It Started with a Secret

by Jill Mansell

  “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 anymore. 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 favorites.” 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.

  Finally, he headed back to the office, sat down with his iPad, and began to compose an email.

  Dear Nerys,

  Thank you for your letter. Sorry about not reading the previous ones you sent. Of course I remember your mother, Sandy. She was a lovely girl and I’m so sorry to hear she’s no longer with us. We shared such happy times together, and I remember how sad I was when she left to look after her father. I hope her life was happy after she returned to the UK.

  Sorry, I’m not very good at writing. Not my greatest skill. If you have any photos of Sandy, I’d like to see them.

  Best wishes,

  Richard

  It was a stilted, poorly constructed effort, he knew that. With the endless alterations, it had taken him the better part of an hour to write those few lines. Lainey could have managed it in two minutes, but he was determined to do it himself, without the help of a ghostwriter. He pressed Send, then sat back and closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun on his eyelids. How long would it be before he heard back?

  All of a sudden, he couldn’t bear the fact that he was now the one having to wait. The words Always so impatient! sang through his mind, and he looked at the framed photo on his desk of his beloved lost son, remembering how Tony had always teased him for his inability to allow things to happen in their own good time.

  He felt the familiar cavernous ache of loss for the boy he’d loved so much. Oh, Tony, is that really you talking to me? How I wish you were still here.

  * * *

  “Well?” said Lainey when he found her in the kitchen energetically scrubbing the floor.

  “I’ve sent her an email, asked if she has any photos of Sandy.”

  “That’s great!”

  “But that was ten minutes ago and she hasn’t got back to me yet.”

  “Pot, kettle,” said Lainey.

  “I know, I know. Feel free to gloat.”

  “Want me to make you a coffee?”

  “I can make my own.” He found the pods and took a mug down from the cupboard; if it hadn’t been still early, a proper drink would have gone down nicely and settled the butterflies in his chest. God, waiting for something important to happen was just the pits; how he hated the way it made him feel.

  Ting sang the iPad he’d carried in and left on the kitchen table, and his pulse rate doubled.

  “Is it her?” Lainey stopped scrubbing and sat back on her heels.

  “Yes.” Richard nodded and opened the email. It took a few seconds for the attached photos to download, and as soon as he saw them, a lump expanded in his throat.

  He should have known this would be a mistake. “Are you OK?” Lainey sounded concerned.

  It came out as a croak. “When I asked to see photos, I wasn’t expecting her to send me these.”

  There were three, and the sight of them had sent him hurtling back in time to a lazy summer’s afternoon in his apartment. He’d brought home a camera with a self-timer, and they’d been able to take photos of the two of them together. Nothing seedy, just normal happy snaps, with Sandy wearing a pink-and-white-gingham dress and the biggest smile, and himself in a white shirt and dark-gray high-waisted trousers, with his arms around her waist and their heads close together. In the third photo, they were kissing, and he could remember it as clearly as if it had happened yesterday: the feel of her skin, the smell of her neck, the sound of her laughter…

  He swallowed the lump in his throat. “She could have sold these to the movie magazines, made some money. But she didn’t.”

  “Because she was a good person.” Lainey was at his s
ide now, studying the photos. “She looks lovely.”

  “She was.” He scrolled up to read what Nerys had written above them: These are the ones she especially treasured. Did you want me to send you a couple of more recent pics?

  He hesitated. Did he?

  Oh, who was he kidding?

  Yes please.

  Chapter 28

  This time, Richard had to wait less than a minute. When the next email dropped into his inbox, there was a photo of Sandy smiling for the camera, looking contented and cheerful in a lilac dress, her creamy-white hair swept back and tucked behind her ears. She looked exactly as she’d always looked, just fifty years older.

  While he’d been studying every last detail of her, a second photograph had downloaded. This time Sandy was sitting on a sofa next to a younger woman who had to be Nerys, because the likeness was so strong. Her hair was blond, and she was wearing a stripy cardigan and jeans. But the sparkling eyes and shy smile were the same as her mother’s, and he sensed at once that she shared Sandy’s kind nature and absolute trustworthiness.

