by Jill Mansell
As it was, she had been able to cope. Jack, knowing that she was coming back to the house to see the children, had left for the office early. Everything was clean and tidy. And Jennifer, the most competent nanny Camilla had ever known, had assured her that she was coping perfectly well and that Jack had increased her salary to cover the extra work entailed by Camilla’s absence.
“Two children or three, it doesn’t make much difference to me,” she assured Camilla with a wry smile. “I give Jack the same food as the kids and tell him off if he leaves his shoes in the sitting room.”
“Is he…home much?” asked Camilla hesitantly, unsure how to phrase the question uppermost in her mind. She didn’t even know if Jennifer was aware of the circumstances surrounding her abrupt departure. Had Jack told her about Roz? Had Roz perhaps been there with him? She didn’t really want to know, but some inner compulsion drove her to find out. Bravely, she met Jennifer’s sympathetic gaze and tensed herself in preparation for her answer.
“Every night he comes home at six o’clock,” Jennifer replied straightforwardly. “He doesn’t go out—just watches television half the night and then goes to bed.”
There, that wasn’t so bad after all, thought Camilla. She had dared to ask and had gotten the answer she wanted. Curiosity overcame her and she asked again.
“And how does he…er…seem, to you?”
Jennifer tried not to smile at the suitably vague terms Camilla was employing.
“I think he’s seen the error of his ways, if that’s what you mean,” she said simply, then reached across and squeezed Camilla’s hand. “Of course I know what happened at that party. I made him tell me. And you did the very best thing, Camilla, honestly. My father had an affair, but when Mum found out, she didn’t do anything about it because she was afraid to. When that affair ended, he found another woman…and then another…and didn’t even bother to pretend it wasn’t happening. I hated him for it, and I’m afraid I despised my mother for her weakness, but she always said she couldn’t manage without him, even though she was desperately unhappy with him.”
Recalling Loulou’s words—“There’s a lot of it about”—Camilla swallowed and said, “What happened?”
“Mum died,” said Jennifer simply, “of cancer. My father remarried a year later, and now he’s having an affair with his secretary. You see, no one’s ever done anything to try to stop him. And that’s why I’m glad you’ve had the guts to make a stand. The short, sharp, shock treatment, I suppose. Leave, give Jack a few weeks to realize what he’s lost and what a bastard he’s been, then come back and start again on equal terms. I’m all for it, Camilla. I’m completely on your side. When you decide to come home again, he’ll be as good as gold.”
In silence, Camilla gazed around at the well-loved objects in the living room that were so familiar. Everything in the room was a reminder of some part of their lives together, and she felt the dull ache of gathering tears as she turned to face Jennifer once more.
“But I’m not coming back,” she explained slowly. “Not in a few weeks, not ever. I want to be with Toby and Charlotte, but I can’t live with Jack again. That’s all over. I can’t forgive him, I’d never trust him, and I’d be just as unhappy as your mother was, wondering when he was going to do the same thing again. I’ve got a right to be happy, Jennifer, and it’s my life to do what I want with. I’m sorry if this places an extra burden on you, but if you feel it’s too much, then we’ll just have to find another nanny, and, of course, you needn’t worry about your references. We’d all hate to see you go, but I’d understand. I can’t pretend, though, that this separation is temporary. I’m going to divorce Jack, and it’s only fair that you should know that now.”
As she spoke aloud the thoughts that until that moment she had only hesitantly considered, Camilla felt the tears recede and a sense of swelling pride take their place. She felt more convinced of the rightness of her actions than at any time before. She was making her own decisions, deciding the future of her own life, and at last realizing that she did indeed have a future without Jack.
It was a powerful, almost exhilarating sensation, and in her triumph, she was unable to suppress a new, confident smile that almost spilled into laughter.
