Authors: Jill Mansell
‘Nat! You can’t just leave.’ Millie tried to tug him inside but he shook her off his arm.
‘I think you’ll find I can. Sorry if I woke you up. When Hester gets back,’ Nat's jaw was taut with misery, ‘tell her I’ll be in touch.’
‘Who was that?’
‘Hester's boyfriend, Nat. He drove five hundred miles to see her and she isn’t here so now he's going back! What are you doing?’ Confused, Millie realized Hugh was already wearing his jeans. Now he was pulling on his shirt, fastening the buttons she had so joyously unfastened earlier. ‘You don’t have to get dressed.’
‘Sorry, there's some work I need to get sorted out.’ Hugh wasn’t looking at her. He was busy tucking his shirt into his jeans, combing his hair with his fingers, searching for his shoes.
‘Work?’ As Millie echoed the word, her stomach began to go into free fall. ‘At ten to seven on a Sunday morning?’
‘Look, thanks for last night. But I really have to go.’ She stared at Hugh in disbelief. He had never looked more devastatingly handsome, or more distant. And everything had appeared to be going so well. This wasn’t meant to happen at all.
‘I thought you couldn’t stop thinking about me.’ Oh dear,
oh dear
, not what the experts advise in their fifty fail-safe-ways-to-keep-your-man books. But Millie couldn’t stop herself; she had to at least
ask
.
‘That was because I wanted to sleep with you.’ Hugh was patting his pockets, searching for his car keys. ‘Now that's out of the way, everything should be fine.’ He shrugged. ‘Back to normal.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Humiliated beyond belief—because she simply hadn’t expected this to happen—Millie heard her own voice slide up a couple of octaves. Oh terrific, now she sounded like one of those squeaky rubber toys dogs play with. Then carelessly cast aside, the moment the novelty's worn off.
‘Yes, well.’ Hugh's tone was distant. ‘That's because it's a man thing. It's what we do.’
‘But—’
‘Millie, we had sex. That's all.’ He paused in the doorway, his expression softening. ‘And it was great, really it was. But it isn’t going to happen again. It can’t happen again. I told you before, didn’t I? I don’t want a relationship.’
This was true, Millie acknowledged. But she’d thought he’d changed his mind.
Gullible, that's what I am.
She didn’t bother trying to explain. Gullible was a girl thing.
Instead, thankful that at least she wasn’t sobbing wildly, wrapping her arms around Hugh's legs, and screaming at him to stay, she nodded jerkily.
‘Okay, right, I understand.’
Hugh looked relieved.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Oh yes, absolutely. Fine by me.’
You bastard, and I thought you loved me!
‘Good. Well, I’d better make a move.’
Millie climbed back into bed, pulling the rumpled duvet up to her chin.
‘Can you find your own way out?’
‘I should think so. I’m not sure where I left my—’
‘Keys? On the coffee table. Next to your phone.’
The one you rang me on last night, when you drove over here and stood outside my window.
‘Right. Well, thanks again.’
‘Don’t mention it. Glad to be of service.’
This was so, so,
so
much worse than being told you wore cheap clothes. Stuffing the corner of the duvet into her mouth, Millie listened to Hugh's footsteps on the staircase. Next she heard the clinking of keys, then the sound of the front door opening and slamming shut.
Maybe it was a trick. Maybe Hugh was only pretending to have left. At this very moment he could be creeping back up the stairs, about to burst into the bedroom with a broad grin on his face and a triumphant, ‘Ha! Only joking! You didn’t believe me, did you?’
But there was a limit to even Millie's endless supply of gullibility. She didn’t lie there seriously expecting this to happen.
Which was just as well, because it didn’t. Instead she listened to a car engine starting up outside, followed by the sound of the car being driven off down the road.
Looking on the bright side, at least Hester wasn’t here to demand her winnings.
As it turned out, sleeping with Hugh Emerson hadn’t been worth two hundred pounds after all.
At nine o’clock, Giles brought Orla a cup of tea in bed.
‘What's it like?’ He nodded at the book she was leafing through, the infamous proof copy of Christie Carson's novel.
Orla heaved a reluctant sigh. ‘Very Irish. Jaunty, but at the same time profound. It's actually quite hard to be objective,’ she admitted, ‘when all you can think about is how much you’d like to be sticking hot pins into the man who wrote it.’
‘Will you do a hatchet job?’
