Authors: Jill Mansell
‘So that's your boss,’ Con remarked when Lucas had headed over to the dance floor. ‘I suppose he's straight?’
‘As a spirit level.’
‘Thought so. Shame,’ murmured Con.
‘Just as well.’ Millie gave him a reproving nudge in the ribs. ‘That's hardly the way to impress your mother.’
‘I’m so glad you two like each other,’ Orla told Millie when Con had gone in search of fresh drinks. Delightedly she added, ‘I knew you’d hit it off.’
Yikes, give Orla an inch and she’d take a ten-mile route march. She’d be down at the local church before you could say confetti, flirting with the vicar and putting up the banns.
And Moira would probably start knitting bonnets and booties…
‘He's great,’ Millie agreed, ‘but I don’t know if we’re talking the romance of the century.’
‘No? Shame. Oh well, never mind.’ Orla shrugged. ‘Lucky I got you a choice then.’
‘A choice…?’ Millie blinked. Was this why Orla had invited Hugh along to the party? Except if that was the case, what was Kate doing here superglued to his arm?
‘Richard,’ Orla chided, nodding across the dance floor to where Richard-the-gardener was roaring with laughter, probably at some hilarious gardening joke.
Millie nodded, disappointed.
‘Right.’
‘And Miles Carter-Buck, from the golf club. You haven’t met him yet, he's a stockbroker.’ Hurriedly Orla added, ‘But I promise you, he's really nice.’
No mention of Hugh. Millie couldn’t see him anywhere. Nor could she bring herself to ask Orla what he was doing here, because Orla's antennae would be twitching and buzzing in a flash. She’d be unstoppable.
Instead, to change the subject, Millie said, ‘Who's that girl talking to Giles?’
Who indeed? Orla had never seen the girl before, but the familiar little knots were already tightening themselves in her stomach. Not that there was any particular reason to be suspicious, but that was the trouble with an unfaithful husband. If he’d done it once, he could always do it again. Once the trust was gone, you were never able to relax completely. You could never check the pockets of clothes before they went into the washing machine without mentally bracing yourself for the discovery of some incriminating scrap of paper, either a receipt or a phone number, capable of making your heart go thud-thud-thud.
But that way led to endless pain and misery. Orla knew she had to give Giles a chance to redeem himself, to prove he’d turned over a new leaf. Apart from anything else, she knew only too well that endless suspicion and jealousy on her part could destroy their marriage just as effectively as infidelity on his.
The affair with Martine was over. She had to,
had
to believe this. And just because he’d done it before didn’t necessarily mean he’d do it again.
‘I don’t know who she is.’ Orla plastered on a bright smile. ‘But this is a party, isn’t it? Why don’t we go over and find out?’
‘SWEETHEART, HI.’ GILES SLID an affectionate arm around Orla's waist. ‘Say hello to Anna, from the golf club. She lives in Perranporth.’
‘Lovely to meet you.’ Warmly, Orla shook the girl's hand. Anna had a firm grip—well, you’d expect that in a golfer—clear grey eyes, and chin-length hair cut in a glossy, magenta bob.
‘You too.’ Anna smiled. ‘It was so nice of your husband to invite me along tonight. I’m pretty new to the area, so I don’t know all that many people down here yet. Having a huge party like this is a great idea.’ Shyly she added, ‘You have a beautiful house.’
‘Well, you must come to dinner one night.’ Orla spoke with characteristic enthusiasm. Superstitiously, she had already decided the nicer she was to this girl, the less likely Giles would be to start up an affair with her. Or, at any rate, the girl might have enough principles to say, ‘Oh no, I
couldn’t
, your wife is so lovely. I couldn’t possibly do anything to hurt Orla.’
‘Anna was just telling me, she's a dressmaker,’ said Giles.
‘A dressmaker, how fabulous! In that case I must come and see you,’ Orla burbled. ‘I’d absolutely love to be one of your clients—did you make that gorgeous outfit yourself?’
‘Excuse me,’ murmured Millie, catching a glimpse of Hugh and Kate through the crowd. ‘I’ll catch up with you later, there's someone I’d like to say hello to.’
Con had been dragged on to the dance floor by two of the brash,
anything-for-a-giggle wives from the golf-club set. Dancing good-naturedly with the pair of them, he winked at Millie as she made her way past.
What am I going to say to Hugh? What am I going to say to him?
