Solo

by Jill Mansell

  Having aimed to thrill and impress Tessa by bringing her here, Ross was instantly outraged. “Who were you seeing last year? Who the hell could afford to bring you dozens of times to a place like this?”

  Tessa shrugged and picked up the gilt-edged menu, immersing herself in the blissful luxury of choosing between garlic buttered king prawns and wild mushrooms marinated in red wine and herbs as a starter.

  “The wild mushrooms, I think,” she decided, glancing up and finding that Ross was still watching her and waiting for an answer. Mischievously, she added, “They’ve always been my favorite.”

  “Who?” he repeated with barely concealed impatience. “Who were you seeing last year?”

  “Look,” said Tessa finally, “not that it is any of your business, but I used to come here three times a week. I worked in the kitchen, washing dishes. Bloody hard work, and not very glamorous at all.” She smiled and took a sip of iced spring water. “The money wasn’t much, but the leftovers were fabulous.”

  Ross really should have been a market trader, she thought two hours later. Throughout lunch he had greeted friends and business acquaintances with enthusiasm, introducing them to Tessa and telling each of them that she was a talent to watch out for, a rising star and a marvelous investment. Much in demand for portrait work, she was heavily overbooked at present, but if interested parties contacted Ross at The Grange he would personally ensure that they received priority attention.

  Tessa, feeling like a ventriloquist’s dummy, smiled and nodded and agreed with every one of Ross Monahan’s outrageous lies. Amazingly, people appeared to believe them.

  “Will you be charging commission?” she said, when they were finally alone together once more.

  His dark eyes regarded her with amusement. “I’d be happy to accept payment in kind.”

  Tessa shook her head. “Ross, please don’t.” Inexplicably, a lump came to her throat. Did he have any idea how hard it was for her to remain in control of her emotions when he was being this nice? And what was the matter with her, anyway? She never, ever, cried in public.

  Thankfully, it didn’t happen. With a rueful grin, Ross spooned dark-brown sugar into his coffee and leaned back in his chair. “Sorry, it just slipped out. I’m nothing but a tart.”

  Relaxing, Tessa smiled back at him. “I know. That’s why I want us to be friends. Less traumatic all around. But I am grateful to you for all you’re doing. If these people”—she tapped the little pile of business cards with her index finger—“really are serious about my paintings, it’ll make an incredible difference. And I would never have been capable of generating that kind of interest myself.”

  Ross, on the verge of remarking that Tessa could arouse his interest any time she liked, bit back the comment and instead tried very hard indeed to think of her as just a friend. Although when all you wanted to do was take your friend to bed, he thought wryly, it wasn’t exactly easy.

  “I’m merely protecting my investment,” he told her now. “I’ve had one or two other ideas as well, but they need a bit of planning. In the meantime, tell me how you’re getting on. Is your doctor pleased with you? Is everything progressing normally?”

  He was slipping into midwife-mode again, Tessa realized with amusement.

  “He’s ecstatic,” she replied, crossing her fingers beneath the table. Finishing Ross’s picture had kept her so busy that she’d had to cancel her last two appointments.

  “And you’ve started prenatal classes?” he persisted, signaling the waiter for more coffee and ignoring the fact that they were by this time the only remaining customers in the restaurant.

  Tessa pulled a face. “My mother always held the view that prenatal classes were terrible newfangled inventions, designed by men to make pregnant women look and feel even more ridiculous than they already did. And I agree with her. Besides, I’m going to be so busy that I wouldn’t have time for them.” She shrugged. “Women have managed perfectly well for the last million or so years without the benefit of breathing lessons, so I’m sure I’ll manage one way or another when the time comes.”

  • • •

  Careful not to rock the boat, Ross behaved like a perfect gentleman when he drove Tessa home. Drawing up at the gate, he helped her out of the car and waited while she hunted in her bag for the front-door key. With that expression of total absorption she wore whenever she was lost in concentration, she looked absolutely adorable. Ross was captivated. It was, he decided, all very frustrating to think that if Tessa had been unaware of his past reputation, they could have enjoyed a marvelous, rewarding, normal relationship. Whereas instead, goddamn it, he was forced to act like a caring older brother.

