by Jill Mansell
It rained. It was more than a mile. It rained harder and the sky darkened along with Tilly's grey sweatshirt and jeans because of course she didn't have anything so sensible as an umbrella. Her case on-wheels jiggled and bounced along the pavement as she dragged it behind her. After twenty-five minutes, she saw a house up ahead on the right and quickened her pace. There, thank God, was the sign saying Beech House. She turned into the stone-pillared entrance and headed up the graveled driveway. The Regency-style property was grand, imposing, and as welcomingly lit up in the gloom as Harrods at Christmas.
Panting and drenched, Tilly reached the front door and rang the bell. What was she even doing here? The man would probably turn out to be a right weirdo; all she'd need to do was take one look at him to know she wouldn't work for him for all the—
'Bloody hell, kid. Look at the state of you.' Having flung open the door, the right weirdo hauled her inside. 'I thought you'd stood us up. Treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen. Don't tell me you've walked all the way from the station.'
Tilly nodded, the blissful heat causing her teeth to start chatter ing wildly. 'There weren't any t-taxis.'
'Ah well, that's because the taxi drivers around here are all lazy gits. And you didn't even have a coat.' He looked askance at her drenched sweatshirt. 'If you'd called me again I'd have come and picked you up. If you catch pneumonia and drop dead I'm going to have it on my conscience now, aren't I?'
'I'll sign a disclaimer.' Tilly stuck out her hand and shook his. 'I'm Tilly Cole. Nice to meet you.'
'Nice to meet you too, Tilly Cole. Max Dineen.' He was tall and greyhound thin, aged around forty, with close-cropped wavy blond hair and friendly grey eyes behind steel-rimmed spectacles. 'Come along in and we'll get you dried off. That's what I usually say to Betty,' he added as he led the way into the kitchen.
'Your daughter?'
Max indicated the brown and white terrier curled up on a cushion in one of the window seats. 'Our dog, but it's an easy mistake to make. I get them mixed up myself. Betty's the one with the cold nose,' he went on as a clatter of footsteps heralded his daughter's arrival in the kitchen, 'and the noisy one in the stripy tights is Lou.'
'Hi!' Lou was in her early teens, with mad red hair corkscrewing around her head and an infectious grin. 'It's Louisa actually. Euww, you're all wet.'
'I knew that expensive education would come in useful one day. Lou, this is Tilly. Run upstairs and fetch her the dressing gown from the spare room.' Max turned to Tilly. 'We'll chuck your clothes in the tumble-dryer. How about that then?' He winked. 'How many job interviews have you done in a dressing gown, eh?'
The thing was, he wasn't being sleazy or suggestive. He was simply making the suggestion because it made sense. Nevertheless, it would be surreal…
'It's OK, I've got something I can change into.' Tilly pointed to her case.
Max said, 'Spoilsport.'
Chapter 4
THE HOUSE WAS AMAZING, decorated with an eye for color and real flair. Whether Max Dineen was married or divorced, Tilly guessed this was the work of a woman. In the bottle-green and white marble tiled downstairs cloakroom, she stripped off her wet things and changed into the red angora sweater and black trousers she'd worn last night.
Back in the kitchen, Max took her jeans and sweatshirt through to the utility room and put them in the tumble-dryer. Then, he handed her a cup of coffee and pulled out one of the kitchen chairs.
'Right, let's make a start, shall we? The situation is this: Lou's mum and I split up three years ago. Her mum lives and works in California. For the first couple of years Lou stayed out there with her, but she missed all this…'—he gestured ironically at the rain splattered window—'all this glorious British weather, so last year, she decided to move back for good. I tried changing my name and going into hiding but she managed to track me down.'
'Dad, don't say that.' Lou rolled her eyes at him. 'People will think it's true.'
'It is true. I was hiding in doorways… wearing a false mous tache… hopeless. It was like being hunted by a bloodhound.'
'Nobody's going to want to work for you if you say stuff like this. OK, here's the thing,' Lou took over. 'I'm thirteen. Dad cut back on work when I first came home, but now he's stepping it up again.'
'It's a question of having to,' said Max. 'You cost a fortune.'
'Anyway,' Louisa ignored him, 'we decided we needed a Girl Friday to help us out, someone to pick me up from school and stuff, do a spot of cooking sometimes, help Dad out with the business— just anything that needs doing, really. We kept it vague, because—'
'We kept it vague,' Max interjected, 'because if we advertised for someone to look after a bad-tempered old git and a whiny teenager, everyone would run a mile.'
'Just keep on ignoring him.' Louisa's eyes sparkled as she snapped the ring on a can of Pepsi Max. 'So. Does that sound like the kind of thing you might like to do?'
Tilly shrugged. 'That rather depends on your dad's business. If he's the town rat-catcher I'm not going to be so keen on helping him out.'
'How about grave digging?' said Max.
'Dad, will you leave this to me? He's not a grave digger,' said Louisa, 'he has an interior design company. It's good fun. He's very in demand.' She nodded proudly. 'So that's it. That's what you'd be doing. Now it's your turn to tell us about you.'
