For Love or Money: A laugh out loud, heartwarming romantic comedy Read online

  ‘No, I would pay you, of course. So, what do you say? Will you take the job?’

  ‘I still don’t know what it is.’

  ‘Right. Of course.’ He took a sip of coffee. ‘It’s my uncle. He had a massive heart attack a couple of months ago.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Thanks. He’s fine now. You may have read about it,’ Al said. ‘My uncle is Peter Bradshaw.’

  ‘The Peter Bradshaw? The actor?’ This was intriguing.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh, he’s brilliant! I love him.’

  Al smiled. ‘Me too.’

  ‘I hadn’t heard he had had a heart attack.’

  ‘It happened when he was in LA. They were filming the last part of that ghastly Inheritor franchise—’

  ‘They’re not that bad. It’s not my kind of thing, but I’ve seen worse.’

  Al threw her a scathing look. ‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘he collapsed on the set. Like I said, he’s fine now. He’s recovered enough to come home. He’ll be moving back next week – and he’ll be bringing his girlfriend with him. He’s got engaged.’

  ‘Good for him! He must be ancient.’

  ‘He’s seventy-two.’

  ‘Never too late, eh? There’s hope for us all.’

  ‘His fiancée is twenty-six.’ Al gave her a meaningful look.

  ‘Gosh! Still, I suppose that’s not so unusual for Hollywood types.’

  ‘It’s unusual in my family.’

  ‘Well, I suppose he’s old enough to know what he’s doing,’ Lesley said, still not sure why Al wanted a private detective. ‘Hang on, he’s not still married to your aunt, is he?’ She knew Peter Bradshaw had been married to the actress Jane Howard for years. They’d had one of those tempestuous on-again/off-again relationships that the gossip columns did their best to keep up with. But she was pretty sure they weren’t still together.

  ‘No, they’re divorced. Have been for years.’

  ‘Okay, so ...’

  ‘The thing is we know nothing about this woman – Stella. She moved in with Peter right after his heart attack, and looked after him while he was recuperating. And now suddenly they’re engaged. She’s twenty-six and he’s an old man with a dodgy heart. He’s okay now, but he hasn’t exactly looked after himself. He’s ... lived life to the full.’

  That was putting it mildly. Peter Bradshaw was a notorious hell-raiser and womaniser, almost more renowned for his legendary drinking binges and wild partying than for his acting.

  ‘So he’s not in the best of health,’ Al said. ‘And my family is very wealthy.’

  ‘That’s nice. Not about your uncle’s health,’ Lesley added hastily. ‘But it’s nice to have money, isn’t it? Not that I can speak from experience.’ Damn, she was babbling. Focus, Lesley! ‘So you think the fiancée is a gold-digger,’ she said, to make it clear she wasn’t slow on the uptake.

  ‘It seems obvious, doesn’t it? They got engaged right after his heart attack. For a while there it didn’t look like he was going to make it.’

  ‘And you think this Stella has her sights set on being a merry widow.’

  ‘That’s certainly what my cousins think.’

  ‘You don’t think she could be in love with him? I mean, I know he’s old and everything, but he’s still quite attractive for a crumbly. And he seems like a real laugh. I’d say he’d be great fun to hang around with.’

  ‘He is,’ Al said with a fond smile. ‘But we’re not talking about just hanging around with him, are we? Would you sleep with him?’

  ‘Ew, no!’ Lesley wrinkled her nose. ‘But that’s just me,’ she amended hastily. ‘Everyone’s different, aren’t they? I mean, I don’t even fancy Ryan Gosling.’

  ‘I bet you wouldn’t turn your nose up like that at the thought of sleeping with him, though.’

  Lesley considered. Ryan Gosling was very fit. ‘Yeah, okay. I take your point.’

  ‘So you would?’

  ‘I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating biscuits, no.’

  ‘Like you said, there’s hope for us all,’ Al murmured under his breath.

  ‘Look, you don’t really need an investigator at all, do you?’ All it would take was someone with a Wi-Fi connection and a few hours to spare. An eight-year-old child armed with a laptop could easily handle it. Still, it beat SEO into a cocked hat, and if he wanted to pay her, she wasn’t going to argue. ‘But if you really want me to help out with this, I can do a bit of poking around on the internet. It shouldn’t take more than a couple of days.’

