by Jill Mansell
“If you ask me,” Imogen mumbled under her breath, “Cleo’s a cow.”
“Look, I really do have to leave,” said Sean. He drained his glass, stood up, and shook hands with Cleo’s ex. “Good to have met you, er…”
“Damien.” The man beamed. “Damien Maxwell-Horne. I’m in the property business, in case you’re ever in need. Here, let me give you one of my cards.”
“That’s really kind of you,” lied Sean. He glanced from Damien to Imogen. The guy had dodgy hair, but he looked safe enough. And he knew Cleo. “OK if I leave Imogen with you? She only lives around the corner. If you could just make sure she gets home in one piece, I’d be grateful.”
“Say no more, say no more.” Damien’s eyes, which were extremely blue, lit up at the prospect of doing Sean Mandeville a favor. Digging into his jacket pocket for his wallet, he gave Imogen a reassuring wink. “We’ll be fine, won’t we, sweetheart? Come on. Finish that. Let me buy you another drink.”
* * *
By the time he reached the Blue Goose, Pandora had left. Sean, eventually arriving home at eleven thirty, found the babysitter gone, Rose sucking her thumb in her crib, and Pandora determinedly asleep. She wasn’t going to be thrilled with him, but since it hadn’t been his fault, Sean didn’t feel too guilty. If he woke her up now, she would only shout at him. Instead, he went back downstairs, watched an old Jack Dee video, and fell asleep on the sofa, finally crawling into bed next to Pandora at dawn.
Pandora left him to it, sliding noiselessly out of the bed an hour later and taking a long, hot bath before Rose woke up. During the bath, she thought a great deal about her life with Sean and wondered if she was making too much of the fact that he hadn’t bothered to turn up at the restaurant last night.
She was downstairs making breakfast when the front door bell rang.
“Morning, angel.” Donny bent to give her a decorous kiss on the cheek. At least Sean’s car was in the drive. “Is he up?”
Pandora shook her head, suddenly unable to speak. Donny was so sweet, and Sean could be such a pig.
“Mm, bacon.” Sniffing appreciatively, Donny headed for the kitchen. “How was your meal last night?”
“It probably would have been great.” Pandora found she wasn’t as hungry as she’d thought. She pushed her plate across the table toward him and shrugged. “If Sean had bothered to put in an appearance. I didn’t feel like eating alone,” she said bitterly, “so I left.”
“Shit.” At once, Donny dropped all pretense of cheerfulness. Leaning back in his chair, he heaved a sigh and ran his hands over his face. This time, he realized, he had to tell Pandora. She had a right to know.
“What?” said Pandora.
“OK, maybe I shouldn’t be saying this, but I’ve had just about enough of standing by and doing nothing.” He lowered his voice. “Sean was at the club last night with Imogen Trent. She was all over him. They disappeared together at around ten o’clock. Sorry, sweetheart.” Donny shook his head. “I thought he’d gotten all that stuff out of his system. It’s unfair to you. You deserve better than this.”
* * *
Sean woke abruptly, wincing with pain as an empty suitcase landed across his legs.
“What the—”
Pandora was standing on a chair, heaving cases down from the top of the wardrobe. She glanced over her shoulder and said, “Sorry,” as if they were strangers on a crowded train. The next moment, another suitcase came flying through the air. This one narrowly missed Sean’s head.
He sat up. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Hmm?” Pandora turned around to look at him. Despite her deceptively casual tone, there was a dangerous glitter in her eyes. “Oh, not a lot. Rose and I are going to do you a favor and get out of your life, that’s all. Then you’ll have more room for your other tarts. No more mix-ups, no more double bookings. Think about it, Sean. It’ll be great! And so much easier—”
“Come on. This is crazy.” He fell back against the pillows, groaning. Pandora was down from her chair now, pulling open drawers and flinging underwear and T-shirts willy-nilly into the first case. This was all he needed at the crack of dawn. She must be getting her period.
“Not crazy. I just came to my senses at last.”