Melting inside, Orla watched him stir her tea before handing it over. She loved it when Giles did that for her, he could be so caring and thoughtful when he wanted.
‘I’d love to do a hatchet job,’ she announced fretfully. ‘But JD thinks I should give it a glowing review. Ha, set fire to the thing, that’ll make it glow.’ Throwing the book down, she stretched and held out her arms. ‘Anyway, you don’t have to be up yet. Come back to bed.’
Giles was standing at the window with his back to her. The next moment his shoulders stiffened with surprise.
‘What the…?’
‘What?’ demanded Orla, sitting up. ‘What the
what
?’
‘USO.’ Giles started to shake with laughter. ‘Heading this way.’
Orla looked bemused. ‘USO?’
‘Unidentified Staggering Object. Christ, ha ha, she’ll be lucky to make it across the lawn.’
Hopping out of bed, as incapable as ever of resisting a bit of intrigue, Orla followed the line of his pointing finger.
Emerging unsteadily from the trees at the back of the garden, carrying an empty wine bottle in one hand and a pair of silver mules in the other, was Hester.
Looking bedraggled and distinctly the worse for wear.
‘Hi. Okay, um, I’m really sorry about this.’ As she stumbled over the words, Hester belatedly realized she was covered in bits of twigs and grass. ‘But I fell asleep in your garden. Down by the pool. I don’t suppose I could use your loo?’
God, talk about embarrassing. Her brain felt as if it were two sizes too big for her skull, she ached all over from lying all night on the rock-hard ground, and her bladder was threatening to explode. It didn’t help that Giles, who had flung open the kitchen door, was
wearing a canary-yellow cashmere sweater, Rupert Bear golfy-type trousers, and a gallon of Kouros.
Not to mention a king-sized smirk.
‘Darling, so
that's
where you were. Millie was looking everywhere for you last night!’ Orla, in a turquoise silk robe, bustled forwards and gave her an enthusiastic hug. ‘You poor thing, you look dreadful. Whatever happened?’
A hug was the last thing Hester needed; the slightest pressure around her waist and she might wet herself.
‘Nothing. Just drank too much and crashed out.’ Pleadingly she said, ‘Where's your bathroom?’
‘Top of the stairs, turn left, fourth on the right. Tea or coffee?’ Orla began to fill the kettle at the sink.
Acutely aware of how she must look with her wrinkled dress, bleary eyes, and shiny face, Hester was already making a bolt for the staircase.
‘Um, tea would be great.’
Bursting into the bathroom at warp speed, Hester had almost reached the loo and was already fumbling with the waistband of her gold lurex knickers before she realized she wasn’t alone.
Con Deveraux, naked and dripping, stepped out of the shower.
‘Aaarrgh!’ Hester yanked her knickers back up again so fast she almost garotted herself.
‘Oh come on, I’m not that ugly,’ Con protested, laughing as he reached for a green and white striped towel. ‘Sorry, I thought I’d locked it.’ He nodded in the direction of the door. ‘This is always happening to me. You see, there's a kind of left-handed lock on the bathroom door in my flat, it turns the opposite way, so now I—’
‘Out, OUT!’ shrieked Hester, giving Lady Macbeth a run for her money. Desperation made her reckless and she found herself
manhandling Con Deveraux out of the bathroom before he even had a chance to fasten the towel around his waist.
Oh, the luxury, the utter
bliss
of finally being able to wee uninterrupted. Her skin actually prickling with relief, Hester let out a low groan and surrendered herself to the moment, not even caring that Con Deveraux might still be outside the bathroom door, able to hear everything that was… er, going on.
He was, too. When she’d finished splashing her face with water and had feebly attempted to comb her hair with her fingers into something approaching a style, Hester opened the door and found him leaning, arms folded, against the wall opposite.
Grinning, naturally, like a Cheshire cat.
‘Better now?’
‘Sorry about that. I was desperate.’
‘You’re not kidding. Still, I’m sorry too, if I gave you a fright back there.’ The grin broadened. ‘I didn’t realize you’d stayed the night.’
Since there were probably still assorted bits of garden in her hair, Hester guessed he was being polite.
Ruefully, she said, ‘I didn’t realize I’d stayed the night either. I fell asleep outside.’
‘STOP APOLOGIZING,’ ORLA SCOLDED, shoving a mug of tea and two ibuprofen into Hester's trembling hands. ‘A party's not a party without guests crashing out in peculiar places. Now drink this, swallow these, and see if you feel up to a spot of breakfast. And will Millie be worried about you? Should we give her a ring and let her know where you are?’
