Fast Friends

by Jill Mansell

  “Lou, open your eyes and look at me.”

  That voice. That melting, softly Scottish-accented voice was what got to her most of all, and she felt the rush quicken, electrifying every nerve ending in her body. Finally convinced at last that he was real, she dared to meet his gaze.

  Oh, that dear face! Those beautiful brown eyes with their thick, dark lashes and the fine tracery of laughter lines fanning out at the corners even though he wasn’t laughing. And that irresistible mouth…how could one mouth be so exquisite, yet as cruel as Mac’s had been when he had left her?

  “What are you doing here?” she murmured, still mesmerized by his face and fighting the urge to kiss him.

  “No, me first. Do you really have a gun?”

  “Of course I don’t have a gun!”

  “Do you really have herpes?”

  “Mac!” It was a wail of protest, and his mouth betrayed the glimmer of a smile.

  “Well, I had to ask, didn’t I? Who were you shouting at, back there…or who did you think you were shouting at?”

  “Someone I’ve never even met,” dismissed Loulou with impatience. “It’s not important. Oh, Mac, can I give you a hug?” She had said it a thousand times before, and on most of those occasions, it had irritated him. He had loved her, but her constant need for affection, for proof of that love, had somehow cheapened it for him. What did a hug or a kiss prove, after all? Nothing.

  Now, however, things were very different.

  “Only if I can hug you as well,” he said hesitantly, and Loulou’s gray eyes promptly filled with tears. Reaching for him, sliding her arms around him, she gave herself up to the embrace she had been missing so badly, for so long.

  Nobody could hug like Mac.

  “Now tell me what you’re doing here?” she pleaded when he finally released her. “In particular, what are you doing here in those clothes?”

  Not that he didn’t look adorable, of course, but it was rather noticeable apparel amid the formal black and white worn by every other man present at the ball.

  “I came to see you,” he said simply, and this time the tears spilled over, trickling unheeded down Loulou’s cheeks. Touching each tear in turn, he added, “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  “I’m happy. You know I always cry when I’m happy,” she said, sniffing inelegantly. “You should know that.”

  “I do. I remember you watching the Olympics on TV.” Taking a clean linen handkerchief from his shirt pocket, he wiped her wet cheeks, taking care not to smudge her eye makeup. “You burst into tears every time somebody won a medal. By the end of the Games you’d almost completely dissolved.”

  Loulou smiled. “And you used to tell me that—”

  “Well, hel-lo!” said Poppy loudly, appearing behind them with a huge and knowing smile all over her face. “Not interrupting anything, am I?”

  “This is Poppy,” explained Loulou, disentangling herself with reluctance from Mac’s arms. “Poppy, meet Mac, my ex-husband. It was Poppy’s boyfriend I was shouting at—or who I thought I was shouting at—when you found me,” she added rapidly, hoping that the woman would have enough presence of mind not to mention Joshua. “We came down together as a threesome, but he decided to make up a fourth, the sod.”

  “Loulou decided to pay him back,” Poppy continued, her wink scarcely visible to the naked eye. “But, sadly, she was wasting her time. I’ve just found Jamie fast asleep on a pile of fur coats in the downstairs cloakroom. He’s been there all the time. Are you two quite sure you are divorced?” she added suspiciously, observing the rapturous expression upon Loulou’s face.

  “If we aren’t, it means our solicitors ripped us off,” said Loulou, disguising the pain with flippancy.

  Poppy shrugged. “Oh well, anyone can make a mistake. Anyway, we’re going to abandon you, Loulou. Jamie and I are leaving.” Delicately, she added, “Will you be all right with Mac?” and Loulou beamed.

  “I’ll be very all right. Thanks for everything, Poppy, and come see me soon at Vampires. We mustn’t lose touch.”

  Another infinitesimal wink from Poppy and she was gone. Mac reached for Loulou once more. Somehow, he just couldn’t hug her enough now.

