by Jill Mansell
How could he be like this?
'You mean you used contraception so you think you're out of the frame? Nothing's one hundred percent effective,' said Tilly. 'Except castration.'
He looked amused. 'Ouch.'
'It's not funny,' she protested. 'What'll you do if it does turn out to be yours? Will you marry Amy?'
Jack tilted an eyebrow. 'I think we can safely say no to that question.'
'Will you live with her?'
He shook his head.
Did he not realize how upsetting she found his attitude? If she'd been the one in Amy's position, he'd be rejecting her now. In des peration, Tilly said, 'Will you even see the baby?'
Jack raised his hands. 'Do you seriously think I'm that much of a bastard? Because I'm really not. OK, I'll make you a promise. If it turns out that I'm the father, I will absolutely see the baby and support it financially. Scout's honor.'
As if that was all that mattered. Still upset, Tilly said, 'Money isn't everything.'
Jack grinned. 'If you asked Kaye that question right now, I think you'd find she might disagree.'
The main business of the evening got started after dinner. It was a jolly, unstuffy affair, accompanied by much cajoling, blackmail, and laughter. The first, smaller items up for auction were an eclec tic bunch—dinner for six at an Indian restaurant, a signed football shirt, a hand-knitted sweater featuring the cartoon character of your choice.
'Come on, Mitchell, show us what you're made of!' Dorothy Summerskill, up on the stage with the auctioneer, was in full flow.
Mitchell Masters obediently sat back and stuck his hand in the air, bidding two hundred pounds and securing the item in question. When he discovered he'd just acquired a month's membership of a health and fitness club, he let out a shout of dismay and had to knock back a double brandy to get over the terrible shock.
But meanness clearly wasn't one of his faults. Minutes later, he was off again, bidding generously for salsa lessons.
'And you could do with them too,' Dorothy heckled from the stage. 'Don't forget, we've all witnessed your so-called dancing skills.'
'The cheek of it, woman. I'll have you know my hokey-pokey's second to none.'
'Oh God,' Kaye whispered to Tilly when he won the salsa lessons. 'Can't he stop spending his money now? He won't have any left for me.'
The next few lots were auctioned. Kaye grew more and more jittery. Tilly had just popped an after-dinner mint into her mouth when Jack appeared at their table.
'How are you doing?' He rested a hand on Kaye's bare shoulder, causing Tilly's skin to tingle as she envisaged how it felt.
'I may look calm from the waist up. But under this table I'm digging an escape tunnel.'
He gave her shoulder a consoling squeeze. 'Max just called from France. He's told me to bid for you if no one else does.'
Kaye said gloomily, 'Better than nothing, I suppose.'
'Hey, you'll be fine. I'd have done it anyway. Jesus, what was that?'
The loud CRAACK was Tilly's after-dinner mint breaking in half as she bit down on it. 'Nothing, just my mint. Did your guest turn up?'
'Oh yes, she's here. Why, were you worried about me?' Amused, Jack said, 'Did you think I might have been stood up?'
Tilly turned away, kicking herself for having asked. Even more annoyingly, when Jack returned to his own table at the very back of the room, she discovered it was impossible to see who this evening's companion was. Unless she clambered on to a chair and peered over everyone's heads, and he'd be bound to spot her doing that.
'Oh God, please don't let this happen to me,' squeaked Kaye as, up on the stage, the auctioneer struggled to get a starting bid for lunch with a local author. The poor author, blinking like an owl in her droopy purple dress, was looking petrified.
'Come along, ladies and gentlemen, this is your chance to meet a real live author in the flesh! Marjorie's written a wonderful book about old English churchyards! She'll even throw in a signed copy! Now then, who'll offer me thirty pounds?'
Clearly unable to bear another moment of the woman's agony, Kaye yelled out, 'Me!'
Tilly's mouth was dry. Thirty pounds, that was just too tragic. It looked like a pity bid. If nobody else joined in, the poor woman would feel totally humiliated.
'We have a bid of thirty pounds.' The auctioneer looked relieved but still not happy. 'Do I hear forty?'
Oh hell. Tilly stuck her hand in the air. The look of abject relief and gratitude on Marjorie's face was worth it.
Chapter 44
'HERE WE GO,' CROWED the auctioneer. 'Well done to the lady at the front in pink. Great start. Now, do I hear fifty?'
'Yep.' A male voice at the back of the room. Possibly belonging to Jack.
'Excellent! Sixty?'
Tilly found herself nodding rapidly. For some reason she couldn't begin to explain, it suddenly seemed vital to win something away from Jack, who made such a point of always getting whatever he wanted.
'Sixty I have. Seventy?'
'Yes.' It was definitely Jack; all the little hairs on the back of her arms had gone up in recognition.
'Eighty?'
'Yes!'
'Ninety?' The auctioneer was on a roll now.
Pause. Jack drawled, 'Yep.'
'One hundred.' Triumphantly the auctioneer turned his atten tion back to Tilly. 'Do I hear one hundred pounds?'
Tilly began to hyperventilate; one hundred pounds was actually a lot of money, especially when it was your own. Her heart might be hell bent on beating Jack, but her head was having a complete panic attack. What was she thinking of?
