Two's Company

by Jill Mansell

  The figure had been there all along, of course, just hidden beneath disgusting clothes. Now, helped by the fact that in the past year Sophie had shot up, it was virtually faultless.

  She had all the necessary bone structure too, Cleo realized. The face was heart-shaped, the cheekbones high. And as for those eyes…well, they might not look much on their own, naked and hidden behind glasses, but plenty of charcoal shadow, black pencil, and mascara had brought them out like nobody’s business.

  Humming happily, in her element now, Cleo kept going. Lip pencil, raspberry-pink lipstick, and highlighting gloss for the mouth. More blush. A smidgeon more work on those eyebrows. And maybe another coat of mascara, to really show off the length of those lashes—

  “Haven’t you finished yet?” Sophie groaned.

  “Shut up. Your hair’s a disaster.”

  Cleo wasn’t joking. It really was. All she could do was slick it back with tons of gel and hope it hid the fact that Sophie still hacked away at it herself.

  “About bloody time too,” Sophie grumbled when she was at last allowed to stand up and take a look at herself in the mirror. Without her glasses, which Cleo had confiscated, this was easier said than done.

  “It helps,” Cleo observed, “if you try and look as if you aren’t having your toenails yanked out.”

  “It’d help even more if I could see.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.”

  Cleo gave the glasses back. They didn’t remotely go with the midnight-blue Hervé Leger dress she had shoehorned Sophie into, nor with the delicate high heels. It was a miracle she had managed to squeeze Sophie into these anyway; more used to thumping great Doc Martens, she had the broadest feet imaginable.

  “Bleeurrghh,” Sophie wailed, seeing herself at last and going quite pale beneath the layers of bronzing powder. “Is this a joke?”

  “Come on,” protested Cleo. Standing behind Sophie, she admired her own handiwork. “You look amazing. Like a young Audrey Hepburn. Sweetheart, this is seriously Vogue! I know models who would kill for your figure.”

  “I look like a tart,” said Sophie flatly.

  “Trust me. No self-respecting tart would be seen dead in those specs. Don’t—” Cleo let out a screech of alarm as Sophie, still scrutinizing her reflection, ran an exploratory fingernail down her cheek. Foundation, bronzer, blush, and translucent powder came away like magic, leaving a thin white line in its wake.

  “This is ridiculous.” Sophie, examining the gunk under her fingernail, began to laugh. “Edna Everage would look au naturel compared with this. What gets it off, mechanics’ degreaser?”

  It was heartbreaking. All Cleo could do was throw herself onto Sophie’s bed, gaze up at the ceiling, and listen to the shower going full pelt next door. When Sophie emerged fifteen minutes later, every last speck of makeup had been scrubbed off. Her face was pink and shiny, her body wrapped in a white towel.

  Scrunched up in one hand was thousands of pounds’ worth of midnight-blue Hervé Leger.

  “Here.” She held it out to Cleo. “Thanks, but it’s not really me.” She smiled briefly. “I think I’ll stick to jeans.”

  It was more than heartbreaking. Cleo now understood how people felt when they claimed to have seen a spaceship or been kidnapped by aliens. She knew it had happened—she had seen the transformation of Sophie with her own eyes—but she had no photographs, no witnesses, no proof.

  Chapter 50

  The taxi dropped Jack and Imogen at the bottom of the drive. As they made their way on foot up to the house, they were overtaken by a blue BMW with a child seat in the back. Glimpsing Sean at the wheel, Imogen’s mind slipped back to the night of their first meeting two years earlier. Cass had impulsively invited her to that party, being held to celebrate Jack’s fortieth birthday. This time, Jack was the one who had insisted she come along. Imogen’s grip on his hand tightened. How things had changed since then.

  The house was teeming with people. Imogen, more nervous than she cared to admit, stood by in the hall while Jack made a grandfatherly fuss of Rose.

  “I keep hearing about this sitcom of yours.” For something to say, Imogen turned to Pandora, who was less likely to rebuff her than Sean. “Evidently, the producers are thrilled with the way it’s going. Great things are being predicted…BAFTAs, the works.” She smiled, noting how much better Pandora was looking these days. “How would you feel about doing an interview for us? If we get a move on, we could feature it in the November issue of Hi! to tie in with the screening schedule.”