  “I can’t believe you came here without a partner,” he said, edging her toward the balcony as a singing crowd of men and women careered past them. Loulou swallowed and shrugged, wondering where Josh was at that moment.

  “I’m a gay divorcée,” she told him lightly. “I’m not afraid to venture out on my own.” Which was a big lie, but what else could she say? She didn’t even dare risk a glance over the balcony, in case she spotted Joshua. For both her sake and Mac’s she had to persuade him to leave with her now.

  It occurred briefly to Loulou that she should feel guilty, abandoning Joshua so far from home in a situation alien to him, but somehow he no longer mattered. Mac had come all this way to see her and she had never stopped adoring him for a moment. Joshua, on the other hand, had never stopped adoring himself. And so what if he was good in bed? Mac was better.

  “You look wonderful,” he told her now, amazed at the ease with which he could say it since endearments and flattery didn’t come easily to him.

  Loulou’s heart turned over; Mac was paying her a compliment and she hadn’t had to pry it out of him with a crowbar—it was purely voluntary! It made her want to cry all over again.

  “I’m a bit tipsy,” she admitted, swaying slightly and using the excuse to steady herself against him. “Do you think we could go outside for a while? I could do with some air.”

  * * *

  The gravel crunched beneath their feet as they walked past the rows of gleaming cars parked closest to the house. To their left, like great prehistoric birds, two helicopters stood in silence upon the grass, their rotor blades wreathed in mist. A woman in a pale-pink ball gown and a man with his white tuxedo slung carelessly over his shoulder walked ahead of Loulou and Mac, then melted into the darkness beyond the towering elm trees.

  Loulou envied them; their arms had been around each other’s waists, and it had looked so easy and comfortable that she couldn’t understand why she and Mac weren’t similarly entwined.

  But they were walking two feet apart, and suddenly, she was overwhelmed with shyness. If she hadn’t known him better, she could have sworn that Mac was feeling exactly the same way. Since blurting out that unexpected compliment, he hadn’t uttered a single word.

  “I’ve missed you,” she ventured finally, because what the hell, someone had to say something.

  He turned to look at her, but the pearly light was behind him and she couldn’t see his expression at all.

  “I haven’t missed you,” he replied in a low voice. “I haven’t allowed myself to miss you. But tonight…” He paused and shrugged helplessly. “I couldn’t stop myself.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Are you…seeing anyone else at the moment, Lou? I want to know the truth.”

  Damn, she thought, anxiety mingling with guilt. That he had asked was a good sign, maybe indicating jealousy, but it reminded her of how moral Mac was. He demanded both truth and faithfulness, and while Loulou had always remained faithful to him, she hadn’t always been able to resist telling the occasional, very small, white lie.

  And now here she was, practically being forced to tell another one. Already.

  “No, I’m not,” she said firmly, wondering whether the denial sounded as false to his ears as it did to her own. Which was doubly ironic when you considered that she really wasn’t seeing anyone else, not since two hours ago. It was just that the person she wasn’t seeing didn’t know it yet.

  “I’m really not,” she repeated anxiously, and saw Mac nod, believing her.

  “That’s all right, then.”

  “And I’d like to go, now. I’d like us to go now.” Shyness wasn’t going to get her where she wanted t
o be, as quickly as she wanted to be there. It was time to be brave, she realized. “Your place or mine?”

  Mac laughed quietly. “You haven’t changed, Lou.”

  “Yes, I have,” she promised him. “I’ve changed for the better.”

  “In that case, let’s go inside and phone for a taxi.”

  Her gaze slipped beyond him to the great black silhouettes standing motionless on the grass. “Why don’t we take a helicopter?”

  “Lou, you’re quite mad,” he told her affectionately. “You don’t even know how to fly one.”

  She laughed out loud and took his arm, steering him back toward the main entrance of Elm House. “You have no sense of adventure, darling. But OK, if you’re going to be stuffy about it, we’ll just have to take the pilot along too.”

