Sheer Mischief

by Jill Mansell

  • • •

  Thanking her lucky stars she hadn’t pinned all her hopes on Alexander Norcross, Janey was longing to tell someone the story of the brief encounter that—bizarrely—had gone some way toward restoring her own self-confidence.

  “It was so ghastly it ended up being funny,” she said to Bruno the following morning, grinning as she recalled the way Alexander had complained to the bar manager about the price of a cup of coffee. “He was so awful, but he really thought he was Britain’s answer to Ryan Reynolds. If you could have seen the look on his face when I said I wouldn’t be seeing him again—”

  “Was he handsome?”

  “Oh yes, but such a jerk! When I got back to the flat I was dying to phone Maxine to give her all the gory details, but I’d already decided not to tell her anything about answering the ad. I shouldn’t be telling you either.” Janey tried to look repentant and failed. “You’re just as likely to make fun of me as she is. But it was funny, and I had to tell someone.”

  “It certainly seems to have cheered you up,” remarked Bruno, inwardly appalled that she should have been driven to reply to a newspaper advertisement in the first place. “But, Janey, aren’t you taking a bit of a risk? You don’t need to do that kind of thing. A gorgeous girl like you could take her pick of men.”

  Coloring at the compliment, even if it was only Bruno saying what he would no doubt say to anyone under the age of ninety, she resorted to flippancy. “Yes, well. The neighbors were starting to complain about the lines outside my front door, so I thought I’d try going about it another way.”

  “Hmm.” Bruno, who wasn’t stupid, surveyed her through narrowed eyes. “Or does it have something to do with that noisy, pushy sister of yours?”

  Janey could have hugged him. She’d been so sure he would be entranced by Maxine. Her self-confidence rose by yet another notch. “Not at all,” she lied, relaxing visibly but still not quite daring to admit that she’d placed an advertisement of her own. “I just thought I’d give it a go. It didn’t work out. End of story.”

  “I should bloody well hope so.” Bruno glanced at his watch and saw that he’d have to get a move on if they were to open for lunch. Janey was gorgeous, he thought. She deserved a hell of a lot better than a guy with a Porsche and a padlocked wallet. “Look, I could get away early tonight.” As he spoke, he began unpacking the box of flowers she had brought to the restaurant, pink carnations and sweet-smelling lilac today to match the new tablecloths. “If you aren’t doing anything, why don’t we go out for something to eat?”

  “Oh!” Janey looked astonished. After a moment’s hesitation, she said, “But this is your restaurant. Shouldn’t we eat here?”

  “That would make it business.” Bruno gave her one of his most irresistible smiles. “What I had in mind was pleasure.”

  “But you’re—”

  “I’m not married,” he reminded her. “And I don’t argue with bar managers about the price of coffee either.”

  “But—”

  “No more excuses,” said Bruno, his tone firm. “I’ll pick you up at ten.”

  “Oh, but—” said Janey, torn between delight and the hideous prospect of having to get up at five o’clock tomorrow morning.

  “Stop it,” said Bruno, very firmly indeed. “It’ll be fun.” Then he winked. “Besides, better the devil you know…”

  • • •

  The drawback to being picked up at ten o’clock in the evening was that it left one with far too much time to get ready. Instead of flinging on the first decent thing that came to hand, Janey found herself racked with indecision. None of the more casual skirts and T-shirts she wore for work would do; Bruno had seen them all a hundred times. The black sequined dress was wonderfully slimming, but it would be way over the top, and the only other really decent outfit she owned, a violet crepe-de-Chine affair with no back and swirly skirts, made her look like something out of Dancing with the Stars.

  Clothes littered the bed as she tried on and discarded one outfit after another. A white, dripping-with-lace blouse resembled nothing so much as an overdone wedding cake. The black trousers were too tight, her favorite red silk shirt had a hole in the sleeve, and Maxine had spilled makeup down the front of her cream lamb’s-wool sweater.

