MILLIE'S FLING

by Jill Mansell

‘I got the job,’ he told Hester when she arrived home from work.

  ‘You did?’ Encouraged by the glorious cooking smells emanating from the kitchen—good news, surely?—Hester's face lit up. ‘Oh, that's fantastic, that's so—’

  ‘And Lucas told me everything.’

  Hester's rib cage contracted with terror. How, how could Lucas have done this to her? It simply wasn’t fair.

  ‘Wh-what did he tell you?’

  ‘That you slept with him. Once.’ Nat shrugged slightly and turned down the heat on the pan of furiously bubbling linguini. ‘That it didn’t mean anything and that it's never going to happen again.’

  The color drained from Hester's face. This was it, Nat was bound to finish with her now.

  ‘It's true.’ As she nodded, a tear slid down one cheek. To her shame, Hester realized she’d been busy mentally piling all the blame on to Lucas, which wasn’t fair at all. Hastily brushing the tear away— because whatever happened now was entirely her own fault—she said, ‘It's all true, especially the last bit. As long as I live, I’ll never be tempted to sleep with Lucas again. Not that it makes much difference to you.’ Nodding her head jerkily in the direction of the food already laid out on the kitchen table, Hester added, ‘What's this, the last supper?’

  Forgiving a girlfriend who had been unfaithful wasn’t something Nat had ever imagined himself capable of doing. But in the past few months, he had grown up a lot. Furthermore, he may have managed to resist the charms of Anastasia in Glasgow, but only by the skin of his teeth. It had so very nearly happened, that final night in her flat.

  Oh yes, thought Nat, it could have been me. It really could have been me.

  ‘Out of interest, what was Lucas like?’ asked Nat, already knowing perfectly well.

  ‘Diabolical. Awful. Pathetic.’

  ‘Really? So is that why you wouldn’t bother again?’ Nat raised an eyebrow. ‘How about if he’d been fantastic?’

  It was over now; she could say whatever she liked. In despair, Hester retaliated, ‘Don’t you get it? It wouldn’t have made a blind bit of difference, because he still wouldn’t have been you! Oh, this is ridiculous, why are we even having this conversation?’ In a rush to get out before Nat could see that she was crying again, she made a furious dash for the door.

  ‘It's okay, it's okay.’ Swiftly Nat intercepted her, grabbing her by the elbows. ‘I can handle it. We’re going to put this behind us. Okay, so maybe we can’t forget it ever happened, but it's in the past now. We don’t have to let it spoil everything.’

  ‘T-truly?’ stammered Hester, her knees almost giving way.

  ‘That's why Lucas told me. So that we can realize how unimportant some things are and get on with the rest of our lives.’ A glimmer of a smile lifted the corners of Nat's mouth. ‘Seems a shame not to, now that he's given me the chance to prove myself in this restaurant of his.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Nat had always been so straight, so proud. Hester needed to be convinced.

  ‘Sure I’m sure. So long as you never do anything like it again. Not with anyone,’ warned Nat. ‘Because I’m telling you now, I’m only human. Once is enough.’

  Hester flung her arms around his broad shoulders, so deliriously happy she could have burst into tears all over again.

  ‘Believe me,’ she said with feeling, ‘once was more than enough.’

  Chapter 43

  ‘OOF! GOD, SORRY, ALL my fault… oh Hugh, it's you!’

  It was absolutely typical of Orla, Hugh thought, that the reason she had cannoned into him was because she was too busy waving over her shoulder and chattering away to watch where she was going as she made her way out of the shop.

  ‘How lovely to bump into you again!’ Still clutching her Fogarty & Phelps carriers, Orla kissed him with enthusiasm on both cheeks. ‘And you’re looking so well. Actually, Millie and I saw you the other week doing a spot of surfing, but you didn’t notice us. I must say, we were most impressed—I had no idea you were so skilled with a board!’

  As she spoke, Orla's green eyes sparkled with laughter and spirals of red-gold hair bounced like springs around her bare shoulders. She was wearing a long silver and white squiggly-patterned dress with a purple felt-pen mark just below her left breast.

  The trouble was, Hugh decided, you could disapprove of the unscrupulous way Orla went about her work, but it didn’t stop you actually liking her as a person. Her information-gathering techniques might be underhanded, but she was such a warm, impulsive character you couldn’t not like her.

