by Jill Mansell
Lola’s heart sank like a dropped anchor.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Doug demanded.
‘I offered ten thousand. But that wasn’t enough for her. She demanded fifteen.’ Adele shrugged elegantly. ‘And then, when I refused, she started haggling.’
Oh God.
‘So did you,’ Lola whispered.
Doug shook his head. ‘I don’t believe this. How much did you end up with?’
‘Twelve.’
‘Twelve and a half,’ said Adele the hateful witch.
‘OK, but I needed that—’
‘Stop.’ Dougie held up his hands. ‘I’ve heard enough. Now I definitely need a drink.’ He turned and strode back into the drawing room.
Lola watched him go. It probably wasn’t the moment to be thinking this, but he was even more irresistible when he was angry.
‘Now see what you’ve done,’ said Adele. ‘Why don’t you leave before you ruin the entire evening?’
It might have been a tempting proposition earlier but that was before Dougie had turned up. Since leaving was no longer an option—because what if she never saw him again?—Lola said, ‘Look, I’m not as bad as you’re making out. I only took that money because there was an emergency and I desperately needed it. I’m actually a really nice person. Can’t we just forget about all that old stuff?’
I patted your thigh, for God’s sake.
Adele exhaled audibly. ‘None of us was expecting this to happen this evening. I’m grateful for what you did the other night, obviously. But I can’t pretend I’m happy to see you again. Giving you the money was what I needed to do at the time, but I never wanted Doug to find out.’
‘Trust me, neither did I. He overheard me on the phone and I really wish he hadn’t. That’s why I need to talk to him properly, to explain. Don’t worry, I won’t slag you off.’ As Lola said this she saw Adele wince at the turn of phrase, proving as it did how common she was and how wildly unsuitable for someone as well brought up as Doug.
‘Well, let’s just get through the rest of the evening without any more unpleasantness.’ Adele shook her coiffured hair slightly as if dismissing the thought of it from her mind. Cracking a thin pseudo-smile she said, ‘Shall we go through and join the others?’
‘I’ll follow in a minute, when I’ve just, um…’ Lola pointed to the downstairs loo, dithered over what the polite word for it was, then wondered why she was bothering. ‘After I’ve had a quick wee.’
The cloakroom was small but stylish, all ivory marble and tasteful lighting. A bit too tasteful actually; Lola, touching up her make-up, had to lean right across the sink to get close enough to the mirror to check she didn’t have speckles of mascara on her cheeks.
Lost in thought about Doug and how she might win him over against his better judgment, Lola jumped out of her skin when her phone suddenly rang. Losing her precarious balance and about to topple nose first into the mirror, she put out a hand to stop herself and sent her make-up bag flying off the side of the sink.
‘Noooo!’ Lola let out a shriek of horror as the bag landed with a splosh in the toilet bowl. Not her make-up… oh God…
It was too late, the contents of her cosmetics bag were already drowned. All her favorite things—lovely eyeshadows, bronzing powder, eye pencils, her three very best lipsticks—were sitting there submerged in the bottom of the loo. And to add insult to injury her bloody phone was still ringing.
‘Gabe, I know you’re trying to help, but NOT NOW!’ Switching the phone off again, Lola surveyed the scene of devastation and let out a groan of despair. ‘Oh hell…’
Then she jumped again, because someone was tapping cautiously on the cloakroom door.
‘Hello? Everything OK in there?’ It was a worried female, possibly Sally.
‘It’s all right. I’m fine.’ At the sight of her all-time favorite Urban Decay super-sparkly mocha eyeshadow, Lola could have cried.
‘Lola? Is that you? What’s happened?’
Seeing as it was Sally, Lola unlocked the door.
She didn’t have to say a word.
‘Oh no, poor you! Crikey, no wonder you let out a screech. I had my handbag stolen once.’ Sally squeezed her arm in sympathy. ‘I mean, having to replace my credit cards and stuff was a pain in the neck. But losing my make-up was just traumatic. When I found out my favorite mascara had been discontinued I practically had a nervous breakdown right there in Harvey Nicks.’
Despite everything, Lola grinned. ‘You’re making me feel so much better.’
