What a Girl Wants Read online

‘I didn’t,’ Kekipi said with unmistakable disdain. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I know the value of a good floral arrangement but this is all Domenico’s doing.’

  ‘Domenico?’ I asked.

  ‘Miss Brookes.’

  A tall, slender man descended the staircase in the requisite grey trousers, a matching jacket and added slim black tie. How he was wearing a suit and tie in this weather was beyond me – I was sweating so much I looked as though I had entered a wet T-shirt competition. But while he looked every inch the perfect butler, his stiff demeanour felt at odds with the make-yourself-at-home atmosphere of Al’s palazzo.

  ‘Domenico,’ Kekipi said with a flourish. ‘The estate manager here in Milan.’

  ‘He’s the Italian you?’ I asked, wiping my hand on the back of my jeans and achieving nothing more than making a sticky situation stickier.

  ‘Please,’ Kekipi sniffed. ‘I’ve never been so offended.’

  ‘Miss Brookes.’ The tall man greeted me with three air kisses, very carefully avoiding touching any part of my actual being. Not that I blamed him but it did make things feel ever so slightly awkward. ‘I am Domenico, Mr Bennett’s number two here at the Palazzo Della Stelline; we are so pleased that you have arrived.’

  He turned to Amy and gave her a small bow, no kisses.

  ‘And you are Miss Brooke’s assistant?’

  She looked at me, looked back at him and shrugged. ‘I suppose I am.’

  Uh-oh. Clearly not impressed.

  ‘Excellent. I have rooms prepared for both of you in Mr Bennett’s most beautiful guest apartments. I would be very happy to show them to you if you would be so kind as to follow me.’ Domenico gestured up the stairs with an elaborate flourish of his arm and a far-too-wide smile. I’d seen waxworks show more authenticity.

  ‘I’ll take the ladies to their rooms,’ Kekipi said, knocking Domenico’s hand to his side and sweeping his hair from his forehead. ‘What time is dinner?’

  ‘Mr Bennett has suggested the ladies dine with him in the grand salon at seven,’ he replied, bowing his head graciously. ‘If you require anything at all before that time, please do let me know. Pressing 1 on the phone in your room will connect you directly to housekeeping and they will be happy to help you with whatever you might need.’

  Kekipi stood on the first step of the staircase behind his Italian counterpart and clutched the wooden banister, eyes narrowed, knuckles white. He was seething.

  ‘And we will dine downstairs.’ Domenico turned to give Kekipi the full weight of his stare. Even though he was standing on the stairs, Kekipi was still the shorter of the two but height difference wasn’t going to be enough to win this battle. ‘Afterwards.’

  ‘OK, Mr Downton,’ he said, hand on hip. ‘Maybe Artie likes to keep things upstairs downstairs but I’ll be eating with Mr Bennett and the ladies in the dining room at seven. And I’m lactose intolerant, so keep that in mind while you’re preparing your feast. Ladies.’ He snapped his fingers and pointed up the stairs. ‘Follow me.’

  ‘Tess, he’s fabulous,’ Amy whispered. ‘He’s the most best gay man I’ve ever met. And I’ve met all the gay men, fabulous or otherwise.’

  ‘I think he might actually be the best man, gay or otherwise,’ I replied. ‘Just wait until you get him to do karaoke. He’s a God.’

  ‘Thank you so much, Domenico,’ I said, repeatedly dipping in mini bows as we scooted around him and up the stairs after Kekipi. ‘I’m sure we’ll be fine. But thank you. And for dinner. Thanks.’

  ‘Stop thanking him,’ Kekipi yelled without looking back. ‘It’s his job.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I mouthed.

  ‘Prego,’ Domenico said with a small smile. ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘So what was that all about?’ Amy asked as she and Kekipi bounced up a second staircase and along the hallway on the third floor. ‘You two don’t get on, I take it?’

  ‘I’ve been with Al for a very long time,’ Kekipi explained, linking arms with Amy as they trotted on in front of me. I dawdled behind, running my fingertips along the heavy patterned silk that lined the walls.

  ‘When the Bennetts purchased this palazzo in the late seventies, it was Jane, Mrs Bennett’s, passion project. She renovated the entire place, designed the gardens, the colour schemes. She spent years pulling together the furniture …’ His voice grew soft with recollection as we turned a corner into an identical hallway. It was like being lost in a beautiful hall of mirrors.

