An Offer You Can't Refuse

by Jill Mansell

  A light bulb went on inside Sally’s head and she launched herself off the sofa. Because the sofa was the answer! In the bad old days when she’d been forced to tidy up at a moment’s notice, as much excess mess as humanly possible had been squashed into that narrow space between sofa and carpet. Furthermore, because out of sight was completely out of mind, it had never occurred to her to clear the stuff out.

  And thank goodness for that! On her hands and knees Sally peered into the dark gap and saw shoes, empty crisp packets, plates, socks, one of her all-time favorite devoré scarves—yay!—and, oh joy, a scrumpled-up magazine. She reached under the sofa for it, stretching her fingers to the limit—

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Sally paused, bottom up in the air. ‘Just looking for my pink scarf.’ She dragged it out, said triumphantly, ‘And here it is! Why, what are you doing?’

  ‘Admiring the view.’ Gabe grinned and gave her bottom a pat. ‘I’m off for a shower, got an appointment with a Page Three girl in Hyde Park.’

  ‘Lucky you. Will she be naked?’

  ‘Clothes on. Her agent set it up; it’s for a snatch pose. Which is not what it sounds like.’ He gave her a look as she started to snigger. ‘It means you use a long lens and make the shots look as if they’ve been snatched from a distance. The girl’s going to have a huge fight with her boyfriend at eleven o’clock on the bridge over the Serpentine. If it rains, we’ll shoot it in the café.’

  Sally smiled and watched Gabe disappear into the bathroom. The moment the door closed behind him she was burrowing back under the sofa for the magazine… reeeeach… oh dear, was this the equivalent of someone who’s given up cigarettes scrabbling about in the gutter for somebody else’s abandoned dog end?

  She fell on the magazine with a cry of relief. Dog-eared and battered it may be, but it was only a few weeks old. Still kneeling on the floor, Sally lovingly turned the pages. There was an interview with Nicole Kidman about her latest film. Kate Moss was wearing purple micro shorts and pink polka-dotted Wellingtons—as you do—as she shopped in Knightsbridge. Leonardo diCaprio was photographed playing volleyball on the beach, here was the montage of cellulite shots, there the snaps of unshaven armpits, the soap stars making holy shows of themselves at a party after an awards ceremony. OK, it wasn’t intellectual but it was entertaining, and during her darker days she’d drawn huge comfort from knowing that even super-glamorous celebrities could have disastrous love lives too. Not that this applied to her now, ta dah, she no longer needed to surround herself with other people’s misery because she had Gabe and he was everything she’d ever—oh.

  Sally’s stomach clenched with recognition as she turned a page and the envelope dropped out of the magazine into her lap. So that was what had happened to it during her fit of frenzied tidying the other week.

  She put down the magazine and examined the envelope with Gabe’s name on it. In one way it was nice to have the mystery of its disappearance solved. But it also presented her with a dilemma because she’d never actually mentioned the letter to Gabe.

  The temptation was to rip it to shreds and stuff it in the bottom of the kitchen bin. After first reading it, naturally. She knew it was from a female, and that around the time of its delivery Gabe had been in a seriously iffy mood. There was a distinct possibility that the non-arrival of the letter could have had something to do with that.

  Tear it up.

  Read it first.

  No, just tear it up and throw it away, it’s better not to know.

  OK, stop, stop. Sally closed her eyes. She loved Gabe and that meant she had to be honest with him.

  Fear beat like a bird inside her chest. Over the years, being honest hadn’t always come naturally to her. As she pushed open the bathroom door it crossed her mind that this could be the last time she saw his body naked. And she’d only just got to know it. Oh God, could she do this?

  ‘Gabe?’ She opened the shower cubicle an inch, experienced a little frisson of lust at the sight of him and said, ‘I’ve got something for you.’

  Steam billowed out of the cubicle. Gabe turned, shampoo streaming down his face as he rinsed his hair. With a grin he opened the door wider and in one movement pulled her into the shower. The next moment she was minus her sodden dressing gown. ‘That’s a coincidence,’ he said playfully, ‘I’ve got something for you too.’

