An Offer You Can't Refuse

by Jill Mansell

  ‘God, I can’t stand Monopoly.’ Nick spoke with feeling. ‘Sorry. So how do you think she’ll react when you do tell her?’

  ‘That’s the thing, I just don’t know.’ She hesitated, hunching her knees under the duvet. ‘But I’m a bit worried that she might refuse to see you. And once Mum makes up her mind about something she can be a bit, well…’

  ‘You don’t have to tell me.’ Nick’s tone was dry. ‘OK, let me have a think about this. What are you doing tomorrow?’

  ‘Working.’ Lola shuddered, because tomorrow was going to be hell on wheels; when she was crowned Queen of the World, opening shops on Boxing Day wouldn’t be allowed.

  ‘Friday?’

  ‘Working.’

  ‘Saturday?’

  ‘I’m not working on Saturday.’

  ‘How about Blythe? Would she be free then?’

  ‘As far as I know.’

  ‘OK, now listen,’ Nick said slowly. ‘How about this for an idea?’

  But before he could tell her what it was, there was a knock at the bedroom door and Blythe poked her head round. When she saw Lola’s mobile, she said, ‘Well, that’s a relief, I thought you were talking to yourself! Who’s that you’re on the phone to?’

  Um… ‘Gabe.’

  Her mother, who was fond of Gabe, said brightly, ‘Say hi to him from me!’

  ‘Mum’s here.’ Lola gripped the phone tightly as she spoke into it. ‘She says hi.’

  ‘Am I Gabe?’ Nick sounded amused. ‘Say hi back. And wish her a Merry Christmas from me.’

  OK, this was seriously weird now. ‘He says hi, and Merry Christmas.’

  ‘Tell him I hope he’s had a good day.’ Blythe smiled broadly.

  ‘Tell her very good, thanks,’ said Nick. ‘All the better for hearing her voice.’

  ‘And I hope he’s been behaving himself,’ said Blythe.

  ‘She hopes you’ve been behaving yourself.’ OK, enough now.

  Nick sounded as if he was smiling. ‘Oh yes. Tell her I haven’t been arrested in years.’

  ***

  If there was anything more manic than working in the West End after Christmas when the sales were in full swing, it was shopping in the West End after Christmas when the sales were in full swing. Elbows were out, toes and small children were getting trampled on and everyone was carrying bags of stuff they’d either just bought or had been given for Christmas and were about to take back. And it was worth queuing for forty minutes to return a load of clothes to Marks and Spencer’s, because who but a fool would want to keep them, when the exact same items were now half price on the rails, enabling you to buy—ha!—twice as many? This was Blythe’s favorite bit.

  ‘Mum, we’ve been shopping for three hours. My feet hurt. My back’s starting to ache.’

  ‘Lightweight!’

  ‘And I’m thirsty,’ Lola said whinily.

  ‘We’ll buy you a bottle of water.’ Her mother was in the grip of buying fever; her eyes were darting around, greedily taking in sequiny sparkly tops, dresses awash with flowers and frills, things with spots and stripes and fringes… OK, some of the colors might be iffy, but they were reduced in the sale…

  ‘And I’m hungry,’ Lola pleaded. ‘Sooo hungry. Mum, if you make me carry on shopping now, I’ll last another hour. But if we stop for a proper rest and have something decent to eat, I’ll be set up for the rest of the day.’

  Blythe heaved an impatient sigh. ‘You were easier to take shopping when you were in a pram. OK, we’ll eat. Where d’you want to go?’

  ‘Marco’s,’ Lola said promptly. ‘We always go to Marco’s.’

  ‘Are you sure? It’s a ten-minute walk from here. We could just go to the café downstairs.’

  ‘Oh no, no.’ Lola shook her head. ‘Because then you’ll just try and fob me off with orange juice and a prawn baguette. We’re going to Marco’s and we’re going to have chicken cacciatore and a nice glass of red, just like proper ladies who lunch.’

  ***

  The restaurant was busy, warm and welcoming. Lola slipped her shoes off under the table and took a big sip—OK, maybe slightly bigger than a big sip—of Merlot. ‘Oh, this is better. My feet thank you. My stomach thanks you. Are we both having the chicken?’

  ‘Fine by me. Steady with that wine, love. You’re glugging it down like water.’

