It Started with a Secret: The feel-good novel of the year, from the bestselling author of MAYBE THIS TIME

by Jill Mansell

  ‘It’s OK, I’ve got you,’ said Kit. ‘Just relax and lean on me; I’m stronger than I look.’

  It took a while to reach the hotel. The blonde woman’s name was Sophie, Wyatt discovered, and she was married to the man who ran the place alongside his grandmother, the glamorous Dot. She volunteered to take the dogs back to Menhenick House and Kit raced upstairs with the key to let himself into Wyatt’s room, collect his car keys and borrow a shirt. Having called Lainey to let her know what was happening, he then helped Wyatt out to the car and drove him to the local hospital. Hopefully they wouldn’t have to sit in A&E for seven hours surrounded by drunks and full-on gang warfare, which had been Wyatt’s experience last time.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Coming down the staircase on her way to the hotel’s breakfast room at 9.30, Penny stopped dead in her tracks. ‘What’s been going on?’

  The answer to that was: quite a lot. But Wyatt, levering himself to his feet, said, ‘You see, this is what happens when you stay in bed half the morning; you miss out on all the fun.’

  ‘If that’s what you call fun, I’m glad I stayed in bed. But where have you been? What happened?’ Her eyes widened. ‘Were you sleepwalking? Did you jump out of your window?’

  ‘Nothing so dramatic. I was heading down to the beach and went over on my bad ankle. Kit was there, thank goodness. He helped me up and drove me to the local hospital. They were brilliant.’ And it was true; each time they had tried to resume their conversation about Kit’s year at the chateau, they’d been interrupted, first by the triage nurse, then the doctor, then the trip to the X-ray department and finally the second meeting with the doctor. Wyatt had scarcely been able to believe the speediness of it all; within an hour he’d been fitted with a heavy surgical boot and a crutch and sent on his way.

  ‘Same ankle as before?’ Penny winced at the thought.

  ‘It’s the same break, just cracked open again. But it’s stable and it’ll mend, no need for surgery.’ He indicated the cumbersome boot. ‘I have to wear this for as long as I need it. And I can’t drive, obviously, but if we want to stay here for an extra night, it’s Kit’s day off tomorrow and he’s happy to take us down to St Ives and bring us back again after the wedding.’

  ‘Oh, but we could get a taxi.’ Penny looked worried. ‘Although it’d cost a fortune.’

  Wyatt was touched; despite his family’s wealth, she was always trying to save money on his behalf. ‘That doesn’t matter. But Kit offered and I’ve already accepted. It’d be rude to change the arrangements now.’

  ‘Poor you.’ She gave him a consoling hug. ‘You aren’t going to be able to dance!’

  ‘I’m beginning to think I’m a bit jinxed when it comes to weddings.’ Wyatt broke into a grin. ‘Never mind, I have my boot and my crutch. I’m sure I can manage to hobble in time with the music.’

  ‘Your eyes are all sparkly.’ She studied his face. ‘You look so happy.’

  ‘Possibly because I’ve been up for hours,’ Wyatt told her, ‘and I’m finally going to get some breakfast.’

  ‘You’ve got that look in your eyes,’ said Richard.

  ‘I have.’ Lainey nodded. ‘Well spotted.’

  He put down his coffee. ‘You’re going to make me do something, aren’t you?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not yet. I’m just asking for permission to open any letters addressed to you.’

  ‘Of course, fire away.’ Evidently relieved, he gestured around the cluttered study. ‘Help yourself, do your thing, answer as many letters as you like.’

  ‘And when I’ve typed them, you can sign them.’

  ‘Yes, yes. Whatever.’

  Lainey felt all-powerful; Richard’s conscience had clearly been pricked by last night’s encounter with well-meaning Penny and uber-grateful Pauline. ‘Thanks. You’ll make a lot of old ladies very happy.’

  He looked rueful. ‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? I can tell.’

  ‘I am a bit. Smile.’

  ‘What?’

