Jill Mansell Boxed Set

by Jill Mansell

  ‘It might not.’

  ‘Newquay’s better,’ Hugh assured her. ‘It has the sea, for a start. And beaches.’

  Millie feigned horror.

  ‘You mean London doesn’t have a sea? It doesn’t have beaches?’

  ‘There’s always the Thames. We might be able to rustle you up a few mudflats.’

  ‘Will I not be able to surf?’ gasped Millie, who had never surfed in her life.

  ‘Two please,’ Hugh told the bus driver, who was looking at them as if they were barmy.

  Millie made sure she followed him up the narrow, curving staircase. She was also careful to keep her nightie tightly wrapped around her legs—accidentally coming out minus your knickers wasn’t what you’d call restful.

  ‘This is weird.’ Millie shook her head when they’d chosen their seats. ‘I still can’t believe you drove up here. Have you any idea how cross I was with you, when you practically hung up on me last night?’

  Hugh, looking amused, said, ‘You did sound the teeniest bit pissed off.’

  The Sumo wrestler was still trampolining away inside her stomach. Millie felt that, all in all, she was doing a pretty good job of sounding normal. What’s more, considering the distance he’d driven, Hugh was looking pretty good himself. His white cotton shirt was crumpled, but that didn’t matter one bit. His black trousers were gorgeous, her favorites. She longed to run her fingers through his hair, so sun-streaked by now it was practically honey blond. His humorous dark eyes were flecked with gold in the sunlight, as was the stubble on his tanned face. Millie was finding this stubble disturbingly attractive. She also liked the fact that he wasn’t wearing aftershave; instead, he smelt clean and sexy and intensely Hughish. Phew, so this was what they meant by pheromones. She could sit here and breathe in his heavenly smell all day.

  ‘Anyway.’ Hugh tapped her right thigh. ‘You promised.’

  They hadn’t been alone together on the open top deck for long. It was filling up fast with chattering, camcorder-wielding tourists.

  Bracing herself, Millie slowly raised the hem of her dress-cum-nightie to reveal the tattoo on her tanned thigh.

  Hugh surveyed it in silence for several seconds.

  Finally he spoke.

  ‘When did this happen?’

  For heaven’s sake, when did he think she’d had it done— last week?

  ‘Six years ago.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘You have to understand. I was only nineteen. I’d been going out with this boy for a couple of months and he persuaded me to have it done. I was mad about him, so I thought it was a great idea. Plus, I knew it would infuriate my mother. Of course,’ Millie sighed, ‘we split up ten days later when I found out he’d been seeing some other girl behind my back. So there you go,’ she added dryly. ‘My first ever love-rat.’

  Sadly though, not my last.

  The corners of Hugh’s mouth began to twitch.

  ‘And you’ve been stuck with this permanent reminder of him ever since. Still, he wasn’t all bad.’

  Millie gazed down at the neatly executed heart shape, with the name of her ex-boyfriend enclosed within it.

  Hugh.

  ‘So, don’t tell me, you’ve been waiting all these years for the right man to come along,’ Hugh deadpanned. ‘Or at least some man with the right name. You must have been delighted when you found my wallet under that bush.’

  ‘Ha ha,’ said Millie.

  ‘Were you never tempted to give Hugh Grant a ring?’

  ‘Oh I did, loads of times. But he just kept saying, “Look, it’s terribly nice of you to offer, but I’m just the teensiest bit busy right now… ”’

  ‘Bad luck,’ Hugh sympathized.

  ‘I was going to get the heart filled in,’ said Millie. ‘But it hurt so much having the stupid thing done in the first place I kept putting it off. Then I thought I’d just leave it there as a reminder never to do anything so completely ridiculous ever again.’

  ‘And has it done the trick?’ Hugh still looked as if he was trying hard not to laugh.

  ‘Don’t be daft, of course it hasn’t. Doing ridiculous things is what I do best. Anyway, now you know.’ Signaling that the show was over, Millie slid the hem of her dress-cum-nightie back down over her thigh.

  ‘Well,’ said Hugh, ‘thanks for showing me.’

  ‘Worth the trip?’

  ‘Oh definitely. Every mile.’

  At that moment the bus rumbled into life and began moving jerkily forwards. Everyone on the top deck obediently plugged themselves into the headphones that would enable them to listen to the tour guide’s running commentary.

  Millie didn’t need to do this. She had Hugh.

  ‘… and this is Buckingham Palace,’ he said as the bus trundled up The Mall. ‘What a dump. Damp, poky little place. Full of Ikea furniture and nasty modern prints in plastic frames.’

  ‘I see what you mean.’ Millie nodded. ‘I certainly wouldn’t want to live there.’

  ‘That’s Tower Bridge,’ Hugh pointed out some time later. ‘See the Thames? Told you it was manky.’

  Followed by: ‘Trafalgar Square. You can’t move without treading on a pigeon. Did you ever see that Alfred Hitchcock film, The Birds?’