  “Thank you for lunch,” she said now, clasping her bag in front of her like a schoolgirl. Glancing at the gentle swell of her stomach, he smiled.

  “Thank you for my picture.”

  Tessa shrugged, feeling suddenly awkward and hunting for something else to say. “I’ve enjoyed myself. It’s been…nice.”

  “I know it has.” Ross turned to get back into the car, no longer able to trust himself to maintain a respectable distance between them. Nodding in the direction of the cottage, he said, “I wonder whether your friend would agree. If he’s still alive, that is.”

  “He’ll be alive. His wife adores him. She just can’t come to terms with the fact that Dominic has fallen in love with someone else.”

  There was an unspoken lesson in there somewhere, and Ross knew that it was being aimed at him.

  “Well, I’d better get back to the hotel.”

  “And I have a few dozen paintings to dash off,” said Tessa with a smile. “Thanks again, Ross, for all your help.”

  Firing the car’s ignition, he gave her a farewell salute. “I’m always kind to pregnant women and children. Particularly,” he added just before he pulled away, “when the child concerned is my own.”

  Chapter 16

  Mattie was still worried about Grace.

  A fortnight had now passed since that traumatic evening when she had been forced to tell her daughter the truth about Ross Monahan, but she was as far away as ever from discovering how Grace actually felt about it.

  She had listened in silence to Mattie’s fumbling explanations. The expected tears simply hadn’t happened. Mattie, having braced herself for the inevitable outburst of rage, hysteria, and shock, had been at a complete loss when, after telling Grace everything, her daughter had fixed her with a gimlet stare and said only, “Is this the truth?” Whereupon, having received her mother’s unhappy assurance that it was, she had risen to her feet, turned, and left the room.

  And despite Mattie’s attempts since then to discuss the situation, Grace steadfastly refused to do so. Every morning she left the house at her usual time. Most evenings were spent alone in her room. When Mattie spoke to her about such neutral subjects as food, laundry, and her favorite TV programs, she replied appropriately but seldom initiated conversation herself. Any mention of either Ross or the hotel was greeted with a stony, steadfast silence.

  Out of sheer desperation Mattie searched for Grace’s diary. She eventually found the charred remains of the cover and a scattering of ashes in the trash can.

  Her daughter’s method of dealing with the ghastly bombshell appeared to be by blocking it out of her life. Mattie, so concerned about it that she had shed seven pounds, was sure it wasn’t a healthy reaction, but had absolutely no idea how the situation might be redeemed. It was done—a fait accompli—and since Grace refused to talk about it she would have to come to terms with her emotions in her own, intensely private, way.

  • • •

  “Go away,” said Holly briskly. “You’re drunk.”

  “Maybe, maybe,” agreed the drunk, leaning against the reception desk and offering her the crimson carnation from his buttonhole. “But I’d still like to invite you to have dinner with me tomorrow night. After a
ll, you can only say no.”

  “Good.” Max was in the vicinity, and Holly didn’t want to be accused of wasting time again. Busying herself with a pile of mail, she said, “In that case, no.”

  “But I’m the best man,” he protested. “You don’t know what you’d be missing.”

  “A hangover, probably. Look, you’re supposed to be in the ballroom making a speech. I’m supposed to be here, working. Why don’t you just leave me alone and go back to the party?”

  Holly liked men who were sleek, dark, and dangerous-looking—like Max. This one, over six feet tall and built like a rugby player, had a big crooked nose, baggy gray eyes, untamed curly hair the color of lager, and a wide, infectious smile. Looking decidedly ill-at-ease in his morning suit, he was clearly far more of a jeans-and-jersey man. He had a deep, gravelly voice with a slight northern accent. And he was definitely more than a little drunk.

