by Jill Mansell
‘Mind you, can’t see it lasting too long.’ Jen pulled a face. ‘We reckon they’ll want tucking up with their mugs of cocoa by midnight.’ Trina and Jen were eighteen and twenty respectively.
‘I don’t want to be tucked up with cocoa by midnight.’ Hester was alarmed by the prospect. Although she wouldn’t mind being tucked up with Lucas.
‘So, fancy coming on out with us? We’re planning to hit a few clubs later,’ panted Trina.
‘Why not? Could do.’
‘Yeah, it’ll be a laugh.’
‘Okay,’ said Hester. ‘Well, see how things go here.’ It was hard to give up the Lucas fantasy entirely.
‘She’s still got it then.’ Jen gave Trina a nudge as Hester made her way back to the bar.
‘Got what?’
‘Stonking great crush on Leg-Over Lucas.’
Trina looked surprised. ‘I thought she was still seeing that chef guy.’
From her lofty position as elder sister, Jen rolled her eyes and said, ‘God, you’re so young.’
‘I don’t know whether or not you’ve noticed this,’ Con Deveraux’s tone was conversational, ‘but there does appear to be some serious matchmaking going on.’
It was the fourth time in less than an hour that Orla had deftly engaged the two of them in conversation then flitted off.
‘I spotted it too,’ said Millie. ‘I’m really sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’
‘Just so long as you don’t think I asked Orla to keep hurling you at me.’
He looked amused.
‘It’s all right, I don’t.’
‘Smile,’ Millie prompted, ‘we’re being watched.’
Con’s mother and Orla were observing them from a discreet distance.
‘Spied on, you mean.’ His tone was one of good-natured resignation. ‘It’s okay, I’m used to this. My mother won’t rest until she sees me settled down with the perfect girl.’
‘Why? It’s not as if you’re ancient.’
God, I’m getting old, thought Millie. He’s thirty and I don’t even think that’s ancient.
Con shrugged. ‘It’s her mission in life. Nice dress, by the way. That color really suits you.’
Glancing over, Millie saw that Moira Deveraux and Orla were huddled together, deep in conversation. Spotting her, Moira instantly stopped talking and pretended to be busy admiring one of the flower arrangements.
‘It must matter to her a lot,’ said Millie.
‘Believe me, it does.’
‘Wouldn’t it be easier just to tell her you’re gay?’
One minute Millie was standing there in the air-conditioned marquee sipping her drink and chattering happily away. The next moment, faster than you could say bolt-from-the-blue, Con had snatched the glass from her hand and swept her outside.
Millie couldn’t even feel her feet touching the ground… his arm was clamped like a steel girder around her waist… goodness, he was strong…
When they were out in the garden, Con still didn’t release his grip. He kept on going, threading his way through the clusters of guests on the lawn until they reached the back of the house.
But even that wasn’t good enough for Con Deveraux. Patting the back pocket of his trousers with his free hand, he pulled out a couple of keys and steered Millie over towards the helicopter, crouched on the dry grass like a prehistoric bird of prey.
Millie, gazing up at it in amazement, said, ‘Good grief, are you planning to kidnap me?’
If he was, Paris would be nice.
‘We need to talk. Without being overheard.’ Sliding open the passenger door, Con gave her a brief leg-up. Then, striding round, he hopped in the other side.
As soon as both doors were closed he turned to Millie. ‘How did you know?’
‘I didn’t. I didn’t, I swear.’ Not for the first time Millie wished she wasn’t blessed with the ability to always say the wrong thing to the wrong person at the wrong time. ‘It was a joke, that’s all. I just thought it would be a great way to stop your mother nagging you about girlfriends. I’m sorry,’ she pleaded. ‘It’s not even funny. But I promise I didn’t know!’
Con’s gaze was unwavering. It was like being eyeballed at close range by a bird of prey.
‘You’re sure?’
‘Absolutely.’
He breathed out.
‘Okay.’
‘But I know now,’ Millie ventured, feeling brave. ‘So doesn’t the same answer apply?’
Con shook his head.
‘You mean come out? Admit to the world that I’m gay? No, it doesn’t apply. I can’t do that.’
Millie thought about this for a while.