  ‘But when Jane became sick, Al wanted to keep her in New York, near the best doctors, and eventually, they retreated to Hawaii almost altogether. Since he lost Jane, Al has barely left the island. He spends a little time in New York when he must and I always travel with him to ensure he is well looked after in a manner he finds comfortable but Mr Bennett Junior, for the last fifteen or so years, has spent the majority of the year here in Milan, tending to the business. He hired Domenico.’

  ‘So this is Al’s son’s house?’ Amy asked as Kekipi came to a halt at the end of the hallway in front of a pair of white double doors. ‘And Domenico is his guy?’

  ‘The house still belongs to Al,’ Kekipi clarified, pulling a key out of his pocket. ‘But without Jane, he hasn’t seemed interested in visiting for a very long time. Domenico does a very good job of looking after the house while we are away and he takes excellent care of Mr Bennett Junior but we have differing management styles. As I said, Al and I have worked together for a very long time, we have been through so much. Domenico thinks he’s top dog because he manages a palazzo. He thinks I’m some simple islander who is only good for organizing a luau and mixing drinks.’

  ‘You are very good at both of those things,’ I said. ‘But you know you’re more than that. Don’t rise to it.’

  ‘So wise for one so young,’ he sighed. ‘I knew I liked you.’

  ‘How come Al wanted to come back now?’ Amy asked. ‘What’s happening here that has convinced him to leave Hawaii? Because I’m totally happy to get on a plane to Hawaii and help out over there if he changes his mind.’

  Kekipi gave us both a small smile and slipped the key into the elaborate gold lock on the door before him.

  ‘I imagine all will be revealed at dinner,’ he said, turning the key and pushing open the door. ‘Or at least, all that Al is ready to tell us. Are you ready to see your rooms, ladies?’

  ‘Oh. My. God!’

  It was the second time in the same hour that the building had silenced Amy. I was really starting to like this place. Following her into the bedroom – and only jumping very slightly at Kekipi’s friendly slap on my arse – I understood what had got her so excited. Our ‘rooms’ were incredible. The ceilings were twice as high as mine at home and huge, airy windows opened out onto the street below, standing watch over the park across the way. Just like the house in Hawaii, most of the furniture was white and overstuffed but in every corner, I spotted a different antique – a beautiful wooden writing desk, an elegant mirror, a painting that clearly hadn’t come from Ikea; Jane Bennett’s signature style was everywhere I looked. But where were the beds?

  ‘Tess, I have you in this room,’ Kekipi said, opening a second set of double doors on his left. Oh. The beds were in the bedrooms. Of course. My room was dominated by a beautiful wooden four-poster bed, draped in the softest-looking white linens, and over by the window was another beautiful-looking antique desk, topped by a brand-new shiny Mac. ‘I had them install whatever photography software it didn’t have,’ Kekipi said, waving at the computer. ‘I wasn’t sure whether or not you would have everything you needed.’

  I crouched down to peel off my Primark ballet flats and let my feet sink into the plush carpeting. It was like walking on a polar bear. Not that I had ever walked on a polar bear.

  ‘And Amy, you are across the salon.’ He gestured towards the other set of double doors on the opposite side of the room. Amy ran across and threw the doors open, squealing in incomprehensible delight. ‘As Domenico mentioned, you only need to
press 1 to reach the housekeeper should you need anything at all, and I’m on 219 if there is anything only I can help you with.’

  ‘What’s the karaoke scene like around here?’ I asked, ignoring Amy’s screeches.

  ‘Abysmal,’ he sniffed. ‘But we’ll make our own fun. Besides, you’ve got tales to tell me before we start singing songs. Unless you’re going to begin with the Ballad of Mr Miller?’

  ‘Unlikely,’ I said with a wan smile. ‘But I could give you a catchy disco number called “my best friend told me he loved me but I didn’t say it back and now I’m dead confused”.’

  ‘Most of Beyoncé’s songs have one-word titles now but I’m sure we can work with it,’ he said. ‘That’s definitely a story that needs a cocktail. Meet me downstairs in a little while? An adult beverage after dinner, perhaps?’

  ‘Sounds wonderful,’ I agreed. ‘And you can tell me more stories about Domenico because I know you have them.’