  ‘Well, there’s a little more to it than that,’ Al said, looking uncomfortable. ‘I want something a bit more ... above and beyond. Stuff that doesn’t really come within the remit of a regular investigator.’

  ‘I’ll tell you right now I won’t do anything dodgy,’ Lesley warned him.

  ‘No, I wouldn’t ask you to. But we need a more personal sort of investigation – not just background stuff that anyone could dig up on the internet. We want to know who this Stella is, how she genuinely feels about Peter, why she wants to marry him. Which makes you ideal for the job – that and the fact that you’re single.’

  This was starting to sound very dodgy, Lesley thought. She hoped she wouldn’t have to turn it down. ‘I don’t see what my being single has to do with anything. And what’s this “above and beyond” stuff you want me to do?’

  ‘Well, those two things are related, actually.’

  ‘I can’t say I like the sound of that.’

  ‘The thing is, as a woman, you could get close to Stella – maybe become her friend, someone she confides in. In order to do that, you’d need a reason to spend a lot of time around my family.’

  ‘Okay ...’ Lesley tried to play it cool, but the idea of hanging out with the Bradshaws was thrilling. She might get to meet Peter and Jane’s two sons, who were both well-known actors in their own right. Rafe had caused a sensation the previous year when he’d played Mr Darcy in a very sexed-up TV adaptation of Pride and Prejudice.

  ‘So you’re related to Rafe and Scott Bradshaw?’

  ‘Yes, they’re my cousins,’ Al said wearily.

  ‘Wow! That must be really exciting.’

  ‘I try to take it in my stride.’

  She couldn’t help thinking Al looked a bit pissed off. He was probably fed up of being overshadowed by his hot cousins.

  ‘Anyway,’ Al continued, breaking into her thoughts, ‘I thought the best pretext for you spending time with my family would be if you were to, er ... be my girlfriend.’

  5

  ‘Oh.’ Lesley was conflicted. On the one hand, the prospect of working undercover to expose a gold-digger was about as thrilling as it got. She’d be like a modern-day Miss Marple. On the other, being Al’s girlfriend would put rather a damper on any chance of getting off with Rafe Bradshaw.

  ‘Would I have to be your girlfriend?’ she hedged. ‘Couldn’t I be ... I don’t know ... your maid maybe?’

  ‘My maid?’ Al screwed up his face.

  ‘Well, I don’t know,’ she said huffily. ‘Don’t you have a housekeeper or something?’

  ‘I have a cleaner who comes once a week, but we don’t socialise.’

  ‘That’s very elitist of you.’

  ‘What can I say? She has her life and I have mine. The arrangement suits us both.’

  ‘Well, I could be your assistant, then – your PA.’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘My family know Janine.’

  ‘Who’s Janine?’

  ‘My PA. Besides, I have no reason to bring a PA on holiday with me.’

  ‘You want me to go on holidays with you?’ Lesley perked up at the thought of a holiday.

  ‘My family have a place in Nice, and we all get together there every summer. As my girlfriend, you would naturally come with me.’

  ‘All of you? The whole family? Would Rafe Bradshaw be there too? And Scott Bradshaw?’

  ‘Yes, both my c
ousins would be there.’

  ‘Rafe Bradshaw would definitely be coming?’ Lesley felt it was important to clarify this point.

  ‘Yes,’ Al said wearily, ‘TV’s Mr Darcy will be there. So you see, we’d be living in the same house as Stella for two weeks. It’d be the perfect opportunity for you to get close to her.’

  And to Rafe, Lesley thought. ‘What else would I have to do as your girlfriend?’

  ‘Nothing too arduous. Just accompany me to family dos, and try to look at me like you think I’m the greatest thing since ... Ryan Gosling.’

  Lesley laughed.

  ‘We should probably have the odd PDA, for authenticity.’

  ‘What sort of PDA exactly?’

  ‘Just some light hand-holding, perhaps the occasional snog.’

  ‘No tongues,’ Lesley said quickly.

  ‘What do you take me for – a Kardashian?’

  ‘Just so we’re clear.’

  ‘You would have to share a bedroom with me when we’re on holiday, of course – for appearance’s sake.’

