Rumor Has It (7 page)

    'So those are the dresses.' Tilly pointed to the floating mushrooms.

    'They were proper designer ones, too. Vera Wang. They cost thousands of dollars.' Louisa giggled. 'Macy was furious.'

    'Bloody hell,
you're
the one who should have been furious.' Tilly was outraged on her behalf. 'I can't believe you even went to the wedding after she did that to you.'

    'Oh, I don't care. It's all fake. All I did was fail the audi tion.' Louisa seemed genuinely unperturbed. 'Anyway, it was a Hollywood wedding, not the proper kind. They were only married for six months.'

    'Well, if I ever get married,' said Tilly, 'you can definitely be my bridesmaid.'

    'Oh thank you! And when I get married you can definitely be mine.' Louisa grinned. 'If you're not too ancient by then.'

    Tilly gave her a playful push. 'I've never been a bridesmaid. Never even been asked.'

    'I was nearly one once. When I was nine.' Louisa yawned, tired ness catching up with her. 'That was for Jack and Rose's wedding.'

    Jack? 'You mean Jack who was here this afternoon?' Ready for gossip, Tilly perked up. 'What happened? Did they cancel it at the last minute?'

    'Well, they had to.'

    Ooh, lovely. Eagerly Tilly said, 'Why, who finished with who?'

    'Nobody. It wasn't anything like that. They would have got married,' Louisa explained, 'except they couldn't. Because Rose died.'

DOWNSTAIRS IN THE LIVING room Max was uncorking a bottle of red wine.

    'Here's to the end of your first day.' He clinked his glass against Tilly's. 'You haven't run screaming back to London yet. Cheers. Not too unbearable so far, then?'

    'I've hardly done anything. I feel like a fraud.'

    'Hey, that's because I haven't started cracking my whip yet. You'll hate the sight of me by the end of the week. Now, I've written a list of things I need you to do tomorrow. I'm off up to Oxford first thing, but any problems and you can give me a ring.' Max showed her the sheet of paper, which said:

    'That looks fine.' Tilly was finding it hard to concentrate; the revelation about Jack was rocketing around inside her head and she was longing to ask a million questions. 'Um, what would you like me to cook?'

    'Oh, God knows. It does my head in, trying to think about food. The joy of having you here is that now it's your job. But we're not fussy, so don't get your knickers in a twist worrying about it. I'll be home by six,' said Max. 'And the next day you can come out with me, give me a hand with measuring up the next job.'

    'Fantastic.' Tilly wondered how soon she could swing the con versation round to Jack.

    'Nothing too fancy, just one of Jack's.'

    Bingo!

    'Actually, Lou and I were—'

    'Here, I can show you the details; he left me the brochure earlier.' Max reached for a folder on the table. 'Jack's in buy-to-let, did you know that? Built up quite a portfolio over the years. He picks up properties at auction and renovates them, then I make them look great before he rents them out. Now this one, for instance, is a second-floor flat in a Victorian house in Cheltenham with a south facing living room and—'

    'Lou told me about his girlfriend dying,' Tilly blurted out, no longer able to control herself. 'The week before their wedding. Lou said she drowned.'

    Max paused, smiled slightly, drank some wine. Finally, he turned to look at her.

    'That's right. Oh dear, and now you've joined the club. I can see it in your eyes.'

    'What? I don't know what you mean.' But Tilly could feel herself turning red, because deep down she did know.

    'The romance of it all. The tragic widower—except he isn't a widower because they didn't quite manage to get married. Sorry.' Max shook his head, his tone wry. 'Jack's one of my best friends and what happened
was
terrible, but it just amuses me to see the effect it has on the opposite sex. As if he isn't bloody good-looking enough to start with, and smart and successful with it. The moment women hear his history, that's it, they lose all control. It makes them want him all the more. And now it's happened to you.'

'It hasn't,' Tilly protested, redder than ever.

