Authors: Jill Mansell
‘And I’m Hester,’ she told Con, in case he secretly fancied her rotten but was too shy to ask.
‘I didn’t get it for you so you could do that.’ With an apologetic smile in Hester's direction, Con turned and seized control of the
book. Orla, who was busy waggling her fingers in a witch-like fashion and sticking imaginary pins into the cover, said, ‘But it's what I want to do!’
‘We’ve already decided. I put the idea to the old man on the flight down and he's all for it. You’re going to review the book,’ Con explained. ‘For whichever paper will give you the biggest coverage. Everyone knows what Christie Carson did to you—’
‘Bloody hell, I should think the whole
world
knows about that.’ Orla shuddered at the memory, then brightened as she realized what Con was getting at. ‘You mean I can get my own back on Mr. Nasty-Beardy-Weasel-Face? Slag him off and give his grotty little book the worst review ever in the history of the whole wide world? Darling, you are completely brilliant!’
‘Well,’ said Con, ‘you could do that. It’d make you feel better and everyone else would pat you on the back. They’d say well done and that it jolly well served him right for being so horrid to you in the first place.’
‘Which it would,’ Orla declared with immense satisfaction. Then, catching the look in Con's eyes, she wailed, ‘Oh what
now
? There's a
but
, isn’t there? You’re going to say something beginning with But.’
Con winked at Millie. Noticing a waiter gliding by, Millie snaffled Hester and herself a couple of drinks.
‘
But
my friend gave me this proof copy yesterday.’ In an aside, Con briefly explained to Millie and Hester, ‘Proof copies come out ahead of publication, for reviewers and people in the book trade.’ Turning back to Orla he added, ‘And I spent the whole of last night reading it.’
Orla held up her hands, warding him off. ‘Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.’
‘It's very, very good.’
‘Oh God,’ Orla cried in disgust.
Con shrugged.
‘I’m sorry. But it is.’
‘I can still trash it though,’ she said eagerly. ‘I can still rip it to shreds.’
‘You could. Although everyone would know exactly why you’d done it.’
‘She's got to go completely the other way!’ Millie exclaimed. Her eyes locked with Con's. ‘What she has to do is give the book a
wonderful
review.’
‘Precisely.’ Con grinned at her once more. ‘Spot on. Tit for tat isn’t going to win anybody any brownie points.’
‘You just have to rise above it,’ Millie told Orla. ‘Prove to everyone that you haven’t a spiteful bone in your body. You had the perfect opportunity to retaliate… but you didn’t. Because you’re a better person than that, and you’d never dream of stooping so low.’
‘Actually,’ said Orla, ‘I would. I’m dreaming of it right now.’
Across the daisy-splashed lawn, Millie spotted her mother. Adele was deep in flirtatious conversation with a man in his early sixties.
‘Um…’ she tapped Orla on the arm, ‘who's that chap over there?’
God, how embarrassing, Adele was showing him her Sylvia Plath.
‘Where? Talking to your mother, you mean?’ said Orla.
Con Deveraux, following the direction of their gaze, said, ‘That's my dad.’
The car might not be new but it was performing like a star. Nat, whose own ancient Ford Escort had taken to breaking down at practically hourly intervals in recent weeks, had persuaded Julio, one of the waiters he shared a flat with, to lend him the little Renault for the trip down.
Thank God, Nat thought now, otherwise he’d still be stuck on the outskirts of Carlisle.
It had taken nine hours, but at last he was here. Back in Cornwall. Back in Newquay. The smell of the sea through the car's open windows filled his nostrils, exhilarating and familiar at the same time. God, it was good to be home.
He couldn’t wait to see Hester again. Couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when she pulled open the front door and saw him there.
Nat pulled into Hester's road, packed with cars as usual, and managed to squeeze the custard-yellow Renault into a space just a couple of houses up from Hester and Millie's. Climbing out of the car, he realized just how much he ached. Since ringing Hester from the Michaelwood service station on the M5, his joints had seized up even more.
But he didn’t care. Nothing else mattered now. He was here, and every muscle-numbing minute of the journey from Glasgow had been worth it. Hester was about to get the surprise of her life.
After knocking the knocker and ringing the doorbell several times, Nat realized his great plan had gone somewhat pear-shaped. Hester wasn’t there. She had changed her mind after all and gone out.
Oh well, it wasn’t the end of the world, Nat reminded himself. Disappointing, but not entirely unexpected.