  Finally settling for a sea-green shirt and white jeans, Janey did her makeup and fiddled with her hair. After putting it up, experimenting with combs, and taking it down again because the combs wouldn’t stay in anyway, it was still only eight thirty. When the phone rang fifteen minutes later, she almost hoped it would be Bruno calling to tell her he couldn’t get away after all. Her stomach could only stand so many jitters. She had been looking forward to the evening far more than was good for her. Bruno might not be married to Nina, but he still wasn’t properly single either.

  “Janey? Now listen to me. Get out of that old robe and do yourself up this instant!”

  Maxine was shouting into the phone to make herself heard above a background of loud music and roars of male approval.

  “Where are you calling from?” said Janey. “It sounds like a strip joint.”

  “What? We’re down at the Terrace Bar of the Manderley Hotel. My lovely cricketer’s come back to Cornwall, and he’s brought the rest of the team with him, so I’m hopelessly outnumbered. They’re calling for reinforcements, Janey, and as soon as I mentioned a fancy-free sister, they insisted I get you down here.” She giggled. “In fact they carried me to the phone.”

  Janey, listening to the earsplitting whistles of eleven overexcited cricketers, said, “I can’t. I’m going out.”

  “Who with?”

  “A friend.”

  “Who?” demanded Maxine.

  “Nobody you know.”

  “That means nobody at all! Darling, don’t be so boring. You wanted to meet new men, and here I am, granting your wish with a dazzling selection… They’re dying to meet you and now you’re chickening out. Oh, look what you’ve done to them. They’re starting to cry.”

  From the chorus of boo-hoos now drowning out Maxine’s protests, it certainly sounded as if they had a collective mental age of around seven. Janey could only wonder at the amount of beer they must have consumed. “I really can’t,” she repeated patiently. “I’m meeting a friend for a quick drink and then I must get an early night. I have to be—”

  “Up at five o’clock in the morning to go to the flower market,” chanted Maxine, who had heard it all before. “Janey, how many times do I have to tell you, there are more important things in life than getting enough sleep? These boys are raring to go. You’re missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime here!”

  “Then I’ll just have to miss out,” she said firmly so that Maxine wouldn’t be tempted to persist. “And I’m sure you can handle them all beautifully without my help. I’ll ring you tomorrow to see how your hangover is, but I really do have to go now. Bye.”

  • • •

  “If I’d known we were coming here, I would never have worn jeans,” whispered Janey for the third time as they were finishing their meal. The black sequined dress wouldn’t have been OTT after all, she decided, glancing around at the other diners. And she wouldn’t have needed to fumble under the tablecloth surreptitiously in order to loosen her belt three more notches. “Heavens, I haven’t eaten so much in years. This food is perfect!”

  “But not too perfect,” said Bruno, who liked to keep an eye on the opposition. Looking pleased with himself, he said, “The snap peas were a fraction overdone, and the Bordelaise could have used a touch more black pepper. This Burgundy’s good, though,” he admitted, twirling the stem of his glass and sniffing the wine appreciatively. “Very nice indeed. I may have to order some of this for the restaurant. Nick and Tony would go into raptures over it.”

  Janey, mindful of the last time Bruno had plied her with wine, was rationing herself severely. Determined that ton
ight she was going to stay in control—and awake—she shook her head as he held the bottle toward her.

  “Maxine was most impressed with the way you kicked them out the other night.”

  “Ah, well. I expect it made her feel important.” Bruno looked amused. “I imagine it’s the kind of thing she enjoys.”

  “It’s what she lives for,” said Janey drily. Then, glimpsing the expression on his face, she added, “I know I’m being bitchy and disloyal, but I don’t care. Sometimes Maxine goes too far.”

  “No need to apologize.” Calmly, Bruno leaned forward and examined the slender gold chain around her neck. “I’ve only met her once, but it was enough to put me in the picture. I don’t think I’d walk too far out of my way for one of her dazzling smiles.”

