Authors: Jill Mansell
‘Hugh, now listen to me, I may not be the world's greatest expert on happy marriages, but I can tell you now that would be a
disaster
.’ Orla's earrings jangled with agitation. ‘You have to promise me you won’t do that! Okay, she's a sweet enough girl, but let's face it, she's simply not in your league!’
‘How can you say that?’
‘Because I’ve got
eyes
in my head.’ Vigorously, Orla poked her fingers at her eyes. ‘I’ve seen the way she looks at you. And the way you look at her. For heaven's sake, you could have any girl you wanted.’
‘Maybe I’ve found the girl I want.’
‘I’m sorry, but you’re wrong.’ Orla was getting really worked up now, the food on her plate forgotten. ‘She isn’t good enough for you. A pretty face isn’t everything, you know. There has to be more to it than that. And let's face it, she's
so
immature.’
Coldly Hugh said, ‘In what way, exactly?’
‘Oh God, now you’re really cross with me. I don’t mean immature in the derogatory sense.’ Orla flapped her hands in an attempt to appease him. ‘I’m just saying she's so much younger than you. I mean, how old
is
she? Sixteen? Seventeen?’
Click click click, the cogs slipped into place. Orla wasn’t describing Millie. As far as she was concerned, Hugh belatedly deduced, this entire conversation had been about his next-door neighbor, Kate.
The relief, for some reason, was indescribable.
‘Sixteen,’ said Hugh, pushing his plate away.
‘And now I’ve made you hate me.’ Orla looked at him with a
mixture of determination and regret. ‘Darling, I’m sorry, but someone had to say it, and I won’t take it back.’
‘You’re entitled to your opinion.’ Hugh's tone softened. ‘We’ll just have to see what happens, won’t we?’
Rather like reading one of your novels.
Click click click…
‘What's wrong?’ Alarmed by his air of distraction, Orla said, ‘We’re still friends, aren’t we?’ Jumping to her feet, she blurted out, ‘There's a lemon tart for pudding!’
Hugh frowned, deep in thought.
‘And pomegranate ice cream!’
He shook his head.
‘It's not that. I was wondering about your hard drive.’
‘What?’ The abrupt change of subject completely wrong-footed Orla.
‘The hard drive in your computer. It just occurred to me. If you’ve been doing as much work as you say you have, it must be getting pretty cluttered.’
‘Oh.’
Computer talk was something of a no-go area, as far as Orla was concerned. Technology wasn’t her forte.
‘Well?’ Hugh prompted. ‘Is it?’
Orla looked blank; she hadn’t the least idea. Crikey, she didn’t even understand the question. This was like being asked to stand up and explain the inner workings of a carburetor.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, is the provider taking a long time to connect?’
Mystified, Orla shrugged.
‘It's not a good idea to overload the system. The hard drive probably needs clearing.’ Hugh added kindly, ‘Would you like me to take a look while I’m here? Sort it out for you, before…?’
He didn’t say so, but the implication was clear. Before it crashed, basically. Taking her entire manuscript with it.
‘Heavens, would you?’ Orla's feet jiggled with anxiety. ‘I had no idea this could happen.’
‘I did mention it when I installed the system,’ said Hugh.
‘I didn’t listen! It's not the kind of thing I listen to!’
‘Never mind. I’m here now.’
Oh, those reassuring words, like Batman swooping to the rescue.
‘Thank goodness I bumped into you today!’ Orla exclaimed. ‘This is so kind of you.’
Hugh broke into a smile as he pushed back his chair.
‘I know.’
UPSTAIRS IN HER OFFICE, from the safety of the window seat, Orla watched him with the kind of awe generally reserved for army experts detonating an unexploded bomb.
Hugh, working in silence to access the hard drive, determinedly didn’t feel mean.
Ten minutes later, Orla reached for her cigarettes. Without looking up, Hugh said, ‘You shouldn’t smoke around computers. It buggers them up.’
She pulled a face; this was definitely something he’d told her before. Not that she’d taken a blind bit of notice.
‘I don’t know what this world's coming to, I really don’t.’ Orla heaved a sigh and fiddled with her necklaces instead. ‘Can’t smoke in front of children or pregnant women
or
computers. If I went back to writing by hand, I’d probably be had up for cruelty to felt-tips.’
