Solo

by Jill Mansell

  They were sitting in the conservatory at the hotel, taking a brief, well-earned break. Following the seemingly miraculous reappearance of the paintings, Ross had informed the attendant gaggle of press photographers and radio and TV crews that the exhibition would go ahead on schedule, and that it would be held at The Grange. And because the fire at the Devenish Gallery was such a newsworthy item, Tessa’s show had become newsworthy too. The publicity generated was far greater than it could ever have been if the gallery had remained intact.

  They had never worked so hard before in their lives. The seven hours spent transforming the hotel ballroom into an impromptu gallery had been unbelievably hectic with everyone—florists, caterers, electricians, even the occasional journalist—joining in. The glittering chandelier, normally such a spectacular feature of the room, vied now with subtle but effective spotlighting designed to enhance the pictures ranged around the walls. In the center of the room stood a lavish buffet, laid out on a vast oval table and flanked at either end by cases of champagne. Three hundred glossy catalogues, lost in the fire, had been replaced by a stack of five hundred hastily constructed hand sheets run off by Max on his laptop. It was almost six o’clock and incredibly, everything was ready for the opening.

  “You wouldn’t have recognized her, would you?” cooed Holly again as Olivia made a grab for her earrings.

  Tessa took a sip of white wine and grinned. “She might; I’m wearing the same dress, after all.”

  “And you won’t be able to get away with that when you’re a megastar! Don’t worry, I can spend other people’s money just as easily as my own—I’ll come shopping with you, show you how it’s done.” Tessa, envisaging herself in Day-Glo orange Lycra and sequined high heels, changed the subject.

  “So, how did it go yesterday afternoon?” she demanded briskly. Since Holly hadn’t so much as mentioned it, she had assumed that the crisis was over. “Have you changed your mind about finishing with Max?”

  But Holly’s face fell. “Thank goodness we’ve been so busy today,” she said with a rueful half smile. “At least I haven’t had time to think about how rotten I feel. It was a nightmare, Tess, but I did it. I told him that I didn’t want to see him anymore.”

  “My God!” Riveted, unable to believe that Holly had actually had the strength of will to go through with it, Tessa leaned closer. “What did he say?”

  “Well, he wasn’t exactly prostrated with grief,” replied Holly with a trace of bitterness. “Surprised, of course. He obviously didn’t expect someone like me to do that kind of thing to someone like him. But in the end he just shrugged and said that if that was what I wanted, then fine.”

  “And?” prompted Tessa sympathetically.

  “And so I got out of bed, put my clothes on, and left the apartment. When I got back an hour later he was gone. I suppose I thought that if I told him while we were in bed together it might make him try to change my mind,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “Heaven knows, it was what I wanted him to do, but it didn’t happen. He’s been terribly polite all day, and I’ve been polite back, and it’s all been horrible. I know I’ve done the sensible thing,” she concluded, picking at the plate of hors d’oeuvres Tessa had liberated from the buffet, “but it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. I still can’t believe that I’ve done it…and that I’ve done it to myself.”

  Tessa, who knew only too well how that felt, said consolingly, “But you know it was the right thing to do, and that’ll make it easier. You’ll get over him, meet someone else…”

  “Oh yes.” With a disconsolate gesture Holly speared a morsel of monkfish with her fork. “Plenty more of these in the sea. They can’t all be bastards, after all.”

  “Of course not. Some of them are really rather nice.” Tessa wondered whether Adam Perry would be turning up later. She’d sent him an invitation, but Holly had mentioned in passing last week that he was in Portugal.

  “The trouble is,” replied Holly gloomily, “they’re not the ones I fall in love with.”

  Chapter 57

  By six thirty it was obvious that the exhibition was going to be a raging success. The atmosphere in the ballroom, now filled to overflowing with guests, was electric, the impromptu change of venue only adding to the general air of excitement. It was, Tessa realized, promising to turn into a real party. And the giddy exhilaration of hearing her work being praised was further enhanced when she realized that they actually meant it; already, her paintings were being bought by customers—professional buyers and private collectors alike—who didn’t even flinch at the sight of the prices Ross and Marcus Devenish had insisted upon, and which she herself had felt to be so off-puttingly exorbitant.

