by Jill Mansell
‘Do you need me to tell you how spoiled that boy is?’ said Lawrence when Riley had left the kitchen.
‘No. But he’s the light of my life. And he’s not hurting anyone.’
‘Apart from all those girls whose hearts he’s broken.’
‘That’s their problem. If Riley weren’t around, they’d find someone else to break their hearts.’
‘He should be working.’
‘He’s my personal assistant. Anyway,’ said Marguerite, ‘don’t criticise. I don’t want him to move away. I’d rather let him have an easy life here than a proper job in some other part of the world. I’d never get to see him.’
‘I know, but he needs to learn to stand on his own two feet.’ Much as he liked Riley, who possessed charm by the bucketload, Lawrence felt compelled to say it.
‘You don’t understand. He’s my only sister’s only son. I need an assistant to help me run my life, and I’d rather employ Riley than some complete stranger. It works out well for both of us. So that’s what I do.’
She wasn’t angry, simply stating her opinion. Any criticism rolled off her like Teflon. Lawrence said, ‘OK, fair enough,’ and thought how nice it was to see Marguerite without her meet-the-public face on. Impulsively he said, ‘I’m having a good time. I like you better like this.’
‘Like what?’
‘When you aren’t being a best-selling author.’ He accompanied the phrase with jazz hands.
Her mouth twitched. ‘Have you ever read any of my books, Lawrence?’
‘No.’ Except … did that sound rude? Hastily he added, ‘I did try one once, but I only managed a couple of pages. Ach, that’s probably the wrong thing to say too.’
But Marguerite was choking with laughter, in danger of spluttering red wine across the table. When it was safely swallowed, she said, ‘I like it that you haven’t read my books. I wouldn’t expect you to. Not that they aren’t fantastic, you understand …’
‘And you’re writing one at the moment?’ Eager to redeem himself for what had surely been a faux pas, he changed the subject to her side of the business.
‘Always,’ said Marguerite. ‘The machine never stops turning. As soon as I finish one book I make a start on the next. My fans demand it. They’re inexhaustible. I get letters every day from people begging me to write faster.’
‘How did you start?’
‘Well, I wrote the first novel as my way of escaping a miserable marriage. My first husband was so jealous of other men, he wouldn’t let me go to the library. I was so bored with no books to read, I started writing one of my own.’
‘I can’t imagine you being married to a man who told you what you could or couldn’t do.’
‘I know. I was young and incredibly stupid.’ Marguerite refilled both their glasses. ‘And I thought it meant he really loved me. Don’t worry, it didn’t take me long to come to my senses. As soon as I got my first publishing contract, I upped and left the bastard.’
‘And then?’ He knew she’d been married three times but had never paid close attention before.
‘Oh well, a couple of years later, I found husband number two. And because I was determined not to make the same mistake again, this time I made sure I married a man who was the complete opposite of number one.’
‘Ah.’ Lawrence nodded, acknowledging the error.
‘Exactly,’ said Marguerite. ‘Jeremy was a complete wimp. He wasn’t kind and thoughtful, just weak and spineless. It was a whole new kind of nightmare, and entirely my own fault. Of course I lost all respect for him. And he knew it. Three years we lasted. God only knows how. Cost me a fortune, that one.’
Lawrence cut himself a wedge of the oozing Camembert she’d brought to the table. ‘And how long was it before you met number three?’
‘Oh, a while.’ Marguerite shook her head at the memory of him. ‘Third and worst of the lot,’ she said drily. ‘But again, I should have known better. Basically, when you meet a man sliding piles of chips across the roulette table in a casino, you pretty much know what to expect.’
Lawrence vaguely recalled Nathan. Several years younger than Marguerite, he’d been the quintessential playboy, good-looking and charming on the surface but essentially selfish and incapable of loving his new wife more than he loved gambling and bedding other, younger women.
‘I can’t remember how long you and Nathan were married.’
‘Eighteen months. It was good fun for at least the first fortnight. The shine tends to go off a relationship,’ Marguerite drawled, ‘when you come back from an author tour to find another woman’s empty pill packet in your en-suite bathroom bin.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘Austria. Currently living with someone far older and richer than me. They have his ’n’ hers matching facelifts. And he’s lost almost all his hair,’ she added with a flicker of satisfaction.
