An Offer You Can't Refuse

by Jill Mansell

  Cushions next. She’d keep her silver sequined star-shaped cushion—in her bedroom—but the rest could go. And all the tea-light holders, which she knew Gabe found unbelievably pointless. And the vase of peacock feathers on the floor next to the TV. And any magazines more than two months old. Right, start with the cushions, then move on to—

  Sally stopped in mid-fling at the sound of the letterbox clattering downstairs. The post had arrived an hour ago, so what was this? Hobbling over to the window, expecting to see a spotty teenager delivering flyers, she peered down and saw instead the rear view of a slender blond disappearing into the back of a black cab. The door slammed shut and the taxi pulled away.

  Curious enough to go and investigate, Sally wrestled the armful of cushions into a black bin bag then made her way downstairs. Reaching the front door, she bent down and retrieved the envelope from the mat.

  It was a plain, pale blue envelope with Gabe’s name on the front. Just that, Gabe, no surname, written in black ink with enough of a curly flourish about it to indicate that it had been penned by a girl.

  Was this why he’d been so distant lately? Was Gabe embroiled in a tempestuous relationship that for some reason he hadn’t mentioned to her or Lola? As she slowly made her way back up the stairs, Sally itched to know what the envelope contained. Could she do that holding-it-over-the-kettle thing and steam it open? OK, maybe not; she’d tried that once during her miserable time with Toby the Tosser. Not only had the letter not been incriminating—it had been a dental appointment—the steam had turned the envelope all crinkly, making it glaringly obvious what had happened to it. And hadn’t Tosser Toby enjoyed getting his money’s worth out of that little slip-up? He hadn’t let her forget it for weeks.

  Back in the flat Sally heroically put the letter down on the table. No snooping; instead she’d get on with the job in hand. Rummaging through one of the kitchen drawers she located an advertising card she’d kept—how spooky was that?—from a small local charity asking for items to sell in their shop. Can’t Deliver? We’ll Collect! promised the card, which was jolly helpful of them. She called the charity’s number and booked them in for four o’clock. There, now she couldn’t chicken out. Once everything was gone, it was gone for good.

  Clean, clear lines might actually be nice. De-clutter your surroundings, de-clutter your life. As she energetically dragged magazines out from under the armchair, Sally began to feel better already. She could become a style icon, a champion of minimalism, and space creation.

  Blimey, and she’d always thought style icons were boring! She’d be turning into Anouska Hempel next.

  ***

  Gabe stopped dead in the doorway, taking in the scene.

  Finally he said, ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Ta-daaa! Just call me Anouska Hempel.’ To match the cool, clean lines of the flat, Sally had even changed into a floaty white dress.

  ‘Who?’ As he studied the living room, devoid of… well, pretty much everything, Gabe said flatly, ‘So that’s it, you’re off.’

  ‘What?’ It was Sally’s turn to be confused.

  ‘Leaving, taking all your stuff with you. Moving out, moving on…’

  ‘No!’ She shook her head, dismayed by the realization that this was probably what he’d been praying for. ‘I’m not going anywhere. I just tidied up. I thought you’d be pleased! I started doing a little bit then I got carried away. And guess what? I think I like it!’

  Gabe exhaled audibly—with relief or disappointment, she couldn’t tell. He put down his camera and said evenly, ‘So where is everything?’

  ‘Gone.’ Sally’s spirits plummeted; she’d been so proud of herself. Why couldn’t Gabe be proud of her too?

  ‘Gone where?’

  ‘Charity shop.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’m turning over a new leaf!’ If her leg hadn’t still been hurting she’d have stamped her foot. ‘Gabe, why are you being like this?’

  He shrugged. ‘Probably because I’m wondering why you’re being like this. It isn’t you.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Sally’s voice rose in frustration. ‘All my life people have complained about how untidy I am, and now I’m doing something about it you’re being all weird.’

  ‘I’m not being weird,’ said Gabe, who definitely still was. ‘I’m just wondering who you’re trying so hard to impress.’ He eyed her white dress and make-up and said with an edge to his voice, ‘Off out somewhere tonight?’