  ‘Oh yes, hugely skilled.’ He nodded seriously. ‘In fact, I’m odds-on favorite to win the title this year at the world surfing championships.’

  ‘Nooo!’ Orla let out a shriek of delight.

  ‘No,’ agreed Hugh, his mouth twitching. ‘So how's your computer? Behaving itself?’

  ‘Absolutely. Unlike my pig of a husband. Did you hear about Giles moving out?’

  ‘I read about it in the papers. I’m really sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be.’ Orla rolled her eyes dramatically. ‘I’m not. God, listen to me, I can’t believe I’m even saying this, but it's true! I did my level best to make our marriage work, but it wasn’t enough for Giles. In the end, I just snapped and thought sod it, he's treated me like a bit of old rubbish and I really don’t deserve it. Not that it's all been plain sailing since he left, of course. I’ve had my miserable moments.’

  Orla was glossing over the gloom and doom, Hugh realized, putting on a brave face for his sake. But there was an air of genuine optimism about her all the same.

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ he said, and meant it.

  ‘I know. And that's half the battle, isn’t it?’ Her smile was determinedly bright. ‘My friend Millie keeps telling me I deserve better. Actually, I don’t know how I’d have managed without her. She's been fantastic.’

  Hugh wondered if this was a dig, a pointed reminder that he’d not been in touch with Millie for weeks. This too was absolutely typical of Orla; even in the middle of telling him about the break-up of her marriage she was unable to pass up the opportunity to drop a hint.

  He had spent the last couple of weeks doing his best not to think about Millie. And failing utterly.

  ‘Lord, is that my stomach?’ Orla placed her hand apologetically over her stomach and laughed. ‘Rumbling away like an old tractor! I’ve been working since six o’clock this morning—I only popped down here because I’d run out of coffee. Of course, as soon as I walked into the shop I went completely mad.’ Holding up the bulging carriers she said impulsively, ‘I’ve got tons of stuff, enough to feed an army. Are you terribly busy or can I persuade you to come back with me and let me give you lunch?’

  Hugh hesitated. He’d only called into the delicatessen on his way home to pick up a couple of sandwiches. He had no other pressing engagements this afternoon. Then again, was Orla only inviting him because she was desperate to pump him for information about his one-night stand with Millie? Because she needed to hear his side of things in order to include it in her book?

  ‘Oh please,’ Orla cried, suddenly aghast. ‘I really hope you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking!’

  Exercising caution—because somebody had to—Hugh said, ‘What's that?’

  ‘You don’t know if you dare risk coming back to the house, because I’m single and lonely and a desperate old bat, and you’re terrified I might make an embarrassing pass at you!’ Silver bracelets dangling, Orla clutched her throat in horror. ‘I won’t, I promise!’

  ‘Right.’ Hugh nodded slowly, his expression deadpan. ‘The thing is, what if I wanted you to make an embarrassing pass at me?’

  ‘This time,’ Orla was triumphant, ‘I know you’re joking. Can’t catch me out twice. So, how about lunch?’

  Hugh broke into a grin. ‘Okay. I’ll risk it.’

  ‘You’ll be safe.’ Orla winked at him. ‘Besides, I don’t steal men who belong to someone else. And you’re already taken.’

  The W
orld According to Orla, Hugh mused. Did she seriously think she could orchestrate people's entire lives? Did writing it all down and deciding what should happen to each character mean it actually had to happen?

  You couldn’t help admiring her nerve, he thought wryly as he followed Orla out into the street.

  Over lunch in the conservatory they talked mainly about Giles.

  ‘There are good points,’ Orla confided, twiddling a slice of wafer-thin Parma ham on to her fork. ‘Not having to miss the programs I want to watch on the telly because he's glued to Sky Sports. And I don’t have to listen to him going on and on and on about bloody golf. I don’t have to pretend to be interested anymore, when he tells me how he decided to use his eight iron on the seventeenth hole, instead of a six iron like Dougie Plumley-Pemberton. And there's nobody to tell me off if I eat crisps in bed, or leave the top off the shampoo bottle, or accidentally get marmalade on the Sunday Times—’ Abruptly, Orla stopped herself. Reaching across the table to clasp Hugh's hand, she shook her head, mortified. ‘God, you must want to slap me. Talk about insensitive. I’m so sorry.’