‘Poor chap.’
‘I know. So there you go, that’s when I gave up collecting marriage certificates. Jolly expensive, and frankly they’re more trouble than they’re worth. I might be great at writing books, but when it comes to husband-picking, I’m a lost cause.’
‘Are you happy being single?’
‘I’m used to it. And at least I have Riley here. Not quite the same kind of companion, but it’s better than rattling around this place on my own.’
‘Do you ever get lonely?’ said Lawrence.
‘What do you think?’ Marguerite raised an eyebrow. ‘Why else did I go along to Val and Trevor’s smug-fest anniversary party the other night?’
He shrugged. They were in the same boat.
‘I wonder if it’s worse for you.’ Marguerite was watching him.
‘In what way?’
‘I chose three bad husbands. You chose one perfect wife.’
Lawrence took another drink; did she think she was telling him something he didn’t already know? He nodded and said, ‘So true.’
‘And? Do you regret what you did?’
‘At the time I didn’t feel I had any choice. I just couldn’t help myself. We had to be together. Of course, we didn’t know how little time we’d have.’
‘And you’ve paid the price ever since,’ said Marguerite.
Lawrence nodded. ‘Oh yes. The ultimate karma.’
‘Do you still love Dot?’
‘I never stopped loving her. Hard as that may be for some people to believe.’
‘And now Antoine’s back on the scene. What’s going on there, then?’
‘I have no idea.’ Lawrence spoke with feeling, then saw the way she was looking at him. ‘Oh God, are you going to put my story into your next book?’
‘Maybe I already have.’ Marguerite smiled slightly, her eyes bright. ‘You wouldn’t know. You’ve never read any of them.’
‘Touché.’
‘How does it make you feel, Antoine paying all this attention to your ex-wife?’
‘How do you think it makes me feel?’
‘Poor Lawrence. You made your bed and you’ve been lying in it on your own ever since. It’s a hard life,’ she observed. ‘Especially knowing that everyone’s thinking it serves you bloody well right.’
‘Thanks.’ He lifted his glass to her. ‘Kind of you to point it out.’
‘Sorry, I’m a bit blunt sometimes.’
‘Really?’ Lawrence raised his eyebrows at her. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’
Lawrence left Moor Court at midnight. Marguerite had dismissed the idea that Riley might drop him home, saying, ‘Don’t bother asking; once he’s engrossed in those films of his, it’s best to just leave him to it. I’ll call a taxi.’
And now it was waiting outside the front door. He gave Marguerite a hug and kissed her goodbye on each cheek. ‘Thanks for a fantastic meal. You were right about being a great cook.’
‘I’m always right. About everything.’ Her tone was playful. ‘Pretty much.’
‘Apart from deciding who might be good to marry.’
‘Well, there definit
ely aren’t going to be any more weddings. I’ve learned that lesson.’ Marguerite paused. ‘But I’ve had a nice time tonight. Better than I expected.’
‘So you thought this evening was going to be a complete disaster?’
‘Stop it. I thought it would be good.’ Her eyes glinted with amusement. ‘I’m just saying, it exceeded expectations.’
‘Right.’ Wondering how to proceed, Lawrence found himself briefly at a loss for words.
Marguerite, who wasn’t, said, ‘Want to do it again?’
‘Could do.’
‘Such enthusiasm.’
‘Sorry. I mean yes, I’d like that.’ Lawrence smiled as he said it. ‘I’ve enjoyed myself too, I really have.’
The taxi departed with Lawrence in it. Marguerite surveyed the mess in the kitchen and took the decision to leave it for now; she’d clean up tomorrow.
Before heading upstairs, she popped her head around the door to say good night to Riley.
He glanced round at her. ‘How was that, then? Have a good time?’
‘Surprisingly good. Are you going to be staying up all night?’
‘Most likely.’ He pushed his fingers through his dishevelled hair and nodded. ‘You off to bed now?’
‘Yes.’ She crossed the room, rested a hand on his shoulder and dropped a kiss on top of his blond head. ‘Night, sweetheart. Keep on doing what you’re doing.’
