by Jill Mansell
‘Come on.’ Gabe sounded like the guy on Fox News, only more impatient. ‘I’ve got what?’
OK, she definitely didn’t need him shouting at her, which was what he’d do if she told him the truth.
‘A lettings agent after the flat. He called earlier, wondered if you were still interested in renting it out.’ As she spoke, Sally limped over to the magazine rack and began feverishly flicking through the few magazines she hadn’t dispatched to the charity shop.
‘A lettings agent? What are you doing now?’
‘Just looking for the… um, piece of paper. I wrote down their name and number in case you wanted to call them back.’
‘Why would I call them back? I don’t want to rent the flat out.’
‘No? Well, you know, I thought I’d take their number anyway, I’m sure it’s here somewhere.’ Bloody buggering hell, this was the last time she ever tidied anything up. ‘Let me just check in the kitchen bin.’
‘Leave it.’ Gabe waved her away from the kitchen door. ‘Don’t bother. If I want to speak to a lettings agent I’ll look in the Yellow Pages.’
‘OK.’ She’d definitely thrown the letter out. And now she’d lied to him too, but he’d been so arsey he deserved it. Feeling guilty—but not guilty enough to confess—Sally picked up her holdall and headed for the door. ‘Bye.’
Gabe was bent over his laptop, scrolling through the day’s photographs. He muttered ‘Bye,’ without looking up.
Bastard. He hadn’t even wished her luck for her first day back at work tomorrow.
Reaching for her stick and limping more heavily than she needed to, Sally clumped out.
***
Gabe let out a groan and sat back on the sofa. He hadn’t even wished her good luck for tomorrow. The last ten days had been a journey to hell and back. All he could ever think about was Sally and, clearly, all Sally could think about was Nick James. Equally clearly, Nick must have passed some comment about the mess she surrounded herself with, prompting this afternoon’s out-of-the-blue blitz on the flat.
Gabe rubbed his face then ran his hands over his messed-up hair in defeat. And what had that business with the phone call from the lettings agent been about? Was that Sally’s way of dropping a hint, subliminally indicating that before long she’d be gone? Shit, and to think that for the first few weeks of her being here he’d wanted her out.
The phone rang.
‘Hi, it’s me.’ Lola, finishing up at Kingsley’s, sounded in a flap. ‘Just to let you know I’m going over to EJ’s so I won’t be home till late. But if anyone feels like cooking anything and saving some for me, they could leave it in my fridge for when I get back.’
‘Sorry. I’m working and Sally’s already gone out,’ Gabe said evenly. ‘She didn’t say where.’
There was a moment’s silence, then Lola said, ‘Oh, that’s right, her boss invited her over for dinner. She mentioned it yesterday.’
Hmm, lying to her friend, covering her tracks. Gabe wondered how Lola would react if she knew who Sally was really with.
‘She took an overnight bag.’ Jealousy welled up; it was on the tip of his tongue to tell her.
‘Really? Well, it’s probably easier for work. No need to sound so disapproving.’ Lola sounded amused. ‘I’m sure Sal’s not having an affair with him. He’s a bit old for her.’
Gabe took a deep breath. Should he say it?
‘Anyway, wish me luck,’ Lola babbled on. ‘My stomach’s churning like an ice-cream maker. I’m finishing with EJ tonight. God, I hope he takes it well, I don’t want him to be upset.’
That was it, Gabe realized he couldn’t do it. If he told Lola now, she was the one who’d be upset. She had enough on her plate for one evening; let her get the EJ thing dealt with and out of the way first.
Chapter 47
It was like being on a really strict diet and having someone present you with a year’s supply of Thornton’s truffles. Lola had never actually been on a really strict diet owing to her inability to give up… well, Thornton’s truffles, but she just knew this was how it would feel. Toby Rowe was a multimillionaire music mogul and an old friend of EJ’s. It had been thrilling enough being invited along to his fortieth birthday party, held at the kind of private members club Lola had only ever dreamed of visiting, but now Toby was offering something more.
Life just wasn’t fair.
‘Come on.’ Toby’s tone was cajoling. ‘It’s only for a week. You can take a week off work, can’t you? EJ, work your magic on this girl, make her say yes.’
