by Jill Mansell
'Don't give me that.' Looking resigned, Max said, 'D'you know what? If Jack seduces you and dumps you and breaks your heart, and you're so distraught as a result that you realize you can't carry on living here anymore and you hand in your notice and bugger off leaving me and Lou high and dry, I swear to God, best friend or no best friend, I'm personally going to break the tragic widower's neck.'
Tilly was still longing to hear all the details; having told her the basics, Louisa had been overcome with the urge to sleep. 'I already told you, I'm nobody's notch.'
'Ah, but that was before you knew the whole story.'
Frustration welled up. 'I still don't know the whole story!'
'OK. Ready for a top-up?' Max refilled her glass then stuck his feet up on the coffee table in front of the sofa. 'Get those tissues ready, girl. Jack and Rose were together for three years. She was gorgeous, a year younger than him, the prettiest thing you ever saw. Everyone loved her. They got engaged on Christmas Eve five years ago. The wedding was booked for the following December. It was due to be held at the church in the village in Pembrokeshire where Rose had grown up. Everything was arranged. Then they found out Rose was pregnant, which was the icing on the cake. They couldn't wait to become parents. Rose was crazy about horse-riding but Jack made her give up in case it damaged the baby. Anyhow, the week before the wedding, Rose went on ahead to Wales to stay with her parents and do all that last-minute faffing about. Jack stayed behind here, tying up loose ends to do with the business. On the Sunday morning, Rose took her parents' dog for a walk along the seafront. It was a stormy day, the sea was rough. Basically, the dog was chasing a seagull into the surf and it got into difficulties. This was an animal Rose had practically grown up with. The whole family was besotted with him. Well, people saw Rose yelling to the dog but he couldn't get back to shore. The next moment she'd jumped off the rocks into the sea.'
Tilly's mouth was bone dry; listening to a story like this when you already knew the outcome was unbearable.
'And you know what?' said Max. 'She did rescue the dog. God knows how, but she managed to reach him and get him close enough to the rocks to be able to scramble to safety. But she couldn't save herself. A huge wave crashed over her, then the weight of the water dragged her down, and the currents swept her away. By the time the lifeboat reached her, it was too late. She was dead.'
'I don't know what to say.' Tilly shook her head, trying and failing to imagine the horror of it. 'Her poor family.'
'It was rough,' Max agreed, taking another glug of wine. 'The parents were devastated. They'd lost their daughter and their grandchild—their whole future, basically. And of course Jack blamed himself. He was convinced that if only he'd gone to Pembrokeshire instead of staying here, it would never have happened.' He paused, exhaled heavily. 'The thing is, of course, he had a point. Anyway, that was it. No more wedding; we had a funeral instead. Rose's family was in pieces. Jack went through the whole thing on autopilot. Afterwards he threw himself into his work. Then, about six months later, he started… socializing again.' Dryly Max said, 'And he's been social izing ever since, in pretty epic fashion. We're thinking of contacting the Guinness Book of Records. Except they'd send some poor innocent girl down here to check him out and we all know what would happen next. Imagine the next year, opening the book and reading: "The world record for seducing women is held by Jack Lucas, aged 33, of Roxborough in the Cotswolds, who said he'd phone me, who prom ised faithfully that I'd see him again, but oh no, he's just a rotten lying bastard who thinks he can get away with treating us women like rubbish… I mean, who the hell does he think he is?"'
There was a not-so-subtle message in there somewhere. In fact, Tilly supposed she should be grateful Max wasn't using a megaphone to bellow the message right in her face.
'Everyone wants to make him better,' Max went on. 'They all think they'll be the one to make a difference, to break through the barriers and make Jack fall in love again. But it's been four years now. Take it from me, he's not interested in any of that lovey-dovey stuff. He'd rather steer clear of commitment and stay single. That way he can't be hurt again. And that,' Max concluded, 'is what makes Jack irresistible. That's the challenge.' He stopped and looked sideways at Tilly, to gauge her reaction.
