by Jill Mansell
“I’m fine, Mum. Would you like a cup of tea?”
Grace stood up, preparing to move toward the kitchen. Mattie edged guiltily sideways.
“No, no. Er…” At least Grace was sober. Thank God. “Um…actually, I’m thinking of popping out again. You see, Pam and I bumped into someone tonight. Janie Collins. She’s an old friend we haven’t seen for years, and she’s invited us both back to her house. So I thought…if it was all right with you…I might stay there overnight and Janie can drive me back tomorrow morning.”
Well, well, thought Grace, managing to keep a straight face. Mother’s got herself a man! And about time too.
“That sounds sensible,” she said, dropping easily into her chair. “That’s fine.”
“Are you sure?” said Mattie, sounding even more like a teenager than ever. “Do you think you’ll be all right on your own? I wouldn’t have agreed to go, but Janie was so insistent.”
“I’ll be perfectly OK, Mum. Really. I hope you have a lovely time with Janie and Pam.”
In a rush of gratitude and relief, Mattie forgot the gin fumes and leaned over to give Grace a kiss. “Oh, thank you, darling.”
“Don’t forget, Mum,” said Grace, just before the door slammed. Mattie’s face, bright-eyed and pink-cheeked with anticipation, reappeared around it. “Forget what?”
“Your toothbrush.”
• • •
“I still can’t believe that we’re actually doing this.” Mattie sighed, tucking in her stomach as Richard ran his left hand over the mound of soft flesh. If he had told her how pleasurable he found her plumpness she would never have believed him. “I can’t believe that we are here, that we checked into this hotel as Mr. and Mrs. Robinson and that—”
“That it could be so perfect?” suggested Richard, inhaling her sweet scent and kissing her shoulder. A moment later she winced, and he realized that his chin was brushing against the angry red cigarette burn he had inflicted earlier. “Sorry, sorry. Does it hurt dreadfully?”
“It hurts wonderfully,” said Mattie, reaching for him. “And I can’t tell you how glad I am that it happened. I know we women aren’t supposed to say such things, but I really think this has been the most marvelous night of my life.”
“Really?” whispered Richard, overwhelmed with pride and pleasure. Having never before been unfaithful to Antonia, he was beginning to understand now what had drawn her to Ross. Adultery, he reflected, was more fun than he had ever imagined possible.
Pushing the distant memory of her one night with Ross Monahan firmly to the back of her mind, Mattie nodded, burying her face against his chest. Ross didn’t count; the marvelousness of it had been too one-sided. Whereas lying here with Richard was a different matter entirely; even though they had only just met, she sensed that their feelings for each other were mutual.
And as if reading her mind, he said with a trace of urgency, “Mattie, I want you to know that I’m not doing this to pay back Antonia. I didn’t drive over to The Grange tonight with the intention of picking up a woman…a total stranger…and persuading her into bed with me. I’ve never done anything like that in my life, believe me.”
“I do believe you.” Smoothing the worried frown lines from his forehead, she marveled afresh at his ability to make her happy. And he wasn’t just a tremendously nice man, either. In his charcoal-gray businessman’s suit, Richard epitomized everyone’s idea of a sober accountant, but here, now, without clothes and minus those serious spectacles, he was a desirable man with a lean, if not overly muscular, body, gentle hands, and seductive gray eyes. To Mattie’s surprise and delight, he was also spectacularly well-endowed. For the life of her she couldn’t imagine why Antonia should ever want to stray from such secure and loving arms and tangle instead with someone as mercurial and undependable as Ross Monahan.
“Where are you going?” Richard reached for Mattie’s arm as she swung her legs over the side of the bed.
“I’m thirsty. I thought I’d get a glass of water from the bathroom. Or there’s a machine here,” she exclaimed, delighted by the discovery of such unaccustomed luxury. “I could make us both a cup of tea.”
Hauling her back into bed beside him, Richard smiled and picked up the phone. “Don’t move; this is a special occasion. Hello? Room service, please. I’d like a bottle of Bollinger sent up to room forty-two.”
