Thinking of You

by Jill Mansell

  “Better stop talking about hellholes. And don’t sing,” Carla ordered. “Save the Freddie Mercury impression for later—the big boss is on her way over.”

  The manageress click-clacked across the floor in double-quick time. She was in her midfifties, tall, and as elegant as a racehorse, with tawny blond hair fastened up in a chignon and beautifully applied makeup including Bardot-style eyeliner and glossy red lipstick. Smiling broadly she held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Evie Sutton. Lovely to meet you. When you’ve finished your lunch, would you like to come and have a chat with me in my office, or…?”

  “We’re just drinking our coffee.” Indicating the spare chair at their table and feeling deliciously proactive, Ginny said, “If you like we can talk about it now.”

  Twenty minutes later she had the job. Three lunchtime and four evening shifts a week, starting as soon as she liked.

  “Tomorrow, if you want,” said Evie as she handed her an application form. “Just fill this in and bring it with you, and we’ll sort you out with a uniform then.”

  “Perfect.” Ginny could hardly wait. “Thank you so much, I know I’m going to love it here.”

  “Oh you will, I can tell. We’ll soon have you charming those customers. And you’ve certainly made my day.” Evie’s blue eyes danced. “There’s nothing more depressing than having to interview a bunch of no-hopers.”

  Liking her more and more, Ginny said with feeling, “Tell me about it.”

  Chapter 12

  “We aren’t going home yet. I want to see the antiques center.” Buzzing with excitement and with her inhibitions loosened by alcohol, Ginny practically skipped across the sunny courtyard.

  Inside the converted outbuildings, the stone walls were painted emerald green and an Aladdin’s cave of well-lit paintings, mirrors, polished furniture, and objets d’art greeted them. In the center of the main room stood a magnificent jukebox currently playing Stevie Wonder’s “Superstition.” Further along, in one of the interlinked rooms to the right, they could see someone showing a couple of potential customers a walnut bureau. On the sales desk by the window stood a mug of coffee, a half-eaten KitKat, and an open copy of Miller’s Guide to Antiques. Just poking out from beneath it was the latest edition of Heat.

  “Look at this.” Ginny longingly ran her fingers over a bronze velvet chaise longue. Turning over the price tag, she blanched and abruptly stopped envisaging it in her living room.

  “Never mind that, look at these.” Twenty feet away, Carla held up a pair of heavy silver Georgian candlesticks. “I love them!”

  “Stop it.” Ginny’s eyes danced as Carla attempted to stuff them into her cream leather handbag. “Bad girl. Put them back.”

  “Damn bag’s not big enough. No forward planning, that’s my trouble. Ooh, now this is smaller.” Picking up an enameled box, Carla playfully waggled it.

  “Antlers!” Ginny let out a shriek of delight and rushed over to take a closer look. “I’ve always wanted a pair of real antlers.”

  “They wouldn’t suit you. And you definitely couldn’t slip those into your handbag.” As she said this, Carla’s gaze slid past Ginny.

  “And I’d rather you didn’t try it.”

  The moment she heard the voice behind her, Ginny knew. So did her skin, which came out in a shower of goose bumps, and her stomach, which reacted with a nauseous lurch of recognition.

  “You can put that down too,” the voice continued, this time addressing Carla.

  Taken aback by his tone, Carla put down the decorative enameled box and said chippily, “I wasn’t going to steal it, you know. We were just having a bit of fun. It was a joke.”

  “Good job you’re not a stand-up comedian then. People might ask for their money back.”

  “Well, you’re full of charm, aren’t you?” Her eyes flashing, Carla demanded, “Is this how you treat all your customers?”

  “Not at all.” His reply was cool. “But you don’t appear to be customers, do you? Call me old-fashioned but I’d class a customer as someone who pays for what she takes from a shop.”

  Ginny closed her eyes. This was awful, just awful, and Carla was practically incandescent with—

  “How dare you!” Carla shouted, marching toward the door. “As if anyone in their right mind would even want to buy anything from your crappy shop. Come on, Gin, we’re out of here. And don’t worry; I won’t ever be coming to this dump again.”

