by Jill Mansell
“She’s a fat bitch,” said Ross, putting his arms around her shoulders, “but OK. Besides, I’m not going to let La Ugly spoil our wedding day. Hmm,” he murmured, drawing Tessa closer and running his hands appreciatively down to her slender waist, “I could think of much nicer things to do right now than trailing into town and buying champagne. How about a little practice run, just to make sure we’ll know what to do tomorrow night…?”
“How about exercising a little self-control?” suggested Tessa with a reluctant smile. “We have a million other things to do today…and it seems a shame to give in now, with only twenty-four hours to go.”
“If I’d known that you didn’t approve of premarital sex,” Ross murmured, kissing her neck and breathing in the familiar, gorgeous scent of her skin, “I would have married you six months ago.”
“I know you would,” she replied with a grin. “But in case you’d forgotten, Mr. Monahan, I turned you down.”
Chapter 36
The cottage was almost completely empty now. Tessa stood in the center of the sitting room with Olivia cradled in her arms and gazed at the rough, whitewashed walls bereft of paintings. She smiled to herself as she realized that most houses looked much larger when they were empty, but this one still seemed as tiny as ever.
But it had been her home. She had loved living here.
“And now we’re going up in the world,” she told Olivia, who was far more interested in attempting to separate her toes from her fat little feet. “Are you excited?”
Olivia let out a squeal of frustration. Her toes were very firmly screwed on indeed.
“Hmm, well, don’t let Ross hear you say that. When we move into that big, new house he’ll expect you to express your appreciation in the proper manner. And that doesn’t mean throwing up all over those spectacular handwoven carpets he’s so proud of.”
But her daughter, unimpressed, remained absorbed in the matter of her undetachable toes. Tessa, replacing her in the bassinet, glanced at her watch and decided that it was time to load the last remaining boxes of plants, books, and paintings into the car. She really needed to be back at The Grange by twelve thirty in order to thank the dressmaker who was delivering her own and Holly’s finished outfits. The poor woman had worked so hard, altering her own dress three times as week by week she had shrunk back to her pre-Olivia shape, and at the same time coping with Holly’s histrionics when a bout of lovelorn bingeing had resulted in two extra inches around her hips.
• • •
Antonia realized that she was driving because she didn’t know what else she could possibly do to pass the time. She felt as twitchy and uneasy as a reformed alcoholic on the verge of giving in. It was only eleven thirty, and she didn’t know how she was going to get through the next hour, let alone the next two days. Because no matter how many times she reminded herself that Ross’s marriage was nothing more than a temporary inconvenience, the words were somehow no longer ringing true.
She had begun to panic, and that spiteful little waitress at The Grange—despite the fact that she’d probably been paid by Tessa to say what she had—had only made the uncertainty harder to bear. All Antonia knew now was that Ross was about to marry someone who was quite wrong for him—he was making a hideous mistake—and she simply couldn’t bear to think of it, but since there wasn’t anything else to occupy her mind, she was unable to stop the terrible thoughts going around and around…
Having managed to persuade herself that visiting the hotel earlier had been simply a pleasant way of starting the day, Antonia was forced to admit that turning into the narrow lane that led to Tessa’s cottage was sheer compulsion, something she absolutely had to do.
But it was a harmless enough act, she reasoned, braking slightly as the amber roof of the cottage came into sight over the brow of the next hill. The place was empty now, and there would be no one to testify to the humiliating fact that Ross Monahan’s discarded mistress was behaving like a lovelorn teenager.
When she saw, however, that the cottage was not empty, Antonia’s heart did a slow, looping somersault. Tessa was there, after all, her blond hair glistening in the sunlight as she lifted and loaded the first of several boxes into the trunk of her car.
Antonia realized in a flash that she was trapped. With the top down on her own car, she was going to be instantly recognizable even if she shot past at eighty miles an hour. But the lane was so narrow that stopping and attempting to turn around would be a physical impossibility. And still she was stuck; even as these thoughts crossed her mind the distance between Tessa and herself was steadily shrinking. She was no longer in control of the situation. Whatever happened next was out of her hands. She would leave it up to instinct and fate.
