by Jill Mansell
• • •
It wasn’t easy being a single parent, but Mattie made the best of it. Reconciled to the fact that her staid parents had no intention of supporting the daughter who had brought such unforgivable shame upon the family name, she made the move from Bristol to Bath, existing in a tiny studio apartment and not realizing until several years later that Ross—and his elder brother Max—lived in the same city.
It had come as an incredible shock to her when she had first read in the newspapers of the Monahan brothers’ plans to transform the crumbling Charrington Grange into a luxury hotel. On countless occasions during those lonely, freezing nights with only her daughter for company, Mattie envisaged a confrontation between herself and the man—no longer a boy—who had caught her in that timeless and most clichéd trap of all.
But, by sheer force of will, she managed to persuade herself that she was better off—spiritually if not financially—on her own. Ross was the archetypal playboy, spreading himself around pretty indiscriminately and somehow managing to get away with it, and he was hardly likely to welcome her with open arms if she were to reveal herself—and their daughter—to him at this stage of his life. Gradually, almost without realizing it, and simply because she had no alternative, Mattie came to terms with the fact that all she had been to Ross was a convenience, a temporary diversion. She began to take a perverse pride in her newfound independence, learning to pity Ross rather than resent him. He might have an outwardly glamorous, jet-setting lifestyle, but could he possibly be more blessed and more contented than she was with her precious daughter?
And no one could have wished for a better child. As a baby, Grace slept through the night, seldom crying and often smiling. At the age of three she was cheerful, affectionate, and obedient. Later, a quiet but diligent schoolgirl, she always did her homework without having to be asked and spent her spare time either reading or helping her mother around the house.
Grace only ever mentioned her father once, at the age of ten. Mattie, who had been bracing herself for that question for years, sat down with her daughter and told her everything. It was actually the plot of a romantic novel that she had read several months earlier, but it had struck her at the time as the kindest and most sensible solution. As a result, she had explained to Grace that her father was an American soldier whom she had met while he was on vacation in England and with whom she had fallen deeply in love. He—Carl Shaunnessy—had been tall, dark, and wonderfully handsome, with a terrific sense of humor and a winning smile. And he had, of course, adored Mattie as much as she loved him. After six blissfully happy weeks together, he had returned to the States to begin the preparations for their wedding. Mattie would join him a month later. Two days before she had been due to set sail she had received a telephone call from his only living relative, his adored grandmother. Carl had been killed in a tragic accident, burned to death in a blazing house as he—a mere passerby—attempted to rescue two young children from their bedroom on the second floor. The children had been saved by Carl Shaunnessy’s quick thinking and unselfish disregard for his own safety. He had died a hero. And Mattie had never loved another man since.
The story was so poignant that Mattie ended up in tears, while Grace considered the facts and nodded with grave, ten-year-old understanding.
And although Mattie was prepared to elaborate further, it had never been necessary. Grace had never mentioned the subject again. The past had been neatly tied up, like a parcel, and she appeared to be quite satisfied with the information she had received.
• • •
Mattie had been unable to hide her feelings when Grace announced that she had applied for a job at the Charrington Grange Hotel, but at least she had been able to disguise them. Gripped by genuine shock and an obscure premonition of doom, she had managed to pass off her disquiet as purely maternal concern. Grace had done well at school and could do so much better than this. While waitressing was a perfectly respectable occupation, it was hardly going to lead to a glittering career. Notoriously badly paid and with long, unsocial hours, the opportunities for promotion were negligible. She wouldn’t be using her qualifications. Her feet would ache dreadfully. And the man for whom she would be working was a careless, thoughtless, smooth-tongued, unprincipled bastard.
But Mattie couldn’t tell her that, and Grace was nothing if not determined. Secretarial work had bored her, and she had enjoyed her stints as a Saturday waitress in a city center café when she’d still been at school. Working at the famous Charrington Grange Hotel was what she wanted to do, and her mother’s flustered objections didn’t concern her in the least.