  He was sitting in his favourite armchair with a fountain pen in one hand and the newspaper open at the daily crossword. He flashed a professional smile, allowing her to take a few nicely informal photos, then said, ‘I suppose you’re going to send them pictures of me looking ancient and knackered.’

  ‘You’re older than the Rolling Stones,’ Lainey reminded him. ‘You’re allowed to look ancient and knackered.’

  Richard wagged a finger at her. ‘Now you’re pushing your luck.’

  ‘Hey, you’re lucky, these woman love you for who you are. I’m just saying a little bit of interaction goes a long way.’ Lainey was already busy rummaging amongst the clutter of magazines and newspapers on the desk, picking out unopened letters that were only still there because he was too lazy to throw them away. ‘Right, I’ll make a start with these. From now on, give them to me instead of leaving them in random places. And well done,’ she added, because one thing she’d learnt whilst running the children’s club at the chateau was that praise was important. ‘You’re doing a good thing.’

  Richard’s shrug was good-natured as he returned his attention to the crossword. ‘You’re the one doing it.’ She was about to leave the sunny study when he added, ‘You forgot to look in the waste-paper bin. There’s probably a few more in there.’

  It was seven in the evening and Kit had headed off to the gym. Lainey was sitting cross-legged on the pull-out bed in the flat above the garage, surrounded by opened letters and cards, compiling a list of people to reply to. She’d already printed off a hundred of the photos and stood over Richard making sure he signed them himself rather than outsourcing the dreary task to a passing grandchild.

  Reaching across now, she picked up one of the last remaining envelopes, the turquoise one with the neatly handwritten address that had to have been sent by Pauline’s friend Nerys. OK, this was one letter she was definitely going to reply to.

  She unfolded the two sheets of matching turquoise writing paper and began to read.

  Dear Sir Richard,

  This is the third and final time I shall be writing to you. I know you don’t reply to letters as a rule, but I do wish there was a way of finding out whether or not you’ve read the previous two I sent you.

  Anyway, I hope you’re keeping well. I’ve enjoyed following your career over the years. The reason I’m contacting you is because I’d love to know if you remember my mum, Alexandra Davies. She met you while she was working as a secretary in your agent’s offices in Los Angeles. I’m afraid Mum died a few years ago, but she always loved watching you on TV. After returning from LA, she settled back into life in Cardiff. I would love to hear if you have any happy memories of her, and wanted to tell you that she thought you were a wonderful man and remembered you fondly for the rest of her life.

  That’s all. It would be lovely to hear from you, although I’ve learned that it’s highly unlikely to happen. Still, you never know, which is why I’m giving this one last try.

  Respectfully yours,

  Nerys Davies

  PS Mum’s favourite of all your films was The Unsent Letter. It always made her cry.

  Lainey refolded the sheets of writing paper, picked up her phone and called Richard’s number. Not that he often bothered to charge it up, but it was worth a try.

  ‘Hello, what now?’ By some miracle, he’d actually answered the call.

  ‘Richard, that letter in the turquoise envelope from Pauline’s friend Nerys. She’s the daughter of Alexandra Davies, who knew you years ago in LA.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Alexandra Davies. She was a secretary at your agent’s offices.’

  ‘You know what I’m like with names,’ Richard grumbled. ‘And have you any idea how many people worked in those offices?’

  ‘I just thought you might remember her.’

  ‘Well I don’t,’ said Richard. ‘Hollywood’s full of people who think actors will remember them when all they did was say hello to them once in the street. Can I get back
to my snooze now?’ Signing those photos had evidently exceeded his being-nice-to-the-fans capacity for the day.

  ‘Of course you can. I’ll write a nice letter back to Nerys apologising for your terrible memory. You enjoy your snooze.’

  He chuckled. ‘Thanks, boss.’

  ‘And you can sign the letter before I post it tomorrow.’

  ‘You’re a hard taskmaster,’ said Richard.

  Sunshine was dappling the surface of the Pacific Ocean, Venice Beach was dotted with people enjoying the weather, and Richard was wondering if he’d ever felt this happy. There she was, making her way up the beach towards him in her modest dark blue one-piece swimsuit. As she reached him, her pale skin glimmered with droplets of water and the look on her face was one of sheer joy.