    'Don't give me that.' Looking resigned, Max said, 'D'you know what? If Jack seduces you and dumps you and breaks your heart, and you're so distraught as a result that you realize you can't carry on living here anymore and you hand in your notice and bugger off leaving me and Lou high and dry, I swear to God, best friend or no best friend, I'm personally going to break the tragic widower's neck.'

    Tilly was still longing to hear all the details; having told her the basics, Louisa had been overcome with the urge to sleep. 'I already told you, I'm nobody's notch.'

    'Ah, but that was before you knew the whole story.'

    Frustration welled up. 'I still don't know the whole story!'

    'OK. Ready for a top-up?' Max refilled her glass then stuck his feet up on the coffee table in front of the sofa. 'Get those tissues ready, girl. Jack and Rose were together for three years. She was gorgeous, a year younger than him, the prettiest thing you ever saw. Everyone loved her. They got engaged on Christmas Eve five years ago. The wedding was booked for the following December. It was due to be held at the church in the village in Pembrokeshire where Rose had grown up. Everything was arranged. Then they found out Rose was pregnant, which was the icing on the cake. They couldn't wait to become parents. Rose was crazy about horse-riding but Jack made her give up in case it damaged the baby. Anyhow, the week before the wedding, Rose went on ahead to Wales to stay with her parents and do all that last-minute faffing about. Jack stayed behind here, tying up loose ends to do with the business. On the Sunday morning, Rose took her parents' dog for a walk along the seafront. It was a stormy day, the sea was rough. Basically, the dog was chasing a seagull into the surf and it got into difficulties. This was an animal Rose had practically grown up with. The whole family was besotted with him. Well, people saw Rose yelling to the dog but he couldn't get back to shore. The next moment she'd jumped off the rocks into the sea.'

    Tilly's mouth was bone dry; listening to a story like this when you already knew the outcome was unbearable.

    'And you know what?' said Max. 'She
did
rescue the dog. God knows how, but she managed to reach him and get him close enough to the rocks to be able to scramble to safety. But she couldn't save herself. A huge wave crashed over her, then the weight of the water dragged her down, and the currents swept her away. By the time the lifeboat reached her, it was too late. She was dead.'

    'I don't know what to say.' Tilly shook her head, trying and failing to imagine the horror of it. 'Her poor family.'

    'It was rough,' Max agreed, taking another glug of wine. 'The parents were devastated. They'd lost their daughter and their grandchild—their whole future, basically. And of course Jack blamed himself. He was convinced that if only he'd gone to Pembrokeshire instead of staying here, it would never have happened.' He paused, exhaled heavily. 'The thing is, of course, he had a point. Anyway, that was it. No more wedding; we had a funeral instead. Rose's family was in pieces. Jack went through the whole thing on autopilot. Afterwards he threw himself into his work. Then, about six months later, he started… socializing again.' Dryly Max said, 'And he's been social izing ever since, in pretty epic fashion. We're thinking of contacting the
Guinness Book of Records
. Except they'd send some poor innocent girl down here to check him out and we all know what would happen next. Imagine the next year, opening the book and reading: "The world record for seducing women is held by Jack Lucas, aged 33, of Roxborough in the Cotswolds, who
said
he'd phone me, who prom ised faithfully that I'd see him again, but oh no, he's just a rotten lying bastard who thinks he can get away with treating us women like rubbish… I mean, who the hell does he think he
is
?"'

    There was a not-so-subtle message in there somewhere. In fact, Tilly supposed she should be grateful Max wasn't using a megaphone to bellow the message right in her face.

    'Everyone wants to make him better,' Max went on. 'They all think they'll be the one to make a difference, to break through the barriers and make Jack fall in love again. But it's been four years now. Take it from me, he's not interested in any of that lovey-dovey stuff. He'd rather steer clear of commitment and stay single. That way he can't be hurt again. And that,' Max concluded, 'is what makes Jack irresistible. That's the challenge.' He stopped and looked sideways at Tilly, to gauge her reaction.

    'What happened to the dog?' said Tilly.