Chapter 13
Dominic had paid a great deal of attention to what Tessa had told him about her current situation. He had listened to the calm reasoning behind her decision not to become involved with Ross Monahan and—to his own great surprise—had agreed with it. Dominic himself thrived on uncertainty and the wild romance of see-sawing emotions. He was never truly happy unless there was some trauma about to erupt. But Tessa was different. Pride and independence were only part of it; she had to be in control and that included her emotions. She would never allow herself to be made a fool of, could not bear to tolerate either the humiliation or the knowledge of her own weakness. Luckily she had the necessary strength of will to carry it off. In all the years Dominic had known her, Tessa had retained her self-respect, and he admired her for it.
But suppressing a natural attraction toward an eminently eligible man simply because “it would only go wrong sooner or later” was something else. This time Dominic had a feeling that even Tessa Duvall might need a little help.
When Ross turned up at the cottage the following morning, the last thing he was expecting was to be greeted at the door by a blond male wearing a scarlet satin dressing gown that was much too small for him. He also wore a plaster cast on one leg and an expression of amused curiosity.
“I was looking for Tessa,” said Ross, his eyes narrowing as he realized that the dressing gown was one of hers.
“She’s gone into Bath to buy some food.” Dominic, leaning against the doorpost, knew at once who the visitor was. Despite being thoroughly heterosexual, he could nevertheless recognize and appreciate that Ross Monahan was as physically perfect as Tessa had said he was. It must, he considered with some sympathy, make it very difficult for her. “She should be back soon. Why don’t you come in and wait?”
Since the purpose of his visit had been to prove his brother wrong, Ross was less than amused by the situation he now encountered, but he had to know exactly what was going on. With a brief nod, he stepped inside and made his way into Tessa’s small sitting room.
She had been working on the painting he had commissioned, and he studied the almost-finished canvas, more to give himself time to gather his thoughts than to judge it. But despite his preoccupation, his attention was caught at once. This painting was very good indeed, glowing with life, its vivid colors and brisk style enhancing the sense of fun, of wanting to be there. Surprised and amused, Ross recognized the figure by the fireplace, undoubtedly himself. A moment later he almost laughed aloud, for there on the extreme right-hand side of the painting was an equally unmistakable likeness of Max, engrossed in conversation and clearly besotted with the girl to whom he was speaking. The girl, no one he knew, was ugly with a capital U, grotesquely fat, and with the features of one of those deep-sea fish nobody would ever want to eat. But Tessa had portrayed Max as a man in love, mesmerized by this hideous female and quite clearly longing to take her to bed.
“She’s a clever girl,” he observed, as Dominic—his rival—hobbled precariously into the room with a six-pack of lager under his arm.
“You don’t have to tell me,” replied Dominic with a deliberately disarming smile. “I love her to death, but it drives me crazy that she won’t sell herself. An artist can’t afford to be shy, for God’s sake; they have to get out there and push…”
“My brother”—Ross pointed at the figure in the painting—“won’t be amused by this. It’s great, but I can’t believe she did this to him.”
“Believe it.” Dominic collapsed onto the settee and noisily opened a can of lager. He was a talented artist, and although his first and most abiding love was sculpture, he had the ability to turn his hand to any form of painting. Tessa’s style hadn’t been difficult to copy, but when she came home and saw what he had added to the canvas, he sensed that she wouldn’t be too amused either. It was, after all, almost blasphemous.
But necessary. And Dominic was just pleased that after only a brief exchange with Max Monahan, he had remembered him accurately enough to fashion a recognizable likeness.
“Have a lager,” he said, tossing a can in Ross’s direction. “I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself. Dominic Taylor.”
“Ross Monahan,” said Ross, reluctantly shaking his outstretched hand and realizing that he was telling Dominic nothing he didn’t already know. “And you’re staying here with Tessa?”
“For a few weeks, maybe longer,” replied Dominic blithely. “As I say, Tessa and I are very close. She’s told me all about you, of course.”