  Honestly, what a wasted opportunity; if she’d taken the envelope in with her, the ink would have run and the letter would have been rendered illegible, neatly solving all her problems in one go.

  Except she hadn’t thought of that, had she? Instead, like a complete durr-brain, she’d dropped it onto the tiled floor as Gabe was yanking her into the shower. And here it was, patiently waiting for them when they eventually emerged, twenty highly pleasurable minutes later.

  ‘OK, don’t be cross with me.’ Sally retrieved the envelope and handed it to him. ‘This arrived a couple of weeks ago, then it went missing. And that was your fault because you made me tidy the flat.’ She kissed him hard on the mouth. ‘I just found it under the sofa inside a magazine.’

  Gabe, who found her self-imposed ban hilarious, said affectionately, ‘Not that you’d ever look inside one of those.’

  ‘I lapsed. I’m only human. Anyway, read your letter.’ Grabbing a white bath towel and wrapping it around herself, Sally hastily left the bathroom.

  Mystified, Gabe shook back his hair then opened the envelope. The letter was handwritten in turquoise ink.

  Dearest Gabe,

  I deleted your number from my phone to stop myself from becoming your nuisance caller, hence this letter.

  Well, I’ve decided the time has come to show the world the real me. And I want to use the photos you took. Hope that’s OK with you. If you want me to give you the credit and a byline, get in touch. If I don’t hear from you I’ll be discreet and won’t use your name. I shall also donate the fee for the article and your photos to Alopecia UK.

  All love,

  Sav

  xxx

  Gabe smiled and wondered how much money he’d missed out on. He could have used it to leave the papping life behind him and start afresh in a studio… Oh well, never mind, too late to worry about it now. The charity wouldn’t be too thrilled if he were to ring them and demand his share of the fee back. And in time he would set up on his own, specializing in portrait photography. At least Savannah had made the effort to contact him, which was good of her.

  He was glad she’d thought of him.

  Sally was outside the bathroom, waiting for him and visibly bracing herself. ‘Well?’

  She’d probably had her ear pressed up against the door. ‘It’s fine. Nothing important.’

  He saw her exhale. ‘Really? Oh thank God. You’re not cross that I didn’t tell you?’

  Gabe shook his head. ‘No.’

  Sally hugged him. ‘Sorry. I love you.’ She leaned back, gazing into his eyes. ‘You’re sure it’s OK?’

  ‘I love you too.’ Kissing her, Gabe said, ‘And I’m sure. It was just someone wanting me to take a few photos of them. I’d probably have said no anyway.’

  ‘Girlie handwriting.’

  ‘That would be because it was written by a girl.’

  ‘Pretty?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Girlfriend of yours?’ Sally ventured.

  Had Savannah ever really been his girlfriend? Not if he was honest. Gabe shook his head. ‘No, just a friend. And I won’t be hearing from her again now.’

  ‘Well, good. Especially if she’s pretty.’ Sally eyed the letter folded in his hand. ‘Can I read it?’

  ‘Why? Don’t you trust me?’ Then, when she hesitated, ‘Look, I know you’ve had a rotten time with men in the past, but I’m not like them.’

  ‘I know.’

  Gabe held
up the letter. ‘Here, you can read it if you want.’

  Sally visibly relaxed. ‘It’s OK. I don’t need to. You can throw it away.’

  ‘Trust me?’

  ‘I trust you.’

  Gabe softened. Slowly but surely he would convince her that he’d never let her down, that she was the most important person in his life. Dropping the letter into the loo, he pulled the flush and said, ‘Good.’

  Chapter 55

  Lola was on the shop floor rebuilding a display of cookery books that had been casually demolished by a student’s backpack. As she balanced Delia on top of Jean-Christophe Novelli—ha, it was all right for some—a woman with a bag-laden stroller came racing into the shop. Flustered and clearly in a state of panic she rushed up to Lola. ‘Excuse me, do you have a loo?’

  The boy lolling in the stroller glanced up at Lola, typical male, sublimely unconcerned by the problems he was causing. Feeling sorry for the woman—this was the joys of motherhood for you—Lola said, ‘Yes, over there to the left of the biographies, right at the back of the shop.’