  Millie leapt excitedly to her feet at one stage, convinced she’d just spotted Prince William emerging from a Burger King in Piccadilly Circus. Yanking her back down, Hugh said, ‘You mustn’t do that.’

  ‘I only wanted to look at him!’ Millie wondered if it was one of those London rules she didn’t know about, where you could be prosecuted for hassling a Royal. Crikey, what did he imagine she’d been about to do—throw herself at their future king from the top of the bus?

  ‘For a start, it wasn’t Prince William. And for another start,’ Hugh kept a straight face, ‘everyone can see right through that nightie you’re wearing.’

  Luckily the tourists’ camcorders were trained elsewhere, on some boring statue thing. Millie decided to brazen it out.

  ‘It’s not a nightie. It’s a dress.’

  ‘Really? I thought it might be a nightie. What with it being so transparent.’

  ‘You know nothing about fashion. It’s actually quite the thing this season… What? ’ Millie protested, all of a sudden finding it hard to breathe normally. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

  ‘You might be gorgeous,’ Hugh shook his head good-naturedly, ‘but you’re a diabolical liar.’

  Oh! He called me gorgeous!

  ‘Thank you.’ Lightly, Millie added, ‘I think.’

  ‘So what’s the verdict?’

  ‘On what?’

  Hugh gestured with his arm. ‘London.’

  ‘Horrible.’ She pulled a face. ‘Like you said, not a patch on Cornwall.’

  ‘Changed your mind about coming to live here?’

  His tone was playful, but Millie no longer felt like playing along. She had to know what this was really all about.

  ‘Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?’ Her attempt to sound sophisticated and in control was spoilt somewhat by the fact that her teeth had begun to chatter.

  Quite loudly, in fact.

  Hugh nodded.

  ‘Okay. Right. Remember the recurring dream I told you about? The one where the phone rings and I think it’s Louisa.’

  Of course I remember.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, that doesn’t happen any more. It stopped.’ He paused. ‘After Orla’s party.’

  Millie held her breath.

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I know I swore I’d never fall in love again. But I did. And it’s taken me a while to accept that, but now I have.’

  ‘R-really?’ Her teeth were still at it, like boisterous school children incapable of keeping still in assembly.

  ‘In fact, I went to see her last night.’ Hugh stopped, his dark eyes serious. ‘I went to see her and I told her I loved her.’

  ‘Wh-what?’

  Millie felt sick. His f
ace swam in and out of focus. Oh God, all of a sudden things were going horribly horribly wrong.

  ‘She was wearing her gorilla suit at the time.’ His tone was wry. ‘Well, I thought she was wearing her gorilla suit. Turns out, she’d lent it to her best friend for the evening. So that’s something I’m never going to live down.’

  ‘No!’ It came out as a shriek. Clapping her hands to her mouth, Millie spluttered with laughter.

  ‘This is why I had to drive up here, to get to you before Hester did. I’m sure everyone already knows about it in Newquay.’

  Millie, awash with happiness, said, ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Are you kidding? Hester’s probably driving around the town as we speak, broadcasting the news through a megaphone.’

  This was undoubtedly true.

  ‘I meant are you sure about… you know, the other stuff you just said?’

  Hugh smiled slightly.

  ‘Only if you’re happy about it. I mean, I’ve pretty much put my neck on the line here. You might be about to tell me you aren’t interested.’

  Millie considered this. It might be fun. It would definitely give him a taste of his own medicine. Then again…

  ‘I could,’ she admitted. ‘Except I’m a lousy liar. I’ve always been interested in you, and you’ve always known that.’

  ‘The thing is,’ Hugh’s expression softened, ‘can you forgive me for the way I treated you?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Millie lied. ‘You’ll have to persuade me first.’

  It was ten o’clock; the tour was at an end. As the bus slowed to a halt outside the Royal Lancaster Hotel, Hugh drew her into his arms and kissed her until her head began to spin.

  Then he kissed her some more.

  Around them, the foreign tourists prepared to disembark. Chattering and giggling, they made their way past the two mad English people. When Millie finally opened her eyes, she saw a camcorder pointed at them, whirring away. A Japanese girl said something to her friend and they both went off into peals of laughter.

  ‘What was that about?’ Millie murmured, not really caring at all.

  ‘Actually, I speak a bit of Japanese.’ Hugh raised an eyebrow. ‘She said, “That girl isn’t wearing any knickers.”’

  He was joking, Millie told herself.

  At least she hoped he was.

  Then again, maybe they shouldn’t get off the bus just yet.

  Moments later they had the top deck to themselves once more, and Hugh kissed her again. Ecstatically, she closed her eyes and wound her arms around him.

  ‘Millie Brady, what do you think you’re doing?’

  Millie’s eyes snapped open. At the sound of the familiar voice she froze, then peered guiltily over Hugh’s shoulder.