Tilly hid a smile, because Louisa was so earnest and sparky and bossy and young, and she, Tilly, was being interviewed by a thirteen year-old freckly redhead wearing huge hooped earrings, a lime-green sweater-dress, and multicolored stripy tights. She'd also been wrong about the ex-wife being responsible for the way the house looked.
Plus no rats, which had to be a bonus.
'OK, the truth? I live in London, my job's pretty boring, and my boyfriend's just done a bunk. Which doesn't upset me, but it means I can't afford to stay on in the flat we shared, which does. Then I came down here for the weekend to stay with my friend Erin, and—'
'Erin? Who runs Erin's Beautiful Clothes?' Perkily, Louisa said, 'I know her. I used to go in the shop with Mum, and Erin would give me jelly sweets shaped like strawberries. She's cool!'
'I know she's cool. And she'll be thrilled to hear you think so too,' said Tilly. 'We've been best friends since university. Anyway, I saw your advert in the paper and tried to ring you yesterday but your answering machine was full. Then this afternoon my train was delayed, and on the off chance, I thought I'd give it another go. Erin says this is a really nice place to live. She'd love it if I moved down here. So here I am.'
'Can you cook?' said Max.
'Ish. I'm not Nigella.'
'Don't look so worried; we're not after Nigella.' Max pulled a face. 'All that sticking her finger in her mouth and groaning in ecstasy—put me right off my dinner, that would.'
Phew, relief. 'I'm the queen of the bacon sandwich.'
'That's grand. Food of the gods. Criminal record?'
Shocked, Tilly yelped, 'No!'
'Ever nicked anything from any previous employers?'
'Paperclips.' She concentrated on remembering; honesty was im portant. 'Envelopes. Pens. Cheap ones,' Tilly added, in case he thought she was talking Mont Blancs. 'Oh, and a loo roll once. But only because we'd run out at home, and I didn't have time to stop off at the shop. And that was embarrassing, because I was smuggling it out of the build ing under my coat and the doorman asked me if I was pregnant.'
Max nodded gravely. 'I hate it when that happens to me. Clean driving record?'
'Absolutely.' This time Tilly was able to reply with confidence, chiefly because she didn't own a car and only occasionally borrowed her parents' Ford Focus—and after being owned and driven by them since the day it had come out of the showroom, it had never even learned how to travel faster than thirty miles an hour.
'Like yellow?'
'Excuse me?'
'Do you like yellow? That's the color of the room you'd be sleep ing in if you came to live here.'
'Depends on what kind
of yellow. Not so keen on mustard.'
Max laughed. 'Now she's getting picky.'
'You two. Honestly.' Louisa shook her head.
They went upstairs and Max showed Tilly the room, which was fabulously decorated in shades of pale gold with accents of silver and white. The view from the elongated sash windows was breathtaking, even if the hills rising into the distance were currently wreathed in grey mist. The curtains were sumptuous and glamorously draped. And as for the bed…
'Well?' said Max.
Tilly's mouth was dry. Was it wrong to take a job just because you'd fallen in love with a bed?
Except this was so much more than just a bed. It was an actual four-poster, draped in ivory and silver damask, the mattress so high you'd practically need to take a running jump at it, the pillows piled up in true interior-designer style.
This was pure Hollywood, the bed of her dreams, and she wanted to roll around on it like a puppy.
'She hates it,' said Max.
Tilly shook her head. 'I can't believe you've made so much effort for someone who's just going to be working for you.'
'I'm a very generous employer,' Max said modestly.
'Dad, you liar.' Louisa rolled her eyes at Tilly. 'Don't be im pressed; the room was like this before he even thought of advertising for someone to move in. This is just our best spare room.'
'Oh. Well, it's still amazing.'
Max said, 'And I could have used one of the others.'
'Except that would have meant sorting them out and basically he couldn't be bothered. Still, it's nice, isn't it?' Louisa surveyed Tilly beadily. 'So? What's the verdict?'
'I want this job,' said Tilly. 'Although I suppose I should talk to Erin first, check out your credentials. You might be the ASBO family from hell.'
'Oh, we're definitely that.' Max nodded. 'And maybe we should give Erin a call too, find out all about you.'
'She'll say nice things, tell you I'm lovely. If she doesn't,' said Tilly, 'she knows I'll give her a Chinese burn.'
Over bacon and egg sandwiches and mugs of tea, they carried on getting to know each other.
'So how often would you be nicking the toilet rolls?' said Max, feeding Betty a curl of bacon under the table.
'Not more than once or twice a week, I promise.'
'Are you bright and cheerful when you get up in the morning?'
'I can be.'
'Christ, no, I can't bear people being cheerful in the mornings.'
'He's a grumpy old man,' Louisa said comfortably, 'aren't you, Dad?'
Tilly pointed a teasing finger at her. 'If I came to work here, it'd be like The Sound of Music.'
'Minus the singing nuns,' said Max.
'And with a lot less children to look after,' Louisa pointed out.
'I wouldn't make you wear dresses made out of curtains,' Tilly promised.
'And you won't end up marrying Captain Von Trapp,' said Max.
Quite bluntly, in fact.