Ross could feel his jaw tightening. “And what exactly has she told you?”
“Oh, just the sordid details. One-night stand, unexpected pregnancy, all that.” Assuming with confidence that Ross wouldn’t dare to take a swing at a cripple, he carried on. “She knows that you screw around, that you aren’t exactly ideal husband material, so she’s going it alone. Well, fairly alone. When she phoned me I came at once, even though it was hardly the greatest timing as far as I was concerned.” He tapped his plaster cast with his knuckles for emphasis. “But Tessa and I have always had a special relationship…” His voice trailed away and Ross, almost bursting with jealousy, wondered whether he could live with his conscience if he hit someone whose leg was in plaster.
“I don’t screw around,” he replied coldly. “And Tessa has some weird ideas about independence. I offered to marry her, and that’s more than I’ve ever done to any woman before. Her ideas are her own. I happen to think that her views on my suitability as a husband are wrong.”
Dominic was by this time enjoying himself hugely. He only hoped that Tessa wouldn’t return now and land a bloody great wrench in the works. “Look,” he said, assuming an eminently responsible tone of voice, “she’s made up her mind. Don’t take offense, but who did she contact when she was in trouble? What Tessa and I share goes beyond money and privilege. We understand each other. And I’m not the kind of man who worries about a little matter like illegitimacy. If I love a child, it doesn’t concern me whether or not the mother is married. Similarly,” he added, as slowly and meaningfully as he could manage, “if I love a woman, the fact that she might already have a child by somebody else is simply not a problem.”
• • •
“You didn’t even wait for her to come back?” demanded Holly, aghast. She had heard Tessa talk about Dominic in the past, but she was sure there had never been anything intimate between them. Privately, she could hardly wait to meet the man who had so thoroughly dented her boss’s morale.
“He’s staying at the cottage—which has only one bedroom—for an indefinite period,” snapped Ross, glowering at her. “He was wearing one of her dressing gowns. And he informed me in no uncertain terms that he and Tessa had something ‘special’ going on between them. What the hell did you expect me to do, under the circumstances?”
“But you said he has a broken leg,” argued Holly, realizing to her astonishment that she was almost feeling sorry for him. “My father broke his leg during a skiing vacation a couple of years ago and his doctor told him he couldn’t…you know…while he was still in plaster. Mummy was absolutely thrilled. So this Dominic can’t be doing anything too special.”
“Bullshit,” snapped Ross irritably. “I broke my leg when I was nineteen and it didn’t stop me.”
“Now, now, calm down.” Holly patted his hand with a soothing gesture but Ross, unaccustomed to being soothed, glowered at her and snatched his hand away.
“She’s a two-timing bitch. I can’t believe she’s behaving like this.”
“I’ll speak to her. Don’t worry.” Holly smiled reassuringly at him, forgiving him for his rudeness since it gave her the opportunity to drive over to Tessa’s cottage and meet the “cocky bastard” in person. “I’ll find out what’s really going on.”
• • •
“He’s in the bath,” said Tessa, before Holly had even had a chance to open her mouth. “Oh, don’t look so stunned, I guessed what would happen. The Grange grapevine lives on.”
“Well?” demanded Holly, giving her friend the benefit of one of her most searching looks. “Is it true? Are you and Long John Silver as madly in love as Ross thinks you are? He’s spitting teeth, by the way.”
“Probably do him good.” Tessa resumed her position before the easel set up in the center of the room. “And no,” she added over her shoulder, “of course we aren’t. Dominic’s been up to his usual tricks, telling all sorts of ridiculous stories for his own amusement, and I haven’t decided yet whether to scream at him or laugh. Which is why he’s beaten a strategic retreat to the bathroom.”
“Interesting,” purred Holly. “Do you think he’d like someone to wash his back for him?”
“Knowing Dominic, he’d far rather you washed his front for him. Holly, don’t even think of it. For heaven’s sake, you’ve got that look in your eyes and you’re supposed to be in love with Mad Max.”