  Pandora opened her mouth to speak.

  “No thanks,” said Sean, who had been listening. He looked at Imogen. “Better safe than sorry. You might have an affair with Pandora.”

  The drawing room was even more crowded with guests than the hall. Sophie’s school friends mingled excitedly with the kind of glamorous show-business types they normally only saw on TV. Even Imogen, famous by association rather than in her own right, found herself being accosted by a twittering teenager who introduced herself as Jennifer Smith-Elliott.

  “I’m in the same class as Sophie,” she babbled on. “I stood behind you once in a drugstore in Islington.”

  “Really.” Imogen, bored already, looked around for a means of escape.

  “You bought a Max Factor lipstick and a tube of Colgate.” For some reason, the girl was eyeing her stomach.

  “Goodness me.”

  “And a pregnancy test,” said Jennifer, tilting her head to one side. “But you can’t have been pregnant, because you haven’t had a baby. Are you still trying, or did you not really want one in the first place?”

  * * *

  Sophie hadn’t only invited friends from school.

  “Mum, I’d like you to meet Julian and Natasha.”

  Cass had been deep in conversation with Jenny Duran. Turning, she realized the preconceptions that exist where names are concerned. Julian and Natasha sounded infinitely glitzy. Cass smiled and shook hands with each of them in turn. Julian had wispy beige hair, an even wispier beard, and holes in the elbows of his hand-knitted gray sweater. Natasha was wearing a hippieish patchwork skirt, no makeup, and a yellow tank top. They were both drinking orange juice.

  “Julian and Natasha are just back from Uganda. They’re with VSO.” Sophie beamed. “You remember, they sent me a couple of postcards.”

  “Of course.” Cass vaguely remembered. Sophie’s passion for all things African remained undimmed. “Voluntary Service Overseas, isn’t it?”

  Vigorously and in unison, Julian and Natasha nodded.

  “We can’t wait to go back,” Natasha enthused. “The orphanage needs us. You have no idea, Mrs. Mandeville, how much of an effect the HIV epidemic has had on that country.”

  “And the more volunteers we can persuade to come out with us, the better,” Julian chimed in. “It’s such a worthwhile cause. I’m sure you must be proud of—”

  Sophie kicked him.

  “Ouch.” Julian looked at her, surprised.

  “She hasn’t told them yet.” Natasha spoke in soothing tones. “Have you, Sophie?”

  “Told us what?” said Cass.

  * * *

  “Oh, help.”

  Cleo, sitting out on the terrace with Pandora and Rose, felt the hairs at the back of her neck go up. She stopped talking and stared through the open french windows.

  “Ah.” Pandora followed her gaze. “You mean Joel.”

  “I didn’t know he’d been invited.”

  Pandora looked guilty.

  “When Sophie called us, she said to ask Joel along too. Sorry. Was that the wrong thing to do?”

  “Um…”

  Peering at her more closely, Pandora began to look worried. “You’ve gone pale. Are you feeling all right?”

  Cleo wasn’t sure how she felt. Seeing Joel again for the first time in so long—and
without any warning whatsoever—had knocked her for six. Rose, recognizing him, let out a shriek of uncomplicated delight and squirmed to be allowed off Cleo’s lap.

  Cleo watched Rose charge across the terrace toward him. She saw Joel bend down and lift her triumphantly into his arms. For a shameful moment, Cleo wished she could swap places with Rose and be smothered in kisses by that dear, familiar mouth.

  Shit, she had tried so hard to forget him. So much for willpower; it hadn’t worked at all.

  “I really am sorry.” Pandora hadn’t dreamed Joel’s arrival would have this much effect. Neither he nor Cleo had exactly opened their hearts to her about whatever had gone wrong between them last year. Pandora, assuming their brief affair had simply fizzled out, had similarly never thought to ask.

  Joel, meanwhile, had hoisted a giggling Rose onto his shoulders and was making his way toward them. Cleo took the coward’s way out.

