by Jill Mansell
“Good.”
“I thought you’d be pleased,” said Antonia with a crooked half smile. She paused, then added with a rush, “I decided that it would be the best thing to do. I’m not exactly flavor of the month around here—I know that—and over there I can start a new life, without having people pointing and whispering about me behind my back. Besides,” she concluded with a touch of defiance, “I think Miami Beach will suit me. And I’ve always found American men attractive. Who knows, by this time next year, I could be married again.”
God help him, thought Ross, but wisely refrained from speaking the words aloud. Instead, in neutral tones, he said, “So you’ve sold your house?”
“All going through.” She nodded. “My lawyer’s handling it.”
“Good.” He was beginning to run out of patience. Why didn’t she just leave? Glancing up and seeing her flip open her handbag, he thought for a mad moment that she was going to pull out a gun and shoot him.
“I’m leaving now,” said Antonia hurriedly. With shaking fingers, she dropped a small, folded piece of paper onto the desk between them. “I know you hate me and I know I deserve it, but I’m not a complete bitch, and I’ve always paid my debts. You may not believe this, but I am sorry I wrecked that painting. Give this to Tessa…”
Her voice trailed away. Ross stared back at her, saying nothing. When she had left, he picked up the folded check, made out to cash for three thousand pounds. Since the painting had been his, he felt entitled to claim the compensation. And since Tessa—if she were here—would undoubtedly have refused it, and the money had been Richard’s anyway, he felt it only fitting that it should go to Mattie and her unborn child.
For the first time that day, as he pocketed the check, he smiled.
Chapter 62
Sadie Labelle, in an uncharacteristically good mood, sat back in her chair and smiled at the waiter. “That was a wonderful meal. We’ll have our coffee and brandy outside, I think, and take advantage of the rest of the sun.”
“Certainly, madam,” replied Jose, thinking as he did so that this woman looked capable of taking advantage of anything and anyone she chose. The meal and the wine had softened her, but she was undoubtedly used to getting her own way and he had no intention of wrecking his chance of a hefty tip by telling her that the spacious verandah was currently occupied by a half-naked artist and a teething baby. If that was where she wished to sit, he wouldn’t stop her.
But when Sadie led the way through to the back of the restaurant and stepped out onto the sunbaked verandah, with its sweetly scented profusion of flowering plants and elegant white seats, she found only a solitary baby in semi-push-up position, peering solemnly up at them over the side of its crib.
“Well, hel-lo!” cried Sadie, chucking her bag onto a nearby table and dropping to her knees. “Look at you; aren’t you adorable! Will you just look at those eyes…?”
“If your friends could see you now…” remarked her companion dryly, settling into a chair and lighting a cigarette.
“Well, they can’t,” retaliated Sadie with a touch of defiance. “Besides, I’m on vacation and I can do whatever I like. Can’t I?” she continued, addressing the infant once more and reverting to baby-speak. “I can do whaddever I like because even if you were old enough to talk you wouldn’t be doing it in English, so I’m perfectly safe.”
When the little mouth drew down at the corners into a bulldog grimace and the first whimpers threatened to erupt, Sadie laughed and scooped the child up into her arms. “Oh, no, no, no,” she cooed, kissing the dark, silken head. “Oh no, you mustn’t cry. Come on now, there’s a good boy. Mustn’t—”
“Actually, it’s a girl.”
Tessa, returning with Olivia’s bottle, had been standing in the doorway for almost a minute attempting to persuade herself that the unlikeliest sight of the twentieth century was not, after all, a mirage.
Now her mouth twitched because she had wondered whether Sadie Labelle would recognize her, and from the expression on her face there was no doubt whatsoever that she had.
“There goes your street cred,” observed her companion, blowing a series of perfect smoke rings.
“Yes, well,” said Sadie defensively. “She was starting to cry.”
Stepping forward, enjoying the woman’s discomfiture, Tessa handed her the formula. “Here, give her this; she’s hungry.”
“So,” said Sadie when they were at last settled—in an oddly amicable manner—around the table. “This is where you’ve been hiding.”
