Set in the wide turret on the left was the kitchen, and Melissa called the gardener to help me carry in the food. For a moment I stood transfixed by the black circular breakfast island and matching stools with gold legs. In the middle was a black vase filled with exotic black roses, intermingled with gold-sprayed leaves. Another chandelier, in gold, hung from the pointed ceiling.
‘Feel free to use the fridge-freezer,’ said Melissa, graciously, showing me to an industrial-sized fridge even bigger than Walter’s. There was plenty of room inside for my BargainMarket platters. In fact, it didn’t look like Melissa and Jonny ate in much at all. There were some diet colas, low calorie ready meals, chilled champagne, a half-eaten bar of king-sized chocolate and various jars of cosmetics. And… oh my God, I’d seen pictures of that in magazines: a shallow sky-blue and gold tin of Beluga caviar. Next to the fridge was a tall gold rack filled with wine bottles. I stared at a door on the right, at the end.
‘The dining room’s through there,’ said Melissa. ‘Take a look. We really ought to use it more often.’
As instructed, I peeked my head in. It was sumptuous – all mahogany, buttercream and fuchsia pink, with billowing curtains that looked like ships’ sails. To one side was a smaller Christmas tree, in the more traditional colours of green and red. In the middle of the table stood a pearl shell vase filled with candy-coloured fake tulips. At the back of the room was part of a simple, white conservatory; it must have stretched further across, out of sight, to the back of their lounge.
I turned back to the kitchen and gazed out of the sparkling windows. Huh? Little greens and bunkers?
Melissa shook her head. ‘Don’t ask. Jonny wanted a mini golf course landscaped into the back garden.’
‘Is that…?’ I pointed to a massive looking shed. It was well smart, with a flag on the top and…
Melissa nodded. ‘His own little clubhouse. It’s got its own bar, a snooker table, juke box… What more could a man want?’
I could just imagine Adam and myself living in a similar place. Infamous magazine would make us their lead story: “Reunited cake magnate Kimmy and partner show us around their lush lovenest…”Luke would be the hired help and I’d make him obey one of those wacky celebrity rules where he wasn’t allowed to look me in the eye.
‘You’ll serve the food in the lounge, darling,’ said Melissa’s velvet tones. I followed her into the room on the other side of the hallway. It was bigger than Adam’s whole flat, especially with the other end of the humungous conservatory at the back. It was ultra modern, unlike Walter’s which was filled with various bits of traditional furniture which didn’t necessarily match. Everything here was co-ordinated, right down to the colour of the drink mats. There were no cosy touches like Walter’s dog-eared books or Lily’s needlework box with multi-coloured threads hanging out. Even the little row of gold Christmas socks, hanging from the mantelpiece, looked brand new. Plus there was a third Christmas tree, again perfectly co-ordinated, this time in plum and gold. No homemade baubles dangled from its branches, no wooden ones or clip-on fake robins… Everything looked as if it was there for effect. Inwardly I chuckled. What would Melissa think to the little one I’d hit Luke over the head with?
She chatted about a small table she’d set up by the window, for the cakes, but I hardly listened. It was as if I’d dived into my favourite celebrity homes TV show. I gazed at the velvet red curtains and glistening glass coffee table, the fragrant bowls of purple and red potpourri, a wicked gold ornamental birdcage and massive, gilt wall mirrors… Two armchairs matched a plum, curved sofa, and ornate ottoman, and on every seat in the room was a palatial cushion, neatly positioned into a diamond. As for the carpet, it was even more luxurious than the thick pile in Lily’s bedroom. If it was green, Jess would have said it needed a damn good mow. If only I had time to text Terry – he’d be well jealous.
‘When the ladies arrive, darling, make the coffees toot sweet. After a drink and one of your creations, I’ll introduce Sandra, my nail lady, and she can get out her needles. Whilst she’s knocking off the years, nearer to lunch time, you can fetch the savoury food.’ The front knocker rapped. ‘Shirley, the ex-captain’s wife cancelled, by the way.’ Melissa’s mouth sunk a little. ‘Apparently she’s woken up with a headache.’
We walked into the hallway, and she opened the door to a tiny, plump-ish lady with bobbed grey-blonde hair in a short-sleeved white medical coat. Her perfectly pink painted nails curled around the handle of a plastic case.
‘You must be the caterer. Lovely to meet you,’ she said to me, before air-kissing Melissa. ‘Where shall I set up?’ she asked.
‘The conservatory,’ Melissa said. ‘It’s airy and cheerful and should ease the nerves of the Botox virgins.’
Sandra placed a hand on Melissa’s arm. ‘I’m sure it will be a great success. I’ve brought my varnishes and files too, thought I could throw in a free manicure, have them leaving here looking really glam.’
‘What would I do without you? That’s a fab idea!’ She linked her arm with Sandra’s. ‘Make yourself at home in the kitchen, Kimmy,’ she said, as they went into the lounge.
Minutes later, the phone rang and after a short conversation echoed into the hallway, Melissa’s face appeared around the kitchen door. ‘Pamela’s cried off now – something about a domestic emergency. So that’s four of them left. Although Sandra says not to worry, that’ll give her more time to do the manicures.’
What was wrong with those women? Weren’t they dying to see the house of someone famous?
Melissa looked at her watch. ‘Hadn’t you better switch the coffee machine on?’ She nodded towards a contraption on the unit, just along from the wine rack. Next to the compact black and silver machine were stacked china cups and saucers, white with black flowers.
Close up, it looked like something out of a spaceship’s control tower. Adam and I thought we were posh when we bought a percolator, but this… And just look at that stack of cute little sealed coffee punnets! I picked one up – oh, pardon moi, they were actually called “Disc Beverage Pods”. I’d be able to take individual orders, such as a Latte, Espresso, Medium Roast and Cappuccino, then Macchiato (huh?), Chocolate and – get this! – Tiramisu flavour!
Having whetted my own appetite, I switched on the machine and filled it right up to the two litres mark. I unpacked the cake stands and took the lids off the cake boxes. The rich mincemeat cupcakes and Santa Coladas looked awesome staggered up one silver tree, the Malibu buttercream icing easily overpowering the scent of those black roses. On the other stand, I carefully balanced the dark chocolate logs and skinny Stollens, then found a large serving plate to set out the cinnamon and spice muffins. I placed everything perfectly on the lace cloth in the lounge, having managed to find plates to match the cups and small silver forks. Melissa had left out some fancy holly and ivy paper cocktail napkins.
The doorbell rang and I stood to attention, feeling like the kitchen maid out of Downton Abbey.
‘Vivian!’ Melissa said. ‘So glad you could make it.’
I peered around the door and saw a busty women in her sixties barge in, black patent handbag (her court shoes matched) clasped to her chest, blue silk blouse bolstered tightly into a beige skirt. Her tanned, wrinkled face revealed a lifetime of golf and cigarettes – she was clearly the perfect candidate for Botox.
‘And Denise. Hello. How are you?’ asked Melissa.
She was the doctor’s receptionist, married to one of the pros, with two kids at secondary school. Middle-aged, with short mousy hair and no make-up, Denise wore a military design grey dress with buttons all the way up. Her slim legs cried out for stylish shoes but instead she’d chosen a flat trainer type. She wore what looked like one hundred denier flesh-coloured tights and on her back hung a mini rucksack.
‘Good morning, Melissa,’ said Denise stiffly, and looked around. ‘Rather