Page 51 of From Notting Hill with Love…Actually
Sensibly, after my stern talking to, I’d phoned David. And after a long conversation with him I’d slept extremely soundly, which I put down to a guilt-free conscience, but in reality was probably more to do with David’s long and extremely detailed description of how well the grouting had gone on his newly hung kitchen tiles.
But why was Sean still helping me? He didn’t need to, he could just as easily have dumped me after Glasgow. He had no reason to continue helping me search for my mother, and yet he did. Why?
Over in ladies’ bags Sean was now deep in conversation with Sheila. She was shaking her head, and Sean, still talking, was tapping his index finger forcefully on the glass counter.
Sheila then picked up the same phone she had called Personnel with on Monday. She had a brief conversation, presumably with Janice again, before the phone was quickly replaced.
More shaking of the head, then I saw Sheila lift her hand and point in my direction. Quickly I pulled my head back behind the pillar.
“It’s no good you hiding!” Sheila called. “I know you’rethere. I’ve just told your boyfriend here the same as I’ve told you for the past three days—wecan’tand wewon’ttell you any more about Bill. You’ll simply have to wait until he comes back to work!”
I slithered out from my hiding place and joined Sean at the desk.
“Then I shall have to take my business elsewhere!” Sean said in a very loud voice. “I imagine you work on commission, Sheila, right?”
Sheila nodded furiously as she furtively glanced around to see how many customers might be watching.
“Big mistake then,bigmistake! Because my girlfriend loves handbags—especially expensive designer ones, and I was just in the mood today to treat her to more bags than she could hold in both her hands. But no, sadly, because of you, we’ll just have to go somewhere else now. Good day to you, Sheila!”
I was beginning to doubt Sean was telling me the truth about not watching movies. That speech was almost word for word the same one that Julia Roberts had made to the snooty shop assistants inPrettyWoman. I was about to question him about it, but he was grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the exit.
“Don’t look back,” Sean insisted as we hurried toward the doors.
“But—”
“Trust me!”
We reached the exit and were about to go through the revolving door when we heard someone hissing, “Oi, you—mister.”
We turned and saw a young lad wearing a navy blue coverall and carrying a bucket and mop.
“Yes?” Sean inquired.
“I might know where Bill lives.”
Sean smiled knowingly at him. “That sort of information could be very useful in the right hands.”
The young lad—who according to his name badge was called Joe—leaned toward us. “I can’t say noffin ’ere, someone will see. Meet me outside in a few minutes—in front of the ladies’ knicker window.”
“We’ll be there,” Sean said with a conspiratorial nod of his head.
Still holding my hand he quickly pulled me through the revolving doors. We walked along the front of the shop until we came to a window full of ladies’ lingerie being promoted asTheIdealGiftforyourlovedonethisValentine’s Day.
It was the type of underwear that was the ideal gift for amanon Valentine’s Day, but in my experience was far from ideal for any woman I’d ever met.
Sean gazed up at the window.
“Put your tongue away,” I said, turning my back to the glass.
“Why, isn’t thatyourideal gift?”
“Hardly.”
“Poor David.”
“I’d have thoughtyou’dhave had more taste than that sort of thing,” I said, gesturing with my head back toward the window.
“Maybe I do.” Sean grinned. “But it doesn’t do any harm to look.”
