by Jill Mansell
So Millie had standards, morals, a healthy respect for her own body. Happily, Moira said, ‘Now I like her even more.’
It was two o’clock in the morning by the time Millie arrived home after first dropping off her mother, her father, and Judy. Now, parking a little way up the street, she passed a white van, a Renault the color of Bird’s custard, and a dusty dark blue Jaguar.
The house was silent and empty. Yet another flyer advertising pizza delivery had been pushed through the door; Millie kicked it to one side and headed on up the stairs. Hester wasn’t back yet. Still, if she was out with Jen and Trina that was hardly a surprise.
Exhausted, Millie peeled off the fabulous Dolce & Gabbana suede dress, skittishly didn’t bother removing her make-up, and was asleep within seconds of falling into bed.
Something was ringing. On and on, in a horribly persistent fashion. Millie groaned, rolled over, and pulled the pillow over her head. If it was Hester leaning on the doorbell because she’d forgotten her key she would be forced to kill her.
But it wasn’t the doorbell, her confused brain finally managed to figure out. The ringing was too rhythmic for that.
It was the phone.
Urrgh, no, go away.
Buried beneath the pillow, Millie kept her eyes closed and prayed for it to stop. But whoever was calling was certainly persistent; they were showing no signs of giving up.
Then again, it could be a genuine emergency, Millie realized as she padded downstairs to answer the phone.
Hester, desperate to come home but so drunk she couldn’t remember where she lived. Ha, that had happened before.
Or Adele, panicking because she couldn’t find her precious volume of Sylvia Plath poetry and ringing to find out if she’d left it in the car.
Or even Con Deveraux, calling to tell her he couldn’t sleep for thinking about Lucas in his tight leather trousers and begging her for Lucas’s phone number…
Hm, maybe not.
In the living room, Millie picked up the phone.
‘Hello?’
‘Are you alone?’
‘What?’
‘Is he there with you?’
In her muddled, just-woken-up frame of mind, Millie couldn’t place the voice at the other end. Well, that wasn’t strictly true, she thought she could place the voice because it sounded exactly like Hugh Emerson’s voice, but since the logical, slightly-less-befuddled part of her mind told her it couldn’t possibly be Hugh, she knew she must be wrong.
‘Is who here with me?’
‘I don’t know. Any of them, take your pick. Just say yes or no.’
Lord, now it sounded even more like Hugh’s voice. Startled— and by this time pretty much awake—Millie said, ‘Nobody’s here. I’m on my own. Why?’
A pause. Followed by a sigh. Of relief?
‘I just needed to find out.’
Millie, her heart racing like a greyhound, whispered, ‘Why?’
‘Come on.’ This time his tone was wry. ‘I think you know.’
Millie couldn’t speak. The greyhound in her chest was hurtling around the track. In a daze, she glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and saw that it was three-thirty.
Three-thirty, in the morning…
‘Millie? Are you still there?’
‘I think so.’
‘Open the curtains.’
‘What?’
‘Go on.’
Was this actually happening? Or was she really still upstairs in bed with her pillow clamped over her ears?
Oh well, if it was a dream, where was the harm in letting it carry on?
Crikey, Millie thought, this was in danger of turning into the best dream she’d had in years.
Making her way over to the window, she pulled open the curtains.
Hugh was out there, on the pavement, illuminated by the pool of orange light from the streetlamp overhead. He had changed into a white denim shirt and jeans.
Speaking into his mobile, he said simply, ‘I needed to see you.’
Oh good grief.
But like this?
Millie wished she wasn’t wearing her saggy purple Harry Enfield T-shirt; the picture on the front of Kevin the Teenager wasn’t what you’d call seductive. She also wished—illogically—that she’d had the presence of mind to brush her hair before staggering downstairs to answer the phone.
‘You needed to see me? Why?’
‘I just did.’
Making a feeble stab at humor, Millie said, ‘Bet you wish now you hadn’t bothered.’
‘No.’ Deadpan, Hugh replied, ‘I’ve always had a thing about Harry Enfield.’
Pause. Millie couldn’t speak.