  * * *

  It was exactly like falling in love, she thought, as the rotor blades whipped around at full speed, flattening the grass that surrounded them and scattering frozen leaves like confetti. Everything happened so quickly; one second they were on the ground and then the next, with a tremendous surge of power and noise, they were airborne.

  Loulou, strapped into her seat with the pilot on her left and Mac on her right, peered out through the bubble of acrylic glass as the ground tilted sharply beneath them and the helicopter wheeled around and suddenly upward, soaring into the black sky. The sensation really was just like falling in love: exhilarating and alarming and quite, quite irresistible.

  “We could have taken a taxi,” shouted Mac above the tremendous noise. Turning, she kissed his smooth, brown cheek. “Too slow, darling. And besides, I’ve always wanted to sweep you off your feet.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The moment Loulou awoke the following morning, she slid carefully out of bed, reached for her bag, and slunk into the bathroom. She had to be looking good when Mac woke up—the fact that he had seen her naked face hundreds of times when they were married counted for nothing now. This was starting over, and she needed the security of freshly brushed teeth, blush, mascara, and a comb through her tangled curls to bolster her fragile ego.

  But it wasn’t easy, applying rosy blush to maximum effect when her mouth kept breaking into a smile she couldn’t control. Last night. What a truly incredible, brilliant, unforgettable night it had been.

  And Mac, her very own darling Mac, had been so…vulnerable. Yes, that was the word, decided Loulou as she studied her reflection in the mirror above the marbled basin and saw the unstoppable smile widen once more like a flower in the sun.

  He had been vulnerable, and she found it unbelievably touching. It was as if he had realized too late how severely he had incriminated himself, how wide open he had left himself to scornful rejection, and when Loulou had responded instead with warmth and joy he had almost melted with relief into her arms.

  It had been an expert seduction, she recalled now, almost giddy with happiness as she applied just a slick of petal-pink lipstick. Every caress, every kiss, every sinuous movement of her body had been geared to giving him pleasure, and to showing him how much pleasure he gave her in return.

  They had made love three times, and her body ached exquisitely this morning to remind her of that fact. Dreamily, Loulou unstoppered the bottle of Christian Dior aftershave and inhaled the scent that always reminded her of him. How many times in the last few years had she paused beside the Dior stand in Harrods or Selfridges and doused herself with Eau Sauvage because it brought back memories of Mac? What a masochist she had been.

  But now he was back in her life and she really didn’t need to stand naked in the bathroom with her nose in a bottle. The real thing was lying in bed just a few yards away.

  And everything was going to be all right. Everything from now on would be absolutely 150 percent perfect.

  It wasn’t until they had finished breakfast in bed—strong French coffee, fresh orange juice, and the still-effervescent remains of last night’s celebratory champagne—and made love for the fourth time, that Loulou began to experience her first doubts.

  Typically, she had removed the problem of Joshua from her mind as easily as if he were no more awkward than an overdue phone bill. Last night, following Mac’s astonishing appearance, Joshua had simply ceased to exist in her thoughts.

  But Loulou had to be back at Vampires by twelve thirty to host a birthday party for a well-known Fleet Street journalist, and Mac was showing every sign of wanting to accompany her. And now, far too late as usual, she realized that Joshua would be back at her flat ready for a confrontation that would make the shoot-out in High Noon look like a chimps’ tea party. He simply wasn’t the type to sit back and accept the fact that she had abandoned him in Gloucestershire and run away with another man, even if the other man was one of her ex-husbands.

  Joshua was going to be incredibly, unbelievably angry.

  Mac, if he learned that she had lied to him, would be angrier still. And while the prospect of Josh’s unleashed fury was bearable, the idea that she might lose Mac so soon after finding him again was impossible to even contemplate.

  This, then, was where her problem now lay.