“I’m not hiding.” Tessa’s voice was calm, but the pain was evident in her eyes. “I just needed to get away.”
“Fancy you two knowing each other,” put in Sadie’s companion. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t recognize you. Are you famous?”
Tessa smiled and shook her head. “I don’t know you, either. My name’s Tessa Duvall, and this is my daughter, Olivia.”
Her outstretched hand was shaken, very firmly indeed. “How d’you do, my dear. I’m Barbara Labelle, and this ill-mannered creature is my daughter, Sadie.”
Somehow, Tessa had never imagined that Sadie Labelle would have a mother.
“And how did you two meet?” persisted Barbara, downing her brandy with relish and tilting her wide-brimmed straw hat away from her face.
“I interviewed her,” said Sadie flatly, and her mother laughed aloud.
“Ha! In that case, say no more.” Turning to scrutinize Tessa, she said bluntly, “Did she make you cry?”
“No. As a matter of fact, she was a pretty shrewd judge of character. Not of my character,” Tessa added, then glanced across at Sadie. “You were wrong there. But of course you were absolutely right about Ross.”
Upon hearing that the Monahan-Duvall wedding had been called off at the shortest possible notice, Sadie had experienced a rare spasm of guilt. She hadn’t meant to provoke quite such a dramatic reaction. Sometimes her own power alarmed her.
As if reading her mind, Tessa added flatly, “It wasn’t your article. I’m not that gullible.”
“Oh. Good.” Sadie was feeling distinctly uncomfortable; this kind of encounter wasn’t what she was used to. And the presence of her mother—who positively reveled in such potentially awkward situations—wasn’t helping matters at all.
“Why?” intercepted Barbara. Shrewd, gunmetal-gray eyes assessed the slender, bikini-clad girl sitting next to her. “What happened? I assume we’re talking about a man, here?”
“Mother…” Sadie shot her a warning look.
Barbara shrugged. “Darling, I’m interested!”
“It’s OK,” said Tessa, in her turn highly amused by the exchange, and by the infamous Sadie Labelle’s obvious loss of composure. That she had a mother was a revelation in itself. That she was so clearly ruled by her was sheer bliss. “I was involved with Olivia’s father,” she continued, turning back to address the formidable Barbara. “And I had a lucky escape. I found out just in time that he wasn’t…right for me.”
“I heard what happened at the exhibition,” put in Sadie. A trained observer, she was able to see behind the calm front. Tessa wasn’t fooling her for a moment, and now that she was meeting her under such different circumstances, the old animosity—possibly still coupled with residual guilt—was melting away. “Antonia Seymour-Smith took an overdose, and Ross had to get her to the hospital.”
“I know, I’ve read the papers,” said Tessa slowly. “But the fact remains that he abandoned me when I most needed him, and I didn’t see why I should put up with it anymore. Antonia was always there, crawling out of the woodwork whenever things seemed to be going well between us and managing to ruin it every time…”
Sadie gazed down at Olivia, cradled in her arms. Having frantically gulped down the contents of her bottle, she was now lying in a contented, postprandial stupor, dark lashes batting lazily against the sunlight, rosebud mouth po
uting with pleasure, tiny hands like starfish curling and uncurling beneath her chin.
“Ross must be missing her,” she said, addressing Tessa but smiling at the drowsy baby on her lap.
Tessa, her eyes promptly filling with tears, shook her head. “I expect he is, but I can’t go back. If I’m going to make a proper life for myself—for both of us—I need time to get over him. And my friends here have been so kind…”
“Friendship is one thing,” said Barbara Labelle, who had a past most biographers would die for. Even her clever, sharp-witted daughter didn’t know everything. She finished her black coffee and stubbed out her second cigarette with a peculiarly conclusive gesture. “But it’s not what makes the world go round, sweetheart. Believe me.”
“I’m not going back,” repeated Tessa, her expression desolate. “I loved Ross, but it hurt too much. It’s better this way, really it is. I don’t want to be miserable for the rest of my life.”