‘Look.’ Hugh pointed to the screen. ‘Forty megabytes of memory. Everything shoved in, willy-nilly. It's taking up too much space, like bundling clothes into a chest of drawers. You have to throw out the stuff you don’t need and put the rest into some kind of order.’
Orla rolled her eyes like a teenager being nagged to tidy her room.
‘And you need backup on an external hard drive.’
‘What I need is a cigarette.’ Defiantly, Orla slid a Marlboro out of the packet. ‘Darling, don’t look at me like that. You can manage all this external hard drive business without me, can’t you? I’ll just be in the garden getting some fresh air.’
Hugh forced himself to wait until the backing-up was in progress before studying the various charts pinned up around the office. This time Orla had had no idea that he would be coming in here and no opportunity to take down the relevant sections.
The ones with his name on them.
As the computer busily clicked and whirred behind him, Hugh checked each chart in turn.
His name wasn’t there. It wasn’t
anywhere
.
The sense of relief was incredible. Orla hadn’t been lying to him after all. Millie hadn’t used him. She hadn’t breathed so much as a word to Orla about their night together.
Then again, this might have less to do with sparing his feelings and more with being too embarrassed to admit to Orla that she’d slept with someone who’d run out on her with no rational explanation.
At least, not one that he’d been able to put across.
Hugh pushed his fingers through his hair and gazed out of the window. He’d treated Millie abysmally and she hadn’t done anything to deserve it.
Something she did deserve was an apology.
Then again, how much of a success was that likely to be? Absently fiddling with the loose button on the cuff of his white cotton shirt, he ran swiftly through the dialogue in his mind. Oh Millie, by the way, sorry if I’ve been keeping my distance lately, but a couple of things happened that I needed to sort out. First, I panicked after our night together. It was guilt, pure and simple. I felt like I was betraying Louisa… well, I
was
betraying Louisa… anyway, it hit me for six. And then the next thing was, I thought you’d been relaying every detail of our relationship back to Orla to give her book a bit of a boost. Except now, I realize you weren’t telling her about us at all. So, well done you!
Bugger. Hugh cursed under his breath as the button came off his shirt. Apologizing was all very well, but what was he supposed to do
after that? More to the point, what was Millie likely to do? Because if she flung her arms around him crying, ‘Oh thank God, I knew you loved me really,’ he was going to be faced with the horrid task of disentangling himself and explaining that no, no, sorry, she’d got hold of completely the wrong end of the stick here. This was an apology, pure and simple. It didn’t mean he wanted them to be together. In fact, that was the last thing he wanted. She really shouldn’t jump to conclusions.
Hugh shuddered at the thought of actually saying the words. Basically, he knew he couldn’t.
But that was the situation. If Millie had been upset when he’d done his runner—if she really had liked him a lot—then getting her hopes up and dashing them again would be cruel. Not to mention awkward.
Then again, maybe he was flattering himself. She might not have given him a second thought. As far as she was concerned, it could simply have been a no-strings one-night stand.
In which case, there was no need to even bring the subject up. She would have moved on by now, consigned it to the past and embarked on new adventures.
With the likes of Con Deveraux.
By the time Orla returned, several chain-smoked cigarettes later, he had finished backing-up her files and clearing space on the hard drive. He had also learnt from the chaotically scrawled charts pinned up around the office that Con Deveraux was currently in New York, that Hester's boyfriend Nat was back from Glasgow, and that, having in the meantime slept with Lucas Kemp, Hester had discovered that he was staggeringly inept in bed.
He found this last snippet of information hard to believe but curiously comforting.
‘All done?’ Orla, reeking of smoke, flashed him a bright smile.
‘All done.’ Hugh switched off the computer, then nodded casually at the charts on the walls. ‘These to do with the new book?’
‘Yes! I’m having a complete change of direction—this is my fly-on-the-wall, coming-of-age,
literary
novel.’ Orla beamed, as proud as any new mother.
Hugh nodded. ‘And how's it going?’
‘Really well! I’m actually enjoying the discipline of writing properly, after all these years of churning out mindless pap. Apart from the fact that it's supposed to be about sex and relationships and my main character's being completely hopeless and leading the life of an agoraphobic nun.’ Orla pulled a face and laughed. ‘Still, we’ll soon snap her out of that. It's my friend Millie,’ she explained as an afterthought. ‘She was at my party the other week, but I’m fairly sure I didn’t introduce you.’
Truthfully, Hugh replied, ‘No, you didn’t.’