Sean had by this time figured it out.
“All this,” he protested, “just because I was late turning up at the restaurant last night? Sweetheart, listen to me. You don’t know what I had to put up with. I was hijacked by bloody Imogen Trent. I mean, good news in one way—my old man’s dumped her, and it looks like my parents are getting back together—but she was desperate last night. Clung to me like a leech! What could I do?”
“What could you do?” Pandora drawled the words in disbelief. “Screw her senseless, I imagine. Isn’t that what you normally do with girls who wrap themselves around you like plastic wrap? Like she was wrapped around you last night?”
“But I didn’t.” Sean spoke through gritted teeth, willing her to believe him. “OK, she wanted to, but I didn’t. I said I wasn’t interested. I told her I’d given up on all that.” His voice rose. “For God’s sake, I told her you were the only woman in my life.”
“Goodness me, totally believable,” murmured Pandora.
“It’s true.”
“Save your breath.”
The first case was now full to overflowing. She moved on to the next, wrenching open the doors to the wardrobe and dragging coats and dresses off their hangers.
This was unfair. Things between them had seemed so much better lately. And now, Sean thought with annoyance, I’m being punished for something I didn’t even do.
“OK,” he said tightly, “if you don’t believe me, ask Imogen.”
Pandora threw him a shriveling look. “Haven’t I already been humiliated enough?”
“Just ask her.”
“No thanks.”
He shook his head. “I’ve never seen you like this before.”
“It’s called the last straw,” said Pandora. “I’ve put up and up with your bullshit for the last two years, and now I’ve had enough. Donny’s right,” she continued evenly. “I do deserve better.”
Sean howled, “Fuck Donny!”
“Well, you never know,” Pandora replied. “I just might.”
“You bitch. You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
It was all going horribly wrong. Sean heard the vengeful, bitter words spilling out of his mouth and was sickened by them. He loved Pandora. Last night, over dinner at the Blue Goose, he had planned to ask her to marry him. Dammit, he thought despairingly. It had even crossed his mind to ask her to turn up wearing the infamous beige trench coat with nothing underneath…
Instead, evidently hell-bent on revenge, all she was interested in was jumping into bed with Donny Mulligan.
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know.” Pandora averted her gaze. Of course she knew. She had already phoned her friends Wendy and Bill and invited herself and Rose down to their home in Bath.
“You can’t disappear.” Sean began to panic. “You can’t take Rose away just like that.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“I love Rose.” He wanted to add I love you, but the words wouldn’t come out.
Pandora gave him a weary look.
“Yes, maybe you do. But it never lasts, does it? Cheer up,” she added bitterly as she lugged the two bulging suitcases toward the door. “By this time next week, you can be madly in love with Imogen Trent instead.”
Chapter 60
Imogen knew something was wrong when she opened her eyes and saw black.
Black satin sheets.
“If you knew how beautiful you look…” said a soothing male voice. “Baby, you are gorgeous.”
Black satin sheets with gold piping. Pillowcases to match.
And a black-and-gold-striped satin duvet.
Oh dear.
Imogen smelled coffee and Aramis. She groaned and turned over. Damien Maxwell-Horne was standing by the bed, carrying a loaded tray. His dressing gown, which matched the duvet, had his initials embroidered across the breast pocket. To remind you, presumably, who you’d just spent the night in bed with.
Imogen’s heart sank as the events of the previous evening came rushing back. Yes, you did it, her memory smugly confirmed. And not just once either, but twice. The first time in Damien’s chrome-and-glass sitting room, the second here in bed.
Brilliant. Imogen squinted at her watch. Good God, it was ten thirty.
“Come on, upsy-daisy.” Damien, disgustingly bright eyed, was beaming down at her. “I’ve made you one of my specials, smoked salmon and scrambled eggs. There, that’s it. Let me help you with those pillows. And you can take this as a compliment.” Placing the tray across Imogen’s lap, he planted an Aramis-loaded kiss on her clamped-together mouth. “I only make my specials for those very special ladies in my life.”