‘Why not?’
‘I just can’t.’
Gosh, he was stubborn, ‘Give me one good reason,’ Millie insisted.
‘You don’t understand,’ Con replied flatly. ‘It would kill my mother.’
In the distance they could hear the party carrying on without them. But here, locked in the intimate bubble of the helicopter, Millie felt she could say anything.
‘Look, this isn’t going to go away, is it?’ She kept her voice gentle; it clearly meant so much to him. ‘And it wouldn’t kill her, you know. She might be shocked and upset for a while, but she’d come round in the end.’ Ooh, listen to me, I sound lovely, like that warm cuddly therapist on Richard and Judy. ‘She’s your mother, she loves you,’ Millie carried on, ‘and if she cares that much for you, she’ll accept it! You can’t spend the rest of your life living a lie.’
In the darkness, his profile was taut. This, Millie realized, was a completely bizarre conversation to be having with a near stranger. But she couldn’t help thinking she knew best.
‘Maybe not,’ said Con, ‘but then again, maybe I won’t have to.’ He turned his head and looked directly at Millie, the expression in his eyes bleak. ‘Maybe I just need to spend the rest of her life living a lie.’
Millie pictured Moira Deveraux in her mind: a slim, well-dressed woman in her fifties with a bright smile, and extremely bouffant blonde hair.
‘My mother has a malignant brain tumor,’ Con went on evenly. ‘It’s inoperable. They tried chemotherapy but the tumor’s too entrenched. According to the doctors, she has anywhere between six and eighteen months to live.’
‘Oh God.’ Reaching out, Millie touched his white-clenched knuckles. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Now she realized why her gaze, earlier, had been repeatedly drawn back to Moira’s immaculate, carefully styled hair-do. It was a wig.
‘I know my mother. I love her more than anything.’ For a moment Con’s voice broke. ‘Almost as much as she loves me. I was going to tell her, for all the reasons you listed just now. But she fell ill. And now I can’t. It would devastate her, and she wouldn’t have time to get used to the idea.’ He stopped, his eyes glittering with tears. ‘So that’s why she mustn’t find out. If she has to die, I want her to die happy.’
Millie squeezed his hand. No wonder he’d overreacted to her glib suggestion earlier.
‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated in a whisper. ‘You’re right. Absolutely right.’
Con managed a brief smile.
‘Thanks. Don’t tell Orla, okay?’
‘Of course I won’t.’
He gave her a hug.
‘And if I were straight, I promise you, I’d fancy you like crazy.’
Half laughing and half crying herself, Millie hugged him back.
‘If my mother could see us now,’ Con murmured against her hair, ‘she’d be in seventh heaven.’
Sniffing back tears—not very elegantly—Millie said, ‘Orla would too.’
***
‘Oh wow, look.’ Overwhelmed, Kate nudged Hugh as they rounded the side of the house. ‘How cool is that? Keeping a helicopter in your back garden, can you imagine?
Hugh glanced over at the turquoise and white Bell Jet Ranger. He’d visited the house on a number of occasions and never seen a helicopter here before.
; ‘I don’t think it’s Orla’s,’ he told Kate. ‘Probably belongs to one of the guests.’
‘Cool,’ sighed Kate, dragging him towards it. Then, excitedly, she whispered, ‘Ooh, there’s someone in there. Look, look, they’re all over each other—in a helicopter—that is so wild!’
Kate was practically tugging the sleeve off his shirt. Hugh didn’t mean to look, but he couldn’t help it.
Nor could he help recognizing the girl in the passenger seat, locked in a passionate embrace with the man next to her.
He might not recognize the dress she was wearing, but there was no mistaking that rippling silver-blonde hair.
Something went clunk in the pit of Hugh’s stomach. Next moment, the man with his arms around Millie looked up and saw they were being watched.
Hugh saw him smile briefly and tap Millie on the shoulder, drawing her attention to the fact that they had an audience. Millie, laughing and peering round him, gazed out through the Perspex bubble into the dimly lit garden…
‘Blimey!’ Kate exclaimed, boggling back at her and turning to Hugh in amazement. ‘You know who that is, don’t you? Whatser-name… thingy… gorilla-girl…’
‘Millie,’ said Hugh.
