The Unexpected Consequences of Love

by Jill Mansell

  “Very well.”

  “I bet he’d never be seen in public in a blue jacket and a brown shirt.”

  “No,” Dot said evenly. “He would not.”

  ***

  He’d never seen Marguerite in dressed-down mode before. She’d always been wearing her look-at-me clothes.

  “Come in, come in.” She opened the door wide and greeted him with a kiss on each cheek. Instead of vibrant, flowing silk, she had on a pale gray plain jersey top and matching casual trousers. Her feet were bare, the jewelry was minimal; even the perfume hadn’t been sprayed on with its usual force. She was still wearing makeup, just far less of it. It made her seem softer and less intimidating. More attractive.

  “I know,” said Marguerite, evidently reading his mind. “Shocking, isn’t it?”

  “You look great.”

  “Without my armor. Not many people get to see me like this. Thank you.” She took the bottle of wine he was holding toward her. “Come on through to the kitchen. Do you want to take off your jacket?”

  “Probably best. I’ve just been told it doesn’t go with my shirt.”

  Marguerite’s dark eyes glittered with amusement. “Who said that?”

  “Dot.”

  “Of course. And is she a good cook?”

  “Not bad.”

  “Hmm, sounds as if I might be better. I’m excellent.”

  She wasn’t kidding. For the next two hours, they sat at the kitchen table drinking red wine and talking and laughing their way through garlic mushrooms followed by cottage pie and vegetables.

  And if it sounded ludicrously simple, it wasn’t; every last mouthful was sublime. Marveling at her skills, Lawrence said, “How did you learn to cook food like this?”

  “I was poor before I was rich. I had plenty of practice in my early days. And I’m good at most things I turn my hand to.”

  “Well, this has been a treat.” He genuinely meant it. “I can’t cook to save my life.”

  As a door opened and closed elsewhere in the house, Marguerite smiled and said, “You’re like Riley. He’s hopeless too. The last time I went away, he lived on takeout, toast, and Cheerios.”

  “I smell food.” The kitchen door opened and Riley came in, wearing an old T-shirt and jeans. “Hope there’s some left for me.”

  “Of course.” Marguerite watched fondly as he helped himself to a massive portion of cottage pie. Lawrence, who’d secretly harbored hopes of being allowed to take the leftovers home with him, inwardly cursed her lazy nephew’s gargantuan appetite.

  “I didn’t realize you were here.” He kept his tone jovial. “What are you doing this evening, then?”

  “Having a night in for a change.” Riley showered ground pepper over the mountain of food on his plate. “Watching Star Wars.”

  “Oh? Which one?”

  “All of them.”

  “He’s seen them so many times,” Marguerite marveled, as if it were a wonderful achievement.

  “Has to be done.” Grabbing a can of beer from the giant fridge, Riley winked at them. “See ya later. Be good!”

  “Do you need me to tell you how spoiled that boy is?” said Lawrence when Riley had left the kitchen.

  “No. But he’s the light of my life. And he’s not hurting anyone.”

  “Apart from all those girls whose hearts he’s broken.”

  “That’s their problem. If Riley weren’t around, they’d find someone else to break their hearts.”

  “He should be working.”

  “He’s my personal assistant. Anyway,” said Marguerite, “don’t criticize. I don’t want him to move away. I’d rather let him have an easy life here than a proper job in some other part of the world. I’d never get to see him.”

  “I know, but he needs to learn to stand on his own two feet.” Much as he liked Riley, who possessed charm by the bucket load, Lawrence felt compelled to say it.

  “You don’t understand. He’s my only sister’s only son. I need an assistant to help me run my life, and I’d rather employ Riley than some complete stranger. It works out well for both of us. So that’s what I do.”

  She wasn’t angry, simply stating her opinion. Any criticism rolled off her like Teflon. Lawrence said, “Okay, fair enough,” and thought how nice it was to see Marguerite without her meet-the-public face on. Impulsively he said, “I’m having a good time. I like you better like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “When you aren’t being a bestselling author.” He accompanied the phrase with jazz hands.