‘Oh, sorry!’
‘And we can’t leave it in there.’ Bracing herself, Lola bent down and gingerly picked the unzipped make-up bag out of the toilet bowl then dropped it—splat—into the waste bin beneath the sink. ‘Typical that it had to happen before I had a chance to do my mouth.’
‘Well, I can help you there. You want to borrow lipstick? Just come upstairs with me.’
Everything in Sally’s bedroom was yellow and white and super-tidy. Sitting on the king-sized bed and gazing around, Lola said, ‘This is a great room.’
‘It’d be more great if it wasn’t in my mother’s house.’ Sally grimaced. ‘Not that I don’t love her, but it’s hardly ideal, is it? I’m thirty-six. I was living with my boyfriend in Wimbledon until a fortnight ago but we broke up so I moved in here temporarily.’
‘What happened with you and the boyfriend?’
‘Oh God, nightmare. I’m a walking disaster when it comes to men.’ Sally shook her head. ‘I paid for him to have his teeth bleached as a birthday present because that’s what he wanted. Next thing I know, he’s telling me he’s seeing the dental nurse. So that’s it, I’m single again, back with my mother, and giving up on men. I’m going to buy myself a dear little cottage somewhere in the country and breed llamas instead. Knit my own socks and grow my own jam. Wouldn’t that be idyllic?’ She paused, holding up a fuchsia-pink Chanel lipstick and scrutinizing Lola’s mouth. ‘What kind of color are you after?’
‘Something rusty-bronzy rather than pink, if you’ve got it. Can you knit?’
‘Well, no, but I could always pay some sweet little old lady to do that for me. Rusty-bronzy, rusty-bronzy…’ Sally was busily rummaging through the boxes on her dressing table.
‘If you’d rather live in Notting Hill, my neighbor’s off to Australia next week. He’s letting his flat out for a year.’ Lola couldn’t help herself; it was worth a shot and at least Sally didn’t work in a slaughterhouse.
‘Is he? I haven’t been to Notting Hill for years. Oooh, I know the one you need…’ Sally flitted out of the bedroom, returning moments later with a lipstick in a bullet-shaped gold case. ‘Here you go, it was on the bathroom shelf all the time. Is this more you?’
Lola took it with relief. Versace, no less, and a gorgeous, distinctive shade of russet-red with a brownish-gold lustre. ‘This is exactly me.’ Peering into the dressing-table mirror, she applied it with a flourish and smacked her lips together. ‘Perfect. Now I can face the world again. Does Dougie have a girlfriend?’
‘D’you know, I’m not sure. He was seeing someone a while back, but I don’t know if it’s still going on. You know what men are like, they don’t talk about that kind of stuff like we do.’ Sally fluffed translucent powder onto her nose and said, ‘Why? Do you still fancy him?’
Only an older sister could say it quite like that, as if it was on a par with fancying Quasimodo.
Lola said regretfully, ‘He’s gorgeous. We were so happy together once and I messed that up. It was all my own fault, I know that, I made a mistake but at the time I didn’t… I just couldn’t…’
‘Oh please, I didn’t mean to make you feel worse. You were only seventeen,’ Sally exclaimed. ‘We all make mistakes at that age. And, OK, Dougie was miserable but he recovered. It’s not like he jo
ined a monastery!’
Grateful for Sally’s understanding, Lola managed a wobbly smile. ‘I’m glad he didn’t. Sorry, seeing him again like this has been a bit overwhelming. But who knows, maybe I can persuade him I’m irresistible and he’ll forgive me…’
The bedroom door, which hadn’t been shut, swung further open. ‘Look,’ Doug said curtly, ‘I really wish I didn’t have to keep overhearing this stuff, but Philip wants to make a speech and he asked me to round everyone up.’
‘OK, we’re done here.’ Sally gaily flipped back her hair and headed for the door.
‘And can I just say,’ Doug fixed Lola with a steely knee-trembler of a gaze as she passed him in the doorway, ‘don’t waste your energy with the being irresistible bit, because I’m not interested.’
Hang on, what were the qualities he’d always admired in her when they’d been a couple? Her eternal optimism and refusal to take no for an answer?