Nothing that made any sense, that was for sure. Having abso lutely intended to shake her head and concede defeat, she found herself nodding it instead.
'One hundred pounds,' the auctioneer bellowed in triumph. 'Excellent!'
Oh, for crying out loud, what had she done? This was ridiculous. She really couldn't afford that much. If Jack didn't make another bid, she was going to have to write out a check that would actually send her overdrawn—
'Two hundred pounds.' Jack's voice carried all the way from the back of the room, his exasperation plain for all to hear.
Oh, thank God for that. Tilly felt like a landed fish miraculously unhooked and set free. She shook her head at the auctioneer, took a gulp of wine and exhaled with relief. If Jack needed to win that badly, he was welcome to it.
There were no further bids. With Marjorie by this time practi cally weeping with relief, the auctioneer tapped his gavel and moved on to Lot 15.
'Oh God, it's me after this.' Pushing back her chair, Kaye said, 'I need another wee.'
As soon as she'd left, Jack appeared and slid on to the empty chair. 'Thanks a lot.'
'What?' Indignantly Tilly said, 'You won it, didn't you? You got what you wanted.'
'I was trying to help you out. Why did you bid?'
'Because I felt sorry for the woman!'
'And could you afford forty pounds?'
'Not really.'
'Exactly. So my bid was to get you off the hook.' Jack shook his head. 'You weren't supposed to keep going.'
'Oh.' Realization dawned. 'Bum. I thought you just wanted to beat me.'
'I did. But in a good way, because Max happened to mention on the phone that you're broke. I was trying to help you out.'
'Right. Sorry.' And she'd ended up costing him two hundred pounds.
'I can't believe you kept going up,' said Jack.
'I didn't want you to win.'
'Well, you owe me.' He tapped the back of her hand. 'In fact, you can do me a favor.'
The possibilities were endless. Tilly eyed him warily. 'What kind of favor?'
'Go out to lunch with the author.'
'That's really kind of you. But I couldn't possibly.'
'Why not?'
'I don't want to! She wrote a book about English churchyards! I'd die of boredom.'
'But I don't want to have lunch with her either,' said Jack.
'Too
bad. You bid for her and you won.'
'But—'
'It's your own fault. You can't back out now. Oh look, she's so thrilled. She's waving at you!'
'Who's waving at him?' Back from the loo, Kaye prodded Jack out of her seat.
'Marjorie. Over at the side of the stage.' Tilly nodded and they watched the elderly lady author gesticulating wildly and blowing ecstatic kisses at Jack.
'You've pulled,' said Kaye.
'Hmm, looks as if I'm going to get my money's worth.' He winked at them both. 'Better get back to my table before my date gets jealous.'
Tilly couldn't help herself. 'And when you do go out to lunch with Mrs Churchyard, try not to get her pregnant.'
'I'll do my best,' said Jack.
The next lot was sold, then it was Kaye's turn. Dorothy gave her the most tremendous build-up, then invited her on to the stage and led the applause. A couple of tables away from Tilly, Mitchell Masters stuck his sausagey fingers into his mouth and gave an ear splitting wolf-whistle. This was promising. From the stage, Kaye shot him a grateful smile.
Behind Tilly, a woman grumbled, 'Kaye who? I've never heard of her.' Which made Tilly itch to throw a coffee spoon at her head, but she controlled herself and just applauded extra loudly instead.
Again Kaye hid her nervousness as the auctioneer launched into his spiel. Thankfully, there was no tumbleweed moment this time before bidding got started. Mitchell Masters kicked off pro ceedings, a couple of other people joined in, then at three hundred pounds Tilly heard Jack make his bid from the back of the room.
'Four hundred!' cried Mitchell.
Tilly relaxed. There, Kaye could stop worrying now. Four hundred pounds was a perfectly respectable amount; she wasn't going to be publicly humiliated and laughed off the stage.
'Five? Do we have five hundred? Yes,' cried the auctioneer, pointing to the back of the room. 'Thank you, sir. We have five hundred pounds.'
Blimey, Jack was giving it some, clearly intent on boosting Mitchell's bid.
'Six,' bellowed Mitchell.
'Seven at the back,' confirmed the auctioneer as people began to whoop with delight.
'And she's worth every penny,' Dorothy chimed in.
'Eight.' Mitchell paused then shook his head and yelled, 'No, dammit! Make it a thousand!'
Tilly exhaled. You had to admire Jack's nerve. He had achieved what he'd set out to do. Now he could relax and—
'Twelve hundred,' announced the auctioneer, pointing his gavel at Jack.
'Fifteen hundred,' roared Mitchell.
'Eighteen,' countered the auctioneer.
Blast it, what was Jack playing at? Up on the stage, Kaye was visibly stunned. Unable to contain herself, Tilly jumped up and peered over the heads of the applauding diners. She located Jack just as Mitchell said loudly, 'Two grand!'
Jack spotted her looking at him. From the stage, the auction eer was saying, 'Gentleman at the back? Do I have two thousand two hundred?'