Millie didn’t get the chance to find out. A mere six feet separated her from Hugh and Kate when she was unceremoniously ambushed by Richard-the-gardener wearing a broad grin and his shirt unbuttoned, Tom Jones-style, almost to his waist.
A few beers, evidently, and Richard shed his inhibitions faster than you could fell a small tree,
‘MillieMillieMillie, a little birdie tells me you wouldn’t say no to a dance,’ he crowed happily—and appropriately—as both arms closed around her like a vice.
Thanks, Orla.
‘Maybe later.’ Millie didn’t have to look over to know that Hugh and Kate were watching.
‘No time like the present,’ bellowed Richard, hauling her—like a recalcitrant wheelbarrow—on to the dance floor. ‘Come on now, don’t be shy, I know you fancy me!’
‘Actually, I—’
Don’t, Millie had been about to say, politely, but she was too slow. Richard's eager mouth fastened limpet-like over hers and all she could do was let out a throaty gurgle of protest.
Uh oh, serious suction…
‘Okay, now listen to me,’ Richard announced when he came up for air. ‘Basically, I know I’m a bit pissed, otherwise I’d never have had the nerve to do that. But I think you’re bloody gorgeous, and when Orla started dropping hints… well, I realized she was letting me know you felt the same way about me.’
Millie winced. That was the trouble with Orla's hints, they were the size of lawn mowers. The Rolls-Royce, sit-on kind.
‘So how about it?’ Richard was gazing at her in earnest.
‘How about what?’
‘You and me! Getting it together. What d’you reckon, eh?’
Oh dear, the seduction technique was a trifle lacking. Could explain why he's still single, Millie thought. Maybe he should consider taking up evening classes in Beginner's Finesse.
‘Well—’
‘Millie, seen Hess anywhere? Oops.’ Jen stifled a grin. ‘Sorry to interrupt your big snogging session, but she said she might be up for a trip into town and now we can’t find her.’
Gratefully, Millie extracted herself from Richard's grasp. Quite a firm grasp, actually, as if she were a stubborn tree root he was determined to pull up.
‘I’ll come and help you look.’
Outside, Jen pulled out her mobile and rang for a taxi. Trina said, ‘We’re going to hit a few clubs. Fancy coming with us?’
‘I can’t. Giving my mum a lift home.’ Millie pulled a face. ‘Look, I’ll see if Hester's in the house, you search the gardens. She's here somewhere.’
Hester wasn’t in the house. By the time Millie reemerged there was no sign of Jen and Trina. Either they’d found Hester and bundled her into the cab with them or, by a process of elimination, she was back in the marquee.
She wasn’t. So that was it, Hester had definitely gone. Con Deveraux, greeting Millie's reappearance with delight, said, ‘My darling, you’ve been away for ages, some dreadful shrieking women have been chucking me around the dance floor like an old floor-cloth… you have no idea how much I’ve
missed
you.’
‘Let me guess,’ said Millie as he ran a flirtatious index finger along the line of her collarbone, ‘your mother's watching us.’
‘Like a hawk. A very proud and happy mother-hawk, at that.’ He grinned down at her, his hand affectionately rubbing her shoulder. ‘I’ll have to introduce you to her in a minute, before she bursts.’
‘Okay, but let me have a word with someone first.’ Millie, busy scanning the marquee, had—at last—spotted Hugh and Kate. They were still here and she knew she had to speak to them. ‘Back in a sec.’
The band had done a terrific job of getting everyone up on to their feet; the air reverberated to the sound of ‘Hi Ho Silver Lining’ (no wonder Jen and Trina had been so keen to escape) and the dance floor was as packed as the M25. Millie, fighting her way through the hordes of arm-waving, heel-banging forty-somethings, saw that Hugh and Kate were now talking to Orla.
Oh dear, not ideal.
Millie hung back for a few moments, waiting for their conversation to end, while the dancers swirled and stamped around her.
Hugh kissed Orla. Kate, giggling and starry-eyed, kissed Orla as well. Then Orla kissed and hugged them both in return… and now all three of them were laughing together…
Honestly, what was going
on
over there? Anyone would think they’d just got engaged.
Millie abruptly felt sick. Good grief, oh no,
surely not
.
By the time she’d finished battling across the floor, Orla was on her own. Hugh and Kate had vanished.
‘Hi. Um, where did those, um, people go?’ Skidding to a halt, Millie did her best to sound as if she were making polite conversation, merely interested in Orla's welfare.