There were people in this room so famous they’d make your head spin, and rumors swirling around that Bono was going to be dropping in later. If that happened, Lola knew her head would swivel right off.
‘Say yes,’ EJ joined in. ‘It’ll be fantastic. If I can take a week off, surely you can too.’
Toby already had a party of ten friends flying out in the first week of April to stay at his villa on St Kitts. Evidently it was large enough to accommodate two more. From the sound of things it could hold another twenty. And the people joining Toby and his girlfriend were all major players in the music business. Lola would be practically the only civilian. Just the thought of sunbathing around the pool in the company of singers with triple platinum albums to their names was almost too exciting to bear.
‘Go on,’ Toby added with a persuasive wink, ‘you know you want to.’
Lola bit her lip; of course she wanted to, more than anything. Imagine Robbie Williams asking if she’d mind rubbing suncream into his shoulders…
Oh God, this was torture. ‘I have to check the staff rota. I’m not sure if I can take the time off.’
‘Couldn’t you just phone in at the last minute,’ said Toby, ‘and tell the boss you’ve got flu?’
Wouldn’t that be nice?
‘Except I am the boss.’ Lola pulled a face. ‘And I wouldn’t believe me. I’m always suspicious when people phone in with a croaky voice and tell me they have flu.’
Toby said, ‘Or when they ring in with a croaky voice to tell you they’ve sprained an ankle.’
‘What I really hate,’ said EJ, ‘is when we’re recording an album and they phone up with a croaky voice to tell me they’ve got a croaky voice.’
Lola’s heart sank as he grinned his quirky, lopsided grin. He was such good company, the kind of person anyone would love to have as a friend. And he had buckets of money… why, why couldn’t she look at him and feel a frisson of lust?
But there you go, she couldn’t and that was that. She wasn’t being fair to him. Checking her watch, Lola saw that it was midnight and she had to be at work by eight tomorrow morning. It was time to do what she had to do. She touched EJ’s arm and said, ‘I need to get home. If you want to stay on, I can get a cab.’
But EJ was far too much of a gentleman to do that. He shook his head and put down his orange juice. ‘It’s OK. I’m pretty shattered too.’
They said their goodbyes to Toby and his friends. As EJ drove back to Notting Hill, he told her more about Toby’s villa on St Kitts, about the view over Half Moon Bay, the golf course, the scuba diving, the spectacular Black Rocks—
‘I’m sorry,’ Lola blurted out, ‘I can’t go.’
‘Don’t say that. You haven’t checked with work yet.’
Her fingernails dug into her palms as she squeezed her fists tight. ‘It’s not work.’
‘No?’ EJ pulled up at traffic lights, glanced sideways at her. ‘Is it the plane tickets? Because that’s not a problem. I’ll pay for those.’
The lights from the Burger King opposite were reflecting off his glasses. He was such a thoughtful person. Mental images of Half Moon Bay floated tantalizingly in front of Lola—tropical palms, a glittering turquoise ocean, herself tanned and magically thinner than usual in a pink bikini…
&
nbsp; ‘OK, here’s the thing.’ Gearing herself up, Lola wished he could be driving the battered old Fiesta tonight; she didn’t want to be responsible for him damaging his beloved Lamborghini. ‘EJ, I really like you but we’re going to have to stop seeing each other.’ The lights changed and they moved forward; flinching and praying he wouldn’t go careering into the bus ahead of them, she said hastily, ‘But you’re a fantastic person.’
EJ remained in control of the Lamborghini. Dryly he said, ‘But not quite fantastic enough.’
‘Oh, don’t say that! I’m sorry! It’s not you, it’s me, I just—mind that cyclist!’
‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to hit the cyclist.’
‘But I don’t want you to be upset.’
‘Lola, it’s OK. It’s not your fault.’ He steered skillfully around a couple of drunks staggering across the road, then indicated left and pulled into a side street. ‘Would it help at all if I said I’d kind of guessed this might be coming?’
The streetlights illuminated the angles of his face. Behind the spectacles Lola glimpsed sadness mixed with stoicism.