  “You’re worth it,” Ross had explained for the tenth time earlier that afternoon when she had panicked, afraid that every painting would remain unsold. “Tess, you just need to have the courage of everyone else’s convictions. Believe me, these are not outrageous prices; they’re the price of your hard work and talent. Not to mention,” he had concluded with a lascivious wink, “my commission.”

  And to her enormous relief, her fears had been unfounded. All around the ballroom red “sold” stickers were materializing on picture frames, and every so often Holly would dash up to her in order to regale her with details of the more outrageous gossip and to smugly inform her who had bought what.

  “Happy now?” demanded Ross, leaning on his black cane and surveying her with amused eyes. In his dark suit, and with his almost-black hair gleaming, he looked so heart-stoppingly handsome that for a moment a lump came to her throat. The thought that he could have been crippled for life, imprisoned within an externally perfect but immobile body, seemed impossible to imagine now. He had been so lucky… They had been so lucky…

  “Very happy,” she admitted, slipping an arm around his waist. “Of course, it could be the champagne.”

  “It could be the fact that those Bond Street dealers over there are describing you as a major new talent,” he murmured, having eavesdropped shamelessly on their conversation earlier. “Come here, major new talent, and give me a kiss.”

  As his warm mouth closed over hers, an explosion of flashbulbs captured the moment for posterity and tomorrow morning’s papers. The press, out in full force, recognized a great story when they saw one.

  “It was a shame about Drumlachan,” Tessa whispered, her lips brushing his earlobe. The castle had been sold at auction the previous week to a London-based consortium.

  Ross tilted his head, shooting her a sideways glance, but her face was the picture of innocence. “Hmm. Well, never mind,” he replied enigmatically. “There’ll be other castles.”

  Tessa, however, was unable to leave the matter there. “Tell me,” she said with deliberate vagueness, “would you really have stayed up in Scotland to supervise all that work?”

  He couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing. It must, he thought triumphantly, have been preying on her mind for weeks.

  “Of course not, sweetheart. You hire other people to do jobs like that. I just said it to see how you’d react.”

  Then, before she could say something undignified, he kissed her again, hard.

  “We’re being watched,” said Tessa, pulling away and attempting to restore normality to the proceedings. Pink-cheeked, she smoothed her hair. “Where’s Olivia?”

  “The last time I saw her she was with Adam, and sporting a red sticker. I think she’s been sold.”

  So Adam was here. Tessa smiled to herself and hoped that fate would take a hand; Holly was out there giving a good impression of a single girl without a worry in the world, but she needed someone. And Adam was so nice…

  At that moment a tanned arm snaked around her waist, and a voice whispered seductively in her ear: “So, how does it feel to be famous?”

  She swung around, ignoring the expression on Ross’s face, and kissed Dominic on both cheeks. “I th
ought you weren’t coming!”

  “Would I miss this?” he demanded, his sweeping gesture encompassing the entire ballroom. “Would I say ‘To hell with it, how am I supposed to travel up from the wilds of Cornwall to Bath when I don’t even possess the money for the bus fare?’ Besides,” he went on, stage-whispering into her ear, “I just happen to have my latest future wife with me. She drove us up in her Lotus. And she’s beautiful as well…”

  Ross, who still didn’t entirely trust Dominic, moved away. Dominic’s grip tightened around her waist. “Are you happy, sweetheart? Really happy?”

  Aware that her hair was hanging precariously loosely from its combs, Tessa nodded and gave him another hug. “I am,” she assured him. The occasional doubts that still haunted her—Antonia, her own ability to continue to hold Ross, his diabolical past history with other women—no longer mattered. “I am,” she said again. “So happy that I never believed it was possible. But it is. And I’m afraid I’m being horribly smug.”