  “But you must have work to do, baby,” she said hopefully, snuggling against his chest. “And this birthday bash is going to be the most awful bore. Why don’t I just shoot back in a cab, get it over with, tidy up the flat, and meet you back here at about six? We can have dinner at Ma Maison—is it still your favorite?—and then maybe go on to Annabel’s for…”

  “You aren’t getting rid of me that easily,” Mac interrupted her, tracing the curve of her left breast with a slow, tantalizing finger. “I’m coming back with you now. Unless there’s a problem?” he added jokingly. “You’re not hiding some new husband away in that flat, are you? I warn you, I shall look in every wardrobe when I get there—”

  “No new husband,” said Loulou unhappily. There was no one, absolutely no one as determined as Mac when he wanted to be. If Joshua was there, she was doomed, but maybe by some miracle he wouldn’t be. “Come on then, darling, we’d better get dressed if we’re going. Let’s hope this afternoon won’t be too boring, hmm?”

  * * *

  Boring wasn’t the word for it. Loulou’s hopes soared when, having entered her flat as cautiously as a burglar, she saw that every trace of Joshua had vanished. He had been back and removed every incriminating item. Even his toothbrush and razor were gone, she discovered when she crept into the bathroom. And her own possessions, to her surprise and relief, were intact.

  The tight knot of anxiety in her stomach relaxed with a great whoosh of relief as she realized that there was not going to be a problem, after all. Joshua had behaved in a decent, honorable fashion and, realizing that he was no longer needed, had quietly removed his possessions and himself from her life.

  Loulou was both amazed and overwhelmingly grateful. There was no longer any need to worry. Everything was going to be all right.

  “The flat looks just the same,” said Mac, standing with his hands on his hips in the center of the sitting room and surveying the home he had shared with Loulou for only four short weeks. He sounded vaguely surprised and she smiled. She knew what he meant. Her very own personalized brand of clutter was unchanged; her messiness was still what dominated the highly desirable residence, and it was particularly noticeable to Mac because his own penthouse apartment overlooking the Thames was one of those stark monstrosities so beloved of men and so bereft of clutter that it made Loulou cringe. In Mac’s sterile, immaculate flat, practically the only sign of life had been the photographs lining most of the walls, photographs that he had taken and that portrayed the different, spiraling stages of his now hugely successful career. And even they were all black and white.

  “It looks nice.” He nodded his approval, his dark eyebrows still signaling faint surprise. “Friendly.”

  “I’m a very friendly person,” said Loulou lightly. “Stick around,
and you’ll find out just how friendly…”

  She hesitated and realized to her astonishment that she was blushing. It was the first reference either of them had made to “the future.” So far, by unspoken mutual consent, they had avoided the subject entirely, Loulou because she was far too worried about the problem of Joshua to dare consider such an enthralling prospect. And Mac had done likewise, she presumed, because he was naturally far more cautious where relationships and futures were concerned.

  Disconcertingly, he watched with interest as the color suffused Loulou’s cheeks. Even more disconcertingly, he said “Hmm” in a thoughtful manner and didn’t elaborate further. Another annoying trait of Mac’s, she remembered, was his way of keeping his private thoughts private. She had never quite mastered the art of reading his mind.

  It was bizarre, thought Loulou, that they had once been married to each other and that they had just made love four times in indecently rapid succession, yet there still existed an almost palpable constraint between them that prevented any discussion about what was surely the most important subject of all.

  “Do sit down…help yourself to a drink…” she urged, still flustered. Christ, she had almost said Make yourself at home! “I’ll just take a quick shower and change. Can’t very well wear this, can I?” And plucking futilely at her ball gown, she turned and fled to the safety of the bathroom before Mac’s watchful silence unnerved her completely.

  * * *

  The party downstairs was in full swing by the time Loulou and Mac finally made their entrance, Loulou in an electric-blue creation and Mac in a black jacket worn over a crisp white shirt and yet another pair of his beloved and authentically faded 501s. “I’m a photographer,” he had explained with a shrug when Loulou had reminded him that everyone else would be wearing a suit—at least to begin with. “I can get away with it.”