  ‘Quite.’ Kekipi kissed both my cheeks with two very noisy, very non-Domenico smacks, handed me two suite keys, one for me, one for Amy, and closed the salon doors behind him.

  ‘Tess, get in here!’ Amy bellowed from her room. ‘Come and look at my bath! It’s massive! I can swim in it! Can we swim in it?’

  ‘I’m not coming in if you’re naked.’ I hesitated in the doorway, waiting for confirmation that she was still at least semi-dressed. ‘We’ve talked about this.’

  ‘I’m not in there yet, knobber.’

  And she wasn’t. She was bouncing on her bed, trying to touch the canopy with her fingertips.

  ‘I feel like I’m in Beauty and the Beast,’ she breathed, dropping onto her arse and falling backwards to spread eagle across the enormous mattress. ‘Do you think they’ll adopt me?’

  ‘Maybe you could marry Artie,’ I suggested.

  Amy shot upright, eyes wide open.

  ‘Is he single? Is he straight? Actually, that doesn’t matter – is he single?’

  ‘I will be in my room, working,’ I said, ignoring the question. Sometimes it was all you could do. ‘Try to stay out of trouble.’

  ‘You don’t need me to help?’ she asked, looking a little crestfallen. ‘Because I’m totally ready to assist the shit out of you.’

  ‘Go for a swim in your bath,’ I said, heading back into my own room. ‘I’ll see you in a bit.’

  Closing the door, I took in a very deep breath and let it out as slowly as I could. Across the room, a huge mirror showed me a picture of a girl who looked just like me, only not quite. I smiled and she smiled back but it wasn’t the confident, self-assured look I was hoping to project. I hoped that would come in time. I was calm. I had this.

  Pulling my phone out of my handbag and setting up the charger by my bedside, I checked quickly to make sure Charlie hadn’t tried to call. Of course, he hadn’t. When I thought about the look on his face after I gave him a bloody thumbs up, I felt sick. He had every right to be furious with me. By the time I saw him again, he would understand and I would be over the shock of the whole thing. After all, I did love Charlie. I’d loved Charlie before he had loved me, I was so in love with him that I couldn’t remember what it felt like not to be in love with him. So why couldn’t I say it back?

  Once my workstation and bedside table were all set up, I threw my suitcase onto the bed. Compared to Amy’s bags, it felt completely empty. It was only when I unzipped it, I realized it felt like it was completely empty because, aside from two packs of Marks & Spencer’s knickers, it was completely empty.

  ‘Amy!’ I was shouting. I knew I was shouting but I could not stop myself from shouting. I stared at the bare black lining of the suitcase. ‘Where the fuck are all my fucking clothes?’

  ‘Calm down, potty mouth,’ she trotted into my room, calmly dragging one of her enormous cases behind her. ‘Don’t be angry with me but I had a look at what you’d packed while you were in the shower this morning and honestly, I didn’t think you were doing yourself any favours, so I packed another case for you. Ta-da! And you’re welcome.’

  I stood, I stared, I did not speak.

  ‘I know you were all about monochrome non-statements in the office,’ she went on, dropping into a cross-legged pile in front of her suitcase and reaching around, giving it a huge hug as she fiddled with the zip, tongue sticking out the side of her mouth in her best Miley impression. ‘But we’re in Milan now, Tess. This is fashion, right? I talked to Paige when we were at the shoot the other day and she was telling me how Milan has all the amazing, out-there couture and that it’s like, the most fashion-forward city and then I looked in your case and it was just a bit sad.’

  ‘So you thought I could make a fashion-forward statement by going out in my pants?’ I picked up one of the five packs and threw it at her as hard as I could. Which sadly wasn’t nearly hard enough.

  ‘You’ve got to have pants,’ she replied, throwing them right back. ‘I’m not completely mental.’

  ‘And what about my bras? And my pyjamas? And all my fucking clothes, Amy?’ I was not calm. I did not have this. More importantly, I did not have any clothes. ‘Oh my God, Amy, oh my God.’

  ‘You’re wearing a bra.’

  ‘Women need more than one bra,’ I shouted.

  ‘That’s crazy,’ she replied, shuffling her own, perfectly formed, bra-less A-cup boobs inside her T-shirt and pushing up the lid of her case to reveal a rainbow fancydress box of nightmares. ‘I told you; I packed a case for you from my stuff. This is going to be loads of fun. Take you out of your comfort zone a bit.’