  Her mouth twitched. “Have you ever read any of my books, Lawrence?”

  “No.” Except…did that sound rude? Hastily he added, “I did try one once, but I only managed a couple pages. Ach, that’s probably the wrong thing to say too.”

  But Marguerite was choking with laughter, in danger of spluttering red wine across the table. When it was safely swallowed, she said, “I like it that you haven’t read my books. I wouldn’t expect you to. Not that they aren’t fantastic, you understand…”

  “And you’re writing one at the moment?” Eager to redeem himself for what had surely been a faux pas, he changed the subject to her side of the business.

  “Always,” said Marguerite. “The machine never stops turning. As soon as I finish one book, I make a start on the next. My fans demand it. They’re inexhaustible. I get letters every day from people begging me to write faster.”

  “How did you start?”

  “Well, I wrote the first novel as my way of escaping a miserable marriage. My first husband was so jealous of other men, he wouldn’t let me go to the library. I was so bored with no books to read, I started writing one of my own.”

  “I can’t imagine you being married to a man who told you what you could or couldn’t do.”

  “I know. I was young and incredibly stupid.” Marguerite refilled both their glasses. “And I thought it meant he really loved me. Don’t worry, it didn’t take me long to come to my senses. As soon as I got my first publishing contract, I upped and left the bastard.”

  “And then?” He knew she’d been married three times but had never paid close attention before.

  “Oh well. A couple years later, I found husband number two. And because I was determined not to make the same mistake again, this time I made sure I married a man who was the complete opposite of number one.”

  “Ah.” Lawrence nodded, acknowledging the error.

  “Exactly,” said Marguerite. “Jeremy was a complete wimp. He wasn’t kind and thoughtful, just weak and spineless. It was a whole new kind of nightmare, and entirely my own fault. Of course I lost all respect for him. And he knew it. Three years we lasted. God only knows how. Cost me a fortune, that one.”

  Lawrence cut himself a wedge of the oozing Camembert she’d brought to the table. “And how long was it before you met number three?”

  “Oh, a while.” Marguerite shook her head at the memory of him. “Third and worst of the lot,” she said drily. “But again, I should have known better. Basically, when you meet a man sliding piles of chips across the roulette table in a casino, you pretty much know what to expect.”

  Lawrence vaguely recalled Nathan. Several years younger than Marguerite, he’d been the quintessential playboy, good-looking and charming on the surface but essentially selfish and incapable of loving his new wife more than he loved gambling and bedding other, younger women.

  “I can’t remember how long you and Nathan were married.”

  “Eighteen months. It was good fun for at least the first fortnight. The shine tends to go off a relationship,” Marguerite drawled, “when you come back from an author tour to find another woman’s empty pill packet in your en suite bathroom trash.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Austria. Currently living with someone far older and richer than me. They
have his ’n’ hers matching face-lifts. And he’s lost almost all his hair,” she added with a flicker of satisfaction.

  “Poor chap.”

  “I know. So there you go. That’s when I gave up collecting marriage certificates. Jolly expensive, and frankly they’re more trouble than they’re worth. I might be great at writing books, but when it comes to husband-picking, I’m a lost cause.”

  “Are you happy being single?”

  “I’m used to it. And at least I have Riley here. Not quite the same kind of companion, but it’s better than rattling around this place on my own.”

  “Do you ever get lonely?” said Lawrence.

  “What do you think?” Marguerite raised an eyebrow. “Why else did I go along to Val and Trevor’s smug-fest anniversary party the other night?”

  He shrugged. They were in the same boat.

  “I wonder if it’s worse for you.” Marguerite was watching him.

  “In what way?”

  “I chose three bad husbands. You chose one perfect wife.”

  Lawrence took another drink; did she think she was telling him something he didn’t already know? He nodded and said, “So true.”

  “And? Do you regret what you did?”