Jennifer smiled back, recognizing the change in her employer and privately applauding it. If only her mother could have been as brave in the same circumstances, she thought, how different things might have been. Having had neither the strength nor the will to fight the battle with cancer, she had died. Maybe, just maybe, if her frame of mind had been more positive, she might still be alive today.
“Don’t worry about me,” she assured Camilla, her voice faintly husky now as her own emotions asserted themselves. “There’s no reason at all for me to leave. I’m very happy here and as I said before, the extra money Jack’s paying me more than makes up for the extra work involved. I’ll miss you not being here as well, of course, but I certainly won’t leave.”
“Oh, Jennifer, I’m so glad,” said Camilla with heartfelt relief. For a few seconds, both women were silent, listening to the muted screams and laughter of Charlotte and Toby as they played boisterously upstairs.
“There’s just one other thing I’d like to say,” Jennifer ventured, almost diffidently.
“Go ahead,” said Camilla with concern, thinking, Oh God, what now?
She waited while Jennifer scrutinized her.
“I have to tell you”—she began slowly, teasingly, then broke into a broad smile—“you look absolutely…fantastic!”
* * *
Remembering Jennifer’s words now as she held brightly patterned wrapping paper around one of the presents she had bought this morning for Charlotte and tearing a strip of tape off with her teeth, Camilla experienced once again the flood of almost indecent pride that had swept over her in response to the compliment. She had promised herself that from now on she would always make the effort to look good. This morning, shopping for the children’s Christmas gifts, she had swept into Harrods feeling wonderfully confident, not at all as she had felt that day when she had bumped into Roz.
Looking good, feeling good, she thought happily, and best of all…still losing weight!
“Spaghetti Bolognese. With tons of garlic and mushrooms and lots of red wine in the sauce,” Loulou had replied dreamily when Camilla had asked her last night what she would most like for Christmas.
“Difficult to gift wrap,” she had remarked, deadpan. “And it might leak a bit, but if you’re sure that’s what you want…”
“Oh, darling, I’m positive. All my boring old chef ever cooks is fillet steak and chicken and boring old lamb, and you know only too well what my own cooking’s like. What my stomach yearns for is spaghetti. So that’s what I most want for Christmas.”
Halfway through the seemingly endless task of wrapping presents, Camilla had suddenly decided that she would dash over to Fortnums, buy all the ingredients, and make Loulou her longed-for spaghetti Bolognese. They could share it before the wine bar reopened in the evening, and it would go a tiny way toward repaying her friend for her wonderful generosity over the last fortnight.
Now she hummed happily to herself as she moved about the kitchen, chopping mushrooms, crushing the garlic, and stirring the simmering pan of minced beef in its thick tomato-and-basil sauce. Loulou had phoned through an hour earlier to let her know that she would be out for the afternoon but that she would definitely be back by five and could she ask the chef to grill her a rare steak. Camilla had cheerfully agreed, and done no such thing. As she tipped half a bottle of rather good red wine into the heavy pan of sauce, she told herself with determination that this would be the best spaghetti Loulou had ever eaten.
* * *
Nico parked the muddy white Ferrari on the double yellow lines outside Vampires and slid out of the driver’s seat, shivering as the icy December wind penetrated his thin black sweatshirt. After a
day in the recording studios arguing with his sound engineer and accomplishing precisely nothing, he felt in need of Loulou’s effervescent company. Ever since Roz’s sudden withdrawal into herself, she had been most unstimulating company, and Nico found himself beginning to run out of patience. How sympathetic could a man be, after all, when the woman he loved complained to him about the problems caused by one of her other lovers? She was a selfish bitch, he told himself not for the first time, and although he was sure that what he felt for her was love, he wasn’t at all convinced that he actually liked Roz. It had been time, therefore, for a tactical withdrawal, and Loulou’s was the ideal place to withdraw to. Also, less selfishly, he had some news for her concerning Mac, although whether she would regard it as good news or bad he wasn’t sure.