  ‘You’re back.’ He was scarcely able to believe it. ‘I thought I was never going to see you again!’

  ‘I had to come back. I missed you so much.’ As she fell into his arms, her warm breath mingled with his and he felt the seawater from her swimsuit sinking into the sweater he hadn’t even known he was wearing.

  ‘I’ve missed you too. But how did you get here?’

  ‘I swam here.’ Sandy stroked his face lovingly. ‘All the way from Cardiff.’

  Richard opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling, his heart clamouring in his chest. For some reason it wasn’t the fact that she’d swum from Cardiff that had done it; it was the discovery that his body was tanned and taut, as athletic as it had been in his twenties, that had jolted him into realising this was a dream.

  But a dream that just went to show that his subconscious had been working away during the night, solving the conundrum he hadn’t managed to work out for himself.

  He’d only known her as Sandy – they’d all called her that at the agency. But of course it was short for Alexandra. Sandy’s shyness, her pale skin and soft Welsh accent had marked her out among all the tanned, confident California girls. And it was that unprepossessing manner that had charmed him when he’d got to know her.

  Having been able to identify Alexandra Davies as Sandy, Richard felt as if the last piece of a jigsaw had just slotted satisfyingly into place. And now her daughter had written to him asking if he remembered her mother, which meant Sandy wanted to see him again and was wondering, in her characteristically shy way, if he would be interested in meeting up with her.

  He checked his bedside clock and tried to decide whether it would be OK to wake Lainey at 5.23 in the morning.

  Because the answer to Sandy’s question was yes, yes he definitely would.

  Chapter 27

  Hurrying to answer the hammering at the door at 6.30, a dozen possibilities as to what could be wrong flashed through Lainey’s mind, the most likely among them being that something bad had happened to Richard.

  Well, he was eighty; sooner or later it was going to come to them all.

  But when she unlocked the door, there he was on the top step outside the flat, fully dressed and completely alive.

  ‘What’s happened?’ said Lainey. ‘Is someone ill?’

  ‘No. I’ve remembered who she is. I do know her!’

  For heaven’s sake, was he drunk? ‘Who do you know?’

  ‘Alexandra. Sandy!’

  She leaned against the door. ‘Richard, it’s half past six in the morning.’

  ‘I know! I waited a whole hour before I came over. Are you going to let me in? I’ll make you a cup of tea if you want. We went out together for a few weeks . . . well, not out out, because it needed to be under the radar.’ Having followed her inside, he watched as she swept the sheets and pillows off the bed and expertly folded it back into its day job as a sofa. ‘Well will you look at that? Marvellous what they can do these days.’

  ‘Why did you have to be under the radar?’

  ‘It was when I was meant to be having a passionate affair with Lara O’Leary. I wasn’t, because she was a lesbian, but our studios needed the public to think we were a couple. Right, where d’you keep the tea bags? And the milk? And the cups?’

  ‘Sit down.’ Lainey indicated the sofa. ‘I’ll make the tea.’

  ‘I bumped into her in a coffee shop one evening, close to my agent’s offices. Literally bumped into her,’ Richard went on. ‘She dropped her doughnut on the floor, so I bought her another. She was the loveliest thing, unlike anyone I’d ever met before. We started seeing each other and it was such a breath of fresh air . . . She used to wear dark glasses and a headscarf and slip into my apartment building so no one knew what was going on. And she was happy for us to be a secret too. Unlike all the other girls over there, who only ever wanted us to be seen out together in public.’

  ‘I like this story.’ Lainey’s voice softened, because he was so clearly picturing his young girlfriend in his mind’s eye.

  ‘I dreamt about her last night. Isn’t that amazing? It was like we were there, together again on Venice Beach . . .’

  ‘So what happened? Back then, I mean. Not in the dream.’ She finished stirring sugar into his tea and passed the mug to him. ‘What went wrong?’