They’d never even slept together.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘You’re so nice…’
‘I know I am. I also know I’m not the world’s best looking guy, but I was kind of hoping to win you over with my brilliant personality.’ He shot her a lopsided smile, seemingly able to read her mind. ‘That’s why I never tried to get you into bed, in case you were wondering. Because I knew you hadn’t reached the stage yet where you really wanted to. I thought if I was patient… well, that the right time would come along and everything would be perfect. But there was always the risk that you’d bail out before it had a chance to happen.’ He pulled a wry face. ‘And guess what? I was right, you’re bailing out. Maybe I’m psychic.’
‘But you’ve slept with so many incredible girls,’ Lola protested. ‘Famous ones! Loads more glamorous than me!’
‘Maybe I have.’ He shrugged, half smiled. ‘Maybe they don’t mean so much.’
‘Oh God, don’t say that.’ Lola felt terrible now.
‘Sorry, I don’t want you to feel guilty. Hey, it’s OK. Really. Can’t make chemistry happen if it isn’t there. It’s a shame, but I’ll survive.’
‘You deserve someone fantastic.’ Lola really meant it.
‘Thanks.’ EJ started the Lamborghini up again and drove her home.
Before she climbed out of the car, Lola hugged him hard and said, ‘Have a great time in St Kitts.’
He smiled, sad for a moment, then gave her waist a squeeze. ‘I have to say, all credit to you for telling me tonight. A lot of girls would have waited until after the five-star, all-expenses-paid holiday.’
‘I know.’ Lola wondered if she’d live to regret it. ‘I think I’m probably mad.’
As he planted a goodbye kiss on her cheek, EJ said with affection, ‘That’s probably why I liked you so much in the first place.’
Chapter 48
What a shame you couldn’t fall in love with a man as easily as you could fall in love with a coat.
‘This is it.’ Lola hugged herself and did a happy twirl in front of the antique, rust-spotted mirror propped against the side of the stall. ‘This is the one. It’s perfect!’
‘Fabulous.’ Sally nodded in agreement.
Blythe, ever practical, said, ‘How much?’
But Lola didn’t care. It was love at first sight. The moment she’d clapped eyes on the coat, fuchsia-pink velvet, long and swirly, she’d known it was the one for her. And they’d be happy together; the coat wouldn’t reject her. It wouldn’t haughtily announce that it didn’t want to be her coat. It would never let her down, stand her up or make her cry.
Plus it had an iridescent violet satin lining; how many men could boast that?
Oh yes, when everything else around you was going pear-shaped, there was always Portobello Market, with its bustle and color and endless treasure trove of shops and stalls, to cheer you up.
Just as there was always someone to nag you about money.
‘Lola. Tag,’ Blythe prompted, pointing to the sleeve.
This was the downside of having a mother who went for quantity rather than quality every time. Blythe lived for the sales. Her idea of heaven was rummaging through the bargain rails in charity shops where you could buy a whole new outfit for six pounds fifty.
‘Um… forty-five.’ Lola attempted to hide the tag up the coat’s sleeve as her mother approached.
Too late. Blythe peered at the tag then dropped it as if it had barked at her. ‘Two hundred and forty-five!’ She gazed at Lola and Sally in disbelief. ‘Pounds!’ Just in case they’d thought she meant Turkish lira.
‘But Mum, it’s a coat.’
‘It’s a secondhand coat.’ Blythe was indignant.
‘Vintage,’ said the stallholder.
‘If this was in a charity shop you’d be able to buy it for twenty pounds!’
‘But this coat isn’t in a charity shop,’ the stallholder patiently explained.
‘Not any more it isn’t. I bet that’s where you found it, though. You probably bought it for a tenner and now you’re selling it for silly money! Lola, offer her fifty pounds and not a penny more. Barter with the girl.’
‘Mum, sshh, look at the label. If this coat was on sale in Harvey Nichols it would cost thousands.’
‘But see how thin it is. You can hardly call it a coat—it won’t even keep you warm!’
