by Jill Mansell
Guy had to smile. If he had been impotent, it would have been so much simpler. She would have felt sorry for him, and he would have been off the hook. But “won’t play” was harder for Valentina to bear than “can’t play,” and now thanks to him, she was feeling sorry for herself. “No,” he said gently. “Look, you’re a gorgeous girl, and I’m probably going to kick myself in the morning, but right now I just know it would be…well, the wrong thing to do.”
Valentina didn’t. As far as she was concerned, it was the most absolutely right thing to do in the entire world. Her brown eyes clouded; what the hell was the big deal anyway, she thought with renewed frustration. It wasn’t as if she was asking him to hitchhike barefoot across bloody Antarctica. It was only sex, after all.
“More like you get a kick out of leading girls on,” she retaliated, still smarting from the humiliation of being rejected for no good reason at all by the most attractive man she’d clapped eyes on in years. And after such a promising start too.
“It’s not that either.”
“Bastard,” murmured Valentina under her breath.
She wasn’t taking it at all well. Guy pushed his fingers through his hair in a gesture of mild despair. “Look, that’s just what I’m trying not to be. If we spent the night together, I’d be a real bastard. You see, there’s…somebody else,” he admitted with reluctance. “I’m already involved with someone, and it wouldn’t be fair to either of you if I…”
His voice trailed away. He took a slug of brandy, swallowed, and shrugged.
“Oh.” Valentina’s fingers began to unclench. A man with a conscience was something of a novelty in her experience. It was just a shame, she thought sorrowfully, he was so intent on being faithful to someone else rather than her. “Who is it? Anyone I know?”
Guy shook his head. As far as he was aware, it wasn’t anyone at all, but it appeared to be doing the trick, which was all that really mattered. He still didn’t understand why the idea of sleeping with Valentina should suddenly have become such an undesirable proposition. It just had. Maybe, he thought with a mixture of resignation and alarm, there really was such a thing as male menopause, and it had arrived a decade ahead of schedule. Damn, what filthy rotten luck. Of all the nights to be hit with it…
“Well, she’s a lucky girl.” Acknowledging defeat with as much good grace as she could muster, Valentina smiled and reached for her jacket. “Whoever she is. No, don’t worry. I can find my own way out. I’ll ask the night porter to get me a cab.”
“I’m sorry,” said Guy, meaning it. Opening the door for her, he planted a brief kiss on her cheek. “I was tempted, you know. This monogamy thing is pretty new to me.”
“Invite me to the wedding,” Valentina quipped. “I’ll tell her what a hero she’s married. After all, I can personally vouch for your fidelity.”
He grinned. “Thanks.”
But she was still wildly curious. Guy wasn’t giving much away. Unable to resist it, she paused in the doorway.
“Is she beautiful?”
“Yes.”
“Is it”—a stab in the dark now—“the girl I spoke to on the phone? What’s her name, Maxine?”
Guy started to laugh. “No,” he said, patting her shoulder. “Nice try, sweetheart. But it definitely isn’t Maxine.”
• • •
Thea, lying in bed with Oliver’s arm around her, was looking pensive.
“What is it?” Pulling the duvet up to her shoulders, for the central heating in Thea’s house was about as predictable as Thea herself, he gave her bare shoulder a squeeze. “Worried about Janey?”
She was, of course, but that wasn’t what was uppermost in her mind right now. Indirectly, she thought, the problem was Oliver himself. The trouble with being in love was the fact that it was so time-consuming. While this might not be a problem for Oliver, who could easily afford to have his time consumed, it was an undoubted drawback when you were a not altogether successful sculptress with work to do and bills to pay. The sale of the ballerina had temporarily stalled the boring letters from the bank droning on about her overdraft, but the increasing displeasure of Tom Sparks, the owner of the studio, was somewhat more ominous. She was falling behind with the rent in a big way, and he wasn’t amused. Sadly, not working meant not selling. And while at first it hadn’t seemed to matter—how, after all, could financial security even begin to compare with all-consuming happiness?—the prospect of losing her beloved studio was fast becoming a real possibility.
All she had to do, of course, was mention this inconvenient dilemma to Oliver. Without so much as a second thought, he would sign the necessary check, like the proverbial good fairy, and make everything right again. As far as he was concerned, there would be no dilemma: Thea needed money, and he had plenty of it. He would be happy to help out. No big deal.
