by Jill Mansell
Dot, sitting at his bedside, couldn’t believe he’d remembered the colour of her dress.
‘Pale yellow,’ Lawrence elaborated. ‘With white daisies on it. And pockets on each side.’
‘It was the sixties,’ Dot explained to Rose. ‘Daisies and pockets were very popular back then.’
‘When it started raining, she was worried about her dress getting wet, so I took off my jacket and let her wear it. But the rain came down harder. So then we tried to take a short cut, leaving the cliff path and cutting across some fields. Which would have worked well if it hadn’t been for the locked gate.’
‘Ooh no, what happened?’ Rose was expertly retaping the drip line.
And now it was Lawrence’s turn to smile. ‘I was helping Dot to climb over the gate. But she was wearing white pointy-heeled shoes and she slipped on her way over the top bar. She went crashing down the other side, skidded, lost her balance and ended up sitting in a puddle, splashed head to toe in mud. Well, that was it; I knew what girls were like when their new clothes got wrecked. I was just waiting for her to go ballistic.’ He shook his head, evidently visualising the scene. ‘But d’you know what? She started to laugh instead. And there was mud all over her face … and her dress …’
‘And your jacket,’ Dot joined in. ‘And you were still on the other side of the gate, looking stunned …’
‘So then I climbed over the gate like a complete gentleman to haul her up. I grabbed hold of both her hands, and do you know what she did, Rose?’ Lawrence raised an eyebrow at the nurse. ‘Instead of letting me help her get back on her feet, she deliberately pulled me down into the mud.’
‘Nooo!’ Rose was agog.
‘I mean, what kind of a girl does that?’ He shrugged helplessly. ‘She dragged me down with her and laughed and laughed, then she kissed me and rolled me around until we were both completely covered … then she kissed me again and I knew exactly what kind of a girl did that.’ Lawrence’s mouth twitched. ‘It was the kind I wanted to marry. So that was it, that was when I asked her. There and then.’
‘In the mud and the rain,’ said Dot.
‘In an empty field.’
‘And with our clothes ruined.’
‘I couldn’t have cared less.’ Lawrence looked at Rose. ‘She said yes, that was all that mattered.’
‘Ah, that’s so lovely.’ Rose was clasping her hands together in delight. ‘So you never did make it to the party.’
‘Oh we did.’ Lawrence smiled. ‘We wanted to celebrate with our friends. Weren’t going to let a bit of mud stop us.’
‘They lent us a change of clothes,’ said Dot. ‘Weird clothes, but at least they were dry.’
‘They gave you a giant pair of dungarees,’ Lawrence remembered. ‘And I had to wear a terrible pair of corduroy trousers. God, they were purple.’ He threw his head back and laughed. ‘But we still had the most brilliant night.’
‘We did,’ Dot agreed. ‘Even if a couple of people thought we were far too young to be thinking about getting married and said it would never last.’
‘Ha, and you proved them wrong!’ Rose beamed. ‘Look at the two of you now, fifty years later. Oh, I love stories like this. You give the rest of us hope, you really do!’
Dot opened her mouth to say, except we aren’t married, we’re divorced. Then she met Lawrence’s gaze and closed it again. Why do it? Why disappoint Rose and prompt the question that would mean explaining all over again why their happy marriage had ended in unhappy divorce?
Instead she smiled and said, ‘We just struck lucky, I guess.’
When Rose had finished and moved on to the next patient, Dot looked at her watch and said, ‘They’re going to be kicking me out soon.’
‘Yes.’ Lawrence paused. ‘Thank you.’
‘For what? The grapes?’ Dot had eaten most of them herself. ‘Sorry about that. I’ll bring some more tomorrow.’
‘Never mind them. Thank you for everything. Just … everything.’ His voice cracked and he cleared his throat, embarrassed. ‘Anyway, you should be heading off.’
To her lonely attic room back at the B&B. It was funny how a hospital ward, with all its bustle and chatter, could come to feel like home. She said, ‘I suppose I should.’
‘Thanks for keeping me company. Again. And for not telling Rose the depressing truth.’