  “At the time I didn’t feel I had any choice. I just couldn’t help myself. We had to be together. Of course, we didn’t know how little time we’d have.”

  “And you’ve paid the price ever since,” said Marguerite.

  Lawrence nodded. “Oh yes. The ultimate karma.”

  “Do you still love Dot?”

  “I never stopped loving her. Hard as that may be for some people to believe.”

  “And now Antoine’s back on the scene. What’s going on there, then?”

  “I have no idea.” Lawrence spoke with feeling, then saw the way she was looking at him. “Oh God, are you going to put my story into your next book?”

  “Maybe I already have.” Marguerite smiled slightly, her eyes bright. “You wouldn’t know. You’ve never read any of them.”

  “Touché.”

  “How does it make you feel, Antoine paying all this attention to your ex-wife?”

  “How do you think it makes me feel?”

  “Poor Lawrence. You made your bed and you’ve been lying in it on your own ever since. It’s a hard life,” she observed. “Especially knowing that everyone’s thinking it serves you bloody well right.”

  “Thanks.” He lifted his glass to her. “Kind of you to point it out.”

  “Sorry, I’m a bit blunt sometimes.”

  “Really?” Lawrence raised his eyebrows at her. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  ***

  Lawrence left Moor Court at midnight. Marguerite had dismissed the idea that Riley might drop him home, saying, “Don’t bother asking; once he’s engrossed in those films of his, it’s best to just leave him to it. I’ll call a taxi.”

  And now it was waiting outside the front door. He gave Marguerite a hug and kissed her good-bye on each cheek. “Thanks for a fantastic meal. You were right about being a great cook.”

  “I’m always right. About everything.” Her tone was playful. “Pretty much.”

  “Apart from deciding who might be good to marry.”

  “Well, there definitely aren’t going to be any more weddings. I’ve learned that lesson.” Marguerite paused. “But I’ve had a nice time tonight. Better than I expected.”

  “So you thought this evening was going to be a complete disaster?”

  “Stop it. I thought it would be good.” Her eyes glinted with amusement. “I’m just saying, it exceeded expectations.”

  “Right.” Wondering how to proceed, Lawrence found himself briefly at a loss for words.

  Marguerite, who wasn’t, said, “Want to do it again?”

  “Could do.”

  “Such enthusiasm.”

  “Sorry. I mean yes, I’d like that.” Lawrence smiled as he said it. “I’ve enjoyed myself too, I really have.”

  ***

  The taxi departed with Lawrence in it. Marguerite surveyed the mess in the kitchen and made the decision to leave it for now; she’d clean up tomorrow.

  Before heading upstairs, she popped her head around the door to say good night to Riley.

  He glanced around at her. “How was that, then? Have a good time?”

  “Surprisingly good. Are you going to be staying up all night?”

  “Most likely.” He pushed his fingers through his disheveled hair and nodded. “You off to bed now?”

  “Yes.” She crossed the room, rested a hand on his shoulder, and dropped a kiss on top of his blond head. “Night, sweetheart. Keep on doing what you’re doing.”

  But she’d lost his attention; Riley’s gaze had already slid back to the screen. She was evidently interrupting a good bit. Distractedly he nodded and said, “Yeah, don’t worry, I will.”

  Chapter 30

  It was no good; like a dentist’s appointment you’d been trying hard not to think about, the date of the wedding was almost upon them, and the time had come for Tula to do something about it.

  She found Dot working behind the reception desk. “Hi, I’ve asked Carol and she’s fine with it, so is it okay if we swap shifts this weekend?”

  “No problem, my darling.” Dot reached for a pen and pulled the shift planner across the desk toward her. “So she’ll be working on Saturday, yes? And you’ll do Sunday.”

  “That’s it.” Tula watched as the schedule was altered accordingly.

  “Off somewhere nice?”

  “Yes. Well, kind of. It’s an old friend’s wedding.”

  “Ooh, nothing lovelier than a wedding.” Dot looked sideways at her. “Except I can’t help noticing you’re not looking that enthralled.”