But there lay the crunch. For it was a big deal. It hadn’t been easy, but one way or another, she had been self-supporting for the last twenty-five years, and while the idea of becoming a kept woman had always appealed, she now realized that some fantasies were better left unfulfilled. Maybe it was a salutary lesson, a kind of punishment for ever having wished it in the first place. Or maybe, she thought drily, it was just sheer bloody bad luck. Because Oliver Cassidy, erupting into her life, had changed her. Here he was, the proud and generous owner of all that gorgeous money…and she loved him too much to take it.
It was no good, Thea decided, she was simply going to have to make time to work. If necessary—ugh, what a hideous prospect—she would even get up a couple of hours earlier each morning and sculpt while Oliver slept.
“Yes,” she lied, dragging her mind back to that other dilemma: Janey. Propping herself up on one elbow, she sighed. “I ballsed it up completely. I should have tackled Alan on his own, of course. She was bound to take his side.”
Oliver kissed her warm shoulder. It was ironic, he felt, that they should both have been through virtually the same ordeal. In his own case, however, Véronique’s untimely death had effectively prevented him from ever being able to be proved right.
“Of course she was,” he said consolingly. “I know how hard it is. We do our best for our children, God knows, but sometimes they have to make their own mistakes. Give her time, darling, and maybe she’ll come to her senses.”
“I bloody hope so.” Thea’s tone was fretful; she still nurtured a fearsome longing to corner Alan Sinclair and slap him senseless. “But how much longer is she going to need, and how much more damage can he do in the meantime? Janey’s so stubborn it almost frightens me,” she added, her tone bleak. “I wouldn’t put it past her to get herself pregnant, just to spite us all.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Janey was looking wonderful, thought Bruno, watching from a distant corner as she entered the party on Alan Sinclair’s arm. In a billowing, white silk shirt tucked into white jeans, and with her blond hair left loose to fall past her shoulders, she exuded an air of careless glamour he had never seen in her before. The self-esteem that had been at rock bottom for the past two years had clearly been revitalized by her husband’s return, he decided, impressed by the almost magical transformation. It was as if she had been brought back to life, like a desperately wilted flower plunged into a bucket of water in the nick of time.
Hastily, Bruno pulled himself together. What was the matter with him anyway? Nauseating similes weren’t his bag at all. Talk about un-macho…
Janey looked good because she was happy and in love, he decided, firmly banishing all thought of wilting flowers from his mind. It was as simple as that. Whether she would deign to speak to him when she realized he was here, however, was another matter altogether.
In any event, Janey didn’t have a lot of choice. Having resolutely decided to ignore Bruno, her plans were scuppered within minutes by Pearl, who dragged him into the kitchen. Janey, leaning against the fridge, was still waiting for Al
an to uncork a bottle of Australian white. Gazing at a heavily doodled-on Chippendales calendar above the stove, she assumed a fixed, I’m-not-listening expression. But the kitchen wasn’t that big, and nobody had ever called Pearl subtle.
“I still don’t believe you, darling!” she cried, clinging to Bruno’s arm and waggling an admonitory finger at him. “It’s all very well saying you’ve fallen madly in love with this Maxine character, but does this mean you’re actually planning to stay faithful to her, forsaking all others and all that gloomy stuff? You realize of course the whole town’s laying bets on how long you’ll manage to stick it out,” she added gleefully. “So far nobody’s dared risk their money on anything more than a month.”
Behind her, Alan glanced across at Janey. Eyebrows raised, he mouthed, “Maxine?”
Nodding, she forced herself to smile as Bruno turned to face her. If she didn’t, Alan would wonder why.
“Oh, I’m a reformed character.” Bruno grinned. “It can happen, you know, even to me. Although if the odds are that good, maybe I should think about placing a bet myself.”
“So you’re Bruno.” Stepping forward, Alan shook his hand. “Hi, I’m Alan Sinclair, Maxine’s brother-in-law. I’ve been hearing quite a bit about you.”
“That’s a coincidence,” said Bruno easily. “I’ve heard about you too.”
Pearl, who had been drinking double tequila slammers to celebrate the success of her party, was in high spirits. Bruno was the greatest fun; she loved him to death. And although she hadn’t actually been introduced to Alan Sinclair before, he had been one of the crowd at the surf club when she’d popped in and issued an open invitation to tonight’s bash. The fact that he was deeply attractive hadn’t escaped her notice at the time either. It was just a shame, Pearl thought, that he should have chosen to turn up with a sleek blond girlfriend in tow.
“Everyone’s heard about Bruno,” she told Alan with a giggle. “Maybe I shouldn’t be saying this if you’re related to Maxine, but it’s my party, so what the hell! This man is wicked. Gorgeous,” she admitted, clinging to Bruno’s arm and giving it an affectionate squeeze, “but seriously wicked…possibly the wickedest man in all Cornwall.”