“Hello,” said Tessa cautiously, when Antonia’s car had slowed to a halt beside the front gate. It had been six months since they had last met, but she recognized her at once, as Antonia had known she would. Tessa had a memory for faces and Antonia, with her sleek, straight, dark-blond hair and expertly made-up deep-blue eyes, hadn’t changed at all.
“Hi,” said Antonia, switching off the ignition and taking in every detail of Tessa with equal efficiency. No makeup, pale-pink cotton shirt tied at the waist above white Levis, oddly familiar pale-pink leather pumps… “Where did you get those shoes?”
Polite conversation was all very well, but Tessa still had a lot to do. Lifting a box of paintings and placing it carefully in the trunk of the car—Ross’s car—she said, “The Oxfam store.”
“I thought so.” Antonia sounded pleased. “They’re mine.”
This time Tessa risked a smile. “Well, they were.”
“But you’re marrying Ross Monahan tomorrow,” said Antonia, lighting a cigarette and blowing a perfect smoke ring. “Surely you don’t need to buy secondhand shoes anymore? Doesn’t he look after you?”
Tessa glanced down at her feet. “I’m still capable of buying my own shoes.”
Antonia couldn’t think of anything more to say. Ross was mine too, she thought. And then the sound of a baby crying broke the silence. “Is that Olivia?”
It could hardly have been anyone else, but Tessa nodded anyway. “I’d better go and see to her.”
“Would you mind,” said Antonia eagerly, “if I came with you? I’d like to see her too.”
“Look, I’m sorry.” Tessa hesitated, hands on hips. “But this is a weird situation. I really don’t understand why you’ve come here.”
Antonia shrugged. “I’m not sure myself. I suppose I was curious. But if you’re at all worried that I might harm your baby…I’ll go.”
Instantly ashamed of herself, Tessa said, “I wasn’t thinking that, I was just pointing out the fact that this is a bit strange. But if you’d like to see Olivia, then of course you can.”
“Thanks.” Antonia smiled as they walked inside. “Oh, she’s adorable!” she exclaimed, her gaze softening as Olivia made a fretful grab for her necklace. “You’re so lucky. Just look at those incredible eyes. I can’t believe how like Ross she is!”
“But smaller,” said Tessa with a grin.
“You’re so lucky,” repeated Antonia softly, moving across to the window and pushing her hands into her jacket pockets. Turning back to face Tessa, she said, “Do you think you’ll be happy with Ross?”
Here we go, thought Tessa, who had half suspected that something like this would happen. Humoring the woman before her, she pretended to give the question serious consideration.
“Yes,” she replied finally. “If I didn’t think it was right, I wouldn’t be marrying him.”
“He’s had a bit of a reputation in the past,” said Antonia, the knot of tension in her stomach tightening up once more. She hadn’t meant to say it but somehow, now that she was here, she simply had to. Tessa should know what Ross was like; it wouldn’t be fair not to tell her.
“What he’s done in the past is his af
fair,” said Tessa and immediately winced.
“Ah, you’re assuming that he’s changed,” Antonia pointed out, an edge of triumph in her voice. “But how would you feel if I told you that he hadn’t?”
“Maybe I’d think that you don’t want me to marry him,” said Tessa, outwardly calm. Inwardly, however, she was beginning to feel both angry and afraid.
“If I thought you’d be happy, I wouldn’t be saying this,” Antonia told her, her expression sincere. “And I’m not being a bitch, really I’m not. But I do think you deserve to know what Ross is like.”
Hating this and hating herself for even listening, Tessa murmured, “Go on, then.” Whatever Antonia had to say would be the wishful thinking of a jealous woman. She needn’t take any notice of it because it wouldn’t be true.