“You’re stubborn,” said Barbara Labelle, patting her hand. “I like that in a girl. No doubt,” she added dryly, “it’s what attracted your young man to you as well.”
Chapter 63
“I’d like to speak to Ross Monahan,” said Sadie, a week later. It was the day before Christmas Eve, and she had given the matter a great deal of thought. In the end, however, she’d managed to convince herself that she was right. And even if she wasn’t right… Well, it was something she simply had to do anyway.
“I’m afraid he isn’t here at the moment,” Grace replied, juggling the phone as she reached for a notepad and pen. “I could take your number and ask him to call you back, if you wish. Or I could put you through to Max Monahan if it’s a business matter. I expect he’d be able to help you.”
It wasn’t the first time she’d subtly discouraged such calls. Since Tessa’s disappearance, the number of women phoning to invite Ross to this dinner and that party had gradually escalated, and although it wasn’t Clarissa Fox this time—she being the most persistent of the pack—Grace suspected that the person on the other end of the telephone was just another in that long line of pushy, eager women in whom he wasn’t even remotely interested anyway.
Damn, thought Sadie, who had wanted to break the news to Ross herself. But she was due in less than an hour at the first of three notoriously riotous Christmas parties. It was now or never—or at least until Boxing Day morning. Maybe speaking to Max instead wouldn’t be such a bad move anyway, she decided, drumming her fingers rapidly against the arm of her chair. He could tell her if she was way off the beam. There was always the possibility, after all, that for reasons unbeknown to her, Ross might not even want to know Tessa’s whereabouts.
“Fine,” she said briskly. “Put me through to Max.”
“Please,” muttered Grace beneath her breath.
• • •
When she knocked and entered his office fifteen minutes later, she found Max leaning back in his chair with his feet up on the desk, looking distinctly thoughtful.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” said Grace, placing a sheaf of order forms in front of him, “but Ross isn’t here. If you could just countersign these, I’ll be able to send them out this afternoon.”
Transferring his brooding gaze to her, he said brusquely, “Where’s Ross?”
“He left half an hour ago.” She looked uneasy. “He’s gone to see a friend.”
“Your mother, you mean.” With an irritated sigh, he reached for a pen and scrawled his signature on the first form. “What’s going on, are they having an affair or something?”
“Of course not,” said Grace hotly. “You know they’re not! Ross loves Tessa, and Mum knows what he’s going through, that’s all.”
“Hmm.”
Leaning forward, concerned that the pen he was wielding with such force could be about to rip right through the entire sheaf of order forms, Grace merely glanced at the writing on a scrap of paper at his elbow. The next moment she’d whisked it off the desk.
“I don’t believe it! Is this where Tessa’s staying? Do you mean to tell me that you’ve known all along where she is and you haven’t told Ross…?”
She was white with fury. Max’s first instinct was to snatch the paper back from her. Then he realized that it was too late. She knew he had it. And she was Ross’s daughter, after all. At least the dilemma would no longer be his alone.
“Of course I haven’t known all along,” he said wearily, indicating with a nod of his head that Grace should sit down. “That call you put through to me just now was from Sadie Labelle, of all people. Apparently she ran into Tessa last week while she was on vacation. For some reason, she appears to have had a change of heart over Tessa. She gave me the address.”
“But that’s fantastic!” cried Grace, her fingers itching to pick up the phone on the desk before her. “Look, why don’t you call him now? I’ll give you Mum’s number.”
“Grace, calm down. I’ve given the matter a lot of thought.”
“Oh yes?” She fixed him with a challenging stare, and in that moment, for the first time, Max caught the slight but unmistakable resemblance to Ross. It was just how he used to look as a teenager, whenever someone had told him that something was impossible. He had invariably gone on to prove them wrong.
“Yes,” he replied firmly. “Look, tomorrow is Christmas Eve. The hotel’s never been busier… We’re all going to be working flat out until after the New Year… There is absolutely no way that Ross can just take off now to go and sort out his differences with Tessa.”