  Like she was some kind of prostitute or something.

  ‘Yes.’ Sally stared back at him. ‘Is that allowed?’

  ‘Who are you seeing?’

  Honestly, damn cheek. In actual fact she’d been invited over to dinner by her lovely boss Dr Willis and his wife Emily to celebrate her return to work. Annoyed by Gabe’s attitude, Sally said, ‘What are you, my mother?’ and flounced into her bedroom. If he was going to be this grumpy and horrible, so was she.

  When she returned ten minutes later with a black and white checked holdall, Gabe raised an eyebrow.

  ‘So you won’t be home.’

  Having earlier turned down the Willises’ kind offer of a bed for the night in order to save her the tube journey into work the next day, Sally had now changed her mind. Maybe by the time she returned tomorrow evening, Gabe would have snapped out of his mood. ‘Well done. You should be a detective. Oh, by the way, you’ve got a lett—’

  ‘What?’ Gabe looked up from his laptop when she abruptly stopped in mid-sentence.

  Sally’s brain shot into overdrive, replaying the last eight hours at warp speed. The letter… where had the letter gone? She’d left it on the coffee table before launching into her tidying frenzy and now it was no longer there. Somewhere along the way it had got swept up in the whirlwind and deposited goodness knows where.

  ‘Come on.’ Gabe sounded like the guy on Fox News, only more impatient. ‘I’ve got what?’

  OK, she definitely didn’t need him shouting at her, which was what he’d do if she told him the truth.

  ‘A lettings agent after the flat. He called earlier, wondered if you were still interested in renting it out.’ As she spoke, Sally limped over to the magazine rack and began feverishly flicking through the few magazines she hadn’t dispatched to the charity shop.

  ‘A lettings agent? What are you doing now?’

  ‘Just looking for the… um, piece of paper. I wrote down their name and number in case you wanted to call them back.’

  ‘Why would I call them back? I don’t want to rent the flat out.’

  ‘No? Well, you know, I thought I’d take their number anyway, I’m sure it’s here somewhere.’ Bloody buggering hell, this was the last time she ever tidied anything up. ‘Let me just check in the kitchen bin.’

  ‘Leave it.’ Gabe waved her away from the kitchen door. ‘Don’t bother. If I want to speak to a lettings agent I’ll look in the Yellow Pages.’

  ‘OK.’ She’d definitely thrown the letter out. And now she’d lied to him too, but he’d been so arsey he deserved it. Feeling guilty—but not guilty enough to confess—Sally picked up her holdall and headed for the door. ‘Bye.’

  Gabe was bent over his laptop, scrolling through the day’s photographs. He muttered ‘Bye,’ without looking up.

  Bastard. He hadn’t even wished her luck for her first day back at work tomorrow.

  Reaching for her stick and limping more heavily than she needed to, Sally clumped out.

  ***

  Gabe let out a groan and sat back on the sofa. He hadn’t even wished her good luck for tomorrow. The last ten days had been a journey to hell and back. All he could ever think about was Sally and, clearly, all Sally could think about was Nick James. Equally clearly, Nick must have passed some comment about the mess she surrounded herself with, prompting this af
ternoon’s out-of-the-blue blitz on the flat.

  Gabe rubbed his face then ran his hands over his messed-up hair in defeat. And what had that business with the phone call from the lettings agent been about? Was that Sally’s way of dropping a hint, subliminally indicating that before long she’d be gone? Shit, and to think that for the first few weeks of her being here he’d wanted her out.

  The phone rang.

  ‘Hi, it’s me.’ Lola, finishing up at Kingsley’s, sounded in a flap. ‘Just to let you know I’m going over to EJ’s so I won’t be home till late. But if anyone feels like cooking anything and saving some for me, they could leave it in my fridge for when I get back.’

  ‘Sorry. I’m working and Sally’s already gone out,’ Gabe said evenly. ‘She didn’t say where.’

  There was a moment’s silence, then Lola said, ‘Oh, that’s right, her boss invited her over for dinner. She mentioned it yesterday.’

  Hmm, lying to her friend, covering her tracks. Gabe wondered how Lola would react if she knew who Sally was really with.