Oh. Right. Not that she wanted to marry him, but still. Tilly guessed it was his way of letting her know right away that she wasn't his type. God, did he think she'd been flirting with him? Because she genuinely hadn't.
Talk about blunt though.
Across the table she intercepted a look passing between Louisa and Max.
'Oh Dad, don't tell her,' Louisa wailed. 'Can't we just leave it for now? Wait until she moves in?'
'Tell me what?' Tilly sat up, her stomach tightening with ap prehension. Just when everything had been going so well too.
'I have to,' Max said evenly. 'It's not fair otherwise.'
For heaven's sake, were they vampires?
'Please, Dad, don't,' begged Louisa.
'Tell me what?'
The phone started ringing out in the hall. Max looked at Louisa and tilted his head in the direction of the door. 'Go and get that, will you, Lou?'
For a second she stared back at him, her jaw rigid. Then she scraped back her chair and ran out of the kitchen, red curls bouncing off her shoulders.
'Is this to do with your wife?' Tilly had done Jane Eyre at school; had Louisa's mum gone loopy? Had the bit about her going to America been a lie? Was she actually tied up in the attic?
'In a way.' Max nodded and listened to the murmurings as Louisa answered the phone. 'The reason Kaye and I got divorced is because I'm gay.'
Crikey, she hadn't been expecting that. Tilly put down her sand wich. Was he serious or was this another joke?
'Really?'
'Really.' Max surveyed her steadily for a moment. 'OK, let me just tell you before Lou comes back. When I was in my twenties, it was easier to be heterosexual. I met Kaye and she was great. Then she got pregnant. Not exactly planned, but that was fine too.' His smile was crooked. 'And my mother was thrilled. So anyway, we got married and Lou was born, and I told myself I had to stay straight for their sakes. Well, I lasted nearly ten years. And I never once cheated on Kaye. But in the end I couldn't do it any more. We split up. Poor old Kaye; it wasn't her fault. And Lou's coped brilliantly. She's a star.'
'I can see that,' said Tilly.
'But it's obviously been a lot for her to cope with. I don't have a partner right now, which makes things easier. And it's not as if I'd ever bring home a different man every week.' Max paused, then said, 'The thing is, you have to remember this isn't London, it's Roxborough. Before we advertised in the paper, I spoke to a woman who runs an employment agency and she said I shouldn't mention the gay thing at all. Apparently, a lot of potential employees would be put off, especially if half the reason for taking the job was because they fancied their chances with a wealthy single father.' He half smiled before adding dryly, 'And then you came out with your Sound of Music comment.'
'I didn't mean it like that,' Tilly protested.
'Well, that's good news. But according to this woman, some people might just not want to live in a house with a gay man.' Max shrugged. 'I'm just repeating what she told me. Apparently some people might find it a bit… yucky.'
A noise behind them prompted Tilly to swivel round. Louisa was back, standing in the doorway.
'Well?' Louisa looked anxious.
Tilly was incredulous. 'This woman who runs an employment agency. Is she by any chance two hundred and seventy years old?'
Louisa's narrow shoulders sagged with relief. 'Does that mean it isn't a problem? You still want to come and live here?'
Unable to keep a straight face, Tilly said, 'That's not a problem. But if we're talking yucky, I'm going to need to know exactly what your dad's like when it comes to digging butter knives in the marmalade, dumping tea bags in the sink, and leaving the top off the toothpaste.'
Lou pulled a conspiratorial face. 'He's OK most of the time. When he concentrates.'
'That's all right then,' said Tilly. 'So am I.'
Chapter 5
'TILLY, TILLY!' THE DOOR to the flat was open and Babs burst in like a rocket. 'It's Gavin; he's here! Oh my word, this is so romantic, he wants you back…'
Tilly stopped dead in her tracks. Not again. She finished zipping up the last suitcase and moved over to the open window.
Yes, Gavin was down there. Clutching a bunch of lilies and wearing extremely ironed jeans with knife-sharp creases down the front, courtesy of his mother.
She marveled at the fact that they'd lived together, yet he still hadn't grasped the fact that lilies were her least favorite flower.
Gazing up at her, Gavin called out, 'Tilly, don't go, I can't bear it. Look, I made a mistake and I'm sorry.'
'It's like one of those lovely films with Cary Grant,' Babs sighed, clasping her hands together.
It was nothing of the sort; Cary Grant would never have let his mother iron his jeans like that.
'Gavin, don't do this. You left me, remember? It's over.' Since coming to regret his decision, Gavin had been begging her to change her mind about leaving. This was the bit Tilly hated, but at least she was spared the guilt of having been the one to initiate the split.
> 'But I love you!' In desperation he held up the bunch of lilies as proof.
'Oh Gavin, it's too late. How could I trust you? Every day I'd come home from work and wonder if you were still there.' Whereas in reality, she'd been coming home from work and enjoying the fact that he wasn't.
'I made a mistake. I wouldn't do it again, I promise.'
'You say that now. But it's too late anyway. I've left my job.' Hooray! 'I'm leaving London.' Yay! 'In fact'—Tilly nodded at the minicab pulling up at the curb behind him—'I'm leaving right now.'