  ‘Ah, now we get to it.’ Lesley gave him a knowing look.

  ‘I can promise you I’ll behave like a perfect gentleman. I’ll take the floor.’

  ‘How do I know this isn’t all an elaborate ploy because you have designs on my wotsit?’

  ‘I can assure you your wotsit will be perfectly safe. It won’t even know I’m there.’

  ‘I doubt that.’ Lesley chewed her lip, considering. She was trying to keep a level head and look at this offer from all angles, but it was hard to contain her excitement. ‘It sounds pretty full-on,’ she said. ‘It wouldn’t leave me much time for my other clients.’ That would be absolutely fine by her, but there was no need for Al to know that.

  ‘It is. The problem is we don’t have much time. It was a “whirlwind romance”, conducted almost entirely from his sickbed on my uncle’s part. They’ve just sprung this engagement on us, and now they’re coming home to plan the wedding.’

  ‘Blimey! That’s fast work.’

  ‘Suspiciously fast.’

  ‘But look, no offence, but your uncle isn’t exactly known for, well ...’ She tried to think of a polite way to put it.

  ‘For keeping it in his pants?’

  ‘For his lasting relationships,’ Lesley said primly. ‘Don’t you think that once he’s on his feet again, he’ll be back to his old ways, shagging around all over the place? This woman will probably go the way of all the others.’

  Al shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. He’s never got engaged to any of them before. If you ask me, this heart attack gave him a scare, and now he’s afraid of ending up alone. He wants someone tied to him. I think that’s why he’s in such a hurry to get this woman nailed down.’

  ‘Wow, you make it sound so romantic! But maybe you should just accept it. I mean, your uncle’s old enough to make his own decisions, even if they’re stupid ones. Surely he can give his money to whoever he wants.’

  ‘It’s not just his money, though. My father and Peter are heirs to the Bradshaw fortune. My great-grandfather founded the company. Dad took over the running of the business, but they still own it jointly. Bradshaw Biscuits? No doubt you’ve heard of them.’

  ‘Your father makes Bradshaw Biscuits?’ Lesley gasped, eyes wide.

  ‘Well, he doesn’t actually make them himself—’

  ‘Oh, my God, I love his biscuits!’ She jumped up and opened a cupboard. ‘Look!’ she said, producing a packet of Bradshaw’s Chocolate Extravaganzas. ‘I can’t believe your dad makes these! They’re my favourite. Would you like one?’

  ‘Um ... no, thanks. Not just now.’

  ‘Oh, you’re probably sick of them, aren’t you?’ She put the biscuits back in the cupboard and sat down again. ‘Did you get loads of free biscuits when you were a kid?’

  He smiled. ‘Yes, I did, actually. Mostly the wonky ones, but still ...’

  ‘Still,’ Lesley said dreamily. ‘Hey, I bet you were popular at that posh school of yours. Tuck is currency in places like that, isn’t it? Tuck,’ she said, pronouncing it in an upper class English accent.

  Al just rolled his eyes in response.

  ‘So your cousins are afraid of being done out of their inheritance. That’s understandable. If I stood to inherit my own biscuit empire, I wouldn’t want anyone else getting their hands on it.’

  ‘They don’t want their father being taken for a ride,’ Al said coldly.

  ‘Literally,’ Lesley said with a laugh.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Well, basically you’re worried his bride is planning to bonk him to death on their honeymoon and make off with the cash, right?’

  ‘I know it sounds a bit far-fetched.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Lesley said reassuringly. ‘I’m sure these things happen all the time.’

  Al gave her a dubious look. ‘Anyway, we’d like to get rid of this woman before it comes to that.’

  ‘Hang on,’ Lesley said, holding up a hand to stop him. ‘Before we go any further, I might as well tell you I don’t do wet work.’

  ‘Wet work?’ Al screwed up his face in dismay. ‘What on earth is “wet work”?’

  ‘You know, carrying out hits. Offing people.’

  ‘You mean ... murder?’

  ‘Well, you said you wanted to get rid of her.’

  ‘I didn’t mean in the Goodfellas sense.’

  ‘What, then? Scare her off? Rough her up a bit? Because I won’t do that either.’

  ‘I’m very glad to hear it. Besides, you wouldn’t be my first port of call if I was looking to hire muscle.’