'What happened to the dog?' said Tilly.
'It died a year later. Nothing dramatic, just old age. Went to sleep and never woke up. Pretty good way to go.' Max held up his glass and said deadpan, 'Although given the choice, I'd prefer a night with Johnny Depp.'
Chapter 8
SO FAR, SO GOOD. Tilly was delighted with the way her first proper day was going. She'd dropped Louisa off at school at the appointed time, driven over to Cirencester and taken the wallpaper books back to Derwyn's, and called into the butcher's for a three-pack of beef en route. The potatoes were ready to be roasted, the carrots were chopped—into sticks, if you please; none of your common old slices—and Betty had enjoyed her walk through Roxborough woods, thankfully not manag ing to catch any of the rabbits that had come out to taunt her.
Tilly checked her watch. It was two o'clock and all she had to do now was pick up the framed prints. Then she'd have time to call in on Erin before heading back to Harleston to collect Lou and her friend Nesh from school.
Ha, there was even a parking space practically outside Welch and Co., the blue and white bow-fronted shop with the bay trees in matching blue and white tubs flanking the doorway.
Inside, Welch and Co. was the kind of place you go to when you want to buy something nice for your house and you're feeling flush. The walls were covered with assorted paintings and mirrors, there were ornate lamps everywhere, candle holders, stylish vases, ceramic pots, sculptures, real-looking fake flowers—it was one of those shops that everywhere you looked, you saw something that made you say, 'Ooh, that's nice,' then go a bit light-headed when you saw the price.
The woman sitting at the back of the shop at a white lacquered table with a stained-glass candelabra on it looked expensive too. Currently chatting on the phone, she was attrac tive and well-groomed, with long tawny hair that might just be extensions. She was wearing a pink shirt, a white pencil skirt, and a lot of makeup.
'…OK, but don't get your hopes up. He always says he'll give you a ring, but he never does.'
Designery-looking shoes, Tilly noticed. A glittering diamond tennis bracelet on her left wrist.
'Well, I'm glad you had a nice time. Yes I know, he is, isn't he?'
Sheeny, superfine tights. No wedding ring. Musky, heavy perfume.
'Hang on a sec, Amy. Customer.' Covering the phone with French-manicured nails, the woman looked at Tilly and said charm ingly, 'Can I help you, or are you happy to browse?'
Browse. The word always made Tilly want to smile; as a child, she'd thought it was something you did with your eyebrows, and that it meant walking round a shop furrowing your forehead as hard as you could while you stared at the items for sale.
But now she was a grown-up and knew that it didn't. Aloud Tilly said, 'Actually I'm here to pick up some prints. For Max Dineen?'
That got the woman's attention. Her eyes widened in rec ognition and she sat up straighter on her chair. Raising an index finger, she said into the phone, 'Amy, I have to go, someone interesting's just come into the shop.' Pause. 'No, not him. God, you're obsessed.'
'Crikey,' said Tilly. 'I didn't know I was going to be interesting. I hope you aren't expecting me to do a tap dance.'
'Not if you don't want to. But you're definitely interesting.' The woman, having put down the phone, was now giving her an unashamed once-over, her confident gaze taking note of Tilly's wind-blown hair, lack of makeup, battered jeans, and pink spotted wellies. Evidently having decided that her visitor didn't present any threat—Tilly felt like announcing that she did scrub up well—she said, 'You must be Max's new girl. He told me you were starting this week. He mentioned your name too, but I've forgotten it.'
'Tilly Cole.'
'That's right. Funny name! And I'm Stella, Stell
a Welch. Pleased to meet you. Aren't you the lucky one, working for Max. I'm quite jealous!'
'Well, I'm enjoying it so far.' Tilly smiled, keen to make a good first impression even if her hair and wellies were letting her down. 'And Lou's great.'
'So what d'you think of him?' Stella leaned forward, her tone conspiratorial. 'Pretty dishy, wouldn't you say?'