  ‘She took an overnight bag.’ Jealousy welled up; it was on the tip of his tongue to tell her.

  ‘Really? Well, it’s probably easier for work. No need to sound so disapproving.’ Lola sounded amused. ‘I’m sure Sal’s not having an affair with him. He’s a bit old for her.’

  Gabe took a deep breath. Should he say it?

  ‘Anyway, wish me luck,’ Lola babbled on. ‘My stomach’s churning like an ice-cream maker. I’m finishing with EJ tonight. God, I hope he takes it well, I don’t want him to be upset.’

  That was it, Gabe realized he couldn’t do it. If he told Lola now, she was the one who’d be upset. She had enough on her plate for one evening; let her get the EJ thing dealt with and out of the way first.

  Chapter 47

  It was like being on a really strict diet and having someone present you with a year’s supply of Thornton’s truffles. Lola had never actually been on a really strict diet owing to her inability to give up… well, Thornton’s truffles, but she just knew this was how it would feel. Toby Rowe was a multimillionaire music mogul and an old friend of EJ’s. It had been thrilling enough being invited along to his fortieth birthday party, held at the kind of private members club Lola had only ever dreamed of visiting, but now Toby was offering something more.

  Life just wasn’t fair.

  ‘Come on.’ Toby’s tone was cajoling. ‘It’s only for a week. You can take a week off work, can’t you? EJ, work your magic on this girl, make her say yes.’

  There were people in this room so famous they’d make your head spin, and rumors swirling around that Bono was going to be dropping in later. If that happened, Lola knew her head would swivel right off.

  ‘Say yes,’ EJ joined in. ‘It’ll be fantastic. If I can take a week off, surely you can too.’

  Toby already had a party of ten friends flying out in the first week of April to stay at his villa on St Kitts. Evidently it was large enough to accommodate two more. From the sound of things it could hold another twenty. And the people joining Toby and his girlfriend were all major players in the music business. Lola would be practically the only civilian. Just the thought of sunbathing around the pool in the company of singers with triple platinum albums to their names was almost too exciting to bear.

  ‘Go on,’ Toby added with a persuasive wink, ‘you know you want to.’

  Lola bit her lip; of course she wanted to, more than anything. Imagine Robbie Williams asking if she’d mind rubbing suncream into his shoulders…

  Oh God, this was torture. ‘I have to check the staff rota. I’m not sure if I can take the time off.’

  ‘Couldn’t you just phone in at the last minute,’ said Toby, ‘and tell the boss you’ve got flu?’

  Wouldn’t that be nice?

  ‘Except I am the boss.’ Lola pulled a face. ‘And I wouldn’t believe me. I’m always suspicious when people phone in with a croaky voice and tell me they have flu.’

  Toby said, ‘Or when they ring in with a croaky voice to tell you they’ve sprained an ankle.’

  ‘What I really hate,’ said EJ, ‘is when we’re recording an album and they phone up with a croaky voice to tell me they’ve got a croaky voice.’

  Lola’s heart sank as he grinned his quirky, lopsided grin. He was such good company, the kind of person anyone would love to have as a friend. And he had buckets of money… why, why couldn’t she look at him and feel a frisson of lust?

  But there you go, she couldn’t and that was that. She wasn’t being fair to him. Checking her watch, Lola saw that it was midnight and she had to be at work by eight tomorrow morning. It was time to do what she had to do. She touched EJ’s arm and said, ‘I need to get home. If you want to stay on, I can get a cab.’

  But EJ was far too much of a gentleman to do that. He shook his head and put down his orange juice. ‘It’s OK. I’m pretty shattered too.’

  They said their goodbyes to Toby and his friends. As EJ drove back to Notting Hill, he told her more about Toby’s villa on St Kitts, about the view over Half Moon Bay, the golf course, the scuba diving, the spectacular Black Rocks—

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Lola blurted out, ‘I can’t go.’

  ‘Don’t say that. You haven’t checked with work yet.’

  Her fingernails dug into her palms as she squeezed her fists tight. ‘It’s not work.’