‘Right,’ said Hugh. ‘Well, we can carry on like this for the rest of the night, or you could think about whether you might like to open the front door.’
‘Two minutes,’ said Millie shakily. ‘I’ll be back in two minutes.’ ‘Where are you going?’ He half smiled. ‘Upstairs to tip some bloke out of bed and squeeze him like toothpaste out through the back window?’
‘Surprisingly close,’ said Millie. ‘Actually, upstairs to clean my teeth.’
Chapter 26
When Millie opened the front door two minutes later she said, ‘I wasn’t expecting this to happen.’
‘Neither was I.’ Hugh walked her gently backwards through to the living room and gazed down at her, the expression in his dark eyes unreadable. ‘That chap I saw you with… the one in the helicopter… are the two of you…?’
‘No.’ Millie was trembling. ‘No.’
‘What about the other one? In the marquee?’
‘He’s Orla’s gardener. He was just out of his tree.’
‘Well, that’s appropriate.’ Hugh waited. ‘And there’s definitely nothing going on between you and your boss?’ Lucas!
‘Definitely nothing going on,’ Millie whispered. ‘Absolutely definitely not.’
‘Right. Well, good.’ As Hugh pushed his sun-bleached hair back from his forehead, Millie saw that his hand was unsteady. ‘I couldn’t sleep, you know,’ he went on. ‘Couldn’t stand the thought of all those men hanging around you tonight. It made me realize… God, so much.’
‘And?’
‘I had to come and see you.’
Feeling brave all of a sudden—ah well, what the hell, it might still be a dream—Millie raised one eyebrow a fraction and said quizzically, ‘See me?’
He reached out and touched her face, his warm fingers tracing the outline of her pale pink mouth.
‘Okay. Kiss you.’
Too slow, too slow. By this time, tormented beyond endurance, Millie flung her arms around his neck, pressed every available cell of her body against him, and whispered, ‘Right, well, better get on and do it then.’
The kiss, when it happened, sent everything spiraling out of control. Millie, feeling as if she were on fire, wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if her Kevin-the-Teenager nightie had suddenly burst into flames. There was enough electricity zapping through her body to light up the Trafalgar Square Christmas tree. It was simply beyond belief that one mouth, one pair of lips, and one tongue could be capable of having such a staggering effect on… well, all of her.
This was kissing as Millie had never known it before, such a dazzling experience that she actually did stagger. Her knees had gone, and she was forced to open her eyes just to get her bearings. Dazed and blinking, she realized that while the rest of her had been dizzily reveling in the glory of Hugh’s mouth on hers, her shameless fingers had been busy pulling his shirt out from his jeans, unfastening buttons like nobody’s business, and roaming frantically over his chest…
Oh well, nothing like playing it cool, keeping them guessing, maintaining that enigmatic facade—
‘Ouch.’ Hugh winced. ‘What was that for?’
‘Oh God, sorry, sorry. I needed to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.’ Millie agitatedly rubbed the red mark on the back of his hand. ‘I was pinching myself. Except no wonder I couldn�
��t feel it,’ she apologized. ‘I pinched the wrong hand.’
He held her face, his mouth a tantalizing half-inch away from her own.
‘I’ve dreamed of doing this for weeks. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I swore to myself nothing would ever happen, but tonight was too much. I just couldn’t stay away.’
Millie was so happy there were tears swimming in her eyes.
‘I’m glad. I mean, me too. Thinking about you all the time, wishing something could happen.’ Drunk with exhilaration, she was having trouble stringing together a sentence that made sense; the glorious smell of his bare skin alone was enough to reduce her to gibberish. ‘I was so jealous, seeing you there with Kate. I thought you were going to elope with her to Gretna Green. And now you’re here, you came all this way to see me, well, kiss me… you really are an excellent kisser, by the way, I can’t imagine how you got to be so good, but if you ever fancy a part-time job I’m sure Lucas would hire you in a flash…’
‘Millie, you’re wittering.’
‘Gosh, am I? Surely not. Not me, I promise you, I never ever witter when I’m nervous.’