  Aware that Ross was still watching them from a distance—and thinking that he didn’t really blame him—Dominic regarded her radiant face with affection.

  “As long as you’re sure, sweetie, and as long as you’re absolutely sure that you aren’t just doing it out of gratitude, then fine. Nobody deserves to be happy more than you do.”

  • • •

  Adam handed Olivia over to Holly and wished that he could take her in his arms. She was looking slightly tired—the strain showed in her eyes—but otherwise splendid in a taffeta dress of bubble-gum pink shot through with violet. An astute man, he had observed the careful distance she was maintaining between herself and Max, and his spirits had lifted immeasurably as a result.

  But he was also acutely aware of the fact that he had to proceed with caution. His attempts to win her in the past—via the bulldozer approach—had been spectacularly unsuccessful. And right now she looked more in need of sympathy than a cartload of compliments.

  “You look as if you could sleep for a week, pet,” he told her, steering her toward a chair and appropriating two glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing waitress. “You’ve been working too hard.”

  Holly, grateful for the chance to sit down and deftly removing her glass from Olivia’s eager, grabbing fingers, gave him a wry smile.

  “You’re telling me that I look a fright, is that it?”

  “Don’t be silly. Have you noticed, by the way, that Tessa’s portrait of you has been sold?”

  He indicated with a nod the general direction in which the painting was situated, a quirky, colorful study of Holly, long red-gold ringlets tied up in an emerald scarf, sitting on the floor engrossed in the task of painting her toenails.

  “Really? Who bought it?” For a moment, hope soared. Maybe it had been Max.

  “I did.”

  It wasn’t exactly encouraging, he thought, seeing the flicker of disappointment in those wondrous gray eyes.

  “Oh. Why?”

  He shrugged and said simply. “I like looking at you.”

  Holly, unable to stop herself, searched the room for Max. There he was, laughing with Caroline Newman and obviously having a good time. It was cruelly apparent that the sense of loss she was feeling was quite one-sided. Max was wasting no time at all in finding himself a replacement.

  And the thought of having to witness the procedure—and all subsequent procedures—was becoming increasingly unbearable.

  Adam, finding her quiet distress equally hard to bear, could keep silent no longer. “Sweetheart, he’s treated you like dirt, and he doesn’t even deserve you. You should leave. You can’t carry on seeing him day after day, torturing yourself for no reason.”

  “Of course I can,” replied Holly automatically. Then her eyes grew bright with tears. “I like working here.”

  “You could like working somewhere else, away from Max Monahan,” he said bluntly. “Every time you see him, it brings back the pain. If you’re going to get him out of your system, you need a complete break.”

  During the last couple of miserable, sleepless nights she had told herself exactly the same thing. The cold-turkey treatment—brutal, indescribably painful, but ultimately effective—was what she should aim for, but just ending the relationship with Max had required more bravery than she’d known she possessed, and now she didn’t have any left. She wasn’t superhuman, after all. She was simply Holly, renowned for her bright clothes, big tits, and lousy choice in men.

  She kissed Olivia’s dark head, unable to meet Adam’s gaze. “I know it’s what I should do. I just can’t actually bring myself to go through with it.”

  “But you could,” he said urgently, his mind racing ahead even as he spoke. “Look, I’ve just bought a restaurant in the Algarve. You could work there, run the bar. I mean it, Holly. It would be the perfect opportunity. You’d be in your element…”

  It was such a ludicrous idea that she actually laughed aloud. “I couldn’t possibly run a bar in Portugal.”

  “Why ever not?”

  For a couple of seconds, the old Holly resurfaced; she was herself again. Patting his arm and leaning across in order to whisper in his ear, she said slowly, “Because, dumbo, I don’t speak Portuguese.”

  • • •

  “Tell me if it’s none of my business,” said Ross, “but I couldn’t help noticing yesterday that you’d put on a bit of weight since the last time I saw you. I asked Grace about it. She told me that you were pregnant.”