‘You might change your mind,’ Lola said bravely. ‘I’m very lovable.’
‘Not to me.’
‘I could be. If you’d just give me a chance.’
‘Lola, don’t even bother to try. Nothing is going to happen between you and me. After this evening we won’t see each other again and that’s fine by me. So let’s just go downstairs, shall we, and get this farce over with. The sooner it’s done, the sooner you can go home.’
***
Everyone gathered in the drawing room for Philip’s speech. It was sweet, if hard to believe, hearing this nice man speak so movingly about the happiness Adele had brought into his life. Everyone raised their glasses to Adele, then Philip went on to talk about Lola and her actions on the night of the mugging. He concluded by announcing that they were all indebted to her, and that from now on she was part of the family. Cue applause, a toast and—hilariously—another brittle hug from Adele. It was like being embraced by a Ryvita.
Then the embarrassing bit was over and everyone went back to drinking and chatting amongst themselves. Everyone except Adele, who looked at Lola’s mouth and said, ‘What an extraordinary coincidence, you appear to use the same lipstick as me.’
Oh bugger, bugger. And she knew.
‘Sorry.’ Lola couldn’t believe she hadn’t recognized it earlier. ‘I… um, lost mine and Sally offered to lend me one. I didn’t realize it was yours.’
‘You may as well take it with you when you leave.’ Adele shuddered as if Lola had just spat on the hors d’oeuvres. ‘It’s not as if I’d use it again now.’
‘Everything OK?’ Doug joined them.
‘Lola used my lipstick.’ With an incredulous half-laugh Adele said, ‘I must be old-fashioned. It just seems an incredibly brazen thing to do. So… personal.’
Lola opened her mouth to protest but now Dougie was surveying her with equal distaste, as if she were Typhoid Mary going around spreading her vile germs on other people’s lipsticks. There came a time when you simply had to accept that winning someone over wasn’t an option.
When Lola’s phone trilled for the third time that evening, Adele’s mouth narrowed with fresh annoyance.
‘Will you stop hanging up on me?’ Gabe demanded. ‘I do have better things to do with my time than keep trying to get through to you. It’s not that complicated,’ he rattled on. ‘I just need to know if everything’s going OK. A simple yes or no will—’
‘Are you serious? The contractions are how far apart? Just wait there and stay calm,’ said Lola. ‘Boil the kettle and take deep breaths. I’m on my way.’
Chapter 10
‘I dreamt about him last night,’ said Lola.
Cheryl was restocking the bestseller shelves at the front of the shop. Pausing to gaze at the book in her hand, she frowned and said, ‘Dreamt about whom? Harry Potter?’
‘As if. I’m talking about Dougie, you dingbat.’
‘Oh. You mean you’re still talking about Dougie. Do the words “not a hope in hell” mean anything to you?’
Honestly, just because Cheryl’s marriage had ended in a bad way; now forty and happily divorced, she was enjoying a man-free life. Doggedly, Lola said, ‘Failure is not an option.’
‘Flogging a dead horse?’ Cheryl persisted. ‘Chasing rainbows? Expecting a miracle?’
‘Don’t be such a pessimist. I dreamt I was rowing a boat down Portobello Road and I lost one of my oars, but all of a sudden Dougie swam up to me and jumped into the boat.’
‘And tipped you out?’
‘And rescued me! He showed me the hidden switch that turned on the engine.’ Lola felt herself growing misty-eyed at the memory. ‘And the next thing I knew, we were whizzing along like something out of a James Bond film, all through the streets with people screaming and diving out of our way, and Dougie was sitting next to me with his leg pressing against mine…’
‘Is this about to turn into one of those mucky dreams?’
‘Sadly not. We didn’t have time. My alarm went off.’ Lola passed Cheryl a handful of Dan Browns; it was Monday afternoon, three days since the party, and Dougie had taken up more or less permanent residence inside her head. It wasn’t going to be easy, making someone love you again when they didn’t even want to see you, but she’d never felt this way about anyone else; having him reappear in her life like this was just—
‘By the way, someone’s watching you,’ said Cheryl.