He wasn’t wildly experienced in such matters, but he wouldn’t mind betting that their room number was compatible with Mattie’s splendid bust measurement.
His eyebrows lifted in disbelief as the receptionist informed him that it was three thirty in the morning, and that room service ceased to operate at midnight.
“But that’s terrible!” he exclaimed, winking at Mattie. “If I’d known this was the case we would have stayed at the Charrington Grange. I know for a fact that they cater for their guests’ every need.”
“Well, I’m glad,” said Mattie happily, leaning across him and switching on the kettle. “I’d rather have a nice cup of tea anyway.”
• • •
At their respective homes, Grace wondered who her mother’s new man might be and hoped he was nice, while Antonia lay awake for hours thinking about Ross and sparing only a few fleeting seconds in order to wonder why Richard hadn’t returned from Birmingham that evening as he had said he would.
Chapter 33
The center of Bath was crowded with tourists, and having to continually zigzag her way past them had exhausted Holly almost as much as the actual business of shopping.
But bingeing on clothes was one of her most pleasurable vices, and when she finally collapsed into a seat outside one of her favorite pavement cafés, just around the corner from the Pump Rooms, the sight of her glossy pyramid of shopping bags—and the thought of their sinfully expensive contents—more than made up for the fact that the soles of her poor feet were actually burning with pain.
Five minutes later, as she was demolishing a plate of blueberry cheesecake, she spotted Adam Perry rounding the corner, apparently making his way toward the wine bar across the road. Grabbing her Ray-Bans and hastily shoving them onto her face, Holly ducked her head and tried to make herself smaller. If only that troupe of camera-happy Japanese tourists would move a couple of feet further to the right—and maybe grow a little taller while they were at it—she would be safe.
But they didn’t, and she wasn’t. The next thing she knew Adam was yelling, “Hey, gorgeous!” and waving his arms so vigorously that he almost sent a small, spectacled visitor from Japan sailing into the fountain.
Cringing, Holly squeezed out a smile and put down her fork. She would be polite, she decided; maybe allow him to buy her a coffee and chat for a few minutes, then make her excuses and leave.
But Adam, it seemed, had other ideas. Pink with indignation, she watched him turn and head toward the wine bar, one hand jauntily dangling his car keys as he strolled across the square.
Bloody cheek, thought Holly, outraged, and to cover her embarrassment she snatched up her fork once more, digging into the remains of the cheesecake. Who the hell did Adam Perry think he was, anyway?
• • •
“And she even smells gorgeous,” proclaimed that familiar male voice two minutes later. Holly, who hadn’t noticed his return, jumped a mile as he planted a noisy kiss on the back of her neck. Once again, of course, he had managed to make her the unwanted center of attention. Even the pigeons, it seemed, were watching with amused interest.
“Sit down,” she hissed, and he roared with laughter.
“I bet you’re wondering where I’d gotten to! Did you feel snubbed? Well, not to worry, angel, I’m here now. Just had to pop across the road and let some friends know I wouldn’t be joining them after all. Now that I’m free I can take you somewhere stupendous for lunch.”
He looked so incongruous among the delicate, touristy prettiness of the courtyar
d. Even the small white chair seemed scarcely capable of bearing his great weight. Holly, taking in the bizarre combination of a strawberry-pink cashmere sweater, creased white cricket flannels, unruly hair, and brown, highly polished Gucci loafers, silently marveled at the man’s ability to humiliate her at every turn, and to take such obvious delight in doing so.
“I’m sorry,” she said evenly, “but I’m afraid I have other plans. Will you leave those alone?”
But Adam was already delving into the first of the glossy bags. And naturally, he had to pick on the Janet Reger bag.
“Holly, this is some serious shopping you have here. I say!” The French schoolgirls at the next table dissolved into giggles as he held aloft a pair of diaphanous, midnight-blue briefs and matching lacy bra. “These are absolutely splendid! Very, very seductive—”
“Stop it!” Snatching them from his hand and stuffing them back into their bag, Holly reflected that it could have been worse; hidden in the bottom of the Marks & Spencer bag was a superstrength pantie girdle. If he had waved that around she really would have been embarrassed…
“Cancel them.”