Was it the coffee or the strength of the aftershave? Imogen wasn’t sure, but she knew she felt sick.
“I don’t think I can manage this.” She pointed feebly at the tray. “Um…maybe a cup of tea?”
“Anything you like.” Damien winked and ruffled her hair before she had a chance to dodge away. “Coffee, tea,” he went on with a suggestive leer, “or me?”
* * *
It was over two years since Cass had last set foot in the newspaper offices where Jack worked. Stepping out of the elevator on the fourth floor, she noticed the interesting variety of expressions on the faces of his fellow workers. Unannounced visits from ex-wives weren’t, as a rule, good news. The last time it had happened, Cass recalled Jack telling her, the deputy editor had ended up with a belt around the ear from a Manolo Blahnik stiletto.
Glenda, Jack’s secretary, had never liked Imogen Trent. She greeted Cass with delight.
“You’ve missed him by ten minutes. And he won’t be back until midday.”
“He’s gone out?” Damn, thought Cass. I should have phoned first.
“Not out-out.” Glenda pointed her index finger at the ceiling. “Big meeting in the boardroom.” She pulled a fearful face. “It’s a do-not-disturb job. I daren’t interrupt.”
“Oh well,” Cass said cheerfully. “In for a penny.”
“What are you doing?” squeaked Glenda as Cass turned back toward the elevator.
“Calling on him.”
“Heavens!” Deeply intrigued, Glenda said, “Can I come too?”
“Mrs. Mandeville,” protested Tom the old security guard, panting after them both as they headed for the boardroom’s double doors. “Mrs. Mandeville, you can’t go in there.”
Cass had so geared herself up to seeing Jack, there was absolutely no stopping her now. Pushing open the heavy oak doors, she said, “Don’t be silly, Tom. Of course I can.”
Everyone seated at the polished table looked up simultaneously when Cass walked in. The deputy editor turned quite pale. The scar from his ex-wife’s high heel may have faded, but the fear that she might one day turn up and do the same again had never quite left him.
“Cass.” Jack, in shirtsleeves and with his dark hair flopping over his forehead, was on his feet in an instant. His look of horror told her at once that he thought something awful must have happened. To burst unannounced into a meeting this important, somebody had to be dead at least.
“It’s OK. Nothing’s wrong.” Cass was aware of Glenda cringing behind her at the prospect of their famously tetchy proprietor’s impending wrath. “I wanted to see you, that’s all.”
“What a coincidence,” the proprietor of the Herald said heavily. “I wanted to see him too. Call me old-fashioned, but that’s why I organized this meeting—”
“What is it?” Ignoring him, Jack came toward Cass.
“I’ve made up my mind. I want to know when you’re coming home. No hurry,” Cass said lightly, though her knees were wobbling. “Anytime within the next couple of hours will be fine.”
“Young lady.” The proprietor’s voice dropped to an ominous rumble. “This man is here for a purpose. I do not appreciate having my meetings interrupted. Will you please leave?”
“Will you please leave Imogen?” Cass murmured in Jack’s ear as his arms closed blissfully around her.
“I already have.” Unable to face going back to the house in Wimbledon last night—tellingly, it had always been a house rather than a home—he had booked into a hotel instead. Now, kissing Cass full on the mouth, Jack knew he had never been happier in his life.
“Ugh,” declared the proprietor, by this time purple with indignation. Three times he’d been divorced, and nothing like this had ever happened to him. But then none of his miserable wives had ever looked like Cass Mandeville either. “Now where d’you think you’re going?” he roared at Jack’s departing back, even though the answer was pretty damn obvious. Christ, this was worse than that Officer and a sodding Gentleman.
“Home,” said Jack.
“And about time too,” said Glenda, following at his heels.
Such a reconciliation might be inconvenient, but it was still news. Wearily turning his attention to his misty-eyed deputy editor, the proprietor drawled, “I realize we’re only a newspaper, Wilkins, but I don’t suppose there’s a chance anyone here has a camera?”