  Smiling, Hugh moved the bowl of tarragon mayonnaise to a place of safety, before Orla's elbow ended up in it.

  ‘Don’t be daft. You’re just saying what we’ve all said at some time. It used to drive Louisa demented, always having to clear a pile of CDs off the passenger seat before she could climb into my car. And the way she used to leave mascara splattered all over the bathroom mirror drove me mad.’ He spread his hands in amazement. ‘I’m serious. Every single day! I’d clean it off the mirror, and the next morning it’d be back again. I mean, how can that happen?’

  ‘Oh, easy, you just kind of flick the end of the brush. Putting your mascara on with a flourish makes your eyelashes feel longer. It's a girl thing,’ Orla consoled him.

  ‘Either that or Louisa was doing it on purpose because she knew it would wind me up.’

  ‘Maybe it did at the time,’ said Orla. ‘But I bet you’d give anything for the chance to wipe that mascara off the mirror again now.’

  There were sympathetic tears in her eyes.

  ‘Actually, no.’ Hugh smiled. ‘You love someone despite their faults. But I can’t honestly say I miss cleaning our bathroom mirror.’

  Orla topped up their glasses of wine.

  ‘Anyway, I want to hear what you’ve been up to.’

  I’ll bet you do, thought Hugh.

  ‘You know how nosy I am,’ Orla went on.

  I certainly know that.

  ‘So how are things?’

  ‘Well, you know, improving.’ To tease her, Hugh said, ‘Making a start, at least.’

  ‘Well I know that, of course! And I couldn’t be happier for you.’ Orla nodded encouragingly. ‘I must say, I did wonder if she was quite your type, but then again, what does it matter? You’re just having a practice run, getting back into the swing of things for heaven's sake. Having a bit of fun!’

  Hugh hid his surprise. This wasn’t the kind of reaction he’d been expecting. Then again, maybe Orla was the mistress of the double-bluff.

  ‘Exactly.’ He shrugged and helped himself to more prosciutto.

  ‘Oh phew, for a moment there I thought I’d put my foot in it again.’ Orla fanned herself with relief. ‘But you’re doing the right thing. I mean, it's not as if she's the kind of girl you’d be remotely interested in settling down with!’ Lowering her voice, she added, ‘The only thing that worries me slightly is, does she realize that?’

  Carefully, Hugh tore off a chunk of baguette. Wasn’t Orla being a bit unkind here, singing Millie's praises one minute and criticizing her the next?

  Feeling incensed on Millie's behalf—and heaven only knew why, after the way she had used him—he shrugged. ‘Never say never. You can’t plan these things. By this time next year we could be married with… well, anything could have happened.’

  ‘Married with a baby?’ Pouncing like a panther on the unspoken words, Orla's eyebrows shot up. ‘That's what you were about to say, isn’t it?!’

  Hugh shrugged. Honestly, it was a wonder she didn’t have a tape recorder whirring on the table between them to make sure no detail was lost.

  ‘I’m just saying anything can happen.’ He kept a straight face; no doubt this entire conversation would be relayed back to Millie before nightfall.

  ‘Hugh, now listen to me, I may not be the world's greatest expert on happy marriages, but I can tell you now that would be a disaster.’ Orla's earrings jangled with agitation. ‘You have to promise me you won’t do that! Okay, she's a sweet enough girl, but let's face it, she's simply not in your league!’

  ‘How can you say that?’

  ‘Because I’ve got eyes in my head.’ Vigorously, Orla poked her fingers at her eyes. ‘I’ve seen the way she looks at you. And the way you look at her. For heaven's sake, you could have any girl you wanted.’

  ‘Maybe I’ve found the girl I want.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but you’re wrong.’ Orla was getting really worked up now, the food on her plate forgotten. ‘She isn’t good enough for you. A pretty face isn’t everything, you know. There has to be more to it than that. And let's face it, she's so immature.’

  Coldly Hugh said, ‘In what way, exactly?’

  ‘Oh God, now you’re really cross with me. I don’t mean immature in the derogatory sense.’ Orla flapped her hands in an attempt to appease him. ‘I’m just saying she's so much younger than you. I mean, how old is she? Sixteen? Seventeen?’