“What?”
Adam grinned. “Those boring old ‘other plans’ of yours. It’s a beautiful afternoon, and I really think we should spend it together. You could wear your new undies, and I could slowly undress you…mentally, of course.”
He really was impossible. Holly shook her head. “I don’t want to change my plans. Ross is bringing Tessa and the baby home from the hospital today, and we’re having a small welcoming party at the cottage.”
“But that’s great!” said Adam, undeterred. “We can go together. On one condition.”
Caught off guard by the fact that he had so blithely invited himself along, Holly said helplessly, “What?”
He patted her knee. “That you wear those delicious new undies, of course.”
• • •
Somebody up there had to be in cahoots with Ross, thought Tessa suspiciously. Never a party person, the size of her home had always seemed perfectly adequate. Well, small but adequate.
This afternoon, however, her poor cottage was struggling to cope with what seemed like an invasion of well-wishers, and Ross was wearing an “I-told-you-so” expression that was all the more irritating because it was entirely justified.
“I want her to come and live with me,” she heard him saying to Holly as she squeezed past in an effort to reach the tiny kitchen, “but she’s so bloody stubborn…”
“But don’t you live in the hotel?” queried Adam, who took up as much space as three normal-sized people. “Whoops, breathe in, everyone; recently pregnant woman trying to get through.”
They’re all in league against me, thought Tessa. Ross must be loving every minute.
“I’ve told her,” he was explaining now with exaggerated patience, “that I’d buy us a house, something that’s a decent size, but she won’t even discuss it. Did you hear that Hunter’s Lodge was going up for auction next week, Adam?”
“Beautiful place!” declared Adam expansively. “I knew the previous owners, stayed there a few times. Fabulous views, six bedrooms, and a swimming pool.”
It was a conspiracy, thought Tessa darkly as she battled her way back past them. She loved her cottage—every dear little square foot of it—and if Ross thought he was going to win her over with six totally unnecessary bedrooms and a pool, he was going to have to think again.
“Tess,” said Max, who was holding Olivia and bending his head in order to navigate the low beams of the sitting room, “could you get me a cloth from the kitchen? She’s just thrown her lunch up over my shirt.”
“Oh, here we go again! Hold your stomachs in,” boomed Adam as Tessa edged past them once more. “Ross, how much is Hunter’s Lodge expected to go for? Jesus, this cottage is small, I’ve seen bigger hamster cages…”
“All right, all right!” said Tessa, realizing that she could no longer tolerate such unashamed mockery. “You should all be ashamed of yourselves…but I give in.” Turning to look at Ross, she said, “I don’t know what we’ll do with six bedrooms, but if you’ve really set your heart on it…”
Holly hugged her. Ross, unable to believe that he had finally won, gave Tessa a rapturous kiss. Adam, raising his glass of champagne and brushing it against Olivia’s curled fist, said, “I don’t know what you’d do with six bedrooms, sweetheart, but if I were in your shoes”—and he grasped Holly enthusiastically around the waist as he spoke—“I know exactly what would be uppermost in my mind.”
“Pervert,” said Holly, swigging the last of her drink and hoping that they might at last be allowed out into the garden. Ross had insisted that they all stay inside and make themselves as large and inconvenient as possible.
“It’s not perverted,” said Adam, pinching her bottom. “It’s human nature, mutual attraction, chemistry…”
• • •
Hunter’s Lodge was acquired with almost indecent haste, as Tessa had known it would be. Ross, disposing effortlessly of all other interested parties, had outbid them as only a truly determined buyer could outbid, and the opposition had shriveled and died before Tessa’s very eyes.
“It’s ours,” he told her, hugging her. “We have a proper home for Olivia. And now, can you think of any reason—any reason at all—why we shouldn’t get married?”