  It was one o’clock. Lola felt the butterflies start up in earnest; any time now, her mother was going to find out why.

  She saw him twenty minutes later through the full-length front window, making his way across the street. Blythe, sitting with her back to the entrance, was chattering away about holidays. Lola took a deep breath; in an ideal world her mother’s hair would be just brushed and she’d be wearing rather more make-up, but short of lunging across the table and forcibly applying a fresh coat of lipstick to her mouth, there wasn’t a lot she could do about it. Yeek, and now the door was being pushed open, here he came, it was really going to happen.

  ‘… so I said I’d think about it, although I’m not sure it’s really my thing.’ Blythe wrinkled her nose. ‘I mean, hill walking in Snowdonia. In big clumpy hiking boots. Sleeping in a tent, for heaven’s sake! Would you say I was the tenty type? It’s all right for Malcolm, but where would I plug in my hairdryer? And what happens when I need to… to…’ Her voice trailed away and the piece of chicken she’d been about to eat slid off her fork. All the color abruptly drained from her face, leaving only freckles behind.

  Nick, standing behind Lola’s chair, said, ‘Hello, Blythe.’

  Chapter 26

  Blythe was in a state of shock. For a split second Lola thought she might bolt from the restaurant. Then, visibly gathering herself, she managed a fixed smile. ‘Nick, what a surprise. How nice to see you.’ Even her voice sounded different. ‘How are you? Looking well.’ Her shoulders were stiff, her jaw clenched with terror; mentally she was screaming go away, go away, please go away.

  ‘I’m fine, thanks. And you haven’t changed at all. It’s incredible.’

  Lola said, ‘Mum—’

  ‘Oh, sorry, love, this is Nick.’ Blythe jumped in before Lola could ask any awkward questions. ‘We knew each other years ago… well, nice to see you again, we mustn’t keep you… heavens, is that the time already? We’re going to have to rush if we’re—’

  ‘Mum, it’s OK.’ Desperate to explain, Lola blurted out, ‘I know who Nick is. And this isn’t a coincidence; he knew we’d be here today because I told him. We met up before Christmas. He’s my father. And we really like each other.’ Hopefully, because her mother was staring at her as if she’d just sprouted an extra pair of ears, she said, ‘So that’s good, isn’t it?’

  Blythe’s hand trembled as she took a gulp of wine. Then another gulp. ‘You planned this.’ Her voice rose in disbelief. ‘You met up before Christmas?’

  ‘I was going to tell you,’ Lola said hurriedly, ‘but I didn’t know how you’d react. And then Malcolm turned up on Christmas morning…’

  ‘OK if I sit down?’ Nick indicated a spare chair.

  ‘My God, this is too much to take in.’ Clutching her head, Blythe said, ‘Just turning up like this, out of the blue… how did it happen? Who found who?’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t me,’ said Lola. ‘It couldn’t have been me, could it? Seeing as you told me my father was an American who never even told you his real name.’

  Her mother rubbed her forehead with both hands and said nothing.

  ‘Because that wouldn’t have exactly given me a lot to go on.’ Lola’s tone was dry.

  ‘Which is why I said it. And it worked,’ Blythe retaliated. ‘It did the trick perfectly well.’ Pointedly she added, ‘For twenty-seven years.’

  ‘I saw Lola being interviewed on the local news.’ Nick pulled out the chair and sa
t down. ‘Just for a few seconds, but it was enough. I had to find out if she was my daughter. And she is.’ His eyes softening, he slid one hand across the table towards Blythe then withdrew it as she snatched hers out of reach. ‘You’ve done a fantastic job, Blythe. She’s an absolute credit to you.’

  Lola felt ridiculously proud. Her father thought she was pretty good, possibly even fantastic.

  ‘And to Alex. Her stepfather,’ Blythe said stiffly. ‘He’s the one who helped to bring her up.’

  Nick nodded. ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’ve told him all about Alex,’ said Lola.

  ‘And did he tell you everything too?’ Breathing rapidly, Blythe turned her attention to Nick. ‘Hmm? Did you? Everything?’

  People at other tables were starting to pay attention. Maybe organizing this surprise reunion in a restaurant hadn’t been such a great idea. Lola, who had thought having other people around might help to keep things under control, said surreptitiously, ‘sshh.’