“He came to my house a few weeks ago and told me that our affair had to stop—for a while,” said Antonia quickly. “But he promised me that he would be back. I’m sorry, Tessa, but you see it isn’t over between us at all. Ross and I have an understanding and—”
“I don’t believe you,” said Tessa, shifting Olivia from one hip to the other and smoothing her dark head with trembling fingers. This was horrible. She wasn’t going to believe it. Antonia was lying.
“Would you believe Max?” asked Antonia gently. “Maybe you’d accept what I have to say if he confirmed it. Why don’t you ask him where Ross was while you were in the hospital giving birth to Olivia?”
Tessa froze. Perspiration trickled down her spine, yet she was cold and shivering. She didn’t want to hear this.
“Max knows,” continued Antonia, who couldn’t have stopped now if Ross had erupted into the room with a shotgun. “Because I was in bed with Ross when he phoned him at the Ritz. We spent the night in room 184, and I picked up the phone when Max called the following morning. I truly am sorry, Tessa, but I couldn’t bear to think of you marrying someone like Ross in the mistaken belief that he would be faithful to you, because he simply isn’t that kind of man, and I think you deserve better.”
“And I think,” said Tessa tonelessly, “that it’s time you left.”
• • •
There wasn’t time to think. She didn’t want to think. In an hour, Olivia would need to be fed and Ross would be wondering why they hadn’t returned to the hotel. She was going to have to move fast, without thinking, and get away before the true horror of it all really hit her.
• • •
Obtaining the number from directory enquiries and punching out the number on the new mobile Ross had given her was easy. Telling the receptionist that her name was Mrs. Monahan, and that she thought she may have lost a gold earring during her overnight stay in…room 182…on the twenty-fifth of June, was easy.
The receptionist had apparently checked the reservation on a computer because within moments she was back on the line. “It was in fact room 184, Mrs. Monahan, but I’m afraid we haven’t found your earring.”
And hearing those words was the hardest, the very hardest thing she had ever had to do in her life.
• • •
Knowing that Holly would be up at The Grange by now, Tessa dialed her apartment. The answering machine picked up on the fourth ring. This wasn’t going to be easy either, but at least it would be an improvement on the last call. All pain was relative, she thought as she listened to Holly’s ludicrously cheerful recorded message. Then, after the tone, she took a deep, shivering breath and said, “Holly, it’s me. I’m not going to marry Ross. I’m sorry, but I’m leaving it up to you to tell him the wedding’s off. Olivia and I are going away, to Scotland, but I promise I’ll be in touch with you soon. Sorry…”
Chapter 37
“If this is some kind of joke,” said Ross slowly, “then all I can tell you is that it’s in fucking bad taste.”
Holly despised herself for her weakness, but she knew she simply wasn’t capable of getting through this without help. The half-pint glass clashed with her teeth as she took another gulp of wine, and tears sprang to her eyes. He knew she wouldn’t joke about something like this. He just couldn’t believe that it was really happening. She still couldn’t believe it herself, for heaven’s sake. This sort of thing didn’t really happen. Particularly to someone like Ross Monahan.
“It’s true,” she said, taking another slug of wine. “She left the message on my answering machine. She…told me to tell you the wedding was off. Oh, Ross, why would she do this?”
At that moment Max burst into the office. “Has Tessa shown up yet? I’ve checked the cottage, but it’s empty and—”
“She’s gone,” said Ross evenly. Max took in Holly’s distraught state at a glance. Mauve eyeshadow and black mascara were sliding down her cheeks, and she was gulping like a child. Without even thinking, he pulled out a clean handkerchief and shoved it into her hands.
“Gone where?”
Ross shrugged, his dark eyes avoiding direct contact, his jaw tense. “Scotland, evidently.” With a vague gesture toward the big, north-facing window he added, “Funny how some people run away to Scotland to get married while others go there in order to avoid having to.”
“But why?” demanded Max furiously. “What’s happened?”
Ross, unable to speak for a moment, merely shrugged. Holly, who had been struggling to choke back her tears, burst into noisy, inelegant sobs.