‘Didn’t have the heart to disappoint her.’ Dot lightly touched his wrist. ‘I’m impressed, by the way, that you remembered what I was wearing when I fell over in the mud.’
‘Just because I don’t talk about things doesn’t mean I don’t remember them.’ Lawrence shook his head. ‘I’ll never forget anything about that night.’
Dot reached for his hand, curling her fingers between his. She’d felt like the luckiest girl in the world that day. It had been the ultimate spur-of-the-moment proposal, followed by a wild impromptu celebration. Poor Antoine; all the immaculate planning and painstaking attention to detail in the world couldn’t have matched it. She looked at Lawrence and said, ‘I love you.’
Stunned, he gazed back at her. Finally he nodded and replied, ‘I love you too.’
‘Who knows how much time either of us has left? I don’t think we should waste it.’
‘Visiting time’s over, you two lovebirds,’ Rose sang out as she made her way back past them.
‘Seriously?’ Lawrence whispered.
‘Absolutely.’
‘Oh my God.’ He squeezed Dot’s hand. ‘Are you trying to give me another heart attack?’
Dot spluttered; his sense of humour had always made her laugh. ‘Do try not to have one.’
‘Well, despite the fact that I’m lying in a hospital bed full of tubes,’ said Lawrence, ‘this ranks right up there as one of the best days of my life.’ He raised his head from the pillow and she leaned over to kiss him on the mouth.
Eleven years since the last kiss. Dot closed her eyes; how she’d missed him.
Well, we’re together again now. Until death us do part.
Her heart turned over. ‘You know what? Me too.’
‘And is Antoine … you know, definitely off the scene?’
‘Absolutely definitely.’
‘You mean, out of him or me, you chose me?’
‘Looks like it,’ said Dot.
‘Wow,’ said Lawrence. ‘That’s amazing. No accounting for taste.’
‘I know. Weird, isn’t it?’
He reached up and touched the side of her face. ‘I’m the luckiest man in the world. I really hope I don’t die just yet.’
Dot smiled, cupped her own hand over his and murmured, ‘You’d better not. If you do, I’ll kill you.’
Chapter 49
This time the shop was open. Since he wasn’t stupid – not twice, anyway – Josh had called in advance to double-check.
And now he was here. It had begun to feel as if the fates were conspiring against him, but it was happening at last.
Please God, don’t let Theo Pargeter refuse point-blank to speak to him when he found out the reason for his visit.
Josh braced himself. The conversation would be infinitely easier without other customers around. And it looked as if he were in luck; getting here this early seemed to have paid off. When he made his way through the gates, he saw only the one person in the outdoor section of the shop, busy unstacking a delivery of glazed planter pots.
‘Hi.’ Noticing him, Theo Pargeter straightened up and said in a friendly manner, ‘Anything I can help you with?’
Just a bit.
‘I hope so. But it’s not to do with this.’ Josh indicated the garden furniture surrounding them. ‘More … personal.’
Theo looked taken aback. ‘Oh? What kind of personal?’
OK, this was way more difficult than the meetings he’d had with entertainment industry bigwigs back in LA. Probably because the outcome was way more important.
‘I need to ask some questions.’ Josh cleared his throat, which appeared to have his heart beating aw
ay in it. ‘About Sophie Wells.’
Theo went very still. The colour drained visibly from his face. At last he said, ‘Why? Is she all right?’
‘She’s alive. Fit and healthy. I don’t know about all right.’
‘Who are you?’ said Theo.
Honesty had to be the best policy. May as well go for it. ‘I know her. We know each other. As friends,’ Josh amended. ‘I wish it was more, but it isn’t.’
‘Why not?’ Theo was eyeing him warily.
‘Because something happened in Sophie’s past that … changed her. And I don’t know what that something is, but I need to find out. Because I love her. And I think she has feelings for me, but she won’t let herself get emotionally involved with anyone.’ He shook his head. ‘Not with anyone at all.’
The silence lengthened between them. Finally Theo said, ‘Have you tried asking her why not?’
‘Of course I’ve tried. She refuses to talk about it. And it’s killing me,’ said Josh. ‘I need to know what happened. Maybe then I can help. Whatever it is, I just want Sophie to be able to put it behind her … because there has to be a way. If she can just get over it, she can be happy again.’