  ‘It might have escaped your notice but I’m already outside my comfort zone!’ I was shouting again. ‘I’m in Milan. And since when were you an expert in haute couture?’

  She pouted. ‘Did someone in this room not have an interview at Topshop two days ago?’

  ‘Oh, that’s it, I’m going to kill you!’ I raised my hands and let them clap back against my sides before I could actually attack. It would be a crime to get blood on this gorgeous carpet. ‘I can’t believe you’ve done this to me.’

  ‘I’m going to go back to my room and let you look through this stuff.’ Amy shuffled onto her feet and folded her arms in front of her. ‘You can thank me when you’ve calmed down. Oh, and so you know, I did pack your sad toiletry bag in there so you know, you’re welcome.’

  All I could think was that Amy was very lucky that my shoulder was still sore from falling out of a window or she would have been waking up at the bottom of a river, inside her bloody suitcase. This was ridiculous. I pawed through her outfit selections, trying not to cry. There wasn’t a single thing in here that I would ever, ever choose to put on my body, even if it had fitted me, which next to none of it would. Amy had once described traditional clothes sizing as ‘fascist’ and refused to be boxed into a number or a letter ‘dictated by the man’ but that was a very easy stance to take when you were a size six and had what could be loosely defined as an eclectic fashion sense.

  At five ten with a little waist, big arse and giant boobs, I tended to have a bit more respect for the difference between a size six and a size sixteen. Unless I was planning to wear a hessian sack, I couldn’t just throw something on and belt it in the middle. Mounds of glitter, neon, sequins, feathers, leather and pleather oozed out of the suitcase like the magic porridge pot but I might as well have been sitting here with a bag full of Christmas crackers. I couldn’t wear any of these clothes; Al and Kekipi would think I’d lost my mind. I also couldn’t wear any of these clothes if I wanted to keep my midriff and the bottom third of my arse cheeks covered. Oh, and wait for it, right at the bottom was the bloody neon unicorn T-shirt. Of course. I pulled it out and looked at the gurning quadruped, my bottom lip quivering.

  ‘Better wash this out,’ I said, peeling off my white V-neck and closing the suitcase, blinking back tears. ‘Every night for the next week.’

  Brilliant. My first week as a professional fashion photographer and everyone was going to think my fashion icons were e
ither Ian McShane in Lovejoy or a poorly dressed drag queen. It was the stuff dreams were made of.

  Incapable of even looking at Amy without being moved to violence, I avoided her for the rest of the afternoon. Wearing my jeans and her friendly, ill-fitting unicorn T-shirt, I decided to spend my time getting to grips with my new camera in the gardens instead. Al’s Italian home-away-from-home was truly wonderful. When I marched out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind me, I was certain nothing short of ritual sacrifice would calm me down but as soon as I was outside, in the courtyard, I felt better. For a moment, I wondered if I’d finally had that aneurysm I’d been worrying about and if this was actually heaven – but it couldn’t be. Surely, if there was a benevolent God, he wouldn’t make anyone spend eternity in this T-shirt?

  Stepping into the sunshine and looking back on the building’s façade made me feel like a princess. And not the real-life Kate Middleton variety; no, the legit, wide-eyed, long-shiny-hair-and-a-waist-too-slim-to-contain-all-the-necessary-vital-organs Disney variety. Actually, maybe they were the same, it was very hard to tell. The gardens were made up of small squares of courtyard, some laid with flagstones and decorated with fountains and urns filled with beautiful trees and plants and others were laid with lush grass and had vines running all over the walls that surrounded them. Almost all of them had narrow arcades running down the sides, with endless repeated archways supporting the palazzo above and providing shady spaces to hide from the sun.

  My favourite was the smallest of all the spaces I discovered. Unlike the rest of the gardens that flowed into each other, this one was hidden behind a wooden door and a sandy yellow wall. Inside it looked as though no one had been in here for centuries, even though, from the look of the shiny sprinkler system and ashtray with two dead cigarette butts, clearly someone had. But still, even if there had been other visitors, I couldn’t help but be reminded of The Secret Garden, one of my favourite books when I was little. I loved reading about Mary and Colin and Dickon, working away in their own private hideaway, bringing the garden back to life.