  ‘I’m stronger than I look, you know. I could do it if I wanted to – which I don’t.’

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind. But I don’t think we’ll require anything quite so ... hands-on. We just want you to get close to her, find out if we have cause to be worried.’

  ‘And if there’s nothing?’

  Al shrugged. ‘Then I suppose we’ll wish them joy and dance at their wedding.’ He drained his coffee. ‘So, what do you say? Will you be mine?’

  Lesley glanced out the window at the grey sky through the steady drizzle that trickled down the glass. So far, the Irish summer was proving to be a washout. Did she want to go to the south of France with Al and his glitzy family? Tough decision ...

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ she said. No harm in letting him stew a little. ‘I’ll get back to you tomorrow.’

  When Al left, Lesley daydreamed about sleuthing escapades in Nice as she loaded the dishwasher. She pictured herself in a wide-brimmed straw hat and dark sunglasses, sipping a glass of cold white wine at an outdoor café while she observed Stella from a discreet distance; then chasing her down narrow streets and cobbled alleys, ducking into doorways to avoid being spotted; perhaps hitching a ride on the back of the motorbike of a handsome French man to continue the chase. This fantasy, she realised, owed more than a little to one of those sixties caper movies starring the likes of Audrey Hepburn.

  She knew there was no way she was going to be able to concentrate on work for the rest of the day, so instead she decided to start on some research, and Googled Sir Peter Bradshaw. She found some news stories about his recent heart attack, and there was a touching picture of his youngest son, Scott, at LAX, flying to his father’s bedside. He had his hood up, his gaze averted from the intrusive lenses pushed in his face as he made his way through the airport. He looked strained and anxious, and incredibly hot. Scott was most famous for his role as a dangerously attractive and morally ambivalent vampire in a cultish TV show. He wasn’t very tall, but he was rakishly handsome, and what he lacked in height, he made up for in charisma and raw sex appeal.

  There was a photo of Rafe speaking to press outside the hospital, and Lesley was surprised to see Jane Howard, ashen-faced, standing beside him. But then, Peter was still her children’s father, and it had looked like he was going to die. She was probably there for her sons, rather than for her ex-husband’s sake.r />
  There were lots of images of Sir Peter – posing on the red carpet at movie premieres and award ceremonies, or snapped by paparazzi outside smart restaurants, always with his arm around some woman. The names and faces changed, but they were all young, glamorous and beautiful. Some were up-and-coming actresses or well-known models; others were not considered significant enough in their own right to even warrant being named.

  Lesley read the captions on all the photos, searching for Stella, but if she was there, she fell into the latter category. The most recent picture she could find was from a premiere just a couple of weeks before Peter’s heart attack. He was smiling for the cameras with his arm around the waist of a leggy strawberry blonde. She was the most likely candidate for Stella, Lesley thought, peering at the photo. Did she look like a gold-digger? There was nothing in the slanting green eyes, high cheekbones or perfectly made-up face that could tell her. Besides, this might not even be Stella, so there was no point in trying to read anything into her expression or body language. What did a gold-digger look like anyway? Probably exactly like this, she thought – a twenty-six-year-old stunner draped on the arm of a frail septuagenarian. Case closed.

  There was no shortage of photos of Rafe and Scott, of course, or the gorgeous, glamorous people who seemed to constantly surround them. As she clicked through the images, Lesley started to panic. What had she been thinking? How could she possibly accept Al’s offer? It was all very well fantasising about holidaying with the Bradshaws. But the reality of hanging out with these people in a swimwear scenario was another thing. She didn’t have the figure for it – or the wardrobe. She’d have nothing to wear. And she couldn’t possibly sport a bikini in front of Rafe Bradshaw! Thank goodness she hadn’t accepted the job on the spot. She could still say no. She’d call Al in the morning and tell him she couldn’t do it.

  She clicked out of the internet and rang Romy to talk it through with her. She was the sensible one. She’d tell Lesley she should turn it down, and that would be that.

  ‘So, he knows you’re not really an investigator, but he wants you to do the job anyway?’ Romy asked when Lesley had filled her in. ‘And you don’t smell a rat? I’m starting to seriously doubt your powers of deduction right now.’