‘Oh God.’ Theo ran a shaking hand over his forehead. ‘Does she know you’re here?’
‘No.’ Josh knew he had to ask the question. ‘Will you tell me? Did she try to commit suicide? Is that what happened?’
More silence.
Then Theo shook his head. ‘No, Sophie didn’t try to commit suicide. I did.’
In the frozen seconds following this startling pronouncement, a Kawasaki motorbike pulled into the parking area. A skinny lad removed his crash helmet and said, ‘Sorry I’m late, a lorry broke down on Falcondale Road. Traffic was chaos.’
‘Doesn’t matter.’ Theo shook his head. ‘Roddie, can you finish unpacking these pots and take charge? I have to go out for a bit.’
Roddie, who evidently worked as Theo’s assistant, shrugged and said, ‘Cool, no probs.’
The two of them walked up the road to a small café and found a quiet corner where they couldn’t be overheard. Then Josh sat and listened as Theo began to talk.
The whole story came out, jerkily at first, then faster and faster as it went along, fuelled by shame and remorse.
‘It was my fault. All my fault. Sophie didn’t do anything wrong. God, I had no idea. I swear I never thought it would have that kind of effect on her. I don’t know how she stuck it out with me for as long as she did. I was a nightmare.’ Theo grimaced at the memory. ‘Well, I was ill. The doctors told me I’d had a complete nervous breakdown. It was hell for both of us. But after the overdose, when I told Sophie I never wanted to see her again, it was because I was so ashamed of what I’d done. And I told myself I was doing the right thing. I thought she’d be happy to be off the hook. The reason I left Birmingham was to give her some space. Well, I needed to get away too, take some time to sort myself out. Then after a while I heard she’d moved down to Cornwall. Is that where you’re from too?’
Josh nodded, still taking in everything he’d heard. ‘St Carys, on the north coast.’
‘I know, I googled her name. She has her own photography business.’ Theo’s smile was brief. ‘Good for Sophie. It’s what she always wanted.’
Hmm, not quite true; what most twenty-something girls wanted was to live normal, happy lives and not be too terrified to allow themselves to fall in love.
‘And how are you now? Are you happy?’
‘Completely.’ Theo shrugged. ‘Everything’s great. ‘You don’t think your life can change like that, become so much better; you just can’t imagine it. But it can. It really can.’
‘You could have sent Sophie an email,’ said Josh. ‘Just to let her know you were fine.’ But he knew now, understood why that had never happened.
‘It never occurred to me for a single moment that she’d be interested. I swear I just thought she’d be glad to have me out of her life. I caused her so much pain.’ Theo had been shredding a paper napkin as he spoke; now he tidied the torn remnants on to his saucer. ‘And I felt so guilty about that.’ He paused. ‘So guilty. Why would she ever want to hear from me again?’
Josh looked at him. It was no one’s fault. God, what a mess, all these years of needless misery.
Theo’s phone beeped, signalling the arrival of a text. He checked it and said, ‘Right, we need to get back.’
But when they returned to the shop, Theo walked past it and headed for the adjoining house instead, gesturing for Josh to follow him.
‘Come along inside. There’s something I want you to see.’
Chapter 50
‘Oh wow.’ Tula’s mouth dropped open as she gazed around the hotel lobby, breathed in the smell of money in the air. ‘How the other half lives.’
‘Stop gawping,’ said Marguerite. ‘You look like a tourist.’
‘I am a tourist.’ The diamond-patterned black and white marble floor gleamed, chandeliers glittered above their heads and the wallpaper and furniture was like something out of a palace. A porter was wheeling a trolley piled high with Louis Vuitton luggage towards the lifts, and the chances were that it wasn’t even fake. Every single person in this reception hall looked like a millionaire. Sliding her phone out of her pocket, Tula said, ‘Am I allowed to take photos?’
‘No you are not. Put that thing away.’ Marguerite rolled her eyes at the very idea. ‘Don’t show yourself up.’