***
‘Oh my giddy aunt!’ In the helicopter, Millie was so stunned she almost toppled right off her seat.
‘Surely not.’ Con kept a straight face. ‘She’s not old enough to be any kind of aunt, let alone a giddy one.’
‘Bugger,’ Millie gasped as Hugh pointedly turned away.
‘You know her, I take it?’
‘Well, sort of.’ Millie was wondering what on earth Hugh was doing here. Did this mean he knew Orla?
More to the point, she thought with a surge of jealousy, what was he doing here with his gushing, besotted, teenage next-door neighbor?
‘Him, then,’ said Con as Hugh and Kate disappeared from view. ‘It’s him, isn’t it? Who is he? Boyfriend?’
Huh, Millie thought, some hope.
Aloud she said, ‘God no.’
Chapter 23
Lucas was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Trina.
‘Where is she?’ Hester asked Jen.
‘No idea. Loo, I expect.’ Jen looked vague. ‘She’s been gone ages.’
Oh brilliant, thought Hester, this is all I need.
As she backed away she collided with one of the bar staff who was carrying in a fresh crate of wine. Actually, now there was an idea. This, Hester decided, was what she really needed.
Seizing an opened bottle from the crate, she murmured ‘Emergency,’ to the startled barman and headed outside.
It was dark now, but the fairy lights illuminating the trees gave the place an unseasonal Regent Street feel. As she meandered around the garden in search of Lucas and Trina, Hester tried to imagine what she would say if she caught them in flagrante.
Then again, what could she say? She had no claim on him. Because he wasn’t hers, was he?
Hester wandered on, investigating the tree-lined path that led away from the back of the lawn. When she heard the sound of splashing, she realized that this must be where the swimming pool was hidden. Millie had mentioned it earlier.
And, pretty obviously, someone else had found it.
Clutching the frosty, condensation-dusted bottle of Fleurie to her chest, Hester crept along the narrow path praying she wasn’t about to find Lucas and Trina joyfully cavorting together in the water.
When she reached the clearing in the trees and saw what was happening in the luminous, underlit pool, her eyes filled with tears.
Of relief.
Lucas wasn’t with Trina. He was here, alone. Just swimming. On his own. Oh thank you God, thank you. Beaming uncontrollably, Hester was just glad that Lucas was currently under the water—otherwise he might be able to hear her knees clackety-clacking together.
Making her way—unsteadily—around the edge of the pool, Hester came across the rustic bench with his discarded clothes slung across it. She touched the soft white Ralph Lauren cotton shirt, ran her fingers lovingly over the… mmm… still-warm leather trousers—
‘Hester!’ Lucas’s dark head popped up out of the water like a seal. Grinning, he said, ‘I hope you weren’t about to run off with my trousers.’
‘Ha ha,’ said Hester merrily—goodness, the very thought—‘are you supposed to be in there?’
‘I asked Orla. She said it was fine.’
He was wearing dark blue boxer shorts. The water, lapping the sides of the pool, looked almost as inviting as his body.
Lucas, treading water, said, ‘What are you doing?’
Dopey question. Hester unzipped her dress and stepped out of it.
‘Joining you.’
He swam lazily backwards.
‘I was about to get out.’
‘Not yet. Stay and keep me company,’ said Hester, diving in.
The moment she hit the water her bra shot up over her breasts. By the time she surfaced it was floating in front of her chin, pale and lacy and clearly not up to the task of containment in a diving situation.
Luckily, several glasses of wine ensured that Hester didn’t care. What was the big deal, anyway? People these days went topless on the beach all the time.
‘Oh dear.’ Lucas was laughing. ‘Mascara.’
Bugger, she’d forgotten about that. To stop him laughing, Hester flicked water at him.
Being wet, needless to say, suited Lucas and his mascara-free lashes no end.
He splashed water back at her. Gasping with simulated outrage, Hester swept a great wave of water over him. Oh yes, this was brilliant, just like one of those Rock Hudson, Doris Day movies where Rock and Doris bickered endlessly but you knew that deep down they fancied each other like mad.