  The perspiring woman gasped, ‘Thanks so much,’ picked up the carton of fruit juice her son had just chucked to the ground and yanked the stroller to the left. ‘Come on, Tom, let’s go.’

  Before she could scoot him away, the little boy beamed up at Lola and said in a loud, conspiratorial voice, ‘Mummy’s got to do a big poo.’ Which hugely entertained everyone else in the vicinity. Sniggers abounded as the poor mortified woman scurried off. Normally an event like this would have made Lola’s day. Instead she carried on propping up books.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Cheryl arrived with another box of hardbacks to add to the display.

  ‘I think I need something to look forward to.’ Lola’s stomach rumbled as she said it. Checking her watch and realizing it was twelve fifteen, she said impulsively, ‘Like a really nice lunch. How about coming with me to Rossano’s? My treat.’

  But Cheryl was already looking awkward and shaking her head. ‘Today? Sorry, can’t make it. I’ve got an appointment.’

  ‘Oh.’ Why didn’t that sound believable—apart from the fact that Cheryl was the world’s most feeble liar?

  ‘Sorry! But some other time, definitely!’

  Lola nodded. ‘Who’s your appointment with?’

  ‘Um… a doctor.’

  Well, how about that? Untruthfuller and untruthfuller. Lola looked concerned. ‘Are you ill?’

  ‘N-no.’

  ‘Pregnant?’

  ‘No!’

  This was fascinating. Her assistant manager was by this time the color of a plum.

  ‘I think I can guess,’ said Lola. ‘It’s Botox.’

  Cheryl’s shoulders sagged with relief. ‘Yes, Botox.’

  ‘The time has come and you’re giving it a whirl.’

  ‘Well, you know.’ Cheryl touched her forehead. ‘I’ve been getting a bit… frowny lately.’

  Lola nodded. ‘I’ve noticed that too. Look, why don’t I come along and hold your hand?’

  Cheryl said hurriedly, ‘Oh, there’s no need, it’s just a preliminary appointment to have a chat about it. I haven’t made my mind up quite yet.’

  One o’clock arrived and there was only one thing for it. Lola left the shop first with a cheery, ‘Good luck!’ and melted into the crowds of shoppers on the opposite side of the road. In all honesty, there was nothing like a spot of harmless sleuthing to cheer a girl up on a Tuesday lunchtime.

  When Cheryl emerged from Kingsley’s five minutes later she turned left and headed up Regent Street at quite a pace. Lola tucked the collar of her black coat up around her neck, as all the good spies do, and followed at a discreet distance. Cheryl had re-done her make-up and taken her hair out of its ponytail. She was wearing a swingy white jacket over her red dress and the flat grey pumps she wore for work had been replaced with crimson high heels. She looked lovely. Any syringe-wielding medic would have been impressed. Relieved she hadn’t flagged down a cab, Lola stayed on her tail as she plunged down a side street. With fewer people around she’d be spotted if Cheryl looked back, might have to pretend to be engrossed in the eye-popping display—yeek!—in the window of this Soho sex shop.

  But Cheryl didn’t look back. She carried on heading deeper into Soho. Finally reaching Wardour Street, she paused outside a super-chic, green and silver-fronted restaurant. Lola hung back, watching with interest as she ran up the steps and disappeared inside.

  Well, this was interesting. Cheryl was without question meeting a man and chances were that his interest in her wasn’t medical. (‘Why, Doctor, is that a Botox syringe in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?’)

  The big puzzle was, why was she being so evasive about it?

  OK, only one way to find out.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ said the charming blond receptionist. ‘May I help you?’ The interior of the restaurant was pale green and silver, modern and expensive-looking and curvy.

  ‘Hi there, I’m supposed to be meeting my friend,’ said Lola. ‘Her name’s Cheryl Dixon.’

  ‘I’m sorry, madam, we don’t have a booking in that name.’

  ‘I know, I’m so sorry, I can’t remember the name of the other person.’ Lola smiled, determined to out-charm the receptionist, and attempted to sneak a look at the list of names on the computer screen. ‘My friend just came in a minute ago, she’s wearing red stilettos.’