  It was reward enough to know that just one man was impervious to Maxine’s charms. That the man in question should be Bruno was positively blissful. Like a puppy yearning to have its ears tickled, Janey moved fractionally closer so that the fingers investigating her necklace could brush against her skin. When they did so, she experienced once again the delicious tingle of anticipation only Bruno’s touch could evoke.

  “I thought you’d adore her,” she confessed, trying to sound matter of fact.

  “Then you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

  “I suppose not.”

  The green eyes glittered. “So in future, maybe you should leave it up to me to decide whom I adore.”

  It was only Bruno, she reminded herself breathlessly, coming out with his usual banter. She wasn’t expected to take it seriously. He didn’t mean it.

  It seemed, however, that he hadn’t lost the knack of reading minds either. Trailing his fingertips along her collarbone, he said, “Come on, Janey. Have a little faith.”

  She gulped. “In what?”

  “Me. You never know. I might just be serious.”

  It was what half of her longed to hear. Yet it was nerve-racking too. Relieved to spot the waiter approaching with their bill, she said, “You’re never serious.”

  “Never say never.” Bruno remained unperturbed. “Who gave you that necklace anyway?”

  “My husband.”

  “Still miss him?”

  Janey opened her mouth to say yes, because that was the standard reply, the one she’d been trotting out for the past eighteen months. But was it still true?

  “Sometimes,” she amended. “It isn’t as unbearable now as it used to be. Whenever anyone said time heals all wounds, I wanted to punch them.”

  Bruno grinned. “Good.”

  “Why, do you think I should have punched them?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “It’s good that you only miss him sometimes. You’re getting back to normal.”

  Right now, Janey wasn’t feeling the least bit normal. She was hopelessly attracted to Bruno, and she was sure it wasn’t wise. And since it was by this time almost midnight, she wasn’t likely to be feeling too normal when she woke up tomorrow morning either.

  “Here, let me pay half,” she said, reaching for her handbag as he placed a credit card over the folded bill. She couldn’t bear to think how much such a spectacular dinner must be costing him.

  “Because you don’t think you deserve to be taken out for a decent meal?” Raising his eyebrows, Bruno gave her a knowing look. “Put that purse away, for God’s sake. My name isn’t Alexander Norcross.”

  • • •

  “Oh help,” murmured Janey minutes later as they were leaving. Almost wrenching Bruno’s arm out of its socket, she dragged him behind one of the magnificent marble pillars flanking the main entrance to the hotel. “That’s my mother over there.”

  “Pity.” Bruno grinned. “For a moment I thought my luck was in.”

  “Shh.”

  “Why the panic anyway?”

  “You don’t know my mother.” Janey pulled face. “She’d interrogate you.”

  “She’s overprotective?”

  “No, just incurably nosy. Before you knew it, she’d be asking when we were going to get married.” Edging a cautious inch away from the pillar, she peered across at the man with her mother. “I don’t believe it—they’re holding hands! This must be the new chap she was so excited about the other week, the one with the Rolls.” Really, she thought with a trace of despair. If her mother had taken to frequenting five-star hotels, the least she could do was wear a bra. That glossy, white shirt was practically transparent.

  “He must be sixty at least,” said Bruno, watching as they picked up their room key and headed for the elevator. Grinning, he added, “Isn’t it reassuring to know that old people can still enjoy sex? When I was younger I was always terrified it might stop at thirty.”

  “I’m sure I’ve seen him somewhere before,” whispered Janey, who could only see his profile. “I can’t place him, but he definitely looks familiar.”

  “He’s certainly familiar with your mother.” Bruno’s grin widened as the elevator doors slid shut. “He’s got his hand inside her shirt. Janey, did you notice that your mother isn’t wearing a bra?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Back at Janey’s flat, Bruno pointed out the splash of red wine on the knee of her white jeans. “You should soak them in cold water. Go and take them off,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’ll make the coffee.”