Tula grinned, because she was learning that Marguerite’s bark was infinitely worse than her bite. ‘Spoilsport. But don’t you ever walk into a place like this and pinch yourself because you’re here and it’s just so incredible? Or are you so used to it by now that you don’t even notice? I mean, look at it …’
‘Oh, of course I notice.’ Tula’s refusal to be intimidated by Marguerite had, happily, resulted in the older woman relaxing and lowering her own guard. ‘I may be rich on the outside but I still feel poor on the inside. You never forget your roots.’
‘Well anyway, thanks for letting me come along.’ Tula, poor inside and out but used to it, added, ‘You have no idea, this is so exciting for me.’
Marguerite was smiling at her now. ‘Is it? Good. Ah, here comes Riley with the keys.’
Back from getting them checked in, Riley said, ‘Here we go. We’re on the third floor.’ He looked at Tula’s bag. ‘Want me to carry that for you?’
A porter, materialising as if by magic at her other side, said, ‘Madame, would you like me to take care of your bag?’
God, how mortifying. Not only did he look like something out of Downton Abbey, but her overnight bag was from Primark. ‘Thanks, but it’s OK. No need,’ she reassured him. ‘They’re the guests. I’m staying somewhere else.’
As they made their way up in the unbelievably plush lift, Tula marvelled at the sequence of events that had brought her here to London and the Savoy Hotel. Forty-eight hours ago, Marguerite had hosted a book club event at Moor Court and Tula had been called upon to help out for the first time. The evening had gone well, everyone had enjoyed themselves and Marguerite had been on top lady-author form. Following the departure of the last few guests, however, she’d discovered that one of her diamond earrings had fallen out. Panic ensued. After twenty minutes of frantic searching, Tula had located the missing earring buried in the deep pile of the ivory carpet in the drawing room where the event had taken place.
Shortly after that, while she’d been washing up the perilously long-stemmed wine glasses, she’d listened while Marguerite and Riley, at the scrubbed-oak kitchen table, went through the appointments diary for the coming week. Thursday was publication day here in the UK for Tell Me Now, Marguerite’s latest novel, and there was a ton of promotional work to be done. Interviews with journalists for newspapers and the most popular websites had been lined up. Videos needed to be made and posted online. There were book signings and an endless round of radio interviews …
‘And on Thursday you’ve got the EveryDay sh
ow.’ Riley moved on down the list.
‘Right. Who am I on with?’
Tula’s ears pricked up as Riley mentioned the names of the British-born Hollywood actor and the nation’s favourite songstress.
‘Well I’ve heard of the actor,’ said Marguerite, ‘but the other one … no idea. You’d better dig up some info for me so I have some clue who she is.’
‘I will.’ Riley nodded and scribbled a note on the page. ‘Although the audience loved it last year when you asked Dustin Hoffman what films he’d been in.’
Dustin Hoffman. Tula almost snapped one of the long-stemmed wine glasses. Imagine. ‘He was very nice about it,’ Marguerite admitted. ‘OK, carry on. What happens on Friday?’
‘Can I just say something? You should be more excited than this.’ Having finished rinsing the last of the glasses, Tula picked up a tea towel. ‘Seriously, you’re going to be on TV with really famous people and millions of viewers.’ The EveryDay show was massively popular, an early evening magazine-style programme hosted by Jon and Jackie Jerome, a much-loved former comedian and his perky wife. ‘I’d give anything to be on a show like that. Even being in a TV studio would be thrilling for most people. And you’re not even excited.’
‘It’s just work. Selling books, that’s all.’ Sounding surprised, Marguerite said, ‘Have you really never visited a TV studio?’
Hello? Real world? ‘No! Believe it or not, most people haven’t.’
‘Well, are you free on Thursday? If you want,’ Marguerite offered, ‘you can come up with us.’ She turned to Riley and said innocently, ‘That’d be OK, wouldn’t it? You wouldn’t mind?’
Tula hid a smile; Marguerite the meddling matchmaker was up to her tricks again. Honestly, it was so obvious. But visiting the TV studio was an irresistible draw. Let’s face it, offers like this didn’t come along every day.
‘After tomorrow I’ve got two days off, so that’d be perfect. If you’re sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure.’ Marguerite indicated the list. ‘We’re booked into the Savoy, right?’
The Savoy? Yikes.