by Jill Mansell
“Then again,” said Serena, observing her deliberately blank expression, “he always did like to keep his private life to himself. And gossiping with the household staff isn’t quite the done thing, after all.”
“Of course not.” No, m’lady. Sorry, m’lady, Maxine silently mocked, only just resisting the urge to tug her forelock and bob a fetching little curtsy. She was expected, it seemed, to hang the coat up. To amuse herself, she dumped it instead over the back of the nearest chair.
But Serena appeared genuinely unaware of the fact that her words might have given offense. Making herself comfortable on the sofa, she smiled across at Maxine and said, “A cup of tea would be nice. White with two Splenda, please.”
Having heaped at least a hundred calories’ worth of brown sugar into the cup, Maxine felt a little better. When she carried it through to Serena in the sitting room she said, “Josh and Ella are playing upstairs. Shall I tell them you’re here?”
Serena was undoubtedly beautiful, but she hadn’t featured in Josh’s list of favorite females, which was another bonus. Maxine soon found out why.
“The children are here?” Serena’s face fell. Her tone of voice registered a distinct lack of enthusiasm. “Why aren’t they at school?”
“Summer vacation.” Maxine had to work hard to suppress a grin. Serena Charlton, presumably, was childless.
“Oh. No, don’t worry about getting them down here. No need to disturb them. You carry on with your work, um…Maxine. I’ll just sit here and enjoy my tea in peace.”
And get fat into the bargain, thought Maxine smugly, remembering the amount of sugar she’d put in. Dying to get the lowdown on Serena, she raced upstairs to interrogate Josh. The lack of enthusiasm, it transpired, was entirely mutual.
“She’s staying for a whole week?”
Reaching for the remote control, Maxine reduced the volume on the television.
“She thinks she is. Why, don’t you like her?”
“Her face is quite pretty,” said Ella helpfully. “And she’s got really short hair.”
“She’s OK I suppose.” Josh was making an effort to be fair. “She brought us some sweets once. But she’d rather be with Dad than us. We’ve only met her a few times and she always thinks we should go outside and play.” He pulled a face. “Even when it’s raining.”
Their earlier row forgotten, Maxine retorted indignantly, “And what does your father have to say about that?”
Sometimes Josh seemed wiser than his years. His gaze drifting back toward the television screen, where Tom was beating hell out of Jerry, he replied absently, “Most of Dad’s girlfriends make too much of a fuss over us because they think it’ll make him like them more, and then maybe he’ll marry them. I think Dad likes Serena because she doesn’t do that. He says at least she’s honest.”
Nifty reasoning, thought Maxine appreciatively. On both sides.
“If I go and get the scissors,” said Ella, “will you cut my hair off now?”
Chapter Fourteen
Thanks to the appalling weather, business in the shop was slow. Few people, it seemed, were interested in buying flowers when it was pouring with rain. Janey and Paula, guiltily eating cream cakes from the bakery next door, passed the time by doing the crossword in the local paper and taking turns making endless mugs of tea.
“‘What’s a nice chap like me doing in an advertisement like this?’” Paula read aloud as Janey emerged from the back of the shop with yet more tea.
“How many letters?” Janey asked, easing herself back onto her stool and peering across at the paper. “Could it be Piers Morgan?”
“God forbid!” Paula grinned and pointed to the next page. “I’m on to the Personal column. Don’t you ever read it?”
“No.” Pulling a face, Janey followed Paula’s index finger and read the rest of the advertisement. “‘I am a good-looking male, thirty-four, with a whacky sense of humor.’ Hmm, probably means he’s into serious spanking. ‘Fun-loving partner required, five feet three or under.’ Ah, so he’s an extremely short spanker. ‘Age, looks, and marital status unimportant.’ That means he’s totally desperate.”
“OK,” said Paula, conceding the point. “He doesn’t sound great, I’ll admit.”
“Great? He sounds like a nerd.”