‘Are you nervous?’ Hugh smiled down at her. ‘Why?’
Why? Why? Was the man mad!
‘Because you drove over here to kiss me and now you’ve kissed me and you’re still here,’ Millie blurted out, ‘and I may not be the shiniest shell on the beach, but I think even I can guess what might be about to happen next.’
While she’d been babbling away, Hugh had been holding her head between his hands, gently stroking the ultra-sensitive skin just beneath her earlobes. Now he took his hands away and began rebuttoning his shirt.
‘I didn’t come round here to make you do anything you don’t want to do. If I’m making you nervous, I’ll go.’
‘Nooo!’ Letting out a squeal of dismay, Millie grabbed him before he could disappear. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I want you to stay, more than anything. I’m just scared I’ll be a disappointment. You might think I’m rubbish in bed.’
Hugh looked as if he was trying hard not to laugh.
‘Why might I think that?’
Millie hadn’t the foggiest. She just knew, suddenly, that it was a horrible possibility.
‘Well, it’s like Richard-the-gardener, at the party earlier.’ Shaking her head, she tried to explain. ‘He kissed me, and it was awful, completely awful, like being attacked by an Aquavac. But he doesn’t know he’s a useless kisser, does he? He probably thinks he’s brilliant. So how do I know I’m not as bad at… you know, thingy… as he is at kissing?’
Hugh’s mouth was starting to twitch at the corners.
‘You don’t kiss like a sink-plunger, I can promise you that. Besides, it works both ways. I might be useless in bed.’
‘Seriously?’
‘No. Actually, I’m spectacular.’
‘Now you’re definitely making fun of me.’
As he put his arms around her, Millie could feel his shoulders shaking with laughter.
‘I’m not. I just think we should risk it, that’s all. You can give me marks out of ten if you like.’
Millie smiled. She began to relax, just a fraction. She was pretty sure she wasn’t hopeless in bed.
Oh God, it’s going to happen, she shivered, it’s actually going to happen.
Best of all, evidently having decided to crash out at Jen and Trina’s house, Hester wasn’t here.
I can have my wicked way with Hugh, Millie thought joyfully, and she’ll never know! Hooray, I won’t have to pay her two hundred pounds!
Before she knew it, Hugh was kissing her again. Unbelievably, the fireworks were almost more dazzling this time. Even more astonishingly, her fingers—completely of their own accord—were now engrossed in undoing the zip of his jeans.
‘The curtains are still open,’ Hugh murmured.
‘We’d better go upstairs,’ Millie whispered back, tingling at the erotic contact of his mouth against her ear.
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure. How about you?’
‘Daft question. I drove over here at half past three in the morning, didn’t I?’
Millie took a deep breath. She didn’t want to say the next thing, but it had to be said.
‘How about… you know… your wife?’ Pause. ‘Louisa.’
Instantly she wished she hadn’t added the last bit. As if he may have forgotten his wife’s name.
‘I’m here,’ Hugh repeated, brushing a stray tendril of hair from her cheek. ‘I don’t want to talk about Louisa.’
Good, thought Millie, because I don’t either.
‘But you’re sure?’
Lifting her up into his arms—eek, no knickers!—Hugh carried her effortlessly towards the staircase. Amused by her futile attempts to pull down her nightie and keep herself decent—for the next ninety seconds at least—he said, ‘I’m sure.’
It had been magical. Millie, her eyes closed and her limbs comfortably interlaced with Hugh’s, decided that there was no other word for it.
Just magical.
‘And now the scores please, from the judging panel,’ intoned Hugh. ‘First, marks out often for content.’
‘Well, that’s easy.’ Millie’s eyelashes fluttered and she peeped up at him. ‘Two.’
‘Style.’
‘One.’
‘Star quality.’
‘One and a half.’
Hugh shook his head and tut-tutted like a plumber being asked to give an estimate.
‘Oh dear, harsh scoring from the British judge. Does she realize, I wonder, what she’s let herself in for…?’
‘Aaargh, no!’ Millie let out a shriek as he began to tickle her rib cage; within seconds she was a squealing, writhing heap, hopelessly tangled up in the sheets. ‘Ten, I meant ten! Absolutely ten out of ten… perfect!’