  Mattie’s answering smile was tinged with sadness. The last time she’d visited The Grange she had met Richard, and walking up the floodlit drive this evening had brought the memories of that wonderful night surging back. She had never been able to bring herself to throw away the pink dress with the cigarette burn on the sleeve.

  “I also asked her who the father was,” continued Ross, his tone gentle.

  Her eyes searched his face. “Did she tell you?”

  “I’m her father. Of course she told me. Mattie, I’m not proud of the fact that I had an affair with Antonia. Richard was a good man. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you, hearing that he was dead…and now, through no fault of your own, you’re having to cope with the same situation all over again.”

  “Not quite the same situation,” she reminded him calmly, gazing over his shoulder at a charcoal portrait of Olivia. “I know that Richard loved me. Sometimes it makes it harder to bear, but most of the time it’s a comfort.”

  “You would have been perfect together,” said Ross, realizing that it was true. She had dignity and warmth, and genuine compassion. She was as unlike Antonia as it was possible to be. “Look, I wasn’t around to help you when Grace was born, and I know I’m eighteen years too late, but I would be grateful if you’d allow me to help out this time around. Please don’t say anything, but I’ve been in touch with my lawyers, and arrangements have been made. You won’t need to worry about your financial situation, OK?”

  Mattie frowned. “I don’t want charity—”

  “It’s not charity,” said Ross rapidly. “It’s repayment of a debt, long overdue. Besides,” he added with a flicker of amusement, “it can be expensive, raising a brilliant young accountant. By the time he’s three, he’ll be screaming for fresh batteries in his calculator. For his fourth birthday he’ll be demanding a computer.”

  “Yes,” said Mattie, smiling up at him. “She just might.”

  • • •

  Taking advantage of the fact that Mattie and Ross were otherwise occupied, Grace ventured shyly up to Tessa.

  “Hello.”

  “Grace! I’m so glad you were able to come.” Reinforcing her words with a quick hug, Tessa then stepped back to have a look at her. With her artist’s eye for fine detail, and with the added benefit of hindsight, she was able now to recognize the similarities between father and daughter that Ross had been una
ble to see. The coloring was entirely different, of course, but the firm set of the jaw and those sculptured cheekbones were the same. And although it wasn’t a physical characteristic, their determination to get what they wanted in life was also undoubtedly a shared trait.

  “It seems funny, being back here,” said Grace, casting around for something to say. “I keep feeling as if I should be clearing away plates or something.”

  “Just enjoy it. I am. And Grace,” continued Tessa, lowering her voice slightly, “I want you to know how glad I am that everything’s sorted out now between you and Ross. I was pretty stunned when he told me yesterday, but I’m beginning to get used to the idea now. How’s it going between the two of you?”

  “Not too badly, I suppose.” Grace shrugged, then grinned. “Considering that I keep having to stop myself from calling him Mr. Monahan.”

  “It’s not going to be easy,” said Tessa, attempting to reassure her, “for either of you. He’s only just gotten used to being Olivia’s father. Now, all of a sudden, he’s got a grown-up daughter to contend with as well. Give him time. Don’t expect too much too soon, that’s all.”

  “I won’t,” replied Grace simply. “I know it isn’t easy for him. But I’m just so glad that he knows.”

  • • •

  “So, how about a quote?” asked one of the female journalists with a suggestive smile. Max Monahan was even more spectacular in the flesh than he appeared on television whenever he went on to plug his latest book; those dark good looks combined with that deadpan arrogance were irresistible. “What’s really going on between you and Francine Lalonde? Have you been over to see her in Switzerland? Any plans for the future, hmmm?”

  From the corner of his eye, Max glimpsed Holly, deep in conversation with Dominic, her bright hair surrounded by a halo of light from the doorway behind her. For a moment he imagined he could smell the scent of her perfume. He turned back to face the journalist. “I’ve written a film script; she’s reading it. I’m expecting her over here in a week or two…but for now, let’s just say that we’re good friends.”