“But they aren’t all like that. How about this one? ‘Divorced male, forty, own home and car, new to the area. Likes dining out, theater, tennis, long walks…’ What’s wrong with him?”
Janey said unforgivingly, “BO, I expect.”
“Don’t be mean! Why are you so suspicious?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “If he’s so terrific, why does he need to advertise in the Lonely Hearts column?”
“He’s new to the area and he doesn’t want to cruise the bars picking up girls,” said Paula, springing to his defense. “Because the type of girl he likes doesn’t hang around bars waiting to be picked up. There’s nothing weird or sinister about advertising in the Personals,” she added firmly. “Sometimes it’s just the most sensible thing to do.”
Janey had never thought of it like that. Neither would she ever have imagined that Paula would argue the case so strongly. Her curiosity aroused, she said, “Have you done this kind of thing yourself?”
“No, but a friend of mine tried it once. And it worked for her.”
“What happened?”
The younger girl broke into a grin. “She met a tall, blond airline pilot. Within six weeks, they were married. And they’re amazingly happy.” Paula, who could give Maxine a run for her money where bluntness was concerned, added, “You should try it.”
Startled, Janey laughed aloud. “Me?”
“It’s been two years now since Alan…disappeared.” Paula fixed her with a steady gaze. “I know it’s been hard for you, but you really should be starting to think about the rest of your life. You’re only twenty-eight, Janey. You need to start going out, meeting new people…having fun…”
“And you seriously think this is the answer?” Deeply skeptical, Janey said, “That by answering a few crazy advertisements in the local paper, I’ll change my life?”
“I don’t know.” Paula, having made her point, crossed her fingers beneath the counter and prayed that Janey would never find out she’d made up the fairy-tale romance between her friend and the pilot. Reaching for the paper and returning her attention to the crossword, she added casually, “But if you don’t try it, you’ll never know. Now, have a look at fourteen across. Do you think it could be pfennig?”
• • •
Paula had a way of saying things that stuck in the mind. As she tackled a pile of ironing that evening, Janey found herself recalling their earlier conversation and beginning to wonder if she had a point after all. Having overcome her initial misgivings, she now conceded that for some people, circumstances beyond their control made it hard for them to socialize in the traditional manner. When she’d pressed Paula for further details about her friend, for example, she’d explained that, as an airline pilot, Alistair had been so busy flying all over the world, he simply hadn’t had time to meet any girls in his own country. Not interested in the air hostesses with whom he worked, he had placed an advertisement instead, in Time Out, and received sixty-seven replies. The first date hadn’t worked out and Geraldine, Paula’s friend, had been the second. True love had blossomed almost instantaneously, and the remaining sixty-five females hadn’t had a chance.
Janey hadn’t believed this story for a moment. Even if Paula hadn’t own-goaled herself, calling the pilot Alistair one minute and Alexander the next, she would have seen through the enormous fib, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen. Janey herself had read magazine articles detailing such meetings and subsequent marriages. Paula had undoubtedly been right when she’d declared that sometimes it was simply the most sensible thing to do.
Abandoning th
e ironing before she wrecked something she was particularly fond of, Janey switched on the kettle. Her stomach was rumbling and she could have murdered a bowl of spaghetti, but the cream cakes that afternoon had probably used up her calorie quota for the next three weeks.
Gloomily surveying the contents of the fridge, she set about making herself a boring salad sandwich instead.
Widower, 62, seeks the company of a lively lady 45–60, for friendship and old-time dancing. Resilient toes an absolute must.
He sounded lovely. Janey was only sorry she wasn’t old enough for him. Wondering if maybe she couldn’t get away with lying about her age, she read on.
Lonely vegan (Sagittarius) wishes to meet soul mate, pleaded the next ad. Nonsmoking, teetotal young lady required. Capricorn preferred.
Aaargh, thought Janey. Oh well. It took all sorts. And who knew? Maybe there was a soul mate out there somewhere, reading this advertisement and experiencing a leap of joyous recognition.