It was the silliest reason in the world and Tessa despised herself for even thinking it, but one niggling doubt still remained. For despite everything Ross had done for her—and despite everything he meant to her—she hadn’t been able to forget the fact that he had commissioned her to do a painting, apparently been more than pleased with the result, yet had then calmly sold it for a profit as if it had had no more sentimental value than a set of cutlery.
“What?” he said now, studying her expression. “Tell me.”
Tessa shook her head. She was being silly. Buying and selling and making money in the process was what businessmen did, and if she was going to make a decent living from her painting she had to come to terms with that fact. She would have to learn not to take such transactions as a personal slight.
“Really, it’s nothing.”
Ross gave her one of his looks. “If it’s stopping you from agreeing to marry me,” he said evenly, “then it’s something. And there’s no point in clamming up now, because I’m not going to give up until I find out what it is.”
Knowing that he was nothing if not persistent, Tessa sighed and said quickly, “You sold the painting I did for you.”
For a moment he was caught off guard. She saw guilt and a hint of amusement flicker in his dark eyes and knew that he was going to try to joke his way out of it.
“Who told you?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, because there was no need to involve Grace in the situation. “I just know. And I also know that it shouldn’t bother me…but it does.”
He was half smiling now, taking her hand and squeezing it in a conciliatory manner. “Sweetheart, I haven’t sold it. I told you what happened—Nico wanted to borrow it to show some friends. It’s at his house in London.”
“Stop it,” said Tessa despairingly. “Don’t you understand that this is what I can’t bear? I don’t want you lying to me.”
“But, Tess…”
“And if you are going to lie,” she continued with a trace of bitterness, “you really should organize your alibis a little more thoroughly. When Nico and his wife came down to The Grange, I asked Camilla if she liked the painting. She didn’t even know what I was talking about.”
Chapter 34
“I thought you said your aunt lived in Bloomsbury,” said Tessa as they drove down Regent Street toward Piccadilly Circus.
Ross grinned. He was enjoying himself immensely. Since inventing Aunt Dorothy twenty-four hours earlier—a retired orthopedic surgeon in her late sixties wi
th a formidable demeanor, a glass eye, and rapier wit—he had become quite fond of the old bat.
“She does, but she insisted upon taking us out for lunch at this new restaurant she’s discovered in Old Bond Street. We’re meeting her there.”
This was the first Tessa had heard of it. Twisting around, she glanced at Olivia, happily asleep in her car seat. “I hope the restaurant doesn’t mind babies.”
“We’re Aunt Dorothy’s guests,” said Ross. “They wouldn’t dare.”
“We’ll be just around the corner from the Royal Academy,” she remembered as they approached Swallow Street. “Oh, Ross…it’s the Summer Exhibition this week. Do you think we’d have time afterward to pop in for half an hour? I’d love to see—”
“Sorry, Tess.” He shook his head and grimaced. “Aunt Dorothy isn’t interested in art. Far too frivolous. But if she offers to give you a guided tour of the Science Museum you’ll know she likes you.”
“Terrific.” She sighed as they sailed past the Royal Academy, its entrance bustling with visitors. Aunt Dorothy sounded positively terrifying. For the life of her she couldn’t imagine why Ross was so keen for her to meet this aged relative whom until yesterday he had never even mentioned.
• • •
Luckily, finding Tessa in an advanced stage of labor had concentrated Max’s mind to such a degree that he had completely forgotten to tell her about the phone call from the Academy. Even more luckily, when he did finally remember, he had told Ross rather than Tessa, and Ross had been able to deal with the problem of the chipped frame. So much, he had thought wryly, for the porter pocketing his tip and assuring him that the painting would be treated with nothing but tender loving care.
But the painting, Tessa’s painting, was at this moment on display at the Academy, and here they were now, practically on the doorstep. Glancing at his watch, Ross said, “Well, I can’t see Aunt Dorothy’s motorbike anywhere, so maybe we will have time for a quick look at the exhibition after all. Just for a few minutes.”