Shivering violently, he pushed open the glossy black door bearing the discreet brass plate engraved with Loulou’s initials and entered Vampires. The lunchtime session was almost over now; time had been called and only three or four parties of pre-Christmas revelers in varying degrees of drunkenness were left, attempting to gear themselves up for a return to their offices. Loulou, however, was nowhere in sight, and Nico claimed the attention of one of the bartenders while at the same time taking care not to catch the eye of any of the office ladies. He wasn’t in the mood for drunken propositions and an extended round of autograph signing, and alcohol-sodden females were the worst pain of all.
“Is Loulou upstairs?” he asked, and Christo shook his head. Shit, thought Nico.
“She went out a little while ago, but she did say she wouldn’t be that long,” Christo explained. “If you come back in a couple of hours…” he hesitated, observing Nico’s weary expression. He was a friend of Loulou’s after all. “Or maybe you’d prefer to wait upstairs for her. She wouldn’t mind, would she?”
“If she did, I’d shoot her,” said Nico with a wry smile. “Thanks, I’ll go straight up. She’ll probably come home and find me asleep…”
Damn, thought Christo a few seconds after Nico had disappeared up the stairs leading to Loulou’s flat. I forgot to tell him that there was someone else there as well. Ah well, let’s just hope that Camilla isn’t a frenzied Nico Coletto fan—the poor fellow looks as if that’s just what he doesn’t need at this moment.
Since there was no point in knocking, Nico simply opened the door and marched straight into the flat. Abruptly he was plunged right back to his childhood as his senses were assailed by the most evocative, marvelous aroma of Italian cooking. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, of course; whenever he entered an Italian restaurant the heady wafts of garlic and herbs instantly had the same effect, but this was Loulou’s flat, and it had to be quite simply the last place on earth where he would have expected to encounter such sensational smells.
Chapter Eleven
Camilla, sandwiched inside Loulou’s sunbed, heard the front door open and close and quickly switched off the power. Leaping to her feet and wrenching off the protective goggles, she hurried toward the bedroom door, wanting to enjoy Loulou’s surprise when she saw the spaghetti Bolognese.
“Merry Christmas!” she shouted happily, bursting into the living room.
“And a very merry Christmas to you too,” said Nico with a grin as he eyed her naked body with undisguised pleasure. Obviously one of Loulou’s crazy friends. “I’m beginning to feel better already. Are you really my Christmas present? Last year all I got was socks and handkerchiefs, but this is much more…”
“Aaargh!” wailed Camilla, wishing she could die, and Nico watched in fascination as she blushed. All over.
Then she was gone.
Laughing to himself, he wandered into the kitchen and tasted the Bolognese sauce. Then he poured himself a glass of red wine from the half-empty bottle beside the oven. Wonderful. Finally, settling himself lengthways on the red velvet sofa and nursing his wineglass against his chest, he waited patiently for the blushing nude to reappear.
Ten minutes later, he stood up and knocked on the bedroom door, which had remained firmly closed.
“Hey. You haven’t committed suicide, have you?” he said softly.
“Yes.” The reply was a muffled one.
“Oh. Well, in that case would you care to come out and wait in the sitting room while I call the ambulance?”
“Can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Too embarrassed,” said Camilla, feeling herself beginning to blush all over again.
“What if I told you that I was a doctor, and that I see naked women every day of my life?”
“Are you?” she whispered, a flickering note of hope audible in her voice.
“No,” confessed Nico, “but what if I told you that I was? Couldn’t we just pretend?”
“Please go away,” Camilla implored him. “I really am embarrassed, you know.”
“I know,” said Nico gently. “Are you still…unclothed?”
After a long silence, he heard her say no.
“Well, in that case”—he opened the door and entered the room—“why don’t we just forget what’s happened and introduce ourselves. I’m Nico.”
Having begun to see the funny side of this utterly ridiculous situation a few minutes earlier while she was buried beneath her duvet, Camilla now emerged from its snowy depths and took Nico’s solemnly proffered hand.