Lola briefly considered pretending to give up, carrying on along the road, and secretly scuttling back this afternoon. But how could she risk leaving such a beautiful thing for even a few minutes? What if someone else came along and snapped it up? It would be like leaving George Clooney on a street corner and expecting him to still be there waiting for you hours later.
Besides, she was twenty-seven years old, not seven. She looked the stallholder squarely in the eye and said, ‘Two hundred.’
The stallholder, who knew a pushover when she saw one, shrugged and said, ‘Sorry, I can’t go below two thirty.’ The subtext being: because I know how badly you want this.
Lola took out her purse and began counting out twenties.
‘Lola, you can’t buy it.’
‘Mum, I love this coat. It’ll make me happy. And it’s my money, I can spend it how I like.’
‘I don’t know where she gets it from,’ Blythe tut-tutted as Lola rolled her eyes at the stallholder. ‘Two hundred and thirty pounds for somebody else’s old cast-off. That’s shocking.’
At last the transaction was complete and they moved on. Sally, after a week back at work, was relishing her day off and getting along quite niftily now with the help of her walking stick. Blythe stopped at a stall selling patchwork waistcoats and said, these are fun, and they’re only fifteen pounds!’
‘They’re horrible,’ said Sally.
‘Oh. Are you sure?’ Blythe looked to Lola for a second opinion.
‘Really horrible,’ Lola confirmed.
‘At least they’re new. Ooh, how about this?’ Excitedly Blythe waved a peacock-blue scarf adorned with silver squiggles. ‘Seven pounds!’
Lola nodded. What harm could a scarf do? The sooner her mother bought something, the sooner she’d stop going on about the coat. ‘Yes, buy it.’
‘No, don’t buy it!’ Sally let out a snort of laughter and waggled her hands in a bid to draw Lola’s attention to something on the scarf.
‘Honestly, you two,’ Blythe grumbled. ‘It’s like going shopping with the What Not to Wear ladies. What’s wrong with—’
‘My God! Lola!’
Everyone turned in unison at the sound of the girl’s voice. Next moment Lola found herself having the breath hugged out of her lungs as market-goers swirled around them on the pavem
ent.
At last Jeannie put her down and Lola said, ‘I don’t believe it. Look at you! You’re so brown.’
‘That’s because I’m living in Marbella now! We’re just back for a few days visiting my mum.’ Jeannie’s hair was sunbleached, her skin was the color of a hazelnut and she was wearing faded, hippyish clothes and flip-flops. ‘And you aren’t brown,’ she said cheerfully, ‘so that must mean you live in unsunny Britain.’
‘I do. I live right here in Notting Hill. And this is my mum.’ Lola indicated Blythe. ‘And my friend Sally. Mum, this is Jeannie from school.’
‘Oh, the Jeannie you went off with to Majorca! How lovely to meet you at last,’ Blythe exclaimed. ‘And what a coincidence—fancy bumping into you like this!’
As things had turned out, Lola hadn’t ended up spending more than a few days with Jeannie. Shortly after her arrival in Alcudia, Jeannie had hooked up with a boy called Brad who was moving on to work in a restaurant on a surfer’s beach in Lanzarote. Jeannie had gone with him the following week and that had been the last she and Lola had seen of each other. Lola, aware that her mother and Alex would have been worried sick if they’d known she was out there on her own, had discreetly glossed over that snippet in her postcards home.
‘Such a coincidence!’ echoed Jeannie. ‘I was just looking at Sarah’s jacket, admiring it from a distance, then I saw who she was talking to and I was just, like, ohmigod!’ She ran her fingers over the sleeve of Sally’s caramel leather jacket and said appreciatively, ‘It’s even better close up.’
‘Sally,’ said Sally.
‘Huh? My name’s Jeannie.’
‘I know. You just called me Sarah. I’m Sally, Sally Tennant.’
‘Oops, sorry! Brain like a sieve, me!’ Jeannie tapped the side of her head, then stopped and began wagging her index finger in a thoughtful way. ‘Although not always. Hang on a minute, wasn’t Tennant the name of that boyfriend of yours?’
The index finger was now pointing questioningly at Lola.
‘Doug Tennant.’ Sally gave a yelp of excitement. ‘That’s right, he’s my brother!’