  Holly was not smitten.

  She watched from beneath her lashes as he shrugged and turned away, heading back toward the ballroom where the wedding reception was in noisy, celebratory progress. It was typical, she thought resentfully, that Max should have missed this shining example of her ability to rebuff a potential time-waster.

  Fifteen minutes later one of the bridesmaids, emerging from the ballroom, approached Holly at the desk.

  “Could you come with me, please? You’re needed at once.” Perplexed, Holly followed her. When she reached the open doorway, three hundred guests broke into enthusiastic applause. To her astonishment, they were all swiveling round in their seats and looking at her. Cheers and whistles of approval ricocheted around the room. The best man, standing at the top table, grinned and raised his glass in her direction.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, here she is. The woman of my dreams, the woman who broke my heart…the woman who refused my invitation to take her out to dinner.”

  “He’s my brother,” whispered the bridesmaid amid renewed cheers. “He’s very shy.”

  Holly, scarlet with embarrassment, could cheerfully have killed him. He was going to humiliate her publicly in order to pay her back, and the heavy doors had been closed behind her now, preventing escape. Where the hell was Ross, she thought desperately, when she needed him?

  “But I don’t take ‘no’ for an answer,” boomed the best man. “And I’ll always resort to blackmail when necessary. So…my speech doesn’t begin until this stunning young lady changes her mind and agrees to have dinner with me tomorrow night at a restaurant, of her choosing.”

  Holly had been imagining such a terrifying range of alternatives that her first reaction was one of profound relief.

  Her second was to laugh. The man was nothing if not persistent. And if he was offering her a choice of restaurants, he must at least have money, if not class.

  The wedding guests were waiting. Finally, still blushing, she nodded. Wild applause and vociferous approval greeted her decision.

  “Thank you,” said the best man, grinning with satisfaction. “If you’d be so good as to write down your name and address and your chosen restaurant, my sister will take the details. And now, since I know how very busy you are, you’d better return to your desk. I shall make my long and eagerly awaited speech. And I’ll pick you up tomorrow night at eight thirty.”

  • • •

  “He probably won’t even turn up,” said Holly, prowling in agitation around Tessa’s small living room and irritating Dominic to death.

  “Probably not,” he replied cuttingly, “particularly if he’s sobered up.”

  Tessa, who was busy painting, said equably, “I think he sounds exciting, and I’m sure he’ll turn up. Where have you decided to go?”

  “Zizi’s.” It was one of Holly’s favorite restaurants. “But I don’t even know his name,” she added in despair.

  “King Kong,” muttered Dominic.

  “Well, at least his manners couldn’t be as bad as yours,” she retaliated, still hurt and bewildered by his obvious dislike of her and unable to understand how Tess could put up with him. “Tessa, do you really think I should go? It’s bound to be a disaster.”

  “Go,” said Tessa firmly. “You’ll have fun. And wear your red silk dress.”

  Holly smiled. “I don’t know why I should take your advice when all you ever do is ignore mine.”

  “You ask me for advice,” her friend pointed out, “so I give you sensible answers. All you do is try to persuade me to hurl myself into situations that any sane person would avoid like the plague. Besides,” she concluded, reloading her brush with burnt sienna, “I’ve never asked for this so-called advice. You just blurt it out whenever the mood takes you. Most of the time I don’t even listen.”

  “Well, maybe you should,” retorted Holly. “Because Ross really has changed his ways. I know for a fact that he never sees Antonia now. She hasn’t even visited the hotel since Christmas night.”

  Tessa winced. Dominic had taken great delight in giving her a blow-by-blow account of his recent visit to The Grange, and now he was sitting quietly in the corner, pretending to read the racing results and smirking like mad.

  “Thanks, Holly, but I’m really not interested anyway,” she replied hurriedly, amazed by how much it hurt to say it. “I don’t want to have to rely on a man, any man, and I’m perfectly capable of coping on my own. Just as my mother did. OK?”