Gentleman required for plumpish but well-preserved divorcée, 55. Fond of walking, gardening, cooking, and dancing.
That was nice; she could pair up with the fox-trotting widower.
Discreet businessman seeks ditto lady, 30–50, for mutually pleasurable meetings, afternoons only.
A typographical error, surely, thought Janey with a grin. Didn’t he mean matings?
Tall, presentable, divorced male, 35, would like to meet normal female.
She paused and reread the words, attracted by their simplicity and intrigued to know more. Had his wife been spectacularly abnormal? How tall was tall? And did presentable mean a bank-managerish gray suit with accompanying dandruff, or clean jeans and a T-shirt that had actually been ironed?
Twenty minutes later, after having absently flipped through the rest of the paper and finished her sandwich, Janey found herself back once more at the Personal column. With a guilty start, she realized she was studying the advertisement placed by Mr. Presentable. Even more alarming, she was actually giving it serious consideration. “You should try it,” Paula had said in her uncompromising way. “You need to meet new people. If you don’t try it, you’ll never know what you might be missing.”
If the Sagittarian vegan was anything to go by, Janey suspected she did. But maybe…just maybe Paula had a point. Mr. Presentable didn’t sound weird, and there was always the chance that he might turn out to be genuinely nice. There was, after all, an undeniable gap in her life, and a cautious toe in the water—nothing too alarming, perhaps a brief meeting in a wine bar for a lunchtime drink—would satisfy her own curiosity and at the same time show Paula that she had at least been willing to make some kind of effort on the man front.
Or more aptly, the unmanned front.
Although there was Bruno, of course, whom Paula didn’t know about. Janey wasn’t sure whether he really counted. In addition, knowing how she would have felt if Alan had cheated on her, she hated the thought of getting involved and upsetting Nina. Bruno had assured her that theirs was an open relationship but she was, after all, only hearing his side of the story.
If she was being honest, her attraction toward Bruno was yet another good reason why she should consider replying to the advertisement. Any real involvement with someone like him could only eventually end in tears. What she really needed to do, Janey decided, was to diversify.
• • •
“I don’t believe it!” cried Maxine, who had only phoned up in order to relieve her own boredom and have a good moan about Serena. Riveted by the news of Janey’s decision, she quite forgot her own irritations. “Darling, what an absolute scream! I know! We could both answer a few ads and compare notes afterward. Marks out of ten for looks, brains, and bonkability!”
“It isn’t a joke.” With great firmness, Janey interrupted her. Her sister, of course, was about the last person in the world in whom she should have confided. Maxine simply couldn’t comprehend the idea that meeting new men wasn’t always easy. She could scarcely take five paces without tripping over likely contenders in nightclubs, on the street, at supermarket checkouts, even on one occasion in Asprey’s. The man in question had been in the company of his girlfriend at the time, choosing from a selection of wildly expensive engagement rings. Maxine, broke as usual and shamelessly trying on jewelry for the hell of it, had fallen into conversation with the two of them and came away with the bridegroom-to-be’s phone number in her jacket pocket. When you were Maxine, Janey remembered, men were there for the taking. They practically lined up to be taken, in fact. Usually for everything they had.
“What do you mean, it isn’t a joke?” Maxine demanded. “Of course it’s a joke. You can’t seriously be serious!”
Janey had known she was making a big mistake. Patiently, she said, “Why not? If I were looking for a new car, I’d see what was being advertised in the paper. If I wanted to move, I’d find out what real estate agents had on their books. Why should looking for a new man be any different?”
I sound like Paula, she thought with amusement. Maybe we should forget selling flowers and set up a dating agency instead.
“I don’t believe it,” repeated Maxine, as close to being struck dumb as it was possible for Maxine to get. “You are serious!”
Having made up her mind, Janey had no intention of allowing herself to be bulldozed out of it now. Before Maxine had a chance to get her teeth into a really below-the-belt argument on the subject, she said, “OK, OK. You’re right. It was a bad idea.”