  Orla was standing outside the entrance to the hotel. Next to her, still wearing his dinner jacket and dress shirt from last night, and with a lighted cigarette dangling from his fingers, was a rumpled but happy-looking Christie Carson.

  Orla stared, transfixed, at the sight of Millie on the upper deck of the open-top tour bus, enthusiastically canoodling with a man who had his back to her but who certainly wasn’t Con Deveraux.

  The strumpet!

  The shameless hussy!

  And about time too, thought Orla, who had in recent weeks begun to inwardly despair at Millie’s spectacular lack of progress on the man front.

  ‘She must have picked him up at the party after we left last night.’ Delighted, Orla gave Christie’s hand a squeeze. ‘Maybe he’s a writer too.’ Raising her voice to a bellow, she gestured wildly with her free arm. ‘Hey, Millie! Come down here, this minute! Introduce us to your new friend.’

  ‘She’s going to go mental when she recognizes you,’ said Millie.

  ‘That’s nothing.’ Hugh grinned. ‘You’ve been withholding vital information. She’ll probably demand her money back. But,’ he added consolingly, ‘I’ll still love you. Five grand or no five grand.’

  ‘Okay. Here goes.’ Millie took a deep breath, grabbed his hand for moral support, and stood up.

  Hugh, rising to his feet, turned and waved at Orla.

  Orla’s mouth promptly dropped open.

  ‘I don’t… but… how can he be…?’ she spluttered as Hugh, laughing now, blew her a kiss. ‘This is completely… good grief, I don’t believe this.’

  ‘Neither do I.’ Shielding his eyes from the sun in order to get a better look, Christie Carson let out a low, appreciative whistle. ‘You can see right through that dress.’

  Copyright © 2008 Jill Mansell

  Cover and internal design © 2009 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover illustration © Nina Chakrabarti

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Landmark, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567–4410

  (630) 961–3900

  FAX: (630) 961–2168

  www.sourcebooks.com

  Originally published in 2008 by Headline Publishing Group, London.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Mansell, Jill.

  An offer you can’t refuse / Jill Mansell.

  p. cm.

  1. Chick lit. 2. Love stories. gsafd I. Title.

  PR6063.A435O44 2009

  823’.92—dc22

  2008037577

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  To my daughter Lydia and all her friends and teachers at school, especially Mr Fielding, form tutor, and Miss Wilson, English teacher.

  And (deep breath now…) Zainab, Mya, Kat, Louise, Pinki, Lacey, Hannah M, Sophia, Ellis, Ellie, Laura, Em
ily, Tash, Alice, Millie, Ella, Hannah O, Sophie, Charli, Anna, and Harriet.

  What a lovely lot you are!

  Chapter 1

  Ten Years Ago

  There are some places where you might expect to bump into your boyfriend’s ultra-posh mother. At a Buckingham Palace garden party perhaps, or Glyndebourne, or turning her nose up at Ferrero Rochers at some foreign ambassador’s cocktail party. And then there are other places you wouldn’t expect to bump into her at all.

  Like, for example, the Cod Almighty at the dodgier end of Tooting High Street.

  ‘Blimey, it’s Dougie’s mum.’ Instinctively wiping her hands on her green nylon apron and curbing the urge to curtsey—because Dougie’s mum was that posh—Lola said brightly, ‘Hello, Mrs Tennant, how lovely to see you!’

  And how typical that she should turn up two minutes before closing, when all they had left to offer her was a tired-looking sausage and a couple of overlooked fishcakes. Maybe Alf could be persuaded to quickly chuck a couple of fresh pieces of haddock into the fryer and—

  ‘Hello, Lola. I wondered if we could have a chat.’ Even for a visit to a fish and chip shop, Dougie’s mother’s make-up was immaculate, her hair swept into a Princess Michael of Kent chignon.

  ‘Oh, right. Absolutely. I’m just finishing here.’ Lola glanced across at Alf, who made good-humored off-you-go gestures. ‘We close at half past two. So you don’t want anything to take away?’

  Was that a shudder? Mrs Tennant shook her head and said with a flicker of amusement, ‘I don’t think so, do you?’

  Having retrieved her shoulder bag from the back room and shrugged off her nylon apron—youch, static—Lola ducked under the swing-top counter and took the king-sized portion of chips Alf had wrapped up for her, seeing as they had so many left.

  ‘Bye, Alf. See you tomorrow.’

  ‘I can drop you home if you like,’ said Dougie’s mother. ‘The car’s just outside.’

  Lola beamed; free chips and a lift home in a brand new Jaguar. This was definitely her lucky day.

  Outside on the pavement it was stiflingly hot and muggy. Inside the Jaguar the cool air smelled deliciously of expensive leather and Chanel No. 19.

  ‘This is such a great car,’ sighed Lola, stroking the upholstery as Dougie’s mother started the engine.