  But I will, Ginny thought in a panic.

  “Excellent.” Moving to one side, the man allowed Carla to stalk past him. “Mission accomplished.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Ginny blurted out. “Stop! Carla, come back, we’re going to sort this out.”

  “Ha. The only way we could sort this out is if I gored him to death with his own antlers.” Jabbing furiously at her phone, Carla said, “Hello? Hello? Yes, I want a taxi this minute…”

  “We came here for lunch.” Ginny turned in desperation to face the man. “We had a lovely meal.”

  “Did you pay for it?”

  “Yes!”

  His eyes glittered. “With your own credit card or with somebody else’s?”

  “Oh, for crying out loud, will you stop accusing me? We haven’t—”

  “Oh great, you’re still here!” Evie appeared in the shop doorway, a bright smile on her face. “I just came over to tell Finn all about you, but I see you’ve already met. Finn, did Ginny tell you the good news?”

  “No, I didn’t,” Ginny said hurriedly. “You see, there’s been a bit of a—”

  “We don’t have to advertise for a new waitress!” Evie turned to Finn. “This is Ginny Holland, and she’s coming to work for us; isn’t that—”

  “No, she’s not,” Finn said flatly. Very flatly.

  “I’m coming to work for you,” said Ginny, looking at Evie and praying she’d believe her when the whole sorry story came tumbling out.

  “Maybe you thought you were,” Finn countered, “but Evie only runs the restaurant. My name’s Finn Penhaligon and I own it, which means you won’t be working here because I say so.”

  Evie’s expression changed. “Finn, could I have a private word with you outside?”

  He actually looked amused. “Probably not the wisest idea. I’d prefer it if we were in here and these two stayed outside.”

  Ginny felt as if her head was about to burst with the unfairness of it all. She’d so wanted to work here, and it clearly wasn’t going to happen now.

  “It’s him, isn’t it?” Having worked out what was happening, Carla’s lip curled with disgust. “He’s the one from that shop who made you cry.”

  “I’d love to know what’s going on here,” said Evie, bewildered.

  “I’m sure he’ll tell you. Sorry about the job.” Ginny swallowed hard. “I’d have loved to work for you.” Following Carla to the door she checked she wasn’t inadvertently holding some antique objet then opened her bag wide to demonstrate to Finn Penhaligon that there was nothing that belonged to him inside. Determined to retain at least a shred of dignity, she then met his gaze and said steadily, “I know you think you’re right, but you’re wrong.”

  “I know what I saw.” Unmoved by her declaration, Finn shrugged. “You know what really gave you away? The way you looked at me when I stopped you outside that shop.”

  The way she’d looked at him. In any other circumstances, Ginny might have laughed. He would never know it, but that hadn’t been guilt flickering in her eyes.

  It had been lust.

  ***

  It was midnight, clouds were scudding past the moon, and Ginny and Carla were on a mission under cover of darkness to retrieve Carla’s car from the courtyard of Penhaligon’s without being seen.

  “What a bastard.” Carla was still seething about the treatment they had received earlier at the hands of Finn Penhaligon.

  Ginny concentrated on the road ahead. “I know.”

  “I mean, that man has a serious attitude problem!”

  “I know.�
�� Nearly there now.

  “You didn’t tell me he was that good-looking.”

  Ginny knew that too. She hadn’t told Carla that she’d fantasized about Finn Penhaligon. And since it was pretty irrelevant, she didn’t see the point in telling her now. “Is this the turn, up here? God, what if he’s there? We should have worn balaclavas.”

  “Balaclavas aren’t my style. Besides, then he’d probably threaten us with a shotgun and I’d have to kill him with my bare hands. OK, here we go.” Carla leaned forward as they entered the courtyard and saw her green Golf parked on its own by the far wall. “Just swing round, pull up next to my car, and I’ll jump out. We’ll be gone in—fuck, what’s that on the windscreen? If that sad git’s given me a parking ticket…”

  She was out of the car in a flash. As she wrenched the envelope out from under the windscreen wiper, a dark shadow darted across the yard, meowing loudly. For a couple of seconds the cat was caught in the beam of Ginny’s headlights before it leaped forward again and disappeared from view. Oh brilliant, now it was probably under the car and if she tried to drive off she’d kill it.

