Page 11 of Hit For Six
He went in for a hug with his father, but Frederick’s shoulders were as rigid as a box pleat. Monty frowned inwardly at the fashion reference. He really needed to get out more.
‘Hey to you too!’
Frederick held his son at arm’s length, surveying him as if searching for hidden clues. Curiously, it seemed Monty’s lie to Joanna was steeped in gut instinct. He’d never seen his father looking so panicked.
‘You played well yesterday, despite certain circumstances.’ Frederick shook his head disapprovingly. ‘What a vile creature. I left you a string of messages, Monty. Did you not receive them? We’re going to have to call an emergency meeting first thing Monday to discuss damage limitation tactics after her bloody striptease.’
And just like that, the butterflies took flight in Monty’s stomach again. But this had nothing to do with the tainting of Beau-re-mi’s image; Monty couldn’t give a shit about that. He couldn’t explain the yearning he had for the beautiful stranger. He wasn’t one for anything woo-woo but he was damned if he could put words to what was going on in his head. It wasn’t just the lusting, he felt his hackles rise once more at somebody else taking a pop at the girl. And now there was to be a company meeting about her! Yet if he defended her unfathomable actions to his father, he’d never hear the end of it. So he remained silent on the matter– and the fact that he’d booked Monday off. Frederick was in one of those talking-at-you moods anyway. Let him carry that on into the meeting and get everybody worked up over nothing.
‘Changing the subject– and because Roddie’s trip around the sun makes us all a little pensive– your mother and I aren’t getting any younger. We want to be sure that you’re seriously thinking about settling down so that we can relax into retirement, knowing everything’s in good hands. This cricket malarkey won’t last for ever, as enticing as the highs might feel. You’ll be retired in just over a decade, and that’s if you escape injury.’ Frederick beckoned a waiter for a fresh glass offizz and Monty tried to ignore the sting of his words. It always felt as if his parents were taking a swipe at his family members when they disrespected the game and its prospects. They would never understand how much more T20 meant to Monty than simply slogging a ball with a bat. Bath Beasts were his brothers. ‘His father took a lengthy and thoughtful sip. ‘Bea’s friend, Joanna, seems like an interesting prospect.’ He tipped his head needlessly in her direction. ‘Fairly easy on the eye. Far more likely to remain loyal. A society woman who is extremely well-connected where business opportunities are concerned. It’s no use waiting for perfection, Monty. Trust me, it doesn’t exist.’
Didn’t that just say everything about his parents’ marriage? Monty suspected they’d stopped being lovers a while ago; a rather alarming image– even if it was to be thanked for his provenance. It was all about friendship these days for his mother and father as they lived their separate lives, fiercely protecting their legacies. Heck, they were more like acquaintances. And now they were hellbent on passing this burden down the line.
He thought back to this morning’s brief chat with London when he’d been training the youngsters. His coach-slash-agent had been cagey on the details but had given Monty that infamous smile of his. The one that told you he was brimming with excitement and you just had to bide your time to know why.
‘Just bear with me, mate. I think we’ll have something concrete on the table by the middle of next week. I’m not going to jinx it by spilling what I know so far… no matter how much you try to bribe me, but be ready to take a morning off at short notice.’
This was accompanied by a stinger of a high five.
‘Monty?’ Frederick’s voice snapped him out of his reverie. ‘You look like you need something stronger than a Pimm’s. Is everything alright?’
‘Oh, absolutely.’ Monty blinked rapidly, re-adjusting to his physical whereabouts. ‘I was just thinking about the AGM next Friday.’ He stared into his drink, miffed with himself for being so weak when he should be planting the seeds to let his father down gently.
‘That’s my boy.’ Frederick smiled at last. ‘Come on… let’s sneak into the library and christen my bottle of vintage Scotch over a cheeky Cohiba. None of this lot will miss us. We can run through the meeting agenda and make a toast to you finding an eligible bachelorette.’