  Which was kind of pointless seeing as Nick didn’t bother to lower his own voice when he said, ‘Yes, Blythe, she knows I went to prison.’

  Now it was the turn of the avidly eavesdropping woman at the next table to go sshh at her husband who was droning boringly on about golf.

  ‘That was twenty-seven years ago,’ Nick continued. ‘I made a mistake and I paid for it a hundred times over. I lost you and I lost my daughter. And before you ask, no, I haven’t been in trouble with the police since then. I am a normal decent law-abiding citizen.’

  ‘Congratulations.’ Frostily Blythe said, ‘Some of us have always been that.’

  ‘Hey. Blythe.’ His smile crooked, Nick seized the bottle of Merlot and poured some into Lola’s empty water glass. ‘It really is fantastic to see you again. We don’t have to fight, do we? Can’t we just be friends?’

  ‘What? I don’t know. This has only just happened.’ Blythe noisily exhaled, shook her head. ‘I can’t even think straight.’

  ‘I never stopped thinking about you. About both of you.’

  For a second her eyes flashed. ‘And I never stopped thinking about the way you lied to me.’

  ‘Mum, it’s all in the past.’

  ‘But it happened,’ Blythe insisted. ‘I was eight months pregnant when I got the phone call telling me my boyfriend was in prison. No warning, no hints, just… bam. It was like… God, it was like the whole world had exploded. I thought my life was over, I didn’t know what to do, I was desperate. And now here you are, turning up again out of the blue, saying, hey, never mind all that, it’s in the past, let’s just put it behind us and be friends!’ She paused, sitting back in her seat and raking her fingers through her hair. ‘Because I don’t know if I want us to be friends. I’m fine as I am, thanks.’

  ‘I’m Lola’s father,’ said Nick.

  ‘Not as far as I’m concerned. Alex was the one who was there for her.’ Heatedly Blythe said, ‘And guess what? He didn’t go to prison once!’

  Lola closed her eyes; not quite the Hallmark reunion she’d been hoping for. ‘Mum, you lied to me about Nick, remember? You didn’t tell me the truth because you wanted to protect me, you didn’t want me to be hurt.’

  Her mother said defensively, ‘So? Was that wrong?’

  ‘No! You did it because you loved me!’ Spreading her arms wide, narrowly missing the groin of a startled passing waiter, Lola said, ‘But that’s exactly why Nick lied to you! He didn’t tell you about being arrested and charged because he loved you and didn’t want you to be upset!’

  ‘And didn’t that work well.’ Bright spots of color burned in Blythe’s cheeks as she scraped back her chair. ‘No warning, no nothing, just a phone call from some stranger letting me know you were in jail. Why on earth would I be upset about that?’

  ‘What are you doing?’ said Lola as Blythe made a grab for her bag.

  ‘I’m going to the bathroom, then home.’

  ‘Mum, don’t!’

  ‘It’s OK.’ Nick rose to his feet. ‘I’ll leave. I’m sorry.’ He rested his hands on Lola’s shoulders as Blythe, blindly ricocheting off chairs, hurried to the loo. ‘We got that a bit wrong, didn’t we? Give her a while to calm down. Maybe I’ll see you later.’

  Lola nodded, unable to speak.

  Some time later her mother returned to the table.

  ‘You don’t have to tell me,’ Lola said at once. ‘I made another mistake.’

  ‘Sorry, love. Talk about a shock.’ Freckles glowing, Blythe energetically fanned her face. ‘Maybe next time you magic a father out of thin air I could have a few minutes’ warning. I’ve never been much of a one for surprises.’

  Was it any wonder? Lola pushed away her plate and divided the last of the wine between their glasses. Of course her mother had been shocked but had she also, deep down, been just a teeny bit impressed by how Nick had turned out? Tentatively she said, ‘Our eyebrows do the same thing.’

  Blythe hesitated, then managed a brief smile. ‘I know.’

  ‘He’s very good-looking.’

  ‘Oh yes, he always had that going for him. And he knew it. Nick was a charmer, all right.’

  Valiantly, Lola carried on. ‘Nice clothes too. He dresses well.’

  Her mother’s smile changed, grew faintly mocking. ‘And that makes all the difference.’

