, you mustn’t panic. He’s just a bit obsessed. It’s nothing to worry about.’
‘Are you sure?’ Paula squeaks.
‘Absolutely! He turns up every now and again, asks all the same questions and then goes away. Goodness, it’s been four months or so now since Harold died.
The police don’t have the money or the resources to log a neighbourhood mugging, never mind endlessly pursue an eighty-one-year-old over the death of her very sick husband.
He’ll go away soon!’ Audrey reaches over again and this time she squeezes Paula’s hand hard.
‘And we’ll lose him in Central London traffic in a mo, you’ll see. ’
Paula tries to sneak another look in the wing mirror. The car is so far back, Audrey surely can’t be certain who it really is following them. What if it’s . . . What if it’s the loan sharks?
‘I promise, it’s fine,’ Audrey says again. ‘There’s nothing to worry about.’
Paula finds herself reassured and she sits back up.
‘OK,’ she says at last. ‘If you’re sure, I trust you.’
She feels Audrey’s eyes on her. ‘I am sure,’ she replies, then adds with warmth, ‘Thank you.’
They pass a sign about ULEZ and Paula again stops herself asking about the charge. She trusts Audrey.
It doesn’t take long for them to lose the car, and forty minutes later, they crawl past Piccadilly and on to Hyde Park Corner. Paula stares out of the window in awe at the giant stone buildings on Knightsbridge, full of luxury stores and five-star hotels.
‘We can pop into The Lanesborough for a drink after car shopping, if you fancy?’ Audrey comments, revving the engine as they dawdle through traffic.
Paula nods dumbly, looking up at the huge white Regency hotel.
‘They’re absolute darlings in there,’ Audrey continues, chunky gold bracelets jangling on her wrist. ‘Buchanan on the door is the nicest chap you’ll ever meet, and the head concierge, Simons, can get you anything at all at the drop of a hat.
Did you know they also have a butler service for your room?
Although you’ll never get Amos; he’s far too in demand. ’
‘Butlers?’ Paula repeats dumbly, trying to imagine such a thing.
‘Or The Ritz isn’t far from here,’ Audrey waves in a direction behind them.
‘It can be a tad touristy, but you can’t get away from the fact that they truly know how to do old-world glamour.
Their afternoon teas are legendary . The dining room is Michelin-starred but personally, I’d pick a freshly baked scone with Cornish clotted cream over almost anything, wouldn’t you? ’
Paula tries to remember the last time she had a scone. Or Cornish clotted cream. Or even cream. She can vaguely remember Tilly and her wife, Misha, offering her some Coffeemate in her hot drink once. She said no. It was a bit too decadent for Paula. Even coffee feels a bit too exciting.
‘We could make a weekend of it sometime!’ Audrey says excitably, twirling her pashmina between fingers that should be on steering wheels.
‘Afternoon tea at The Ritz, then some cocktails at The Laney, followed maybe by Dinner by Heston Blumenthal. His restaurant does a Sunday roast with the most tender beef you’ve ever tasted, I guarantee it.
And his potatoes! Oh my darling, they’re so fluffy, I snuck some home with me and used them as pillows on my four poster.
’ She cackles at her own joke, then hacks a cough.
‘We’d have to stay the night at The Ritz, of course, but that’s no problem.
They keep a suite available for me when I’m visiting.
Although it seems a little silly now we have Teddy around the corner. ’
‘How much does a room at The Ritz cost?’ Paula asks, her brain jumbling with the confusing image of a roast potato pillow.
‘Oh, the Deluxe Suites start at around three and a half.’
‘Three and a half what?’ Paula is genuinely baffled.
Audrey shrieks, ‘Thousand pounds, my darling!’ She glances over. ‘Don’t look so shocked. The Lanesborough’s royal suite costs twenty-four thousand pounds a night.’
Paula swallows hard.
‘To be fair,’ Audrey muses, ‘it is a seven-bedroom, 450-square-metre apartment with views over Hyde Park and Buckingham Palace Gardens. Amos the butler let me have a sneaky peek once. Not to be sniffed at.’
Paula’s head is still spinning as they turn onto Park Lane, pulling up in front of another tall white building. This one is glass-fronted with huge shiny cars parked up inside, glinting in the cold sun.
She spots Teddy and Ivy just inside the door.
Ivy sees them first, waving excitedly and looking perkier than Paula remembers from last week.
Maybe she’s a bit of an engine head. Seb calls himself an engine head, but that mainly seems to consist of racing Mario cars with other grown men via a headset on a computer.
A tall man appears from nowhere as Audrey leaps out of the car. She throws her car keys at him, thanking him by name. He smoothly slides into the driver’s seat, as Paula scrambles out. She wonders how Audrey has so much grace at eighty. Is it a rich thing? Will she learn? Does she want to?
The valet whisks the Jaguar away as Audrey bundles Paula inside.
‘Let’s spend some of your millions!’ she says with glee as they enter the biggest car showroom Paula’s ever seen.
Time to buy a car.