Tilly gazed in disbelief at Jack. Jack shrugged in return, signal ing bafflement. Then she saw an elderly man standing behind him nod and raise a gnarled hand at the auctioneer. The man was in his eighties, clutching a can of beer, wearing a baggy grey cardigan and a pair of slippers. Oh God, no wonder Kaye was looking appalled. Who the hell was he? What if he were some drink-addled homeless guy who'd happened to wander in off the street?
'Two thousand two hundred!'
'Two five,' bellowed Mitchell, who clearly hated to be outdone.
'Three thousand pounds!'
'Four!'
'Five thousand!' roared the auctioneer. 'We have five thousand pounds at the back of the room!'
'Oh, sod it.' Mitchell shook his head, heaved a sigh, and knocked back the contents of his refilled brandy glass. 'I give up. I'm out.'
And that was it. Ancient cardigan man had won. Everyone in the room cheered and applauded wildly, and Tilly expected the victor to make his way on to the stage to be introduced to Kaye.
Instead, following a brief exchange with one of the organizers, he slid out through the double doors and disappeared. The organizer came to the front and spoke to Kaye and Dorothy. Moments later, Kaye rejoined Tilly at their table.
'Oh my God!' Tilly topped up both their glasses. 'Who was he? Was he just mucking around? Where's he gone?'
'OK, the woman who owns this hotel? He's her dad.'
'He's ancient! Oh well, at least you know he won't make a pass at you.' Tilly had a horrible thought. 'At least you hope he won't.'
'He's not the one I'll be going out with. He was just bidding on behalf of someone else.'
'Seriously? Who?'
Kaye was still trembling and hyperventilating from the ordeal. 'Someone who couldn't be here tonight.'
'No!' Tilly was stunned. 'Max bid five thousand pounds?'
'Someone who couldn't be here tonight because he lives in New York. His name's Price,' said Kaye. 'Parker Price.'
Hang on. That name rang a distant bell. Price… Price…
'Oh my God!' Tilly jerked upright and slopped wine down her front. 'The stalker!'
Numbly, Kaye nodded. 'I know.'
'Who is he?' Jack had reappeared with his guest in tow. It was Monica, her sparkly turquoise eye shadow exactly matching her Mae West-style Spandex dress.
'The chap who's been sending her stuff.' Tilly shook her head at Kaye. 'Well, he can't expect you to fly over to New York to have dinner with him. That's just stupid.'
'He doesn't. He'll come over here. We just have to fix a date.'
'But… but he's your stalker! He could be deranged! No, no.' Vigorously, Tilly shook her head. 'You can't meet him.'
'I have to. He's paid all that money. I still can't believe he found out about this thing here tonight… it's just so bizarre…'
'It was advertised on the Internet, wasn't it?' Ever-practical Monica in her throaty, sexy voice said, 'He'll have had your name on Google Alert, love. They can track your every move.'
Jack frowned. 'Did you write and thank him for that painting he sent you?'
'Of course I did. I was really polite and grateful. But I swear I didn't encourage him.' Kaye twisted her fingers in agitation. 'I never imagined for a second that he'd go and do something like this.'
'Don't take this the wrong way, love. But you want to be careful,' said Monica. 'He's paying five grand to go out with you. If you ask me, that means he's got to be some kind of maniac.'
Chapter 45
IT WAS NOW ELEVEN fifteen and Lou couldn't sleep. Everyone had been sent up to their rooms at ten thirty, but the adults had stayed downstairs in the bar. Making up her mind, she crept out of bed so as not to wake Nesh, quickly pulled on a T-shirt and jeans and quietly let herself out of the room.
The bar downstairs was still busy, but she couldn't see Max any where. Or Mr Lewis. Only Miss Endell and Mrs Trent were still there, sitting at a small table being chatted up by a couple of middle aged Frenchmen. Which was totally gross for a start. Miss Endell looked as if she was enjoying herself while Mrs Trent was clutching her orange juice tightly to her chest. Wondering if her father and Mr Lewis might have gone out to another bar, Lou hovered in the doorway for a few seconds then made her way over to the table.
'…Gosh no, they're not our husbands, heaven forbid!' Sophie Trent's mother sounded scandalized at the very idea. 'We're just here on a school trip. I'm a parent helper! The one with the glasses is gay!'
'And I'm not married to the other one. Yet.' Giggling and clearly having sunk a fair few glasses of wine, Miss Endell winked— yeurch, actually winked—at the Frenchmen. 'But I'm working on it! He's got a girlfriend at the moment, but I reckon I can see her off, no problem!'
Which was hilarious and so not going to happen, seeing as Mr Lewis's girlfriend Claudine was way prettier than Miss Endell.
'Ahem.' Spotting Lou, Mrs Trent coughed and said loudly, 'Hello, Louisa, you should be upstairs asleep.'
Lou kept a straight face. Ha, how embarrassing for Miss Endell was thi
s?
'Sorry, I wanted to talk to my dad. I thought he'd be in here with you.'
Miss Endell fumbled to do up the button that had mysteriously come unfastened on her shirt.
'He went upstairs… ooh, about twenty minutes ago. With Mr Lewis,' said Mrs Trent. 'They were both tired. I expect your father's fast asleep by now. As should you be, my girl.'