“Nothing’s happened!” she wailed. “I saw her last night and she was fine! I just can’t believe this is happening…”
“Doesn’t she realize what she’s doing?” Max began, then stopped himself. “Oh shit, of course she does. Look, we’ve got a lot to do. If there’s no way of contacting Tessa and getting this bloody mess sorted out, we need to face facts—the wedding has to be canceled.”
The enormity of the task sent a shudder down Holly’s spine. Even at this moment guests were arriving at the hotel. She knew that a party of Ross’s friends were flying back from Marbella, ending their vacation in order to attend the wedding of the year. And there were all those expensive gifts, the sumptuous food that the restaurant staff had worked so hard to prepare, vanloads of flowers, the hideous gossip and excited speculation of staff and guests. How would Ross ever cope with the humiliation? And—oh God—what about the press, due to descend in droves? They would hardly be able to believe their ghoulish luck; runaway brides and jilted husbands were far more enthralling than run-of-the-mill wedding ceremonies and tales of happily ever after.
It was a nightmare. And now her glass was empty. The nightmare deepened.
“I could do with a drink myself,” said Max, observing her stricken face. Then he glanced at his brother. “Ross?”
“I don’t want anything.” Ross moved toward his desk and picked up the phone. Within seconds he was through to the offices of one of London’s leading press agencies.
“Steve? It’s Ross. Look, I don’t have time to fuck about so I’m relying on you to spread the word. I’m not getting married tomorrow. Yes, it’s all off.” He listened for a moment, his knuckles tightening around the receiver. “Sorry, mate, but no comment. It’s nobody’s business but our own. Just make sure everyone knows, OK? And tell them that any member of the press caught within half a mile of this hotel within the next week will have my guard dogs to answer to.”
“Sit down,” commanded Max, returning to the office with a bottle of scotch and two glasses and practically pushing Holly down into the nearest chair.
“But I should be helping…” she protested weakly, taking the fresh glass and downing a hefty gulp of the amber liquid.
“A lot of use you’d be,” he remarked, pouring his own drink. “You look bloody awful. It’s OK,” he added, turning his attention to Ross, “I’ve let them know outside. Sylvie has instructions to tell anyone who’s booked a room for tomorrow that they’re welcome to stay free of charge if they want to. She’s canceling the flowers, the Register Offic
e, and the cars. All we have to do now is contact as many of your friends as possible and tell them it’s off, and decide where you’re going to go. You have to get away for a couple of weeks,” he explained, meeting Ross’s blank expression. “You can’t stay here, for Christ’s sake.”
“I work here,” replied Ross evenly. “I live here. And I’m bloody well staying here. What am I supposed to do, fly off to Antigua for a solo honeymoon?”
• • •
“It’s the shock,” said Holly later that evening. It was ironic in the extreme that tonight of all nights she and Max actually should be having their most intimate conversation yet. She only hoped she’d be able to remember it all tomorrow morning, she thought woozily as he leaned forward and topped up her drink once more. “I’ve never seen Ross like this before. He’s like a robot.”
They were sitting in a dim corner of the bar, keeping as far away as possible from the rest of the guests. It wasn’t necessary to be a lip-reader to guess their favorite topic of conversation tonight. Yet Ross stood among them, a glass of Perrier water in his hand, speaking and nodding and listening in turn as if nothing at all had happened. Only his eyes, fathomless and fractionally less bright than usual, gave him away; as Holly had pointed out, he was functioning on automatic pilot, silently daring anyone to either ridicule or pity him. Watching him, she could have wept all over again because he was being so brave, and it was all so unnecessary. He shouldn’t be doing this; it could only be adding to his private agony. And they still had absolutely no idea why Tessa had run away…
Max, realizing that she was once more on the brink of tears, took Holly’s hand. Her vulnerability had touched him today as no amount of wit and brashness and sparkling repartee ever had. Now, with her makeup long since gone—his silk handkerchief had borne the brunt of that onslaught—and with her red-gold hair free of bows, bright combs, and hair spray, she looked younger, more approachable, and more real than the Holly he had known and taken care to avoid for so long.