And Now You're Back

by Jill Mansell

  Oh well, never mind, it would happen one day. The dream she’d harboured for years was to save as much money as she could, find a tumbledown property – close to the sea perhaps – and do it up herself, then open it as a bijou but perfect B&B.

  Which might be a tad unrealistic, but everyone was allowed to have a dream, weren’t they? Her own business, something that could gradually be built up and expanded, making use of the knowledge she’d gained whilst working for other people in the hotel and leisure industries. Caring for her mum during those difficult teenage years might have decimated her school exams and put paid to any plans for university, but Lainey knew she had a good brain, her cooking skills were excellent and she certainly wasn’t afraid of hard work. She just needed to get enough money together first. And who was to say that twenty years from now, she wouldn’t be running her own boutique hotel?

  Anyway, it was nice to be offered a temporary place to stay by Kit’s mum, and there was always her own Granny Ivy, who would be glad to put her up if she were really stuck. But her grandmother was hosting friends from Canada for the next month, which meant her cottage was full. Lainey knew that what she really needed was to find something more permanent for herself, and a job to go with it.

  Reaching Paris at last, they carted their cases on the Métro to Bercy in the 12th arrondissement, then boarded the coach that would, nine hours from now, deposit them at Victoria coach station in central London.

  Right, time to take another look at the jobs website she’d bookmarked earlier. Hooray for the magic of Wi-Fi.

  For the next hour, Lainey pored over the many and varied vacancies advertised online. Next to her, Kit finally unwrapped his packed lunch and began to eat.

  ‘Look, there’s a parrot up there in that tree!’ She pointed out of the window.

  Kit said equably, ‘There could be a pterodactyl out there and I still wouldn’t look if it meant taking my eyes off my food. Not while I’m sitting next to you, anyway.’

  Lainey blew him a kiss – he knew her so well – and turned her attention back to the situations vacant, preferably with living accommodation included. There was a crisply worded ad for a housekeeping assistant required to join an existing team on a private Highland estate in Sutherland. A hard-working gardener was needed for a large country house in North Wales . . . hmm, gardening definitely wasn’t her forte. A companion was required for an elderly lady in Kensington; that might be promising . . . Oh, fluency in German essential. The only German she knew was ‘Sprechen Sie Englisch?’Which probably wouldn’t get her the job.

  ‘You’re sighing,’ Kit remarked ten minutes later. ‘You sound like a walrus.’

  Well, thanks!

  ‘They should add video clips to these adverts so you can see what kind of a situation you’d be getting yourself into. There’s one here for a mother’s help. It says you have to be calm and efficient, and look after four small boys who are rambunctious but adorable.’ Lainey pulled a face. ‘Does that mean they’re actually obnoxious monsters, completely out of control? A bit of secret camera work would come in handy.’

  But when she emailed the agency, they replied within minutes to say the job was no longer available.

  The next ad required someone to work as a cleaner and companion for an elderly ex-academic gentleman who lived in Durham. The successful candidate, it stated, must have plenty of patience and a thick skin, and be capable of engaging in prolonged periods of vigorous political debate.

  Maybe not.

  Then again, who was to say that any of these people would even want to employ her? To be on the safe side, she should probably be applying for every job on the list to see if anyone was remotely interested.

  As soon as she started reading the next ad, however, she knew that this was the job she wanted.

  Just typical.

  ‘Oh God, why did I even read this one?’ Puffing out her cheeks in exasperation, she passed the phone over to Kit. ‘It’s perfect.’

  When he’d finished reading, Kit said, ‘Sounds great. Go for it.’

  Lainey knew it was nothing but a fantasy, but she really felt as if she could picture the house by the sea and the woman who had placed the ad. She took back her phone and said, ‘I can’t. They’re advertising for a couple.’

  He grinned. ‘If you get down on one knee and ask really nicely, I’d probably agree to marry you.’

  Two days later, they left Kit’s mother’s flat in Wimbledon and travelled by train down to Cornwall. By mid afternoon they’d almost reached St Carys.

  ‘Put it away,’ Kit ordered.

  Lainey couldn’t help herself. Sometimes she could take or leave Facebook, but now wasn’t one of those occasions. Anton had arrived in Saint-Tropez and was evidently wasting no time in moving on. He’d just posted a slew of photos of himself settling nicely into his new life on the Côte d’Azur. Fifty-seven photos, in fact, and she’d felt compelled to scroll through the lot of them. There was Anton on the deck of a superyacht, sitting outside a bar on the seafront, taking selfies on the beach looking happy and handsome, for all the world as if he wasn’t missing her at all. But that was because he wasn’t missing her, was he? And think of all the stunning bikini-clad girls down there who’d be only too delighted to rub suncream into those beautiful brown shoulders . . .

  ‘Stop it.’ This time Kit took the phone away from her, switched it off and dropped it into his shirt pocket.

  ‘I love it when you’re being masterful.’

  He studied her face. ‘Are you really missing him?’

  Was she? Lainey considered the question and exhaled. ‘I just wish he wasn’t having quite such a brilliant time, that’s all.’

  Basically, her pride was bruised. Then again, at least she was used to it.

  ‘Look, I haven’t said this before, but the rest of us thought Anton was a bit of a smug git.’

  Deep down, Lainey knew Kit was right. But it was always hurtful hearing someone else say that kind of thing; it felt as if they were criticising you for being stupid enough to have got involved with someone like that in the first place.