‘For which category?’
‘All of them!’ gasped Millie.
‘Even star quality?’
‘Sixteen out of ten for star quality!’
‘Excellent.’ Nodding with satisfaction, Hugh stopped the onslaught. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the British judge has sensibly reconsidered the scores she awarded earlier, and I have to say, this is much more like it.’ Pausing, he went on, ‘I also have to say, the British judge wasn’t half bad herself. She participated in the proceedings in a highly satisfactory manner.’
There then followed the kind of Hollywood moment that made the breath catch in Millie’s throat. For several seconds she and Hugh gazed at each other, saying nothing but each silently acknowledging that what had just passed between them had been meant to happen.
Finally, Hugh bent his head and pressed a row of kisses around the base of her throat.
‘Thanks.’
‘Don’t mention it. Any time,’ Millie said half jokingly. ‘My pleasure.’
‘I’m serious.’ Hugh’s dark eyes softened. ‘You’re amazing. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I thought I was hallucinating at first when I saw you at Orla’s party. Except,’ he added ruefully, ‘if it had been an hallucination you wouldn’t have been kissing some other chap in a helicopter.’
‘It wasn’t kissing. Just a hug. He was upset about something,’ said Millie. ‘Anyway, you were there with thingy.’ She wriggled her head into a more comfortable position in the crook of Hugh’s shoulder and slung one leg carelessly over his. ‘I still can’t believe you know Orla as well.’
‘I designed a website for Fogarty and Phelps,’ Hugh explained. ‘People order customized gourmet baskets from their deli to be delivered all over the world… it’s boosted their business by three hundred per cent. Anyway, Orla picked up a leaflet about it in their shop, got chatting—the way she does—and told them how desperate she was for someone to put together a new software package for her. It’s not what I normally do, but you know what Orla’s like. She phoned up and begged me to help her out… and basically I couldn’t refuse.’ He smiled. ‘How about you?’
&
nbsp; ‘Through the travel agency. We just seemed to hit it off,’ said Millie, almost completely truthfully. ‘But what I don’t understand is why you were there at the party with your next-door neighbor.’
Hugh rolled on to his side, ruffling his hair and propping his head up on one elbow.
‘I wasn’t going to go. I haven’t been to a party since Louisa died. But Kate came over to borrow some milk—’
‘Milk? ’ Millie’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. ‘Couldn’t she have gone to the corner shop for milk? You know, the corner shop at the end of your road, less than fifty yards from your front door?’
‘Evidently not.’ Wryly Hugh said, ‘She finds some excuse or other to pop round most days.’
‘Tart.’ Millie was indignant.
‘Anyhow, she spotted the invitation on the kitchen table and practically wet herself with excitement. She couldn’t believe I wasn’t planning to go. Kate’s a huge fan of Orla’s books, and the invite said to bring along a guest. After that she went on and on at me until I gave in. I didn’t have the heart to disappoint her.’
‘You are a soft touch,’ Millie declared. ‘A great big fluffy marshmallow. And she is a complete tart,’ she added, dropping kisses on his hard, deliciously brown chest. ‘Do you realize, that girl would jump into bed with you at the drop of a hat? Honestly, talk about shameless, couldn’t possibly be like it myself.’
‘Perish the thought.’ Smiling, Hugh traced his fingers along the curve of her hip. ‘Anyway, I’m not interested in jumping into bed with her. I was the perfect gentleman this evening, I’ll have you know. Took her along to the party, dropped her home again, pretended not to notice that she was waiting for a good night kiss…’
‘At the very least,’ Millie cried. ‘The hussy!’
‘Basically,’ Hugh went on, ‘all I could do was think of you. I couldn’t sleep, I was so jealous. Wondering just how involved you were with Helicopter-man, dreading what you might be getting up to, imagining him whisking you off to London…’
‘No,’ whispered Millie, her eyes filling with tears of happiness for the second time that night. ‘And no, and no. This is all I want. You’re the only one I want. And now that it has happened…’