  ‘No?’ EJ pulled up at traffic lights, glanced sideways at her. ‘Is it the plane tickets? Because that’s not a problem. I’ll pay for those.’

  The lights from the Burger King opposite were reflecting off his glasses. He was such a thoughtful person. Mental images of Half Moon Bay floated tantalizingly in front of Lola—tropical palms, a glittering turquoise ocean, herself tanned and magically thinner than usual in a pink bikini…

  ‘OK, here’s the thing.’ Gearing herself up, Lola wished he could be driving the battered old Fiesta tonight; she didn’t want to be responsible for him damaging his beloved Lamborghini. ‘EJ, I really like you but we’re going to have to stop seeing each other.’ The lights changed and they moved forward; flinching and praying he wouldn’t go careering into the bus ahead of them, she said hastily, ‘But you’re a fantastic person.’

  EJ remained in control of the Lamborghini. Dryly he said, ‘But not quite fantastic enough.’

  ‘Oh, don’t say that! I’m sorry! It’s not you, it’s me, I just—mind that cyclist!’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to hit the cyclist.’

  ‘But I don’t want you to be upset.’

  ‘Lola, it’s OK. It’s not your fault.’ He steered skillfully around a couple of drunks staggering across the road, then indicated left and pulled into a side street. ‘Would it help at all if I said I’d kind of guessed this might be coming?’

  The streetlights illuminated the angles of his face. Behind the spectacles Lola glimpsed sadness mixed with stoicism.

  They’d never even slept together.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘You’re so nice…’

  ‘I know I am. I also know I’m not the world’s best looking guy, but I was kind of hoping to win you over with my brilliant personality.’ He shot her a lopsided smile, seemingly able to read her mind. ‘That’s why I never tried to get you into bed, in case you were wondering. Because I knew you hadn’t reached the stage yet where you really wanted to. I thought if I was patient… well, that the right time would come along and everything would be perfect. But there was always the risk that you’d bail out before it had a chance to happen.’ He pulled a wry face. ‘And guess what? I was right, you’re bailing out. Maybe I’m psychic.’

  ‘But you’ve slept with so many incredible girls,’ Lola protested. ‘Famous ones! Loads more glamorous than me!’

  ‘Maybe I have.’ He shrugged, half smiled. ‘Maybe
they don’t mean so much.’

  ‘Oh God, don’t say that.’ Lola felt terrible now.

  ‘Sorry, I don’t want you to feel guilty. Hey, it’s OK. Really. Can’t make chemistry happen if it isn’t there. It’s a shame, but I’ll survive.’

  ‘You deserve someone fantastic.’ Lola really meant it.

  ‘Thanks.’ EJ started the Lamborghini up again and drove her home.

  Before she climbed out of the car, Lola hugged him hard and said, ‘Have a great time in St Kitts.’

  He smiled, sad for a moment, then gave her waist a squeeze. ‘I have to say, all credit to you for telling me tonight. A lot of girls would have waited until after the five-star, all-expenses-paid holiday.’

  ‘I know.’ Lola wondered if she’d live to regret it. ‘I think I’m probably mad.’

  As he planted a goodbye kiss on her cheek, EJ said with affection, ‘That’s probably why I liked you so much in the first place.’

  Chapter 48

  What a shame you couldn’t fall in love with a man as easily as you could fall in love with a coat.

  ‘This is it.’ Lola hugged herself and did a happy twirl in front of the antique, rust-spotted mirror propped against the side of the stall. ‘This is the one. It’s perfect!’

  ‘Fabulous.’ Sally nodded in agreement.

  Blythe, ever practical, said, ‘How much?’

  But Lola didn’t care. It was love at first sight. The moment she’d clapped eyes on the coat, fuchsia-pink velvet, long and swirly, she’d known it was the one for her. And they’d be happy together; the coat wouldn’t reject her. It wouldn’t haughtily announce that it didn’t want to be her coat. It would never let her down, stand her up or make her cry.

  Plus it had an iridescent violet satin lining; how many men could boast that?

  Oh yes, when everything else around you was going pear-shaped, there was always Portobello Market, with its bustle and color and endless treasure trove of shops and stalls, to cheer you up.