  His attention shifted back to what she had written above the photos:

  Here you are. Mum still looked wonderful, didn’t she? I loved her so much, and of course still miss her dreadfully. As you can imagine, I was surprised when she first told me about you and her. Don’t worry, though, she never did tell anyone else—only my grandmother, and then me, once I’d turned twenty-one and could be trusted to keep the story to myself. She did what you wanted and kept everything a secret until the day she died. And I’ve never told anyone either.

  Richard finished reading. Then he reread the words. The blood in his veins seemed to heat up by a degree or two. He leaned over the iPad screen and typed: Told anyone what?

  The reply this time was almost instantaneous: You know what. Don’t you?

  He didn’t know, but a part of him was beginning to wonder. Unless he was reading into the words a meaning that hadn’t been implied.

  Or…or this was all some kind of elaborate double bluff.

  Clumsily, with fingers that suddenly felt too big for the keys on the screen, he typed: What’s your telephone number?

  No reply. No reply. No reply.

  Finally: Sorry, minor panic attack, needed a few minutes to prepare myself.

  This is my number…

  Having retreated to his office and closed the door firmly, Richard called the number. The phone was picked up on the fifth ring and he knew Nerys had been psyching herself up to answer it.

  “Hello.” She sounded breathless. “Sorry if I muddle my words. I’m a bit nervous. Well, a lot nervous.”

  And there it was, the soft voice with the Welsh accent he’d always loved, followed by the shy laugh he remembered so well.

  “You sound just like her.”

  “You remember her voice?”

  “Of course I do.” He knew the answer already, but the question needed to be asked. Bracing himself, he said, “Why did she disappear?”

  “She didn’t disappear. She came home, to Cardiff.”

  His fingers tightened around the phone that was pressed to his ear. “Why?”

  “Because she was pregnant.”

  There it was. Oh God.

  He gathered himself. “Pregnant with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t she tell me?”

  There was a pause, then Nerys said, “Look, I don’t want anything from you, cross my heart, so you don’t have to pretend that you didn’t know—”

  “What? But I really didn’t know,” Richard blurted out. “I had no idea. She didn’t tell me, I swear.”

  “You sound as if you’re telling the truth,” said Nerys, “but that’s the trouble with you being an actor. How do I know?”

  “I’ll take a lie detector test. I swear on the life of my grandchildren. I was pretty broken up when she left because I had no idea why she’d gone. She didn’t even say goodbye.”

  “OK, OK, I believe you. And if I’m honest, I did always kind of wonder, but Mum never wanted to rock the boat in case it caused upset. She was so worried you might be angry with her or that it could damage your career.”

  “I was away filming on location.” Suspicions were beginning to unfurl in Richard’s mind. “When I got back, Mickey, my agent, told me she’d left. He said her father was ill and needed looking after, so she’d gone home to Cardiff. Well, she knew my address and phone number, so I waited to hear from her. But I never did.”

  “Mum told me that she’d started feeling really sick in the mornings and Mickey caught her at work one day heaving at the smell of his cigar. When she asked to leave the office, he wouldn’t let her, so she ended up puking into his wastepaper basket.”

  “Oh God,” said Richard. “Poor girl.” Mickey Hartnett had been one of the most ruthless and successful agents in Hollywood, not to mention one of the most eagle-eyed. On one occasion when he’d been flirting with Sandy in reception, Mickey had spotted them together and had later jokingly warned him to keep away from his staff.

  “Well, it was a bit of a giveaway,” Nerys continued. “And when Mum broke down in his office, it didn’t take Mickey long to find out who was responsible. He told her he’d get in touch with you.”

  “But he didn’t.”