“I am,” Holly protested. “But he was very rude about my new outfit the other day, so I decided to go for a change of plan. A spot of jealousy never goes amiss. At least,” she added with a wink, “it doesn’t seem to have done you too much harm.”
“Games,” said Tessa with a dismissive gesture. “All this play acting… I can’t stand it. It’s so pointless. Why can’t people just be honest with each other?”
“Less fun.”
“Less complicated. Will you look at what Dominic did to this picture? He told Ross that I’d done it. Dominic couldn’t be truthful if his important little places depended on it.”
“He really did that?” Examining the wicked portrayal of Max, Holly’s spirits lifted still further. “That’s incredible.” Inwardly, she quivered in expectation. Daring, dashing Dominic was getting better by the minute.
• • •
Chemistry was a funny thing, thought Dominic ten minutes later. That infallible, unstoppable ring-through-the-nose had captivated and catapulted him into more trouble with the opposite sex than he had ever thought possible—although at the time, of course, it had all been wonderfully exhilarating.
What was happening now, he supposed, must be the flip side. Anti-chemistry. Or maybe since it was chemistry, it was that of the lion facing the hyena.
Quite simply, he couldn’t stand anything about Holly King. Every aspect of her looks, her voice, and her personality irritated him beyond belief. Never, never before in his life had he disliked anyone more strongly. If he and this monster were the only two people on the planet, he thought with a shudder of revulsion, he would certainly die a virgin.
Saying as little as possible and wishing he could go for a long walk, Dominic sprawled in the only armchair with his plastered leg propped up on the coffee table and sullenly contemplated the fraying holes in the only remaining leg of his ancient Levis.
But it simply wasn’t possible to forget that Holly was there. The comfortingly familiar scent of Tessa’s oil paints had been overpowered by her cloying perfume. Her undoubtedly expensive clothes were a living nightmare—he’d never been a fan of Kandinsky, and his work didn’t look any better translated onto a silk jersey tent. Her makeup was equally unsubtle—it probably glowed in the dark—and her voice, well-bred and confident, was far too loud for the room.
She was the kind of woman to whom he sold his sculptures for ludicrously overinflated prices, but that was purely business. He had never been forced to socialize with one of them before. And now he knew just how wise he’d been not to do so.
“We’d love to.” Tessa, speaking with a paintbrush clenched between her teeth, sounded like a bad ventriloquist. She turned to look at Dominic, who had been paying no attention, and added, “Wouldn’t we?”
“What would we love to do?”
“Holly’s invited us to dinner at her apartment tonight. You’ll adore it—she’s a brilliant cook.”
“No,” said Dominic flatly. “Sorry, but I can’t.”
“Why on earth not?” wailed Holly, deeply offended. Here she was, pulling out all the stops, offering to make the kind of Chinese meal that took hours to prepare, and this gorgeous, insufferably rude man didn’t even have the courtesy to think up a reasonable excuse for refusing her.
“Because I don’t want to.” Congenitally self-centered, Dominic suffered no such qualms. “I’d rather stay here. Is that allowed?” he added with undisguised sarcasm.
“Not only is it allowed,” interjected Tessa swiftly, wiping her brushes on a rag and tossing the lot into his lap, “it’s compulsory. You, selfish pig, can bloody well stay here, clean my brushes, and keep your hands off my paintings. I’m going to Holly’s for the evening. And I hope you have a rotten miserable time on your own.”
Chapter 14
The amber spotlighting amid the tropical foliage bathed the swimming pool in seductive light, flattering Antonia’s tanned body and creating a subtly decadent atmosphere that matched her mood.
Sleeking her wet hair away from her face, she pulled herself out of the water in a single swift movement and rested at the pool’s edge, glancing at her watch and realizing that it was almost ten o’clock. If Ross planned to swim this evening—as he fairly often did—he would be here any minute now, and she would see him again for the first time in several weeks.