Although the whole point of asking Hester where she was going tonight had been so he could surprise her when he turned up there too.
Never mind, they had the rest of the weekend ahead of them.
Stretching his aching shoulders, Nat made his way back down the street, threw his overnight bag into the boot, and locked the Renault up for the night. He’d walk into town from here, trawl a few bars, see if he was able to track Hester down one way or another.
And if he couldn’t, he’d just come back here at closing time and wait for her to come home. He knew Hester well enough to know that if she was tired, she wouldn’t be late.
Millie and Hester, investigating the marquee, were realizing that they actually knew quite a few of the other guests, or at least recognized them enough to say hello to. Richard, the gardener Orla had been so keen to set Millie up with, was looking incredibly spruced up in a neatly pressed khaki safari suit.
‘God, no wonder I didn’t fancy him,’ Millie murmured to Hester. ‘Can you imagine going out with someone who wears a safari suit?’
‘He wants to be David Bellamy when he grows up.’ Hester gave her a nudge. ‘Ooh look, don’t Fogarty and Phelps look different out of their striped aprons!’
Tom Fogarty and Tim Phelps, joint owners of the best delicatessen in Cornwall, were there with their wives. A group of men in garish clothes—surely Giles's cronies from the golf club—were roaring with laughter at some joke. People were already starting to dance, among them Lloyd and Judy, Millie noticed.
‘There's Jen and Trina,’ Hester pointed out, spotting two coltish young blondes she recognized from Newquay's trendier nightspots. Remembering, she said, ‘Of course, they live up here, I gave them a lift home once from Freddie's Bar. They must be Orla's neighbors.’
It was nine o’clock now, and the marquee was filling up fast.
‘Do I look okay?’ Having drained her glass, Hester struck a pose. ‘Hair all right? Lipstick still on? No bits of food stuck in my teeth?’
‘You’re fine.’ Millie knew what had prompted this. Lucas would be here any minute now.
Basically, Hester was a lost cause.
‘Oh God,’ Hester squeaked suddenly, like a bat. ‘There he is!’
He was indeed. Standing at the entrance to the marquee with his
dark hair ruffled, his leather trousers gleaming in the dim light, and his bottle green eyes not missing a trick. Spotting Jen and Trina in their skimpy crocheted day-glo tank tops and shorts, he grinned in recognition then waved and nodded at several other people he knew. Finally—when
everyone
had noticed him—he made his way over to Millie and Hester.
‘Good turnout,’ Lucas approved, seizing a drink from one of the waitresses who had promptly beelined towards him and flashing a friendly smile at Hester. ‘Hess, you’re looking great, love the shoes.’
Hester, her heart spinning like a Catherine wheel, peered down idiotically at her feet to see which ones she was wearing. Oh yes, silver strappy mules sprinkled with pink glitter. Now they were her absolute favorites—hooray for glittery mules!
‘How did the hen night go?’ Millie asked. ‘Got away in one piece, then.’
‘The hen was sloshed.’ Lucas grinned. ‘She wanted to call off the wedding and run away with me instead. She tried to persuade me to go to Antigua with her instead of her husband.’
Hester knew how the girl felt. Eagerly she said, ‘So what did you do?’
‘Dragged her into the ladies’ loo and gave her a good seeing-to.’
‘My God, you didn’t!’
‘No.’ Lucas winked. ‘Hess, I’m shocked. You don’t seriously think I’d do something so crass?’
Crass? Good grief, it was her most cherished fantasy come true! Hester's toes were tingling at the mere
thought
of being royally ravished in a toilet cubicle—
‘Here she is, here she is!’ Materializing at Millie's side, Orla gaily drew her round to come face to face—once more—with Con Deveraux. ‘We wondered where you’d got to! I was mentioning your juggling skills to Con and he's
deeply
impressed.’
Standing next to Lucas was playing havoc with Hester's adrenalin
levels. As another waiter moved past, she grabbed two glasses of wine from the tray.
‘Do you remember Lucas?’ Millie innocently asked Orla. ‘You met briefly once before.’
As if anyone could forget meeting Lucas Kemp.
‘Of course I remember,’ Orla gushed.
‘Hi again.’ Lucas bestowed his most dazzling get-your-knickers-off smile upon Orla. ‘Thanks for inviting me. By the way, I love your shoes.’
No! No! Wrong, wrong, wrong. Hester, unable to believe her ears, stared at Lucas. You don’t love
her
shoes, you love
mine
.