  ‘I mean, he had a pretty high opinion of himself,’ Kit continued. ‘Thought he was God’s gift.’

  ‘Yes, yes, all right.’

  ‘All I’m trying to say is, he’s not worth moping over. You could do so much better.’

  ‘Except I’m not going to be doing any better because I’m not planning on doing anything at all. Man-free zone, remember?’With raised arms and pointy index fingers, Lainey drew a bubble around herself. ‘And I’m not moping anyway. Just because I’ve been flicking through a few photos doesn’t mean—’

  ‘Why don’t you stop arguing,’ Kit interjected, ‘and start paying attention instead? You haven’t even looked out of the window yet.’

  She followed the direction of his nod and did a double take. What felt like just a few minutes ago, the train had been rattling through the countryside, surrounded on all sides by rolling fields and verdant countryside. But whilst she’d been hunched over her phone, busy scrutinising every last detail in Anton’s photos, they’d reached the coast. There before them was the sea, glittering in the sunlight and bordered by a sweeping crescent of yellow sand. As the little train chugged around a bend in the track, the seaside town of St Carys came into view.

  ‘Wow,’ Lainey breathed. Of course they’d looked the place up online, but the real thing was already better. ‘I want to live here. Do you have a good feeling about it? Because I do, I definitely do.’

  ‘Don’t go getting your hopes up.’ Kit was the practical one. ‘We haven’t passed the interview yet.’

  They were early; their appointment at Menhenick House wasn’t until four, which left them with thirty minutes to kill. Since dragging their overnight cases across the sand wasn’t ideal, they stopped at the end of the esplanade overlooking the harbour and grabbed a table at a café topped with a blue and white striped awning.

  ‘OK, we’re a ten-minute walk away.’ Double-checkin
g the map on his phone, Kit pointed to the left. ‘Up that hill and over on the other side of town. It’s straightforward enough.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll like us?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. I’m fantastically lovable, and you’re just about bearable when you make an effort.’

  ‘Do we look like a couple, though? Do we behave like a couple?’

  ‘We could quickly go and buy a couple of matching Kiss Me Quick hats, if you think it’ll help.’

  ‘Maybe we should practise holding hands.’ Lainey didn’t regard herself as a devious person or an untruthful one, but on this occasion it was a necessary fib. The family had advertised for a couple to work for them and the accommodation they were supplying was a small one-bed apartment. If other genuine couples were in the frame, being two unattached people might be all that was needed to tip the scales against them and lose them the job.

  ‘If we were a couple, we wouldn’t hold hands during the interview,’ Kit pointed out.

  She pushed aside her coffee and reached across the table. ‘Come on, humour me. Let’s give it a go anyway.’

  Kit did as she asked, lacing his fingers between hers. ‘Like this?’

  ‘How does it feel?’

  ‘Bit weird. The last time I held hands with a female, it was my mum and I was six.’

  ‘Give us a kiss.’ Lainey leaned closer and playfully pursed her lips.

  Kit did the same and blew a kiss across the table.

  The woman in charge of the café, coming over to clear the empty table next to them, said cheerfully, ‘Now that’s what we like to see, a nice bit of romance to cheer us all up! Down here on your honeymoon, are you?’ She tilted her head, checking their clasped hands for brand-new wedding rings.

  ‘Maybe one day.’ Kit showed her his ring-free finger. ‘She hasn’t asked me yet.’

  A couple of minutes later, Kit disappeared to the loo. Since her phone was still confiscated, Lainey sipped her coffee and watched the flow of people making their way in and out of the shops along the curving esplanade. Her gaze was on a young mum attempting to console a screaming toddler when she was distracted by the sight of a tall man in his thirties making his way past. He was wearing jeans and a black polo shirt, with sunglasses hooked over the V at his throat, and it was the way he walked that caught Lainey’s attention, because it was such a beautiful, easy walk. Narrow hips, long legs, flat stomach; if she’d had a checklist, it’d be full of ticks by now. And he was good-looking, too. Even from this distance she could see the excellent bone structure, the dark eyes and defined eyebrows.

  OK, men might be off the agenda for the foreseeable future, but it was still possible to admire a physically attractive specimen.

  The next moment an older woman swerved into his path and held her arms out as if to waylay him. Without slowing or missing a step, the man diverted past whilst completely ignoring her. Mystified, Lainey watched as she clasped her hands together and called out, ‘Oh please,’ but the man continued as if she simply didn’t exist, heading on towards the café, then abruptly turning left and disappearing into one of the narrow side streets.

  The woman, visibly dejected, trudged away in the other direction. And Lainey realised that it didn’t matter how physically attractive you might be, nothing could make up for a cruel and uncaring attitude. How could he just ignore someone like that? Was the woman his mother, or some other relative? Was she an ex-employee, summarily dismissed? Because she hadn’t appeared to be begging for money, nor had she approached any of the other passers-by.

  Now that they’d both vanished from view, though, it was highly unlikely she’d ever find out. Lainey checked her watch, eyed the delicious-smelling cheese and bacon toastie being delivered to one of the other customers and wondered if she had time to order one before they needed to set off for their interview.

  To continue reading IT STARTED WITH A SECRET,

  get your copy now.

  www.headline.co.uk

  www.jillmansell.co.uk

  Discover more irresistibly feel-good novels by Jill Mansell . . .

  She’s made a terrible mistake. It feels like her life is over.

  Or was it the best thing she ever did?

  Click here to download This Could Change Everything

  www.headline.co.uk

  www.jillmansell.co.uk