“About the worst you’ve had since you decided I should come and work at the Hotel Cassidy,” declared Maxine, remembering why she had decided to phone her sister in the first place. “As if I wasn’t enough of a servant already, some ghastly, tarty girlfriend of Guy’s rolled up earlier today with wagonloads of cases and announced that she was here for the week. All she’s done is sit on her fat bum watching television and demanding endless cups of tea.”
“Funny, that’s what you do when you visit me.” Janey grinned to herself. “Has she really got a fat bum?”
“She soon will have, by the time I’ve finished with her.” Maxine spoke in self-satisfied tones.
“And she’s tarty? I wouldn’t have thought that was Guy’s style at all.”
This time, she was almost able to hear Maxine’s shoulders slump in defeat.
“OK, so maybe she isn’t tarty. If she were, I might not hate her so much.”
“Ah, so she’s a threat,” Janey teased. “You had your designs on Guy and now she’s put your nose out of joint.”
Gloomily, Maxine said, “She even has a designer nose.”
It was cheering to discover that even Maxine could feel inadequate when the odds were stacked against her. Janey, who knew only too well how it felt, said, “Is she really stunning?”
“Hmm.” Maxine sounded resigned. “Come up and see us sometime, then you might understand what I’m up against.”
“Isn’t your sparkling personality enough?”
“Don’t be stupid; of course it isn’t. Men like Guy aren’t interested in personalities.” Maxine paused, then added, “I mean it, Janey. Come over tomorrow morning, then you can see for yourself.”
“I can’t just turn up,” protested Janey. “That really would look stupid.”
“Florists deliver flowers, don’t they?” Maxine spoke with exaggerated patience. “So, if you’re going to be boring about it, I’ll place an order. How about a nice bouquet of deadly nightshade?”
“Oh dear.” Janey grinned. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer a wreath?”
• • •
It was eleven thirty by the time Guy returned home, and to Maxine’s disappointment, he didn’t boot Serena unceremoniously out into the night.
Staying put in her armchair, she eavesdropped like mad on the reunion out in the hall. If she twisted around and craned her neck all the way over to the left, she could have watc
hed them through the crack in the door, but that would have been too tacky. Besides, Guy would probably catch her at it.
He sounded surprised, though not unhappy, to find Serena waiting for him at the front door. Maxine heard her say, “Darling, Thailand was canceled, so I found myself with a free week. I’ve been here since about midday.”
Maxine was only too easily able to envisage the accompanying embrace; Serena was the lithe, wraparound type. The kiss that went with it, thankfully, wasn’t audible.
“You should have phoned,” said Guy eventually.
“It doesn’t matter now. I’m just glad you decided not to stay away overnight after all.”
Maxine winced. Guy didn’t miss a trick.
“Has Maxine been looking after you?” she heard him say. There was a faint edge to his voice. She winced again, this time in anticipation.
“Mmm,” Serena replied vaguely. “Well, in her own way, I suppose. She served up the most extraordinary supper, a kind of fish pie made with instant mashed potato.”
She made instant sound like maggot-infested. Maxine heard Guy say, “The children like it.”
“And it was positively teeming with garlic.”
All the better to repel you with, my dear, thought Maxine happily. With six whole cloves of the stuff to contend with, she doubted whether Guy had much enjoyed his welcome-home kiss.
“Yes, well. Maxine’s culinary techniques are…interesting,” he replied drily. “Where is she now, in bed?”
“In the sitting room.” Serena didn’t bother to lower her voice. “Darling, is it wise to allow the nanny the run of the entire house? She’s been there all evening, hogging the most comfortable chair and the remote control. And she’s been helping herself to your gin.”
Maxine turned and smiled at Guy as he entered the room. Since there wasn’t much point in pretending not to have overheard, she said brightly, “Only one gin. Oh, and a splash of tonic and two ice cubes. You can deduct them from my wages.”