ILLUMINATION BOOK CHAPTERS (UPDATED LIST OF CHAPTERS HERE): ROMANTIC COMEDY — QUIRKY ROMP — CO-STARS MOOCHER THE DOG
‘White Lies and Custard Creams’ — Chapter Four
The certainty of a tall stranger; a missing lodger; is Liz losing her memory, or just her diary?
To give herself some time, she made a production of straightening her clothes and brushing off imaginary specks of dust and not so imaginary biscuit crumbs.
For the first time in her brief-but-interesting history of having lodgers she really wished some of them were home.
She wouldn’t even have minded if there just happened to be a shrivelled-mushroom-for-a-brain bigot handy. Even if he couldn’t help himself and came out with that, “Now, Liz…” thing.
He wasn’t handy, though. Might have known he wouldn’t be any use when she really needed him. Too busy being narrow-minded somewhere else, probably.
Finally she looked at this chap with what she hoped was an icy and un-intimidated glare. “That was a bit enthusiastic, wasn’t it? What’s your game?”
He wasn’t at all put out. “I don’t have all day and I’ve been waiting around already,” he said. “You quite clearly said to be here at ten-thirty.”
“No, I didn’t. I’ve already said I wasn’t expecting anyone else today. There isn’t a room for you to have, I’m afraid. They’ve all gone.” Liz stared hard at him. She could feel the top of her head getting hot. She wasn’t at all keen on his high-handed attitude, although another, alien part of her, was sizing him up. Hmm, rather nice, and he’d certainly made her heart wake up and take notice, the way it was thundering round in her chest. That could have been fear, or it could have been animal lust. Fear had the edge, though.
“It can’t have gone so soon,” he said. “I’m here on time. It was only this morning we arranged this.” His voice had hardened.
Liz backed away from him a bit, in a casual, very, very relaxed kind of way.
He was obviously totally bonkers.
“I haven’t spoken to anyone on the phone this morning,” she said. “And I’m sorry, but I don’t have a room spare either.”
He was looking all round him and Liz wished someone would come into the house, but it was unlikely that her wish would be answered at this time in the morning. Everyone would be at work, just getting into their stride. Moocher would recently have got up, stretching himself and yawning, tail waving slowly from side to side, but she willed him to have a lie-in. It’d be awful for him to come to her protection and get hurt.
Hugh, damnitalltohell, was who she really needed. He was at least as tall as this chap, and just as wide and solid-looking, and he could do intimidating with the best of them.
She thought she might be able to sidle around the madman, open the door and somehow push him out of the house, but he suddenly shot off down the hall. Liz could see him peering around the breakfast room. He then disappeared into the kitchen.
She made off after him. “Hey — what do you think you’re doing?” Stupid question — he was obviously looking for something. “Who are you anyway?” That was better.
By this time, they were both in the kitchen and squaring up to each other, if you can call it that when one of the protagonists was about a foot shorter than the other.
Liz’s heart really was making a hell of a fuss about all this, thundering away as it was, and she didn’t think it was because he was a bit of a hunk. Although he was. Anyway, she wished it would shut up and let her think.
The madman’s nose began to quiver and wrinkle. Liz became aware that there was a silent war going on between the members of the household as to who should empty the bin this time. But then, why should she worry about what a madman thought?
“So — who the hell are you?” she managed through gritted teeth. She was trying not to draw too deep a breath in case the fumes from the overflowing bin got in and rotted her lungs. She didn’t usually spend much time in the kitchen, and this was one good reason.
“My name is Tony Armitage. I have an appointment to see the owner of this house, a Liz Houston, at ten-thirty. I intend seeing this Liz Houston and I intend seeing this house. I need a room. This house is in the right area. I have the deposit and one month, two month’s rent if need be, to give in advance. Where is Liz Houston?”
She said, “I am Liz Houston and I definitely did not make an appointment with any Tony Armitage person!”
He drew back from her all of a sudden, almost recoiling. What a relief! He was tall enough that she’d been developing a nasty crick in her neck looking up at him.
He appeared so dismayed Liz nearly felt sorry for him. “Come through into the breakfast room and let’s sort this out.” She was glad to leave the decomposing veg smell behind and took the opportunity to gulp in some fresh breakfast-room air.
They sat down at the table and she pulled her diary towards her. There was no appointment at ten-thirty. Could she have arranged this appointment and then forgotten it and failed to put it in her diary too? She didn’t think so. But there was no denying his certainty. Although he could have been lying.