  The receptionist swiftly swung the computer screen around so Lola couldn’t see it.

  ‘Sorry, madam, if you don’t have a booking…’

  ‘Oh please, I have to see them, it’s urgent… her car’s being towed away…’

  The receptionist’s smile was now a thing of the past. ‘But that’s not actually true, is it?’

  Blimey, what was this place, Fort Knox? The tables were situated in booths, which meant you couldn’t see who was seated at them. At this rate the restaurant had to be harboring the Pope out on a hot date with Maggie Smith.

  ‘OK, I need the loo,’ said Lola.

  ‘Madam, the cloakroom facilities are for customers only.’

  Why was this girl being so obstructive? ‘Sorry, but I need the loo now. It’s an emergency.’ Lola gazed at her then raised her voice slightly. ‘I have to do a big poo.’

  She watched the receptionist wondering if she meant it. After a second—because what if she did?—the blond pointed the way. ‘Over there, up the stairs and on the left.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Lola set off across the restaurant, peering into each booth as she passed and earning herself some odd looks along the way. No Pope so far. No Cheryl either.

  Then she saw them. So wrapped up in each other they didn’t even notice her standing there. Stunned, Lola observed the giveaway body language going on between the two of them; if that wasn’t full-blown flirtation she didn’t know what was.

  Hell’s bells, and she hadn’t even had the slightest inkling…

  On the other hand, thank God it wasn’t who she’d subconsciously been afraid it might be.

  Cheryl spotted her first. Her face changed in an instant from lit up to oh fuck. She promptly knocked over her glass of wine.

  ‘Hi, Cheryl. I wouldn’t let him inject your frown lines if I were you. I’m not sure he’s a qualified doctor.’

  ‘You followed me!’ Cheryl bat-squeaked, the familiar flush crawling up her neck.

  ‘I had to. You wouldn’t tell me who you were seeing. Hello, Dad.’ Lola gave her father a hug. ‘I tried to ring you on Saturday night to see if you wanted to go to the cinema but your phone was switched off.’

  ‘Boring works do.’ Nick kissed her on the cheek then regarded her with concern. ‘Sorry about this. Are you upset?’

  ‘About you and Cheryl? God no, it’s fantastic! I just can’t believe it. How long
has this been going on?’

  ‘A few weeks.’ Luckily the spilled wine was white; Nick used a pale green napkin to mop it up.

  ‘So that’s why you’ve been coming into the shop to buy so many books. I thought you were doing it so you could see me!’

  ‘Sweetheart, I was.’ Nick grinned. ‘You were the number one reason.’ He paused. ‘Cheryl was the unexpected bonus.’

  Lola pulled up an extra chair and sat down. ‘Now I know how the star of the show feels when the understudy gets more applause than she does.’

  ‘Then I came in one day when you were off and we got chatting.’

  ‘I told him how nice you were to work for,’ Cheryl said hopefully.

  ‘Anyway, there was a spark between us, so I asked her out. We had a great time and it’s gone on from there.’

  ‘And you just forgot to mention it to your only daughter.’

  ‘We didn’t know how you’d react,’ said Cheryl.

  ‘You make it sound as if you’re scared of me.’ Lola shook her head in disbelief.

  Cheryl pulled a face. ‘I am.’

  ‘Madam?’ A waiter materialized at the table with their menus. ‘Are you joining your friends for lunch?’

  Lola’s stomach gurgled. She looked from her father to Cheryl then back again.

  ‘Is that your stomach? Are you starving?’ Nick squeezed her arm. ‘Of course you’re staying for lunch.’

  Touched by the offer when it was so obvious they’d rather be alone together, Lola pushed back her chair. ‘It’s OK, I’ll leave you to it. And don’t worry, I think it’s great that you’re seeing each other.’

  She honestly genuinely truthfully did. And not just because Cheryl was lovely and deserved someone nice after her pig of an ex-husband had abandoned her three years ago. Lola hugged them both and left them to enjoy their lunch in peace. What she couldn’t admit to anyone was the sensation of icy fear she’d experienced on realizing that Cheryl didn’t want her to know who she was seeing.