‘I’m going to duck you,’ Hester cried joyfully and Lucas flashed her his wickedest grin.
‘I’ve got water in my ears—I’m sorry, did you just say duck or…’
Hester let out a squeal of fake-indignation and launched herself at him. Laughing, he grabbed her arms. Hester instantly stopped squealing and gazed with unconcealed longing at his mouth. His hands were clutching her elbows and her body had gone all zingy. Closing her eyes she allowed herself to float forwards gently, until her mouth brushed against his stubbled chin—
‘I’m getting out now,’ said Lucas.
Hester kept her eyes closed. This wasn’t at all the kind of thing Rock would say to Doris.
‘Don’t,’ she murmured, her heart racing as her breasts brushed against his chest. ‘Don’t get out yet.’
You’re not even in yet!
‘Hester, look at me. This isn’t right.’
Damn right it isn’t right, Hester thought frustratedly. This wasn’t supposed to be in the script at all. I’m Doris Day, remember, and you’re Rock Hudson…
‘You’re a great girl,’ Lucas went on kindly, ‘but you’re spoken for. Millie told me all about your boyfriend. She told me how perfect for each other the two of you are.’
Oh fantastic. Thanks, Millie. Thanks a lot.
‘He’s in Scotland,’ Hester muttered. What was going on here anyway? Lucas was a stranger to guilt; he wouldn’t recognize a scruple if it jumped up and wrapped its legs around his neck.
‘You still shouldn’t cheat on him. That would be a rotten thing to do.’
‘But he wouldn’t know about it,’ Hester pleaded. ‘How can it be rotten if he never finds out?’
Lucas, his hand gentle, pushed a strand of wet hair out of her eyes.
‘You can’t guarantee he wouldn’t. It’s too big a risk to take.’
‘Can’t I be the one to decide that?’
‘I promise you, I’m not worth it. Come on,’ he winked and pulled away, ‘race you to the side. We’ve got a party to get back to. Millie will be wondering where you are.’
‘Are you sure you don’t mind this arm business?’
‘Feel free,’ Millie said generously. Con had one arm draped around her shoulders and his ot
her hand was affectionately stroking her wrist. Across the dance floor, pretending not to have noticed, Moira Deveraux was beaming away like a halogen lamp.
‘We’re making my mother very, very happy.’
‘Good.’ Millie smiled at him. ‘Any time you need a stooge.’
‘Millie Brady, I can’t leave you on your own for five minutes,’ an amused voice drawled behind her.
It was Lucas, damp-haired and grinning from ear to ear.
‘Lucas! You’re all wet.’
‘I’ve been swimming.’
‘Have you seen Hester? We can’t find her anywhere.’
‘We had a swim together.’
Oh God, thought Millie.
‘Just a swim,’ Lucas mockingly tut-tutted. ‘Honestly, what a mind you’ve got. She’ll be here in a minute—she just had to repair her make-up.’
Men, they really were hopeless optimists, Millie decided. If Hester had been for a swim she’d be repairing her make-up for an hour at least.
‘So that’s your boss,’ Con remarked when Lucas had headed over to the dance floor. ‘I suppose he’s straight?’
‘As a spirit level.’
‘Thought so. Shame,’ murmured Con.
‘Just as well.’ Millie gave him a reproving nudge in the ribs. ‘That’s hardly the way to impress your mother.’
‘I’m so glad you two like each other,’ Orla told Millie when Con had gone in search of fresh drinks. Delightedly she added, ‘I knew you’d hit it off.’
Yikes, give Orla an inch and she’d take a ten-mile route march. She’d be down at the local church before you could say confetti, flirting with the vicar and putting up the banns.
And Moira would probably start knitting bonnets and booties…
‘He’s great,’ Millie agreed, ‘but I don’t know if we’re talking the romance of the century.’
‘No? Shame. Oh well, never mind.’ Orla shrugged. ‘Lucky I got you a choice then.’
‘A choice…?’ Millie blinked. Was this why Orla had invited Hugh along to the party? Except if that was the case, what was Kate doing here superglued to his arm?
‘Richard,’ Orla chided, nodding across the dance floor to where Richard-the-gardener was roaring with laughter, probably at some hilarious gardening joke.