‘Anyway, I’ve been doing a spot of matchmaking, so things are starting to look up.’ Orla's green eyes sparkled with mischief. ‘In fact, she's got a date tomorrow night with a lovely chap and I just
know
they’re going to get on.’
Hugh's faint smile concealed the involuntary tightening of the muscles in his jaw. ‘Really?’
‘Oh yes. See for yourself.’ Kneeling up on the window seat, Orla excitedly beckoned him over. ‘There he is, down there!’
The man trimming the edges of the lawn was stripped to the waist, with broad, tanned shoulders and a capable air about him. He was also instantly recognizable as the drunk at Orla's party who had grabbed hold of Millie and—in her own words—kissed like an Aquavac.
‘Your gardener.’ Hugh felt the muscles in his jaw relax.
‘He's very well educated,’ Orla announced with pride. ‘His favorite author is Salman Rushdie.’
Moving away from the window so she wouldn’t see the expression on his face, Hugh said idly, ‘And how can you be sure that this girl…’ he searched for the name ‘… Millie, tells you about everything she's been up to?’
Orla burst out laughing.
‘Honestly, that is such a typical man thing to say! I’ve already told you, Millie's my friend. I
trust
her.’
‘How do you know you can trust her?’ Hugh was enjoying himself.
The look Orla gave him was full of pity.
‘Because, Mr. Doubting Thomas, I
know
her. And she wouldn’t dream of lying to me. Millie Brady is as honest as the day is long.’
Just so long as it's a day in the middle of winter in Greenland, thought Hugh.
‘Anyway, we have to keep our fingers crossed for them.’ Crossing her own with a dazzle of diamonds, Orla wagged them gaily under his nose. ‘Because I’m telling you, I have
very
high hopes for tomorrow night.’
‘Oh come on, cheer up, you’re not
that
ugly.’
Millie, gazing without enthusiasm at her reflection in the mirror above the fireplace, said, ‘I don’t want to do this.’
‘Don’t do it then.’ Hester shrugged, as if it were that simple.
‘I have to. I feel sorry for him. You can’t be mean to someone whose dad's just died.’
‘Fine. I was only trying to help. You go off out to dinner with Richard-the-gardener-whose-dad's-just-died. Just try not to have
too
much fun, okay? We don’t want you keeling over with the excitement of it all!’
A happy Hester was almost as unbearable as a suicidal one, Millie decided as the front door swung open heralding Nat's return. Until Lucas's new restaurant was up and running, Nat was working in a tapas bar on the promenade. Squealing with delight, Hester wound herself around him and covered him with kisses. In the mirror, Millie saw Nat grin and murmur something naughty in Hester's ear. Then,
catching Millie's eye, he made an effort to control himself. Clearing his throat, he gave Hester a nudge. Because that was the kind of person Nat was, Millie reminded herself. Thoughtful. Kind and considerate. He wouldn’t want her to feel awkward.
Taking several steps back, Millie surveyed her outfit in the mirror. Nothing dazzling, just a light green strappy dress and matching fluffy angora cardigan in case she was chilly later. A bit boring, to be honest, but somehow appropriate for dinner with a horticulturist.
Waiting patiently for Hester to finish canoodling with Nat, she said, ‘How do I look?’
Sensitivity and consideration for other people's feelings had never been Hester's big thing. She beamed at Millie.
‘Like a gooseberry.’
Richard turned up, as Millie had known he would, bang on time and looking like every mother's dream son-in-law. Muscly, but not too muscly. Clean-cut and handsome, but not
too
handsome. Wearing a navy polo shirt, crisply ironed beige chinos, and—most important— a pair of well-polished tan brogues. He was also wearing aftershave, but not too much of it. Short, clean nails. And one of those nice, honest, crinkly-eyed smiles so beloved of prospective mothers-in-law the world over.
Millie's heart sank into her bronze sandals. Here was exactly the kind of man she should be settling down with, the faithful, hardworking kind who’d treat you like a princess and bring you breakfast in bed.
And he did absolutely nothing for her.
It was so unfair.
‘You look fantastic.’ Richard's cheeks promptly reddened, in a clean-cut, healthy way.
‘Thanks. Um, so do you.’
Doh!
‘Ready to go?’
Millie smiled brightly and reached for her bag. ‘All ready!’ Turning, she yelled, ‘Hess? We’re off now. See you later.’