  “Two days later, he called her into his office. He explained that you were sorry, but it would spell disaster for your career, and it was never meant to be more than a bit of harmless fun in the sun. He said you felt it was all a bit embarrassing and that all you could offer her was money.”

  It was Richard’s turn to feel sick. “He never breathed a word about any of this.”

  “Mickey took care of everything. Mum said he was very kind to her. He drew up a contract and she signed it, promising to never contact you again. Because she thought that was what you wanted. Then he arranged her flight home and that was it; she came back to Cardiff.”

  “How much did he pay her to leave?” Richard scarcely recognized his own voice.

  “Oh, you were generous. Ten thousand dollars. Mum bought this house with the money. Two-bedroom terrace, little garden at the back, even an inside toilet. Everything a heartbroken single mother could wish for.”

  Ten thousand dollars for Mickey Hartnett to avoid a scandal. Small change compared to the money he was demanding from the studios if they wanted Richard Myles to star in their next blockbuster movie. He’d been aware, of course, that such negotiations went on within the industry—it was just the way things had worked back then—but it had never even occurred to him that he himself might have been involved in one.

  “I feel terrible about this. If I’d known, it could all have been handled differently.”

  “It’s a shame Mum isn’t still here. This would have made her so happy.”

  “What can I say? Mickey Hartnett was a ruthless bastard. It kills me that he knew the truth and never told me.”

  “But Mum was realistic. She was a nobody from Wales, and you were a Hollywood star. She loved you till the day she died,” Nerys continued softly, “and she loved me too. That was enough for her.”

  “I’m still sorry, though. God, I wish you’d contacted me before.”

  Her laugh was so like Sandy’s. “I did try, but you didn’t see the letters.”

  “I meant before she died.”

  “Ah, she always said we must never get in touch, not while she was alive. But afterward…well, I suppose the internet made it possible. I bought my first computer two years ago, and suddenly I was able to learn so much more about you. I found a Facebook group online for fans of Sir Richard Myles, and that was an eye-opener, I can tell you.”

  “Oh crikey. What were they saying about me?”

  Drily, Nerys said, “That you never reply to their letters. But they love you anyway.”

  Richard half laughed, sti
ll unaccustomed to feeling guilty. “No accounting for taste.”

  “It’s a friendly group. They made me welcome. We even had a get-together last Christmas to celebrate your birthday. About twenty of us had lunch in a smart restaurant in Swindon. It’s mainly run by Pauline, of course. She’s a nice lady, a bit over-the-top and completely besotted with you, but she means well. Last night she wrote on there about getting to meet you when you were out having dinner with friends at one of the local hotels, and it was like the highlight of her entire life because you never usually speak to her at all!”

  He winced. “Sometimes it’s too much. It gets embarrassing.”

  “But Pauline did say she’d told you off for not answering our messages.”

  “She did.” He nodded in agreement. “And she mentioned yours, in the turquoise envelope.”

  “I know, she told me that too. Wasn’t that kind of her? She’s always inviting us to go and stay with her so we can walk around St. Carys and maybe catch a glimpse of you. Not that I’d ever do that,” Nerys added hastily. “It sounds a bit stalkerish to me… Oh goodness, is that the time? I’m so sorry, I promised to take my neighbor to visit her husband in hospital. She’ll be wondering where I’ve gotten to!”

  * * *

  Five minutes later, wandering outside, Richard found Majella working on her laptop in the garden while Lainey hung a basket of laundry out to dry on the line.

  “How did it go?” said Lainey. “Are you BFFs now?”

  “Am I what?”

  “You and Nerys, BFFs. It stands for best friends forever.” She turned to Majella. “You aren’t going to believe this. Richard replied to one of his fans today! We actually shamed him into it. Turns out she’s the daughter of someone he knew in his Hollywood days, isn’t that brilliant? So he emailed her, then she emailed him back, and then he emailed her again!”

  “Wow.” Majella looked up from her laptop. “That’s what I call a double first.”

  “She sounded nice in her letter. Was she nice?”