But she’d lost his attention; Riley’s gaze had already slid back to the screen. She was evidently interrupting a good bit. Distractedly he nodded and said, ‘Yeah, don’t worry, I will.’
Chapter 30
It was no good; like a dentist’s appointment you’d been trying hard not to think about, the date of the wedding was almost upon them now and the time had come for Tula to do something about it.
She found Dot working behind the reception desk. ‘Hi, I’ve asked Carol and she’s fine with it, so is it OK if we swap shifts this weekend?’
‘No problem, my darling.’ Dot reached for a pen and pulled the shift planner across the desk towards her. ‘So she’ll be working on Saturday, yes? And you’ll do Sunday.’
‘That’s it.’ Tula watched as the schedule was altered accordingly.
‘Off somewhere nice?’
‘Yes. Well, kind of. It’s an old friend’s wedding.’
‘Ooh, nothing lovelier than a wedding.’ Dot looked sideways at her. ‘Except I can’t help noticing you’re not looking that enthralled.’
‘I know. And it will be lovely.’ Hesitating, Tula pulled a face. ‘It’s this girl I used to work with. She was always better than everyone else, you know what I mean? The kind who makes you feel a bit inferior?’
‘Oh no!’ Dot looked appalled. ‘Really? How mean.’
‘She’s actually really nice. It’s the thing about her being so pretty and lovely that probably makes me feel second best. I was thrilled she included me as one of her friends,’ Tula explained. ‘She didn’t have to. Some of the others were a bit iffy like that, but Imi never was.’
‘And who’s she marrying?’
‘Someone equally perfect in every way. Of course. Good-looking, heaps of money, adores her. They’re getting married in the middle of Wales at this amazing hotel.’
‘Well I think it sounds wonderful,’ said Dot. ‘But there’s still something not quite right. Are you going to tell me what it is?’
Honestly, was she a witch?
‘It’s all my own fault.’ Tula heaved a gusty sigh and began unwinding a paper clip. ‘I’ve always been a bit rubbish when it comes to boyfriends. Imi and her crowd used to joke about it. Her best friend said it was like a sum that didn’t add up, I was pretty enough to get someone decent but somehow it never happened.’
‘Well she definitely sounds mean,’ Dot announced.
Tula bit her lip; the comments had always been made in such a way that if she’d got upset, everyone would have said but we didn’t mean it like that, it was just a bit of fun!
Even though the implication had been that there must be some deep-down attribute she was lacking in, something she was getting badly wrong.
‘Anyway, so I kind of hinted that I was seeing someone gorgeous now and Imi said I must bring him along with me to the wedding. Which made things kind of tricky, but it was a while back. I kind of hoped that by the time the day came around I might have found myself a gorgeous boyfriend,’ said Tula. ‘Except now it has. And I haven’t.’
‘Ah.’ Dot nodded sagely. ‘The perennial single-girl problem. Well, you’ll just have to say he can’t make it, he’s had to fly off to Amsterdam on some hugely important business trip.’
‘I know, that was my plan too. Except I texted Imi last night to say I’d be coming to the wedding on my own because my boyfriend couldn’t make it. She was out with her friends at the time.’ Tula flinched at the memory. ‘Imi called me back and was saying oh no, what a shame, but I could hear the other girls laughing in the background, making jokes about my imaginary boyfriend. One said, “I’ll feel bad if he really does have to work,” and someone else said, “Oh come on, don’t be so gullible, he doesn’t exist.”’
‘That’s so cruel!’ Dot was indignant on her behalf.
‘I know.’ Tula had fashioned the paper clip into an agitated spiral. She said gloomily, ‘So cruel. But also true.’
The next moment Dot clapped her hands and said, ‘Luckily, I’m a genius!’
‘Oh?’ Tula didn’t get her hopes up; her own last idea had been to wonder if she could stick a moustache on Sophie and pass her off as a man.
‘Josh,’ Dot exclaimed. ‘He’d do, wouldn’t he?’
OK, this was possibly the most rhetorical question in the world.
‘Apart from anything else,’ Tula reminded her, ‘he’s up in London this weekend.’