“Delighted to meet you,” she said, her eyes sparkling with suppressed laughter. “Jane Smith.”
“The truth,” demanded Nico severely. “After all, you no longer have anything to hide from me.”
Camilla nodded. When their first initial encounter had been that revealing, what could she have to hide? It just amazed her that in the presence of such a stunning looking man—presumably one of Loulou’s many boyfriends—she could actually retain her sense of humor. Slowly, she pushed back the duvet and emerged from the bed, fully clothed.
“I have to say,” murmured Nico conspiratorially, “that I preferred you as you were earlier, but either way, you make a terrific spaghetti Bolognese.”
“You’re welcome to have some. I cooked it for Loulou but there’s way too much for her to finish. Shall I heat it up now?”
“What about you?”
“Diet,” said Camilla firmly, patting her stomach.
Nico pulled a face. Having inherited more than his share of Italian genes, he appreciated sensuous, beautifully rounded figures like the one this mysterious woman possessed. As far as he was concerned, most women these days were far too thin.
“I’ll eat if you’ll eat,” he told her, pulling her to her feet. “And we’ll save some for Lou when she gets back. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
Nico was totally captivated by Camilla’s reluctant smile, dragged from her quite against her will. A man surrounded wherever he went by women offering him anything he desired, he felt as ridiculously triumphant now as if he had succeeded in single-handedly taming a wild tiger cub. For this woman, quite obviously, had no idea at all who he was.
“Are you a friend of Loulou’s?” she was asking him as she padded barefoot into the kitchen and filled a heavy saucepan with water. Then she pulled a wry face. “How stupid of me. Of course you’re a friend; otherwise, you wouldn’t be here. Have you known her long?”
“A few years,” said Nico, salting the water while she ripped open a new packet of spaghetti.
Camilla watched him and smiled again. How odd, she thought, that she could chat so freely with this complete stranger and feel so completely at ease with him. And how very different it was from her disastrous encounter last week with Miles Cooper-Clarke. Tall, rangy in his black sweatshirt and drastically faded Levis, with his streaky blond hair falling across his tanned forehead and his thickly lashed green eyes narrowed with concentration, he was stirring the sauce like an expert.
“Are you in the restaurant business as well?” she asked with intere
st. He certainly didn’t look like a chef, but then neither did Robert, who worked for Lou.
“I was, years ago,” said Nico, who had once worked in McDonald’s for extra cash when he was still at school. She really didn’t have any idea who he was, he thought, feeling more cheerful than he had for days. “Right. Spaghetti’s on, sauce is simmering, so we have a few minutes to ourselves. What are all these?”
Turning away from the kitchen, he was pointing toward the pile of still unwrapped presents in the center of the floor. “Scrabble! I haven’t played Scrabble since I was a kid. My sisters used to hit me if I spelled a word wrong.”
“I bought it for my son; he’s eight,” Camilla told him and Nico thought: Married. Of course. He almost said jokingly, “I should have guessed; wonderful childbearing hips,” but realized in time that a woman who was capable of blushing all over probably wouldn’t appreciate the observation. Not that it was intended as a criticism by any means; he thought well-rounded hips were amazingly sexy. From what he had seen, this woman had a superb body. Wisely, however, he forbore to state his opinion aloud, since she was quite capable, he sensed, of closeting herself in the bedroom once more.
“Would your son mind, do you think, if we were to have just one game before you wrapped it up for him?” he said longingly.
* * *
“You really are the most appalling cheat,” exclaimed Camilla, trying not to laugh. Since Loulou didn’t possess a dictionary, she could only listen in disbelief to Nico’s long, involved explanations of words that he insisted were real, half of which sounded suspiciously Italian anyway.
“I swear on my life!” declared Nico, his green eyes innocent. “A zuka is a wonderful vegetable, rather like an aubergine, but slightly smaller and more rounded.”