What was the point in protesting? Or reminding his father that whilst he might have a window of down time right now, whisky and cigars were hardly going to help him stay on top form. Or coming out with the truth: this potential T20 England contract meant he’d no longer be able to work for the company; his commitment to what Frederick and Helena merely regarded as a hobby would become his new full-time job.
It was becoming more and more impossible to count his blessings in this fake world he’d been born into. Sometimes Monty wondered if he’d been swapped at birth. You read stories about that. And right now it was the only thing that made sense, even if he did look quite a bit like his parents. Because he didn’t want any of this meaningless crap. All of which only compounded the conclusion that Monty had come to in the past few hours. Even if he got signed up to play internationally, something had to give. He was ready for a whole new everything. The pathetic thing was, with all the resources at his disposal, he wasn’t sure how he could make it happen without his family disowning him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lola
Lola couldn’t waitto start her first official shift at The Bubble Bath. It felt like the cosiest place in the city to hang out tonight with the elephant-grey clouds brewing in readiness to empty themselves. All of this inspired action over the weekend had made her feel like she was entering a shiny new phase in her life. Sure, there was no guarantee that the bank would be interested in her proposal, and she wasn’t asking for a life-changing amount of money, but it would get her idea off the ground, helping her to make it a reality.
It was all strangely liberating. Like Maxine had said, soon Friday would be old news and everybody would have moved on to the latest scandal. She was just a random girl from Bath. Her ‘crimes’ were as far removed from the poor SIX queen, Anne Boleyn’s as could be. At least she hadn’t gotten herself executed for not producing a boy. When she looked at it that way, things could definitely be worse.
Lola had memorised the drinks menu and although she could be an ominvert at times, half adopting her parents’ quieter nature, the thought of pairing personalities with cocktails felt like an honour and a thrill.
After she’d left the park on shaky legs yesterday afternoon, looking over both shoulders at regular intervals for any further surprises, Lola had continued filling in the application at home, seen to Squiffy, gobbled down a sandwich and returned to the bar. She’d lapped up as much information as she could following Maxine around like a lost puppy and now she was ready to face the customers on her own, clad in a smart whiteshirt and black pencil skirt, hair up in what was fast becoming her trademark messy bun. Copying Maxine, she’d added a cute cocktail umbrella to it. Kind of fitting given the current weather.
The first couple of orders were seamless. Warm and friendly tourists full of anecdotes about their day. The type of people who’d read up on The Bubble Bath in a travel feature and knew exactly what they wanted. And then a rowdy stampede of men tramped down the stairs.
‘Oh, it’s our group booking. Gosh, they’re keen!’ said a flustered Maxine.
Lola finished wiping down a bathtub– huh, she’d cleaned rather a lot of them this weekend– and hovered around the bar waiting for her customers’ refills.
‘Let me see.’ Maxine tapped some buttons on the iPad behind the bar. ‘Yes, they’re twenty minutes early. It’s a table for twelve at seven p.m. under the name of London Wild…’
‘Cool name,’ said Stella Arabella, making everyone laugh when hers was possibly cooler than anybody’s in Bath. ‘Is he some kind of film star?’
‘It better not be another influencer and their gang trying to hassle us into doing Tom Cruise routines for their Reels.’ Wilf was less excitable. ‘We prefer to be spontaneous with our performances. The last thing we want is for this place to turn into a tacky tourist hotspot when we’ve worked so hard to make it exclusive.’
Lola made a note not to upset the mixologists. Bath might be a city, but it was a small one and she could already tell that their talent didn’t grow on trees.
‘Who knows,’ said Maxine. ‘But it’s all publicity and if anyone asks you to dance on a dime, they’ll have me to deal with. I’ll intercept the group at the bottom of the stairs and show them through to the private area. Lola, I know it’s throwing you in at the deep end but could you help me carry their orders through?’
‘Sure, no problem.’