But he must have thought she was because he gave her a strange look and demanded, “Are you really Liz Houston?”
“Of course, I am. I’ve just said so.”
“I expected someone a lot older.”
Oh! What a nice man! He could move in any time he wanted if he kept that up.
“If you think flattery is going to get you the room you can think again.” Liz wasn’t afraid of him anymore. Not now he was sitting down. Not now he seemed like such a nice man.
“It’s not flattery. I really was expecting someone in their fifties, not their twenties.”
He was getting better all the time. He was still looking around though, sizing everything up. Maybe he was a burglar with a different approach. Hugh’s voice flashed through her brain: “Now, Liz…” Yeah. He probably was a burglar.
Liz took the offensive based on the notion that flattery is very nice, but you can’t trust the flatterer. “I don’t have a room. And don’t start all that rigmarole again. Whoever you spoke to this morning, it wasn’t me. I’m sorry, but you must be in the wrong place.” Hugh would be proud of her. Suddenly Liz kicked herself in the ankle. Why the hell did she keep thinking of Hugh? She didn’t care if he’d be proud of her or not!
Dragging her attention back to Tony Armitage, she wondered how he knew her name, and why he was really here?
“Can you make room? Have you a lodger who’s leaving? Could I pay one to go?”
Besotted though she might be about her house she would not describe it as luxurious, or the facilities it offered as particularly desirable.
“Why are you so desperate to be here?” Liz demanded.
He wasn’t forthcoming. They stared at each other, deadlocked. Now Liz could inspect him openly she could see that he was indeed a pretty fine specimen of a man. He couldn’t be a burglar and look like that. Liz knew all that stuff about not telling a book by its cover, but really, this chap looked too hero-ish to be interested in silver spoons and second-hand tellies. Cashmere was his camouflage, not stripy jumpers and swag bags.
Not that Liz was interested. Oh, no, not her. She was not interested in men and relationships and all that stuff anymore. She just managed to keep her snort of derision to herself. So that made another good reason to get rid of him.
Strange that there’d been two weird people in the same morning wanting to get lodgings in her house, not to mention someone searching her garden too thoroughly for a speed-crazy tortoise. Anyone would think there was a conspiracy between them… Julie! Ohmigod! Where on earth had she got to?
Liz looked wildly around the breakfast room as though Julie might suddenly materialize on the mantelpiece. She had disappeared somewhere between Lydia’s back garden and hers.
Liz had lost a potential lodger.
Aargh. She could hear it echoing all around her skull: “Now, Liz…”
She jumped up and rushed down the hall. No, Julie wasn’t in the downstairs bedroom that used to be a lounge. Liz dashed into the front room that was now the communal sitting room. She wasn’t in there. Where could she be? Liz spun around to find her view reduced to an expanse of crisp white shirt split down the middle by a tie that looked very old-school. Criminy — he could move quickly and quietly. Spooky.
“Don’t do that,” Liz snapped. “Don’t creep up on me like that!”
He looked crestfallen. “I thought you’d decided to give me the tour after all.”
“Oh! Well, not exactly.” Liz could hardly offer the information that she’d lost her newest lodger.
“Never mind, you can show me which room was on offer, even if it’s taken. I could probably persuade whoever’s taken it to let me have it.”
“I find your certainty rather off-putting, Mr Armitage. Not only that, but it’s me who decides whether you live in this house — not you — not anyone else. Me.”
But her mind was on Julie Carrington-Smythe’s disappearing act.
Perhaps she’d given up the whole idea of limboing in through the dog-flap. Maybe she’d gone back into Lydia’s for more coffee, cake and sympathy. That was probably it. So she wasn’t in league with this chap and Liz would have a room free for him. She wasn’t sure that was a terrifically good idea, but it would give him what he wanted and get him off her back. Also, the gas bill was rather large and he did say he could pay two months rent up front. Why do people say that stuff about money being the root of all evil when it’s patently obvious that it’s the lack of money that’s the trouble?
So Liz pushed past him and headed back the way they’d come. She opened the door out of the kitchen. And there the vanished lodger was.
Half in and half out of the dog-flap.
Stuck.
Chapter Three of ‘White Lies and Custard Creams’ is here!
Chapter Five of ‘White Lies and Custard Creams’ is here!
All ‘White Lies and Custard Creams’ chapters to read are here.
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