The ibuprofen went down a treat. Happily glugging back the hot tea, Hester shook her head.
‘She’ll still be asleep. No point waking her up. If I could borrow your phone, though, I’ll order a taxi.’
‘Darling, you don’t need to do that. Giles can drop you back!’
Giles, glancing at his watch, pulled a face and said, ‘That's pushing it a bit, we’re teeing off at ten sharp.’
He was distraught, Hester could tell.
‘No problem, I’ll give her a lift home,’ announced Con, coming into the kitchen fully dressed. He looked inquiringly at Orla. ‘If I can borrow your car?’
‘Of course you can.’ Beaming with delight, Orla declared, ‘And don’t think I don’t know what this is all about!’
Giles, busy practicing tee-shots with an imaginary nine iron, said, ‘Why? What is it all about?’
‘Romance, darling,
romance
.’ As Giles stared in disbelief at Hester—a fine fellow like Con surely couldn’t be interested in someone so bedraggled—Orla went on triumphantly, ‘Con's pining
already—he can’t wait to see Millie again. Oh, when Moira wakes up she's going to be so thrilled!’
Hester was feeling so miserable and sorry for herself that all it took on the journey home was one idle question from Con—‘So how did it go last night with you and that Lucas guy?’—and in no time at all the whole sordid story had come tumbling out.
‘I was out of my tree,’ Hester concluded, still hating herself but feeling surprisingly cleansed for having told Con everything—gosh, confession really
was
good for the soul, no wonder Catholics made such a big thing of it. ‘I threw myself at him and he threw me right back,’ she rattled on. ‘And you have no
idea
how humiliating
that
is! I mean, this is Lucas Kemp we’re talking about, not Cliff keep-it-zipped Richard. Lucas has a reputation like you wouldn’t believe… he’ll sleep with anyone,
anyone
.” Hester shook her head in despair, then added crossly, ‘Just so long as it's not
me
.’
‘Anyone?’ Con's tone was mild.
‘Anyone with a detectable pulse. Oh, and they do have to be female. This is really kind of you,’ said Hester as they approached the house. ‘It's on the left, further down, number forty-two. Bloody holidaymakers hogging all the parking spaces as usual… ooh, hang on, there's someone pulling out.’
While Con waited for the car to move he said easily, ‘But you still have your boyfriend, that's something. Or have you lost interest in him now?’
‘Nat?’ At the thought of Nat, a marshmallow-sized lump expanded in Hester's throat. ‘Of course I haven’t
lost interest
in Nat.’
Con shrugged.
‘So how do you feel about him?’
Was he about to give her a big telling-off?
‘I love him.’ Hester's voice began to wobble. ‘I really do. But
he's not here, is he? He hasn’t been here for
months
. And this business with Lucas… well, that started years ago, before Nat and I ever met. When I heard that Lucas was back in Newquay, I just had this uncontrollable urge to see him again, to find out if those feelings
were
still there… it was all so unfinished, you see. And of course the feelings were still there, like the world's biggest sherbet dip,’ Hester concluded miserably. ‘But only on my side, not his.’
Con smiled.
‘You’ll get over it.’
‘I suppose. Sod's law,’ she announced wryly as he pulled into the just-vacated parking space. ‘Serves me right for being a complete bitch and trying to cheat on Nat in the first place. I throw myself at Mr. Never-Says-No and he turns me down flat. It's like a punishment from God. What do they call it, divine something or other?’
‘Divine Retribution.’ Con raised an eyebrow. ‘I always think it sounds like a great name for a drag-queen.’
He’d managed, against all the odds, to cheer her up. Hester, still laughing as she climbed out of the orange Mercedes, slipped her arm companionably through his as they headed for the house.
‘You know, it’d be brilliant if you and Millie got together.’
Con didn’t tell her that it would be more than brilliant, it’d be a miracle.
‘If she has sex with you, she’ll owe me two hundred pounds,’ Hester confided happily. ‘Oh by the way, could you be an angel and not mention the Lucas thing to Millie? She’ll only call me a shameless trollop and lecture me, and I’m really not up to it.’
‘I promise not to mention the Lucas thing,’ Con solemnly assured her.
‘Come here.’ Reaching up, Hester planted a big sloppy grateful kiss on his cheek. ‘I love you. You are…
gorgeous
.’