  “I know. And it will be lovely.” Hesitating, Tula pulled a face. “It’s this girl I used to work with. She was always better than everyone else, you know what I mean? The kind who makes you feel a bit inferior?”

  “Oh no!” Dot looked appalled. “Really? How mean.”

  “She’s actually really nice. It’s the thing about her being so pretty and lovely that probably makes me feel second best. I was thrilled she included me as one of her friends,” Tula explained. “She didn’t have to. Some of the others were a bit iffy like that, but Imi never was.”

  “And who’s she marrying?”

  “Someone equally perfect in every way. Of course. Good-looking, heaps of money, adores her. They’re getting married in the middle of Wales at this amazing hotel.”

  “Well, I think it sounds wonderful,” said Dot. “But there’s still something not quite right. Are you going to tell me what it is?”

  Honestly, was she a witch?

  “It’s all my own fault.” Tula heaved a gusty sigh and began unwinding a paper clip. “I’ve always been a bit rubbish when it comes to boyfriends. Imi and her crowd used to joke about it. Her best friend said it was like a sum that didn’t add up; I was pretty enough to get someone decent but somehow it never happened.”

  “Well, she definitely sounds mean,” Dot announced.

  Tula bit her lip; the comments had always been made in such a way that if she’d gotten upset, everyone would have said, But we didn’t mean it like that. It was just a bit of fun!

  Even though the implication had been that there must be some deep-down attribute she was lacking in, something she was getting badly wrong.

  “Anyway, so I kind of hinted that I was seeing someone gorgeous now and Imi said I must bring him along with me to the wedding. Which made things kind of tricky, but it was a while back. I kind of hoped that by the time the day came around, I might have found myself a gorgeous boyfriend,” said Tula. “Except now it has. And I haven’t.”

  “Ah.” Dot nodded sagely. “The perennial single-girl problem. Well, you
’ll just have to say he can’t make it; he’s had to fly off to Amsterdam on some hugely important business trip.”

  “I know, that was my plan too. Except I texted Imi last night to say I’d be coming to the wedding on my own because my boyfriend couldn’t make it. She was out with her friends at the time.” Tula flinched at the memory. “Imi called me back and was saying oh no, what a shame, but I could hear the other girls laughing in the background, making jokes about my imaginary boyfriend. One said, ‘I’ll feel bad if he really does have to work,’ and someone else said, ‘Oh, come on. Don’t be so gullible. He doesn’t exist.’”

  “That’s so cruel!” Dot was indignant on her behalf.

  “I know.” Tula had fashioned the paper clip into an agitated spiral. She said gloomily, “So cruel. But also true.”

  The next moment Dot clapped her hands and said, “Luckily, I’m a genius!”

  “Oh?” Tula didn’t get her hopes up; her own last idea had been to wonder if she could stick a mustache on Sophie and pass her off as a man.

  “Josh,” Dot exclaimed. “He’d do, wouldn’t he?”

  Okay, this was possibly the most rhetorical question in the world.

  “Apart from anything else,” Tula reminded her, “he’s up in London this weekend.”

  “Ah, but that’s the thing; he isn’t going anymore. His friend’s father died last night so the party’s been canceled. Which is sad, obviously,” said Dot, “but could be brilliantly handy for you.”

  It was a thrilling prospect, but realistically not likely to happen. Tula wondered how much Dot knew about her unreciprocated crush on Josh. She unwound the paper clip and shaped it into an angsty zigzag. “He wouldn’t do it.”

  “Why ever not?”

  Tula shrugged. “Just wouldn’t want to.”

  “He might,” said Dot, “if I ask him.”

  Oh God, imagine their faces if she were to turn up at the wedding with Josh. It would be the best moment of her whole life. Her mind working overtime, Tula realized it was like the storyline in that film The Wedding Date where the girl from Will & Grace ended up falling for Dermot Mulroney and they had their own happily ever after.