Flummoxed, Tilly said, 'Um…'
'And so funny. I just love that Liverpudlian sense of humor. He cracks me up. I bet you secretly fancy him, don't you?'
OK, getting weird now. Was Max's sexuality not as widely known as she'd assumed? Tilly hesitated, then said, 'I don't secretly fancy him, no.'
'Oh, come on! You must do! I think he's really attractive.'
No, they'd talked about it last night; Max had definitely told her everyone knew. 'But he's… gay,' said Tilly.
'Oh that.' Stella dismissed the protestation with a shrug. 'Not completely, though. Only semi-gay. He was married to Kaye for long enough. They had a kid together. So it's not as if he only likes men.' Twizzling a ballpoint pen between her fingers, she added blithely, 'There's definite room for maneuver.'
'Right. Um, I hadn't realized.' Hastily, Tilly said, 'But I still don't fancy him.'
'Why not? Are you gay?'
Blimey.
'No, he's not my type. And I just split up from my boyfriend so I'm taking a bit of a break from all that stuff.'
'Hmm, but it's all right for you. You're younger than me. How old are you?' Stella was alarmingly forthright.
'Twenty-eight.'
'And how old do you think I am?'
Tilly hesitated. 'Um…'
'Thirty-seven. I know I don't look it, but I am.' Stella was alarm ingly modest too. 'And my husband and I broke up six months ago. He just left me high and dry. At thirty-seven! So it's not as if I have time to take a break. I want babies before it's too late. All those years we were married, we held off having children so we could enjoy ourselves. We always said we'd wait a bit longer, have fun while we still could. The plan was that this year—this year,' she pointed em phatically at the table in front of her, 'we'd start trying. Then out of the blue, he tells me he's off, that our marriage is over, and he wants a divorce. Bam, just like that. Talk about selfish. I mean, this is my whole life he's messing around with here. My whole future!'
'Crikey, poor you.' The woman might be scary but, given the circumstances, it was a valid grievance. 'And is he'—Tilly wavered; how could she put this tactfully?—'seeing someone else now?'
'No, no. Definitely not.' Vigorously Stella shook her head. 'No way. You know, I reckon he had one of those mental crisis thingys, a kind of panic attack at the thought of so much responsibility. I mean, I'm on the prowl for another man just in case it doesn't happen, but I can't help thinking that sooner or later, he's going to come to his senses and beg me to take him back.'
'And would you really want that?'
'God, yes, of course I would. He's my husband. I want babies. He'll be a great dad.'
The bell went t-ting above the door and a middle-aged couple wandered into the shop.
'He'll come back. He has to.' With a nod of determination, Stella changed the subject. 'Anyway, let's get you what you came for.'
'Thanks,' said Tilly as Stella helped her load the framed prints into the boot of the car.
'No problem. Give my love to Max. It's nice to meet you.' Stella straightened up. 'We could go out for a drink sometime if you like. I'll introduce you to my friends. Actually, that might not work. You're probably too young. OK, never mind. Well, I'm sure we'll bump into each other again, anyway. I'd better get back inside before that couple start helping themselves to the till.'
'Who? Stella? Oh God,' said Erin.
See? This was the trouble with not knowing people's back grounds; you never really knew them until you knew them.
'Why? What's up with her?' said Tilly. 'She seemed quite nice. Friendly enough. Quite blunt though. And very confident. I heard all about her husband running off. She's convinced he's going to come crawling back.'
'Oh God.'
Tilly experienced a rush of relief that she hadn't arranged to meet Stella for a drink. 'What's wrong? Is she a complete nightmare?'
Carefully, Erin put down the red beaded evening dress she'd been checking over. 'I've been seeing Fergus.'
'Who?' Honestly, this was like twenty questions.
'Stella's husband.' Erin licked her lips. 'I was going to tell you.'
Tilly winced. 'Oh my God. Is that why he left her?'