‘Home.’ Orla was waving at people she knew, beckoning a waiter over, and tapping her feet in time with the music. ‘Got an early start tomorrow.’
Clunk, went Millie's heart, dropping into her boots. Thanks to her feverishly overactive imagination, an early start could mean only one thing.
Gretna Green.
Her voice came out all high and squeaky, very Minnie Mouse.
‘Uh, who are they?’
Orla took one look at her and started to laugh.
‘Oh, right, you mean the devastatingly good-looking guy who was just here? You’re wondering if by any chance he's another of the possibles I lined up for you tonight to take your pick from? Sorry, sweetie, but he isn’t a contender.’
Millie was glad of the multi-colored lights swirling over the dance floor, camouflaging her pink cheeks.
‘I wasn’t wondering that at all. I just asked you who they were.’
‘Hugh Emerson. Hot-shot computer consultant. Gorgeous,’ said Orla with a naughty grin, ‘but not for you.’
‘Oh.’ Her heart banging away, Millie said, ‘His girlfriend seems quite… young.’
‘Not girlfriend, just some neighbor. Hugh installed my computer. His wife died a few months ago.’ Orla was having to shout to be heard above the music. ‘Tragic, tragic. Absolutely heartbreaking. And the very last thing you need. Rebound relationships.’ She shuddered theatrically. ‘The very worst kind in the world. Doomed to disaster, darling, don’t even consider it!’
Just some neighbor. Not his girlfriend, not his fiancée, Millie thought ecstatically, just some neighbor,
hooray
.
‘No, no, you concentrate on darling Con.’ Orla gave her arm an encouraging squeeze. ‘He's lovely and he's single.’
Yes, thought Millie, but I’m a
girl
.
Nat made his way along the street, praying the lights would be on in Hester and Millie's house. A trawl of the bars and nightclubs had turned up several old friends but no Hester. Now it was midnight and he was shattered; the five-hundred-mile drive down from Glasgow had really taken it out of him.
There were no lights on, but Nat rang the doorbell anyway. Maybe they were asleep in bed.
He rang again, then banged on the door with his clenched fist.
Nothing, no response, still no one at home.
Hess, where
are
you?
Crouching on the doorstep, using the pen in his jacket pocket, Nat scribbled a note on the back of a flyer advertising special rates for pizza deliveries.
Hess. Surprise! See the yellow Renault parked outside between the white van and the dark blue Jag? Now look inside…
Smiling to himself, Nat pushed the note through the letterbox. Then, yawning uncontrollably, he made his way back to the borrowed car. At least it was a warm night. He’d sleep until Hester arrived home and found him. Knowing her, the moment he closed his eyes she’d be back, covering him with kisses, shrieking with delight, and waking everyone in the street.
Hester blinked up at the canopy of branches spread out over her head. Through the gaps between the leaves of the cherry tree she could see stars glittering in the indigo velvet sky.
When you wish upon a star… Hester thought groggily, clutching the empty wine bottle to her chest and realizing that she must be very drunk indeed if she didn’t even care that wiggly insects could— at this very moment—be crawling through her hair and heading straight for her ears.
She didn’t even care that the ground was spectacularly uncomfortable, her mouth was dry, and her eyes were sore from crying. At least it was peaceful out here. All she could hear was the gentle slip-slop of the water lapping at the sides of the pool and the raucous strains of the party carrying on in the far distance.
Earlier—how long earlier?—she had heard Jen and Trina calling her name. Then they’d stopped. After that, only a couple of wild rabbits bouncing across the grass had briefly disturbed her, before loping off once more into the undergrowth.
Together.
Gone to get laid, no doubt. Lucky old rabbits.
God, I made a fool of myself tonight, thought Hester, holding the bottle up to check it really was empty. I’ll be the laughing stock of Newquay when this gets out.
And it's all Nat's fault. If he’d been here, none of this would have happened.
Her eyes filled with fresh tears as she realized how unfair she was being, blaming Nat.
It's no good, I’m just a horrible, horrible person. I don’t deserve a lovely boyfriend, Hester decided wretchedly.
But it still wouldn’t have happened if only he’d been here.
Hester closed her gritty eyes. Eeeuurgh, now her head was spinning like a… like a spinny thing. Okay, just ignore it, maybe rolling on to her side would help… ooh yes, that was
much
better…
Within seconds, Hester was asleep.
A PUBLISHER, AN ACTUAL literary giant. Now this was more like it!