  “There’s Sean being pestered by a couple of Sophie’s friends.” She rose abruptly to her feet. “If they’re telling him how crappy his TV series is, he’s likely to chuck them onto the barbecue. I’d better get over there, see if I can’t calm him down.”

  Only by the merest flicker of his eyes did Joel acknowledge having even noticed Cleo as she swerved swiftly past him.

  But then he’d had the advantage, thought Pandora. He might have caught Cleo unaware, but he had known full well that she’d be here.

  * * *

  Imogen, in need of a bit of Dutch courage, had downed three vodka tonics in quick succession. Now feeling much better, she found herself talking to an ex-neighbor of Jack’s, a friendly looking middle-aged woman named Daisy who, Imogen remembered Jack once telling her, had two adopted sons.

  “It’s so hard,” Imogen confided. “Unless people have been through it themselves, they haven’t the least idea how it feels. Every time some earth mother with six kids tells me to relax and stop worrying about it, I just want to slap them.”

  Behind her, Jack frowned. He tried to be sympathetic, but Imogen’s habit of blurting out intimate details of the latest tests she had undergone to all and sundry was unnerving.

  “Jack. Sorry to interrupt…”

  To gain his attention, Cass briefly touched his arm. As he turned to face her, so did Imogen.

  “Cass,” said Imogen. So far this evening, they had managed with some success to avoid each other. But Jack was right; it was silly to carry on like this. It was high time diplomatic relations were restored.

  “Hello.” Cass nodded stiffly. She hadn’t been looking forward to it either, but now at least it was done. Turning her attention once more to Jack, she spoke in a low voice. “It’s Sophie. Look, can you come and have a word? She’s being stubborn about something.”

  Determined that it shouldn’t look as if she were being snubbed by Cass, Imogen said rapidly, “I was just telling Daisy about the problems we’ve been having at the infertility clinic. Getting onto a decent IVF program is tougher than winning a scholarship to Oxford.” She forced a bright smile. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? Some people seem to get pregnant just like that, and look at us, desperate to have a child. Well, Daisy understands what we’ve been going through.” She glanced from Daisy, who was looking puzzled, to Cass. “It seems so…unfair.”

  Do I really have to be polite? wondered Cass.

  “I think…” Daisy coughed delicately.

  “I think you have Daisy confused with Trudy,” said Cass. “Trudy is our other neighbor, but she isn’t here tonight anyway, so you won’t be able to bore her to tears with your sob story. As for things being unfair…” She stopped, her gaze sweeping coldly over the girl who had befriended her, stolen Jack, and broken up a perfectly good marriage. “Lots of things in life aren’t fair.”

  Jack, stunned into unaccustomed silence, could only stare at his ex-wife.

  “Right.” No longer caring what he thought, Cass tapped his arm. “Maybe now I can drag you away to have that word with your daughter.”

  * * *

  “I swear, you wouldn’t believe how different she looked!”

  Cleo, relating the story of Sophie’s brief encounter with high heels and makeup to Jenny Duran, was beginning to feel more and more like the only person in the world to have seen the Loch Ness monster.

  Jenny adored Sophie, who had always been the ugly duckling of the Mandeville family but more than made up for it in spirit.

  “I’m sure she looked sweet,” she said to appease Cleo. Through a gap in the crowd around the barbecue, she glimpsed Sophie, deep in some discussion with a group of school friends. Jenny smiled. When hacked-at hair, unflattering glasses, and the kind of clothes only a true geek would wear became the height of fashion, maybe Sophie would have her chance to shine.

  “I’m serious,” Cleo stubbornly insisted. “She looked amazing.”

  “Hmm. And you’re looking shifty.”

  At once, Cleo’s dark eyes flickered. “I am not.”

  “Yes, you are.” Seizing on the outrageous lie with delight, Jenny said, “Now I get it. There was a real reason for dragging me outside. Come on. Tell me everything.” Cozily, she nudged Cleo’s arm. “This is what I do best. It’s a man, isn’t it? Damn, what am I saying? Of course it is. So what are we doing out here anyway? Trying to accidentally-on-purpose bump into him? Or hide?”

  There really was no stopping Jenny when she was hot on the trail of someone else’s problem. Cleo, who hadn’t meant to at all, found herself spilling out the whole miserable tale.