  Hurriedly buzzing down her window, Ginny hissed, “Where’s the cat?”

  “Don’t know, but this is for you.” Carla handed her the envelope. “Probably a restraining order warning you not to go within five miles of him.”

  “My pleasure.” Ripping open the envelope, Ginny said, “Just see if that cat’s under the car, will you?”

  She was forced to switch on the interior light to read the note, which was from Evie. It was brief and to the point.

  Dear Ginny,

  We need you! Sorry about today—Finn can be a grumpy bugger sometimes, but he’s all right really. I’ve spoken to him now and sorted everything out. I really hope you’ll come and work here. Please give me a ring.

  “What is it?” Carla was peering through the open window. “What does it say? God, what’s that?” As a door suddenly slammed across the yard, she jumped and whacked her head on the window frame. “Ow, that hurts.”

  “It’s him.” Reading Evie’s words was all very well, but Ginny still had an overwhelming urge to stick her foot down and, tires squealing, make a high-speed Steve McQueen–style getaway.

  Except it wouldn’t only be the tires squealing if she ran over the damn cat. Stuck where she was, Ginny watched warily as Finn Penhaligon made his way across the courtyard. He was wearing a white shirt and dark trousers, and she didn’t trust him an inch.

  “On the bright side,” said Carla, “he isn’t carrying a gun.”

  “Unless there’s one in his pocket.” Ginny gave a nervous hiccup of laughter. “Although I can’t say he looks pleased to see us.”

  “Damn, he’s good-looking though.”

  Carla hadn’t said it loudly but noise evidently traveled across an otherwise empty courtyard.

  “Thank you.” Gravely, Finn nodded at her, then turned his attention to Ginny. “Have you read Evie’s note?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “And she’s right.” With a surge of reckless bravery Ginny said, “You are a grumpy bugger.”

  The look in his eyes told her he hadn’t read the note himself, hadn’t realized that this was what Evie had said about him. The next moment, to his credit, he smiled briefly.

  “Well, maybe that’s true. But I wouldn’t necessarily call that a bad thing. What else did she say?”

  “That she’d spoken to you and everything was sorted out.” Ginny still couldn’t quite believe this was happening, that she was here, in the early hours of the morning, sitting in her car, having this conversation. “And she still wants me to come and work in the restaurant. Well, officially, I’d be working in the restaurant. Unofficially, of course, I’d be fiddling the bills, pocketing all the tips, and cloning people’s credit cards.”

  “I may have overreacted,” said Finn. “When you’re in this line of business, believe me, shoplifters are the bane of your life.”

  Furiously, Carla hissed, “Excuse me, she’s not a—”

  “OK, OK.” Finn held up his hands. “Let’s not get into all that again.” Addressing Ginny, he said evenly, “Look, if you want the job, it’s yours.”

  Ginny could hear her pulse thud-thudding in her ears. On the one hand it would be gloriously satisfying to be able to tell him to stick his magnanimous offer and his lousy rotten restaurant up his bum.

  On the other hand it wasn’t a lousy rotten restaurant, was it? And despite everything that had happened, she did still want the job.

  Finally, Ginny said, “What did Evie say to make you change your mind?”

  His eyes glittered. “Truthfully?”

  “Truthfully.”

  “I told her about the first time we met in that shop in Portsilver.” Finn paused. “And Evie told me that she’d once walked out of a department store holding a Christian Dior mascara. She didn’t realize until she’d reached her car; she took it back to the store, and the saleswoman said not to worry, that she’d once left a shop carrying two bath mats and a toilet brush.”

  Ginny looked at him. “Is your cat under my car?”

  He shook his head. “No, she shot past me into the flat when I came out. So how about this job then? What shall I tell Evie?”

  Revving the car’s engine, Ginny said cheerily, “Tell her I’ll think it over.” Then, because it wasn’t often she felt quite this in control, she flashed Finn Penhaligon a dazzling, up-yours smile. “Bye!”

  Chapter 13

  Ginny’s heart lifted when she heard Jem’s voice; a phone call from her daughter always cheered her up.