    'It died a year later. Nothing dramatic, just old age. Went to sleep and never woke up. Pretty good way to go.' Max held up his glass and said deadpan, 'Although given the choice, I'd prefer a night with Johnny Depp.'

SO FAR, SO GOOD. Tilly was delighted with the way her first proper day was going. She'd dropped Louisa off at school at the appointed time, driven over to Cirencester and taken the wallpaper books back to Derwyn's, and called into the butcher's for a three-pack of beef en route. The potatoes were ready to be roasted, the carrots were chopped—into
sticks
, if you please; none of your common old slices—and Betty had enjoyed her walk through Roxborough woods, thankfully not manag ing to catch any of the rabbits that had come out to taunt her.

    Tilly checked her watch. It was two o'clock and all she had to do now was pick up the framed prints. Then she'd have time to call in on Erin before heading back to Harleston to collect Lou and her friend Nesh from school.

    Ha, there was even a parking space practically outside Welch and Co., the blue and white bow-fronted shop with the bay trees in matching blue and white tubs flanking the doorway.

    Inside, Welch and Co. was the kind of place you go to when you want to buy something nice for your house and you're feeling flush. The walls were covered with assorted paintings and mirrors, there were ornate lamps everywhere, candle holders, stylish vases, ceramic pots, sculptures, real-looking fake flowers—it was one of those shops that everywhere you looked, you saw something that made you say, 'Ooh,
that's
nice,' then go a bit light-headed when you saw the price.

    The woman sitting at the back of the shop at a white lacquered table with a stained-glass candelabra on it looked expensive too. Currently chatting on the phone, she was attrac tive and well-groomed, with long tawny hair that might just be extensions. She was wearing a pink shirt, a white pencil skirt, and a lot of makeup.

    '…OK, but don't get your hopes up. He always says he'll give you a ring, but he never does.'

    Designery-looking shoes, Tilly noticed. A glittering diamond tennis bracelet on her left wrist.

    'Well, I'm glad you had a nice time. Yes I know, he is, isn't he?'

    Sheeny, superfine tights. No wedding ring. Musky, heavy perfume.

    'Hang on a sec, Amy. Customer.' Covering the phone with French-manicured nails, the woman looked at Tilly and said charm ingly, 'Can I help you, or are you happy to browse?'

    Browse. The word always made Tilly want to smile; as a child, she'd thought it was something you did with your eyebrows, and that it meant walking round a shop furrowing your forehead as hard as you could while you stared at the items for sale.

    But now she was a grown-up and knew that it didn't. Aloud Tilly said, 'Actually I'm here to pick up some prints. For Max Dineen?'

    That got the woman's attention. Her eyes widened in rec ognition and she sat up straighter on her chair. Raising an index finger, she said into the phone, 'Amy, I have to go, someone interesting's just come into the shop.' Pause. 'No, not
him. God
, you're obsessed.'

    'Crikey,' said Tilly. 'I didn't know I was going to be interesting. I hope you aren't expecting me to do a tap dance.'

    'Not if you don't want to. But you're definitely interesting.' The woman, having put down the phone, was now giving her an unashamed once-over, her confident gaze taking note of Tilly's wind-blown hair, lack of makeup, battered jeans, and pink spotted wellies. Evidently having decided that her visitor didn't present any threat—Tilly felt like announcing that she did scrub up well—she said, 'You must be Max's new girl. He told me you were starting this week. He mentioned your name too, but I've forgotten it.'

    'Tilly Cole.'

    'That's right. Funny name! And I'm Stella, Stella Welch. Pleased to meet you. Aren't you the lucky one, working for Max. I'm quite jealous!'

    'Well, I'm enjoying it so far.' Tilly smiled, keen to make a good first impression even if her hair and wellies were letting her down. 'And Lou's great.'

    'So what d'you think of him?' Stella leaned forward, her tone conspiratorial. 'Pretty dishy, wouldn't you say?'

    Flummoxed, Tilly said, 'Um…'

    'And so
funny.
I just love that Liverpudlian sense of humor. He cracks me up. I bet you secretly fancy him, don't you?'