  “He thinks I’m some kind of playgirl jet-setter,” she concluded mournfully some minutes later, “with all the morals of an alley cat.”

  “Well, you do jet-set.”

  “Only because it’s what I’m paid to do. It’s my job,” said Cleo in fretful tones. “And as far as Joel was concerned, it meant I couldn’t be trusted. If I were a secretary in a tax office in Tring, I’d be all right.”

  The next moment, she stiffened as Joel came into view at the far end of the terrace. He was talking to Imogen Trent of all people. Cleo watched him laugh at something Imogen had just said.

  “That’s him, I take it.”

  Cleo nodded.

  “Hmm,” said Jenny, observing the way Cleo’s fingernails were digging into the palms of her hands. The blond giant was good-looking enough, but in all honesty, he didn’t compare with Dino Carlisle. Yet Dino, according to Cleo, left her cold. This thing with Joel, Jenny decided, really must be love.

  Cleo glanced across at her. “Hmm what?”

  “Just thinking it doesn’t suit you.”

  “What doesn’t suit me?”

  “Skulking in the shadows.” She touched the long black velvet sleeve of Cleo’s dress. “Looking like a bit of rockery hell-bent on melting into the background. Hiding away… Cleo, it just isn’t you.”

  Cleo already knew that. She looked cross.

  “So what do you think I should do? March up to him, I suppose. Grab him by the hair, fling him over my shoulder, and drag him off to the nearest cave?”

  Jenny grinned. “Well, something like that.”

  “It’s all right for you,” grumbled Cleo. Jenny was still deliriously happy with Luke. “What if he doesn’t want to be dragged?”

  “Persuade him otherwise.” As far as Jenny was concerned, it was simple. She spread her hands. “I mean, look at you now. Be honest. What have you got to lose?”

  Chapter 51

  “Enough,” said Jack, because Sophie was being ridiculously stubborn and his patience was wearing thin. Determined not to lose his temper, he kept his voice low. “Look, this is neither the time nor the place. Sophie, you’re in danger of spoiling your own party. Leave it for now, OK? We can talk about this properly tomorrow.”

  Sophie stood her ground. “But you’ll still say no.” Behind the light-reflecting glasses, her gray eyes bored steadi
ly into him. “Is that it? Don’t try and fob me off, Dad. I’ve made up my mind. This is what I want to do more than anything else in the world. And I think you’re the ones who are being unfair.” The unflinching gaze was turned on Cass. “Everyone else around here seems to do whatever they want to do.”

  “Sweetheart, you’re too young,” Cass protested. “You’re sixteen.”

  “Old enough to get married,” snapped Sophie.

  Imogen had come in search of Jack, who had been missing for ages. She saw the determined set of Sophie’s jaw. She heard the words Sophie uttered. She gazed in amazement at Jack.

  Sophie? Married?

  Cleo, having decided to take Jenny’s up-and-at-’em advice but needing a quick nervous pee first, was on her way back from the bathroom. Unable to spot Joel anywhere in the garden, she found herself diverted by the realization that some kind of argument was brewing in the kitchen.

  “What’s going on?”

  Cleo had never been overly friendly toward her, but Imogen couldn’t resist breaking the news.

  “Sophie’s getting married.”

  Everyone, including Sophie, turned to stare at Imogen.

  “Oh dear, you can tell she’s a journalist,” murmured Cass.

  Imogen longed to slap her.

  “Don’t be stupid.” Cleo’s tone was dismissive. “What is it really?”

  “Your sister’s being ridiculous.” Jack’s eyebrows were drawn together. “Ten GCSEs, all A grades, and what does she want to do? Bugger off to Uganda.”

  “Honestly.” Sophie glared back at him. “The way you’re freaking out, anyone would think I had my heart set on a career as a King’s Cross prostitute.”

  “Darling—” Cass tried to calm her down.

  “Or a heroin addict,” shouted Sophie, refusing to be calmed. “I mean, what is so terrible about wanting to work in an orphanage in Uganda? And it can’t have come as that much of a surprise anyway,” she rattled on. “You know it’s what I’ve always wanted to do. I’d be helping people who need help, doing something useful with my life.”