  • • •

  “Oh great!” said Ross in exasperation. “That’s all I bloody need.” He grabbed the pile of just-typed correspondence from his desk, but it was already too late. Hot coffee had infiltrated every page and was even now dripping onto the ivory carpet.

  “Don’t just stand there,” he snapped at the waitress. “Clear it up. And if you aren’t capable of carrying a bloody tray without spilling anything, I don’t know why you bothered coming back to work in the first place.”

  Grace shot out of the office, locked herself in the restroom, and burst into floods of tears. This was worse than any nightmare.

  Unable to face Ross and equally incapable of staying at home and being subjected to her mother’s endless attempts to find out how she was feeling, she had told her doctor that she was depressed and had managed to obtain a sick note. While Mattie had thought she was working, Grace had been wandering the streets of Bath, sitting alone in cafés full of tourists, meandering through museums, and sometimes just sitting in her small car for hours on end, thinking.

  She couldn’t stop thinking. Her mind simply would not stop working, churning endlessly through the chaos and confusion and almost blocking out reality.

  Grace, wanting desperately to block out everything, had begged her doctor to give her tranquillizers or sleeping tablets and had received only a stern lecture in return. Looking younger than her seventeen years, she had been equally firmly rebuffed by the sales staff of several liquor stores. Finally, with the help of a fair amount of makeup, she had managed to find a small supermarket where she could buy vodka without being questioned. If she drank it too quickly she was violently sick, but soon learned that small amounts at regularly spaced intervals effectively dulled the agony and enabled her to at least sleep at night.

  It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

  And now, having finally plucked up enough courage to return to work and to face seeing him again, this had happened. A hefty vodka on an empty stomach hadn’t helped, but she certainly wasn’t drunk. Knowing that she had to carry on as if nothing had happened—nothing!—she had gritted her teeth and taken the tray of morning coffee into his office.

  But at the sight of Ross, so tall and handsome, so glamorous and exciting, her hands had started shaking uncontrollably. He radiated an aura of sexuality and success, the effortless charm of someone who could have anything or anyone he pleased. And Grace felt her mind being choked all over again by the hideous vision of Ross and her mother…doing it…together.

 
And that was what had finished her off. The tray had dropped to the desk and the coffee pot had tipped over, launching coffee everywhere. On the verge of tears and unable to cope with his anger, Grace had run away.

  Now all she had to do was get out of the hotel before anybody saw her in this state.

  And find herself another job, preferably working for someone she wasn’t going to fall in love with…and who wasn’t going to turn out to be her father.

  Chapter 17

  “You look absolutely stunning.”

  “Oh, I’m stunned all right,” agreed Holly, adjusting the hem of her carefully pressed silk dress. “It’s the first time I’ve been taken out to dinner in a Land Rover.”

  Adam Perry had a loud laugh and wasn’t ashamed to use it. “But a Land Rover never lets you down,” he assured her, his northern accent becoming more pronounced. “It’s a grand vehicle, sturdy and reliable. If it makes you happier, I was going to pick you up in the Rolls, but my sister crashed it this afternoon. Ran it into a bus.”

  “That makes me very happy indeed,” replied Holly gloomily, peering out into the freezing darkness and realizing that they were heading away from the center of Bath. “But where are we going? Zizi’s is behind us.”

  Adam was unperturbed. “I changed your mind; we’re going somewhere else.”

  “Oh God.” Holly put her head in her hands, realizing that the evening was going to be even worse than she’d anticipated. “I’ve been hijacked.”

  It got worse. Much, much worse.

  Her diamond-and-pearl bracelet, whose rainbow glitter would have been exotically enhanced by the considerate lamplight at Zizi’s, looked like something out of a gum-ball machine beneath the harsh glare of fluorescent strip lights. Her makeup, no doubt, appeared equally garish. And her generous cleavage in the low-cut scarlet gown was attracting a great deal of unwanted attention from the surrounding truck drivers and homeward-bound commuters.