I refocused.
‘Oh fuck. Oh my God.’
Was I imagining it or was she being twice as loud as normal? She grabbed the back of my hair and said, ‘That feels amazing.’
I carried on. Holly was definitely being louder than normal. And then I heard it: a bang on the wall. Was Miranda telling us to be quiet? I stopped again until I heard another cry, coming from the other side of the wall. Another woman’s voice, and then I realized the banging was rhythmic. The sound of a headboard knocking against the wall, accompanied by moans of pleasure that had to be exaggerated.
‘Patrick, don’t stop.’ Holly grabbed at my hair. ‘Please.’
Holly turned up the volume as I started again, and then it was in stereo, one speaker muffled, the other loud and clear, and part of me wondered if Miranda was mocking us, but no, although the noises coming from her room sounded over the top, it definitely sounded like they were actually having sex, too, and then I wasn’t worrying any more because I realized something else. I was turned on. And after Holly came, with what can only be described as a scream, I pushed into her, kissing her hard as I lost myself in her, the moaning continuing from the other room until Miranda yelled out like she’d just heard she’d won the Lottery and, seconds later, I came, too.
I lay panting on my back.
‘What the hell?’ I said, when I’d recovered my breath. ‘I didn’t imagine that, did I? Next door.’ They were quiet now. ‘I thought Miranda had a bad back.’
Holly giggled. ‘It seemed to get you going, anyway.’
‘No, it didn’t,’ I protested.
She laughed. ‘Let’s go to sleep.’ She rolled over, and I thought she’d fallen asleep. Just as I was about to drift off she laughed to herself and whispered, ‘I love you. You pervert.’
7
Charles and Jasmine arrived the next morning.
Everyone came down for breakfast at the same time. Miranda, who didn’t make eye contact with me, made bacon sandwiches for herself, Zack and Lewis. Holly, who had insisted there had been nothing competitive about the sex we’d had last night– ‘I was just really enjoying myself, that’s all’– took three painkillers and made scrambled eggs for me and her. She was a vegetarian and I had recently agreed to give it a go. I must have been on my way to being fully converted because the smell of bacon turned my stomach. Or perhaps that was the tension. Unlike the others, this had nothing to do with Jasmine. I was finally going to meet the famous Charles Grant.
Zack, who had arranged the car service, had asked for regular updates from the driver. ‘They’ll be here in an hour,’ he said.
‘What?’ Holly jumped up. ‘I’ve only got an hour to get ready? Thanks, Zack.’
She left the room, and Miranda followed, shaking her head at her husband. Lewis appeared agitated, too, despite his attempts to play it cool. He left half his sandwich uneaten on the table and went upstairs. Zack tossed the remains to the dog and opened his laptop, ignoring me.
I went into the living room and browsed the bookshelves, looking for something to distract me. One whole shelfwas taken up with different editions of Charles’s book,The Dealmaker: Lessons from Business for Everyone.
This book had been a huge bestseller, the kind that people buy and always mean to get around to reading, perhaps flicking through it and feeling like they’d taken at least one step along the road of self-improvement. I plucked a paperback from the shelf and read the blurb on the back, which was written as a quote from Charles.
Twenty years ago I borrowed £50 from my neighbour and started my own business selling computer keyboards on a market stall.
I started with nothing. Now I’m a multimillionaire, employing thousands of people.
My secret? I’m a dealmaker. Spotting opportunities, negotiating, getting what I want.
My offer to you: Read this book and I’ll show you how to apply everything I’ve learned to your own life, whatever you do.
Deal?
Beside this text was a picture of a much younger Charles offering his hand to shake. I checked the publication date: 2005. Two years before Elizabeth died.
I opened the book at a random page and the following lines jumped out at me.
The most important asset you will ever have– greater than money or beauty or strength– is your reputation. These days, people talk a lot of nonsense about ‘branding’, but that’s just a fancy way of saying the R word. The only asset that might be even more important than your reputation is your family, and you should make sure they don’t let you down and spoil your image. You might want to cut off an embarrassing relative or anyone who drains your energy and steals your time. Fortunately, my family is a source of great pride…
Cut off an embarrassing relative? I wondered if Charles had distanced himself from anyone in his family. And did son-in-laws count as potential reputation wreckers? I wondered what he would do if he decided I wasn’t good for the family brand.
I slid the book back on to the shelf, intending to read some of it later. Holly, Miranda and Lewis had reappeared and were hovering. All three of them seemed equally nervous.
Holly was wearing her favourite jeans, a lovely soft pair that she’d got from the clothes shop where she worked, and a green sweater that set off her hair. She paced around the living room, going to the front window, then sitting down, then getting up again. Lewis sat on the sofa, sunglasses perched on his head. He had grabbed a book from the shelf and was pretending to read it: Kerouac’sOn the Road. Miranda was obsessively attending to the fire, complaining that Morag had been doing a lousy job and should have ensured the heating was turned on at least a week ago.