Chapter 61
It was the second week in December, an icy Saturday night, and Cleo was having a crisis.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she wailed as they made their way up the steps to the hotel’s main entrance. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into it. Am I gullible or what?”
Even her white-blond hair, shorter than usual so it stood up in spikes, looked panicky. As they approached the sliding doors, Cass saw the four of them reflected in the smoked glass. Cleo was wearing an embroidered dress split to reveal one brown thigh. It didn’t matter how much of a flap she was in; she still looked ravishing.
Next to Cleo was Terry Brannigan, who looks-wise might not be in quite the same league but was determined to enjoy himself tonight all the same. Without resorting to drink either. Cass was so proud of Terry, she could burst. Pulling himself together and joining AA had taken guts, but it had paid off in spades. Not only was he trimmer, fitter, and far more fun to be with nowadays, but following his impressive step into the breach that terrible week when Sophie had been taken, Kingdom Radio had repaid the favor and offered him the about-to-be-vacated midevening show. It might not be prime time, as Terry himself was the first to admit, but it beat the hell out of washing dishes in a backstreet restaurant.
Cass’s fingers tightened around Jack’s as the smoked-glass doors slid open and the first volley of flashbulbs went off. Being seen together again in public was still enough of a novelty to guarantee attention. Thankfully, as Jack had drily observed, good news was never as enthralling as bad. Give it another fortnight, was his view, and the fact that the Mandevilles were a couple once more would interest the general public about as much as the single European currency.
Cass didn’t care about that. It mattered to her, it was what interested her, and above all, it was what she wanted. She hadn’t even needed to feel guilty about dropping Rory Cameron. Imogen might not have taken the split with Jack well, but Rory had more than compensated. Ever the gentleman, he had understood perfectly, kissing Cass goodbye and giving them both his blessing. Within a week, he had become embroiled in an affair with a fiery twenty-four-year-old Italian singer. As Sophie remarked, he’d fallen back into his young ways.
Cleo, meanwhile, was feeling sorrier for herself by the second at the prospect of the evening ahead.
This was all Cass’s fault. It had been her bright idea, when invited to donate a personal item to the charity auction, to offer Cleo
.
“Darling, it’s a fundraiser,” she had protested when Cleo reacted with alarm. “It’s only a bit of fun anyway! A night out with the highest bidder. And,” Cass had added soothingly, “it is for charity.”
“Think of Imogen. The last time you did something for charity, you ended up minus a husband,” Cleo had grumbled.
Even that hadn’t worked. Cass, who was being very flippant these days, had beamed. “You’ll be OK then. You don’t have one to lose.”
This evening’s ball, held at the Park Lane Lyndhurst Hotel overlooking Hyde Park, was already under way by the time they reached the vast ballroom. Dino Carlisle spotted them at once and made his way over to their table.
“So you’re really going to do it.” He had discovered Cleo’s name in the program among the list of items to be auctioned off.
“You mean kill my mother? Certainly.” Cleo gave him a gloomy look. “I don’t know why she couldn’t just donate a handbag like everyone else. I’m either going to be snapped up by a white-slave trader or not bid for at all. I don’t know which is worse.”
Dino grinned down at her. “I won’t let you be publicly humiliated. I’ll go up as far as six pounds fifty.”
“You’re all heart.”
“Good news about your parents anyway.” He nodded at Cass and Jack, evidently so happy together. “Seeing them like that’s enough to restore the faith of even a hardened, old cynic like me.”
“I thought you were supposed to be having a fling with that costar of yours.” He had just finished making a film called, appropriately enough, All the Way.
Dino pulled a face. “Studio publicity. I’d rather have a fling with Cruella de Vil.” He looked at Cleo. “Anyway, how about you? No joy with that guy you were once so crazy about?”
Cleo’s throat tightened. Had she ever stopped being crazy about Joel, and had it done her the slightest bit of good? If only she could stop, she might not be so damn miserable now.
She shook her head, recalling what an idiot she had made of herself the last time their paths had crossed.