  Janey, standing in the bedroom and gazing at her reflection in the wardrobe mirror, wondered what on earth she was supposed to do now. Slip into something more comfortable? Lever herself into another pair of jeans and pray the zip would stay up? Envelop herself in her oldest terry-cloth robe and furry slippers, surely the most effective contraceptive known to woman?

  By the time she emerged from the bedroom, Bruno had made the coffee, switched off the overhead light in the living room in favor of a single table lamp, and mastered the stereo. Ella Fitzgerald was crooning in the background, and the cushions had been rearranged on the sofa.

  Feeling absurdly self-conscious, Janey sat down at the other end.

  “That’s better.” He nodded approvingly at her pale-pink shorts. “You should show off your legs more often.”

  Janey immediately wished she’d settled for the robe and slippers after all. When all you were wearing were a pair of shorts, trying to hide your legs was a physical impossibility.

  “They’re fat.”

  “They’re the best legs in Trezale,” Bruno replied evenly. “What you mean is, they aren’t a pair of matchsticks like your sister’s.” He gave her a sidelong, knowing look. “Janey, we’re going to have to do something to get you over this ridiculous complex. You’re a gorgeous girl, and you don’t have to compare yourself unfavorably with anyone, least of all Maxine.”

  It was nice that he should say so, but the belief was so deeply ingrained that she couldn’t take him seriously. Erratic, extrovert Maxine, forever embroiling herself in drama and emerging unscathed, was the beautiful, slender sister to whom all men were drawn like magnets. Janey, hardworking and about as scatty as Margaret Thatcher, was the one best known for the fact that her husband had disappeared without trace. What a riveting claim to fame.

  “Won’t Nina be wondering where you are?” Compliments embarrassed her anyway. And it was almost one o’clock.

  “No,” said Bruno simply. Then his face softened. “OK, no more pep talk. Why don’t you just move over here instead?”

  When Janey stayed put, he smiled and edged his way slowly toward her instead. “Well, if the…”

  “Mountain won’t come to Mohammed?” guessed Janey when he hesitated. “That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it? But you thought I’d be offended if you called me a mountain.”

  “Don’t be so silly.” Bruno slid his arms around her waist. As he pulled her toward him, his mouth brushed her ear. “Take it from an expert, sweetheart. You’re not fat. If anyone should be envious
of their sister, it’s Maxine.”

  It had been so very long since she had last been made love to. It sometimes seemed more like eighteen years than eighteen months, and Janey had wondered if she would remember how it was done.

  But magically…miraculously…she was remembering now, and the reality was even more blissful than the memories. Bruno, the self-acknowledged expert, was proving to her that he wasn’t all talk, and she had no complaints at all. She no longer even cared that it was ridiculously late and that she had to be up early. Just for once, the flowers could wait. She was having the time of her life, and she had no intention of asking him to hurry such delicious proceedings along…

  The hammering at the front door downstairs sounded like thunder, making them both jump.

  “What the…!” exclaimed Bruno, rolling away from her and cracking his ankle against the leg of the coffee table. “Ouch. Bloody hell!”

  Janey froze as the hammering started up again. As she scrambled to her feet a loud, authoritative voice from the street below shouted: “Open up! Police. This is an emergency.”

  “Oh my God, what is it?” She stared fearfully at Bruno. Her knees were trembling, and all she was wearing was her jewelry.

  “Police. Open up!” repeated the voice outside.

  Running to her bedroom, Janey grabbed her robe and threw it on, fumbling to tie the belt as she made her way downstairs. An emergency could only be a bomb scare or a major gas leak, she thought frantically, her mind whirling as she considered the possibilities. Unless something terrible had happened to Maxine.

  As soon as she unlocked the door, it crashed open. “Surprise!” yelled Maxine gleefully. Clinging to the arm of one of her companions, who was six foot six and built like Arnold Schwarzenegger, she ricocheted off the open door and clutched Janey’s shoulder with her free hand.

  Before Janey could react, four more men piled through, squeezing themselves into the narrow hallway and chorusing: “’Ello, ’ello, ’ello, what ’ave we ’ere, then?”