‘They are? Who?’ It didn’t take long to conjure up a fantasy; in less than a split second Lola had the whole Officer-and-a-Gentleman scenario rolling. When she turned round, Dougie would be making his way across the shop floor towards her like Richard Gere. OK, maybe he wouldn’t actually be wearing that white officer’s uniform but he’d still sweep her effortlessly up into his arms and carry her out, while staff and customers alike clapped and cheered, whooping with delight and calling out, ‘Way to go, Lola.’
‘That one over there by autobiographies.’
Lola turned slowly and another delicious fantasy was dashed. For crying out loud, the man was in his fifties; why would she even want him to carry her out of the shop?
‘That’s not Doug.’
Cheryl rolled her eyes. ‘I didn’t say it was. He’s been looking over at you, that’s all. Really looking.’
‘Probably saw me on TV last week and now he’s trying to pluck up the courage to ask for my autograph.’ Lola prepared to smile in a cheery, down-to-earth fashion and prove that fame hadn’t gone to her head—God, wouldn’t it be fantastic if he really did ask?—but the man had turned away. Oh well. Ooh, unless he was a private detective hired by Dougie to find out if she was a nicer person now than she’d been ten years ago… he’d done his best to put her out of his mind but hadn’t been able to… maybe he could forgive her after all…
‘Are you daydreaming again? Tim’s waving at you,’ Cheryl pointed out. ‘They’re short-handed over at the pay desk.’
Ten minutes later Lola’s fan arrived at her till. Up close he was younger than she’d first thought; in his mid-forties probably. His hair was dark and just that bit longer than usual, and he was wearing a striped mulberry and olive shirt with well-cut black trousers. Quite trendy for a man of his age. Nice grey eyes too.
‘I’ve never read one of these before.’ He passed over the book, a thriller by a prolific American author. ‘Is he good?’
‘Seriously good. You won’t be able to stop reading even when you want to. You’ll be holding your breath for hours.’ Lola rang the book up, aware that the man was studying her name badge.
‘Sorry.’ He saw that she’d noticed. ‘Nice name. Unusual.’
‘Thanks.’ She took his ten pound note and scooped the change out of the till. He was way too old for her to be interested in him in any romantic way but he had an attractive smile. ‘There you go. Hope you enjoy it. Don’t blame me if you get sacked for not being able to stay a
wake at work tomorrow.’
His smile broadened. ‘And if I do enjoy it, I’ll be back to buy another one.’
There was something about the way he was looking at her that made Lola wonder if this was how it felt to be famous. She said lightly, ‘Do you recognize me?’
He looked startled. ‘What?’
‘I was interviewed on TV the other night. I thought maybe you’d seen it.’
The man’s expression cleared. ‘No, I’m afraid I missed that. I just came in to buy a book.’
Damn, she wasn’t famous after all. ‘Sorry.’
‘No problem.’ He relaxed visibly. ‘I’m sorry I missed it. Were you good?’
‘I was brilliant.’ As Lola passed him the bag containing his thriller a thought struck her: Why was he now visibly relaxed? Innocently she said, ‘Does anyone ever recognize you?’
Ha, that surprised him.
‘Excuse me?’
‘I just wondered if people ever realized who you are.’
Another pause. ‘Why would they?’
‘Maybe because they’re very clever and they’ve worked it out.’ Lola flashed him a sunny smile.
He looked at her. ‘Worked what out?’
‘That you’re a private detective.’
‘Me?’ He pointed to his chest, shaking his head in amused disbelief. ‘Is that what you think? I’m not a private detective.’
Luckily there was a lull at the tills; no other customers were waiting to be served.
‘Ah,’ said Lola, ‘but you would say that, wouldn’t you?’
‘I suppose so. But I’m still not one.’
‘Except that could be you covering your tracks, like any good private detective would.’
He tilted his head to one side. ‘So if I was, which I promise I’m not, who would I be spying on?’
‘Ooh, I don’t know. Anyone in this shop.’ Lola shrugged playfully. ‘Me, perhaps.’
‘You. And why would a private detective be tailing you?’ Another brief pause. ‘Are you in some kind of trouble?’