“But—”
“I’m being logical about this,” he continued in stern tones. “Don’t interrupt. I’m perfectly well aware of the fact that he misses her, but it’s been almost two months now, and at least he’s grown used to missing her. If he phoned her—tonight, or tomorrow—and they had a screaming row, it would only make Christmas that much harder to bear for both of them. So what I’m saying,” he concluded, “is that we should keep this to ourselves for now. Preserve the status quo, if you like. And as soon as Christmas and the New Year are over, we’ll give Ross this address. Then, he can do whatever he likes.”
The look Grace gave him was one of incomprehension mingled with pity.
“Max,” she said at last, sounding strangely like a disappointed schoolmistress, “you’ve written a lot of books, so I know you must be intelligent. But for an intelligent man, that has to be the stupidest idea you’ve ever had.”
“The most stupid idea.” He glared back at her. Correcting her grammar seemed to be the only avenue of retaliation.
“Exactly,” said Grace with a note of triumph.
Realizing that he was beaten—the bitch; he’d fallen for that one—Max sat back in his chair and laughed.
Grace responded with a tentative smile.
“So, what do you think we should do?” he said finally, a kernel of grudging admiration beginning to unfold for the pale, determined young girl sitting before him. Maybe Grace—his niece—wasn’t so bad after all.
“I’ll tell you,” she replied with perfect composure. “It’s simple.”
• • •
It wasn’t going to be the happiest Christmas on record, thought Holly with uncharacteristic understatement, but at least she and Tessa would be together.
And the fact that the Algarve was so very un-Christmasy was something else to be grateful for. Sun, sand, and tanning lotion were enough to trick the most traditional English brain, and even Adam hadn’t been able to conjure up a Christmas tree. Which was just as well, she decided gloomily as she shrugged on an old, faded denim shirt and pushed the tails haphazardly into the waistband of even older, barely respectable Levi’s. If they could get away with pretending that it simply wasn’t happening—that tomorrow, December the twenty-fifth, was just another ordinary day—maybe it wouldn’t be totally unbearable after all.
Chapter 64
; Adam and Tessa, together with Jose, Luisa, and Ana, were gathered around the bar when Holly joined them downstairs ten minutes later. With the lunchtime session over, the restaurant was now closed until Boxing Day, and everyone was either celebrating or giving an almost entirely convincing imitation of it. Adam was breaking open the third bottle of champagne, and Ana had brought a vast bowl of seafood paella out from the kitchen. Olivia, happily ensconced on Luisa’s ample lap, was rolling olives like polished marbles along the bar and screaming with delight each time Adam lobbed them back at her. The next moment, as one of the olives landed in Luisa’s splendid cleavage, Holly glimpsed the secret smile passing between Luisa and Adam and realized with a jolt that the chemistry that had never existed between Adam and herself was showing definite signs of life at the other end of the bar.
It should have cheered her up—the fact that she had been unable to force herself to return Adam’s feelings had troubled her conscience for weeks—but the jolt wasn’t a particularly pleasant one. It made her feel even more alone than ever. With a consciously defiant gesture she picked up a glass, downed her drink in one go, and immediately reached for a refill. In thirty-two hours Christmas would be over. If she was lucky, and if she drank enough, she might manage to sleep through twelve of them.
Minutes later she received another, quite different kind of jolt. For, unnoticed by the rest of the party, a tall, dark figure had appeared in the open doorway. His face, silhouetted against the golden afternoon sun, wasn’t visible. But Holly, with her mouth full of paella, knew without a shadow of a doubt who it was. Her entire body prickled with recognition, her stomach disappeared, and swallowing the paella became a physical impossibility. All she could do in order to gain Tessa’s attention was to point weakly in the general direction of the door with her fork and say, “Phmghh…”
Holly had known instantly who it was because every detail of the man in the doorway was indelibly imprinted in her mind, but Tessa, wild hope surging and mingling with a momentary trick of the light, looked across at the outline of a tall, dark-haired man standing with one hand thrust casually into his trouser pocket and saw Ross. Her heart thundering like an express train, she was already half out of her seat before she realized she was wrong.