‘And I can see why you’re such a wow with the girls,’ Orla told him cheerfully.
‘Oh dear.’ Miming apology, Lucas winked at her. ‘Did I forget to do up my flies?’
LUCAS WAS FLIRTING WITH Orla. Feeling left out, Hester wandered off in search of another drink. On the edge of the dance floor she bumped into Jen and Trina, shimmying away like nobody's business and causing the band's eyes to boggle almost out of their heads.
‘Hey, Hess! What a laugh, eh? Not a bad bash, considering it's full of oldies!’ Trina, writhing energetically, seized Hester's glass and drained it in one thirsty gulp.
‘Mind you, can’t see it lasting too long.’ Jen pulled a face. ‘We reckon they’ll want tucking up with their mugs of cocoa by midnight.’ Trina and Jen were eighteen and twenty respectively.
‘I don’t want to be tucked up with cocoa by midnight.’ Hester was alarmed by the prospect. Although she wouldn’t mind being tucked up with Lucas.
‘So, fancy coming on out with us? We’re planning to hit a few clubs later,’ panted Trina.
‘Why not? Could do.’
‘Yeah, it’ll be a laugh.’
‘Okay,’ said Hester. ‘Well, see how things go here.’ It was hard to give up the Lucas fantasy entirely.
‘She's still got it then.’ Jen gave Trina a nudge as Hester made her way back to the bar.
‘Got what?’
‘Stonking great crush on Leg-Over Lucas.’
Trina looked surprised. ‘I thought she was still seeing that chef guy.’
From her lofty position as elder sister, Jen rolled her eyes and said, ‘God, you’re so
young
.’
‘I don’t know whether or not you’ve noticed this,’ Con Deveraux's tone was conversational, ‘but there does appear to be some serious matchmaking going on.’
It was the fourth time in less than an hour that Orla had deftly engaged the two of them in conversation then flitted off.
‘I spotted it too,’ said Millie. ‘I’m really sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’
‘Just so long as you don’t think I asked Orla to keep hurling you at me.’
He looked amused.
‘It's all right, I don’t.’
‘Smile,’ Millie prompted, ‘we’re being watched.’
Con's mother and Orla were observing them from a discreet distance.
‘Spied on, you mean.’ His tone was one of good-natured resignation. ‘It's okay, I’m used to this. My mother won’t rest until she sees me settled down with the perfect girl.’
‘Why? It's not as if you’re ancient.’
God, I’m getting old, thought Millie. He's thirty and I don’t even think that's ancient.
Con shrugged. ‘It's her mission in life. Nice dress, by the way. That color really suits you.’
Glancing over, Millie saw that Moira Deveraux and Orla were huddled together, deep in conversation. Spotting her, Moira instantly stopped talking and pretended to be busy admiring one of the flower arrangements.
‘It must matter to her a lot,’ said Millie.
‘Believe me, it does.’
‘Wouldn’t it be easier just to tell her you’re gay?’
One minute Millie was standing there in the air-conditioned marquee sipping her drink and chattering happily away. The next moment, faster than you could say bolt-from-the-blue, Con had snatched the glass from her hand and swept her outside.
Millie couldn’t even feel her feet touching the ground… his arm was clamped like a steel girder around her waist… goodness, he was strong…
When they were out in the garden, Con still didn’t release his grip. He kept on going, threading his way through the clusters of guests on the lawn until they reached the back of the house.
But even that wasn’t good enough for Con Deveraux. Patting the back pocket of his trousers with his free hand, he pulled out a couple of keys and steered Millie over towards the helicopter, crouched on the dry grass like a prehistoric bird of prey.
Millie, gazing up at it in amazement, said, ‘Good grief, are you planning to kidnap me?’
If he was, Paris would be nice.
‘We need to talk. Without being overheard.’ Sliding open the passenger door, Con gave her a brief leg-up. Then, striding round, he hopped in the other side.
As soon as both doors were closed he turned to Millie. ‘How did you know?’
‘I didn’t. I didn’t, I swear.’ Not for the first time Millie wished she wasn’t blessed with the ability to always say the wrong thing to the wrong person at the wrong time. ‘It was a joke, that's all. I just thought it would be a great way to stop your mother nagging you about girlfriends. I’m sorry,’ she pleaded. ‘It's not even funny. But I
promise
I didn’t know!’
Con's gaze was unwavering. It was like being eyeballed at close range by a bird of prey.