'No! Nothing like that. They broke up six months ago. We only started seeing each other a few weeks ago.' Fiddling with the shoul der straps of the beaded evening dress, Erin said, 'But obviously no one else knows. Especially not Stella. I don't think she'd take it very well if she found out.'
'I only just met her and I already know that's the understate ment of the year.'
'Well, that's why we're not going to tell her.'
'Scary,' said Tilly. 'Is he worth it?'
A dreamy look spread over Erin's face. 'He's the nicest, nicest man.'
'Does he know she's waiting for him to go back to her?'
'Of course he knows. She's told everyone in Roxborough!' Defiantly, Erin said, 'But it's not going to happen. Sooner or later she'll have to accept that.'
'Crikey,' Tilly marveled. 'You're really serious about him.'
'I've waited a long time for something like this to happen. And now it has.' Erin was all aglow. 'Fergus is worth being serious about.'
While they were on the subject…
'Ooh, guess who I met yesterday? The owner of the car I skidded into when I leapfrogged over that bin the other week!'
'Oh bloody hell, you mean he recognized you? Was he cross?'
'He was pretty good about it, all things considered. It was a brand new car.' Tilly couldn't suppress a squiggle of excitement at the thought of seeing him again tomorrow. 'He seemed quite nice too. His name's Jack.'
Had she secretly been wanting Erin to clap her hands and shriek, 'Of course! My God, you two would be perfect for each other!'?
Well, secretly, maybe she had.
Instead Erin did a comical double take. 'Jack? You mean Jack Lucas?' She looked horror-struck. 'Oh no, don't even think of going there, that's one man you definitely wouldn't want to get serious about.'
'Why does everyone keep telling me that?' It was like when you were little and your mum warned you that if you waded any deeper into the pond, water was going to slosh into your wellies.
'Trust me, I've seen it happen a million times.' Erin had her pay-attention-now-because-I-mean-it face on. 'I'm saying it because it's true.'
Tilly pretended to examine a long black velvet coat with a tur quoise silk lining.
'Tilly. Are you listening to me?'
'Yes. This is nice.'
Let's face it, she never had been able to resist getting her feet wet.
Chapter 9
'SEE HOW SHINY MY car is? That's because I put it through the car wash last night,' said Jack. 'So try not to throw yourself over the bonnet.'
'I'll do my best to control myself.' Tilly emerged from Max's BMW, parked behind the Jag. Jack, waiting for them on the frosty pavement outside his newly acquired flat on Marlow Road, was wearing a faded blue sweatshirt and jeans. If she was tempted to throw herself over anything, it was him.
'Hey, you. Stop flirting with my assistant. And you,' Max ad dressed Tilly, 'stop encouraging him.'
Tilly spread her arms. 'What did I do?'
'You don't have to do anything, that's the trouble.' Shaking his head, Max said, 'Maybe a burkha would help.'
'It's OK, I'll behave myself.' Jack led the way to the front door. 'Come on, let's show you the flat.'
Tilly swallowed as she followed him up the stairs; they'd only arrived a minute ago and here she was, palpitating already. Long legs, broad shoulders, loose piece of thread stuck to the back of his jeans… Tilly dug her fingers into her palms, res
isting the tantalizing urge to pick it off, because touching Jack's bottom clearly wouldn't be a sensible thing to do.
Phew, though, bet it would feel fantastic…
'Are you looking at my backside?'
'Oh Jesus, here he goes again,' Max exclaimed. 'Give it a rest, will you? Leave the poor girl alone.'
Tilly looked suitably grateful.
'She was, though,' said Jack. 'I could feel her eyes on me. I can tell.'
Please don't let this be true.
The second-floor flat smelled of fresh plaster and sawdust. The south-facing living room boasted a fine view over the park. 'The plasterers finished last night,' Jack explained to Tilly as Max strode from room to room, taking in every detail and scribbling notes in his Filofax. 'Now it's time for Max to come in and do his thing.'