‘Ah, but that’s the thing, he isn’t going any more. His friend’s father died last night so the party’s been cancelled. Which is sad, obviously,’ said Dot, ‘but could be brilliantly handy for you.’
It was a thrilling prospect, but realistically not likely to happen. Tula wondered how much Dot knew about her unreciprocated crush on Josh. She unwound the paper clip and shaped it into an angsty zigzag. ‘He wouldn’t do it.’
‘Why ever not?’
Tula shrugged. ‘Just wouldn’t want to.’
‘He might,’ said Dot, ‘if I ask him.’
Oh God, imagine their faces if she were to turn up at the wedding with Josh. It would be the best moment of her whole life. Her mind working overtime, Tula realised it was like the storyline in that film The Wedding Date where the girl from Will & Grace ended up falling for Dermot Mulroney and they had their own happy-ever-after.
Because that was the magical thing about weddings, wasn’t it? Anything could happen …
‘Let me go and talk to him now,’ said Dot.
She could be awfully persuasive when she set her mind to something.
‘Go on then.’ A Disney squiggle of excitement bubbled up inside Tula’s chest. ‘Doesn’t hurt to ask.’
‘No,’ said Josh when she’d finished outlining her plan. He knew from experience that the thing with Dot and her powers of persuasion was to stand firm and not show a moment’s weakness.
‘Don’t just say it like that. You’d be doing a tremendous favour for a friend.’
He carried on replying to emails on his laptop. ‘Still no.’
‘But darling, you’d be doing me a favour. And I’m your grandmother.’
‘Come on. Emotional blackmail?’ He looked up and raised his eyebrows, marvelling at her wily skills. ‘Really?’
‘I like Tula,’ said Dot. ‘She’s one of those girls who means so well and always manages to land up in awkward situations. And you’re not doing anything else on Saturday.’ She tilted her head. ‘Why can’t you help her out?’
‘Because then I’d be the one in the awkward situation.’ He gave up on the emails and shook his head. ‘It wouldn’t be fair on Tula either. Do you kno
w she has a crush on me?’
‘Does she?’
‘Quite a big crush.’
‘Oh. Well you’re not ugly,’ Dot conceded. ‘I imagine lots of girls do.’
‘But it would make things … awkward. Embarrassing. Especially if everyone thinks we’re a couple. They’d expect us to be … you know …’
‘Honestly, I can’t believe you’re being so selfish. Poor Tula. Trust me, there’s nothing worse than having to turn up at an event without a partner.’
‘OK, that’s more emotional blackmail,’ said Josh. This was what she was like; no tactics were off limits.
‘But she doesn’t want to go on her own.’ Dot’s light blue eyes were pleading with him now. ‘Can’t you understand that?’
‘I can. It’s just that it shouldn’t be me. Bad idea all round. Plus, Riley wouldn’t like it. He’s pretty keen on Tula …’ The beginnings of the idea unfolded as the words were coming out of his mouth.
Dot perked up too. ‘He is? And how does she feel about him?’
‘Thinks he’s a lazy bum. Can’t imagine why.’ Reaching for his phone, Josh said, ‘Although this could be the chance he needs to come to her rescue.’
‘And he’s good-looking enough to impress the other guests. Oh, this is an excellent idea,’ Dot said brightly. ‘They wouldn’t need to know he’s a lazy bum.’
‘Exactly,’ said Josh. Hallelujah! Now he was off the hook.
Having punched out Riley’s number, Josh waited. And waited. Finally he said, ‘Hey, lazy bum, it’s midday. Don’t tell me I woke you up.’
Tula, covering reception, felt her mouth go dry as she watched Dot making her way back down the staircase. Oh wow, she’d spoken to Josh and now she was smiling. That could only mean one thing …
‘Don’t look so nervous,’ Dot said gaily. ‘You have a date for the wedding!’
Yaaaay! ‘Really?’
‘Really. Except … it’s not Josh.’
Oh. Flump, went Tula’s heart, like a deflated soufflé.
‘He couldn’t make it after all,’ Dot went on, ‘but he’s found someone else to do it instead.’
OK, Lawrence was a lovely man, but please don’t let it be him. Almost scared to hear the answer, Tula said, ‘Who?’