  ‘Nothing went wrong between us. Her father was taken ill and needed looking after, I heard, back in Wales. I was in Rome for a few weeks, shooting a movie. By the time I got back, Sandy was gone. Left her apartment, left the agency, left LA. She didn’t leave any kind of message or write to me and I had no way of getting in touch with her. It was fifty-odd years ago,’ Richard said defensively when Lainey frowned. ‘Not like these days.’

  ‘But surely—’

  ‘She was the one who left. It was her decision to break contact. So why would I knock myself out trying to track her down? I wasn’t going to beg.’

  ‘OK.’ Lainey sat at the little dining table opposite him. That made sense. Richard was unaccustomed to rejection in any form, and his pride had been dented. And presumably there would have been plenty of beautiful aspiring actresses only too eager to take his mind off the shy Welsh girl who’d left LA without saying goodbye.

  ‘But that was then,’ Richard’s eyes were bright, ‘and this is now. If asking her daughter to write to me is Sandy’s way of getting back in touch . . . well, why not? I’m up for that. It’s not as if I’m going to bear a grudge. That’s why I’m here, to stop you sending off the letter saying I don’t remember her. I know you said you’d make me sign it, but then I thought maybe you’d forge my signature to get it in the post—’

  ‘Richard, you haven’t read the letter from Nerys yet.’ Yeesh, this was awful; how was she to know he’d not only suddenly remember who Alexandra was but would turn out to have a belated yearning to see her again?

  ‘Well show it to me then! Is there a phone number? I’m going to give her a call, suggest we meet up and—’

  ‘OK, stop.’ Lainey held up her hands and crossed to the cupboard containing the file she’d put together last night. Rustling through the many letters, she found the one from Nerys, hesitating before passing it over to him. ‘Richard, I’m so sorry, Sandy isn’t with us any more. She died a few years ago.’

  As he searched her face, the light faded from his eyes. He sat back against the sofa and his shoulders sagged. ‘Oh. Fuck. Are you sure?’ But it was said with resignation rather than despair. Once you reached eighty, the death of your contemporaries no longer came as a massive surprise.

  ‘I really am sorry,’ Lainey said, and gave him the letter.

  Richard read it in silence, then heaved a sigh and shook his head. ‘Well, that’s that. What a shame.’

  ‘I’ll throw away the letter I wrote to her from you.’

  ‘What did it say?’

  ‘Just that you were so sorry you couldn’t quite remember Alexandra, but your memory for names wasn’t great these days, and that those had been happy times and you were sorry to hear of her death. I also said you were delighted to hear that her mum had enjoyed watching The Unsent Letter because although it hadn’t been one of your more successful films, it was always one of your personal favourites.�
�� Lainey opened a second folder and took out the typed letter. ‘Here, you can borrow bits of it.’

  ‘Bits of it? Why would I want to borrow them?’

  ‘So you can write back to Nerys.’

  Richard looked baffled. ‘Can’t we just send her that one?’

  ‘But you’ve remembered Sandy now! You know who she was . . . you were a couple! It was a lovely romantic story and you were desperate to meet up with her again, so you need to tell Nerys that. She’ll be thrilled!’

  ‘I did want to meet up with her. But I can’t, can I? Because she’s dead.’ His disappointment was palpable.

  ‘I know, and it’s sad. But don’t you want to write to Nerys anyway? She’ll be able to tell you more about her mum, won’t she?’

  Richard shrugged. ‘She’s still going to be dead, though.’

  ‘I’ll write it if you want. But it’d be so much better coming from you. And look, there’s an email address, you could send her a quick message this morning.’

  He frowned. ‘If there was an email address, why were we going to post a letter back to her?’

  ‘Because people prefer proper letters, that’s why. They can show them off to their friends. But email’s quicker and easier, obviously, and it’s not as if Nerys is one of those fans who’s desperate for a handwritten signature.’

  Richard rose to his feet. ‘I can’t believe I was stupid enough to believe you when you said none of this was going to take more than ten minutes.’

  For the next couple of hours he sat in a garden chair overlooking the bay and allowed his mind to drift back to the time he and Sandy had spent together. Part of him couldn’t see the point in making contact with her daughter, but part of him did want to hear more.