  Which was unfair, because it didn’t make all the difference. It was just that when you compared Malcolm’s external appearance, his woolly, unkempt, hairy-toed appearance, with Nick’s smooth metropolitan one, well, it made quite a lot.

  And was that really so wrong? When it was, after all, the reason why there were more posters of Johnny Depp on bedroom walls across the country than there were of Johnny Vegas?

  ‘I like him,’ said Lola.

  ‘Of course you do.’ Blythe shrugged. ‘Look, I’m sorry if you think I’ve deprived you of your father all these years, but—’

  ‘Mum, that’s OK, you thought you were doing the right thing. But we’ve found each other now. He’s back in our lives. And we can take it slowly, all get to know each other properly. You liked him once, you can like him again.’ Lola raised her glass with a surge of hope and a flourish. ‘Same as me and Dougie.’

  ‘I think you’re forgetting something.’ Signaling a waiter for the bill, Blythe said, ‘You still like Dougie. But from what you’ve told me, he doesn’t seem to be too crazy about you.’

  Mothers could be cruel. ‘He’ll change his mind,’ said Lola. ‘I haven’t given up on him yet.’

  Chapter 27

  Across the hallway Lola’s doorbell was ringing. Sally, engrossed in the ice skating on TV—and the bowl of Ben and Jerry’s in her lap—wiggled her toes and imagined herself in a sparkly, hot-pink figure-hugging outfit twirling across the ice.

  Ddddrrrrrrinnnggggg. Whoever was at the front door wasn’t giving up. As the skating routine drew to an end, Sally put down her ice cream and clambered off the sofa.

  She hauled up the sash window and leaned out. ‘Hello? Lola’s not at home.’ Then she almost lost her balance and toppled out, because the man gazing up at her was just…

  Wow.

  Let’s just say he was a definite cut above your average carol singer.

  ‘Any idea when she’ll be back? I’ve tried her mobile but it’s switched off.’ His dark hair gleamed in the light from the street lamp. Even at this distance his eyes were hypnotic. Effortlessly hypnotized, Sally said, ‘She could be back any time now. Do you want to come in and wait?’

  His teeth gleamed white. ‘Are you sure?’

  With a smile like that? Was he kidding? Praying Lola wouldn’t be back too soon, Sally called out, ‘Hang on, I’ll buzz you up.’

  ‘Thanks.’ His smile broadened when she opened the door to her flat. ‘I don’t want to be a nuisance. But it’s pret
ty icy out there.’

  No worries, come here, I’ll soon warm you up!

  Thankfully she managed to keep these words inside her head. Oh, but he was to die for, really he was, with those expressive eyebrows and chiseled cheekbones, and that dark swept-back hair curling over the collar of his coat. This was definitely lust at first sight. And wasn’t there something familiar about those eyebrows?

  ‘Come on in, I’ll make us a cup of tea… oops.’ In her excitement she almost kicked over the bowl on the carpet. ‘Don’t step in the ice cream! I’m Sally, by the way.’

  ‘I know. Lola’s told me all about you.’

  ‘Has she?’ Ridiculously flattered, Sally turned to look at him as she filled the kettle at the sink. Whooosh, ice-cold water promptly ricocheted off the spout, drenching her from neck to navel. When you were in the grip of lust it was hard to concentrate.

  ‘Why don’t I make the tea?’ Amused, he said, ‘You’d better go and change out of those wet things.’

  Which was how real life differed from the movies because if this hadn’t been real he might have offered to help her.

  By the time she reemerged in dry clothes she’d figured it out. ‘I’ve heard all about you too,’ Sally announced as he carried the tea through to the living room. ‘You’re Lola’s dad.’

  ‘Nick James.’ His humorous dark grey eyes crinkled at the corners. Gorgeous eyes, gorgeous corners. And the way he dressed… well, that was right up her street too. A dark green shirt, black trousers and black shoes, you couldn’t get plainer than that, but they were of excellent quality and so well-cut, and he wore them like a Frenchman. The glamorous citified kind you saw sitting at pavement cafés on the Champs Elysées, not the gnarled leathery farmer types with strings of onions slung around their necks.

  Unlike grungly Gabe with his bleached T-shirts and disintegrating jeans, this was a man with élan, with savoir faire… a man who knew how to dress. He even—mais naturellement!—smelled fantastic. And he was Lola’s father. Would this make things tricky or awkward?