  Click click click, the cogs slipped into place. Orla wasn’t describing Millie. As far as she was concerned, Hugh belatedly deduced, this entire conversation had been about his next-door neighbor, Kate.

  The relief, for some reason, was indescribable.

  ‘Sixteen,’ said Hugh, pushing his plate away.

  ‘And now I’ve made you hate me.’ Orla looked at him with a mixture of determination and regret. ‘Darling, I’m sorry, but someone had to say it, and I won’t take it back.’

  ‘You’re entitled to your opinion.’ Hugh's tone softened. ‘We’ll just have to see what happens, won’t we?’

  Rather like reading one of your novels.

  Click click click…

  ‘What's wrong?’ Alarmed by his air of distraction, Orla said, ‘We’re still friends, aren’t we?’ Jumping to her feet, she blurted out, ‘There's a lemon tart for pudding!’

  Hugh frowned, deep in thought.

  ‘And pomegranate ice cream!’

  He shook his head.

  ‘It's not that. I was wondering about your hard drive.’

  ‘What?’ The abrupt change of subject completely wrong-footed Orla.

  ‘The hard drive in your computer. It just occurred to me. If you’ve been doing as much work as you say you have, it must be getting pretty cluttered.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Computer talk was something of a no-go area, as far as Orla was concerned. Technology wasn’t her forte.

  ‘Well?’ Hugh prompted. ‘Is it?’

  Orla looked blank; she hadn’t the least idea. Crikey, she didn’t even understand the question. This was like being asked to stand up and explain the inner workings of a carburetor.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, is the provider taking a long time to connect?’

  Mystified, Orla shrugged.

  ‘It's not a good idea to overload the system. The hard drive probably needs clearing.’ Hugh added kindly, ‘Would you like me to take a look while I’m here? Sort it out for you, before…?’

  He didn’t say so, but the implication was clear. Before it crashed, basically. Taking her entire manuscript with it.

  ‘Heavens, would you?’ Orla's feet jiggled with anxiety. ‘I had no idea this could happen.’

  ‘I did mention it when I installed the system,’ said Hugh.

  ‘I didn’t listen! It's not the kind of thing I listen to!’

  ‘Never mind. I’m here now.’

  Oh, those reassuring words, like
Batman swooping to the rescue.

  ‘Thank goodness I bumped into you today!’ Orla exclaimed. ‘This is so kind of you.’

  Hugh broke into a smile as he pushed back his chair.

  ‘I know.’

  Chapter 44

  UPSTAIRS IN HER OFFICE, from the safety of the window seat, Orla watched him with the kind of awe generally reserved for army experts detonating an unexploded bomb.

  Hugh, working in silence to access the hard drive, determinedly didn’t feel mean.

  Ten minutes later, Orla reached for her cigarettes. Without looking up, Hugh said, ‘You shouldn’t smoke around computers. It buggers them up.’

  She pulled a face; this was definitely something he’d told her before. Not that she’d taken a blind bit of notice.

  ‘I don’t know what this world's coming to, I really don’t.’ Orla heaved a sigh and fiddled with her necklaces instead. ‘Can’t smoke in front of children or pregnant women or computers. If I went back to writing by hand, I’d probably be had up for cruelty to felt-tips.’

  ‘Look.’ Hugh pointed to the screen. ‘Forty megabytes of memory. Everything shoved in, willy-nilly. It's taking up too much space, like bundling clothes into a chest of drawers. You have to throw out the stuff you don’t need and put the rest into some kind of order.’

  Orla rolled her eyes like a teenager being nagged to tidy her room.

  ‘And you need backup on an external hard drive.’

  ‘What I need is a cigarette.’ Defiantly, Orla slid a Marlboro out of the packet. ‘Darling, don’t look at me like that. You can manage all this external hard drive business without me, can’t you? I’ll just be in the garden getting some fresh air.’

  Hugh forced himself to wait until the backing-up was in progress before studying the various charts pinned up around the office. This time Orla had had no idea that he would be coming in here and no opportunity to take down the relevant sections.

  The ones with his name on them.

  As the computer busily clicked and whirred behind him, Hugh checked each chart in turn.

  His name wasn’t there. It wasn’t anywhere.