  “Hi, Mum, how’s it all going? Are you and Laurel having a blast?”

  If only. What was the opposite of a blast? A tired phfft, perhaps. Expecting Perry and getting Laurel instead had been like setting out on holiday to Disneyland then having your plane hijacked and diverted to Siberia.

  “We’re fine!” Ginny was determined not to admit her catastrophic mistake to Jem. “Laurel’s settling in. How about you? Everything OK?”

  “Better than OK.” Jem sounded on top form. “I’m having such a great time, Mum.”

  “Oh, darling, I’m so glad.” Impulsively, Ginny said, “Listen, you haven’t been home since Christmas. Why don’t you and Lucy come down this weekend? It’d do you good to have a break, and Dad would love to see—”

  “Mum, I can’t. My shifts at the pub, remember? I’m doing Saturday evening and Sunday lunchtime.”

  Bloody pub.

  “Well, I hope you’re not wearing yourself out,” said Ginny. “I could send a bit more money if you want. Then you wouldn’t have to work so hard.”

  “I like working in the pub. Don’t worry about me. And it’s not long now until Easter, is it? I’ll pop down then.”

  Pop? Ginny didn’t like the sound of pop one bit. Her composure momentarily slipping, she said, “Pop? I thought you’d be back for the whole of the Easter break.”

  “Well, that was the plan, obviously. But the landlord’s already asked me to work through Easter. If I tell him I’ll be away for a couple of weeks I might lose my job. Oh God, is it half nine already? I’ve got a tutorial at ten. Mum, I’ll ring you again next week; you look after yourself and give my love to Dad. Have fun! Bye!”

  Ginny had always been a great one for singing in the shower but this morning she wasn’t in the mood. She missed Jem so much it hurt. She missed Bellamy dreadfully too. Instead of a life-enhancing new lodger-cum-friend, she had Laurel. And instead of some form—any form—of love life, she had a big empty void. Perry Kennedy, needless to say, had reneged on his promise to call and arrange a date for dinner, which made her feel not only unattractive, but also a complete fool to boot, because she’d been gullible enough to believe he might.

  Well, enough was enough. This was her life and it was up to her to be in charge of it. Ginny switched off the shower and wrapped herself in a blue towel, then wiped condensation from the bathroom mirror and gazed steadil
y at her reflection. She wasn’t a doormat and the time had come, yet again, to prove it. This morning while she’d been in the kitchen making a cup of tea, she had seen squirrels chasing each other across the lawn and said aloud, “I bet they can’t believe their luck, having the garden to themselves after all these years. Bellamy used to chase them nonstop.”

  Laurel, scraping margarine very thinly indeed over her slice of whole meal toast, had replied, “You won’t get another dog, will you.” It had been a statement rather than a question. “I don’t like dogs.”

  “Why not?”

  “They’re dirty. They smell.”

  As offended as if she’d said, “You’re dirty, you smell,” Ginny had vehemently shaken her head. “Maybe some dogs. Not Bellamy.”

  But Laurel had simply shrugged and said, “Anyway, I still don’t like them,” before wandering out of the kitchen with her plate of toast.

  Now, recalling this exchange, Ginny vigorously towel-dried her hair. It was too soon to replace Bellamy—she would feel as if she were betraying his memory—but if she told Laurel that she was getting another dog, would Laurel decide she could no longer live here? Could this be the answer to her prayers? OK, so it would be a lie, but infinitely easier than announcing to Laurel that due to the fact that she was boring and miserable and droned on endlessly about Kevin, she would have to move out.

  Ginny brightened. Oh yes, this was an excellent idea, a fictitious dog.

  And a smelly one at that.

  ***

  “There you are.” Radio Two was playing in the background and Laurel was in the kitchen making bread when Ginny headed downstairs, dressed and ready to go out. “You look great. I really like your dress.”

  “Thanks.” Laurel had a disconcerting habit of being nice when you were least expecting it.

  “Look, I’m sorry if I seemed a bit rude earlier. I didn’t mean to imply that your dog wasn’t clean. And I’m sure he was lovely.”