Janey cringed. She still couldn’t believe she’d never heard so much as a single word of gossip about Bruno before getting involved with him herself. As far as everyone else was concerned, she thought bitterly, his conquests were practically the stuff of legend. And Pearl, whom she’d never met before in her life, hadn’t finished yet…
“You are looking at a seducer extraordinaire,” she continued, blithely unaware of Janey’s unease. “He’s been doing it for years, you know. None of us can figure out how he manages to keep on getting away with it.”
“Thank you,” said Bruno with mock gravity. Janey, standing behind Alan, was looking positively stricken. Feeling sorry for her, he attempted to steer the conversation on to safer ground. “But that was in the bad old days. From now on I’m a changed man, I promise you. How’s your father, by the way? Has he managed to sell that yacht of his yet?”
But Pearl hadn’t finished. Yachts were boring. The idea that Bruno Parry-Brent had turned over a new leaf, on the other hand, was simply too entertaining for words.
“In the bad old days!” she shrieked, gurgling with laughter and only narrowly missing the sleeve of Alan’s faded denim shirt as tequila sloshed haphazardly out of her tilted glass. “How long ago was your birthday, you old fraud? I might have missed the party, but Suzannah told me all about it. She said you had the most terrific showdown with some poor girl you’d been seeing on the quiet until she found out what you were really like. Who did Suzie say she was, now?” She hiccuped, tried to think, and shook her head. “No, I give up. Come on, Bruno, remind me! I can’t remember her name, but apparently she runs the flower shop on the main street…”
• • •
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, will you stop going on about it?” Janey, stepping out of her clothes, left them in a heap on the bedroom floor. As she made her way through to the bathroom, she added crossly, “It was embarrassing for me too, you know.”
“I should think it was.” Alan’s eyes were narrow with anger. “You must be the laughingstock of Trezale…and you expect me to forgive you, just like that? Jesus, you aren’t making it easy for me! You told me there hadn’t been anyone else, and I was stupid enough to believe you. Now I find out you’ve not only been screwing another man”—he spat the words out in disgust—“but you had to make a complete fool of yourself and choose the town fucking stud.”
Not trusting herself to speak, Janey slammed the bathroom door and cleaned her teeth so hard her gums bled. Finally, taking a deep breath, she returned to the bedroom.
“Look,” she said, eyes ablaze with defiance, “I wish it hadn’t happened, but it did. And I’m not going to apologize. I said there hadn’t been anyone else because that was what you wanted to hear, but what the hell did you seriously expect me to do? Lock myself into a chastity belt and become a born-again virgin for the rest of my life? Be realistic,” she snapped, no longer caring what he thought. “You were the one who left, for God’s sake. And if sleeping with Bruno makes me the laughingstock of Trezale, so what? I’m used to it. People have been talking about me behind my back for the last two years, ever since my husband vanished off the face of the bloody earth. So if it’s an apology you’re waiting for,” she went on, “you can forget it, because I’ve only slept with one man in two whole years…and that’s not bad. If I’d known I was going to get this kind of grief,” Janey concluded bitterly, “I would have slept with fifty.”
The ensuing silence seemed to go on forever. Alan, sitting up in bed, stared at her. Finally, he said, “You’ve changed.”
It was late and Janey was tired, but she didn’t want to climb into the bed beside him. Leaning against the wall, she replied, “I had to. When you’re on your own, you have to learn to look after yourself.”
Alan shook his head. “And it’s all my fault. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I can’t help it. It was the shock of finding out like that. I felt so damn jealous. Janey, come here. Please?”
He was holding his arms out to her. To her shame, it was physical exhaustion rather than the prospect of reconciliation that propelled her toward the bed. Wearily, she submitted to his embrace.
“It’s bound to take a while,” Alan murmured into her hair, “getting used to being together again.”
“Mmm.”
“What are you doing?” He frowned as she adjusted the pillows and rolled onto her side, facing away from him.
Janey closed her eyes. “Going to sleep.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
“Oh no, not you.” Sighing, Maxine wished now that she’d ignored the doorbell. “I nearly got the sack last time you played this trick.”
Oliver Cassidy smiled. “I’m sorry.”
“I should bloody well hope so,” she countered with indignation. “Guy was furious with me. I was lucky to escape in one piece. And you were pretty lucky yourself,” she added. “He was all for calling out the police. You could have been charged with kidnapping.”
She looked like her mother, Oliver realized. And although she was giving a good impression of a woman deeply outraged, he guessed it was more for effect than anything else.
“I could,” he admitted, his eyes crinkling at the corners as his smile broadened, “but it wouldn’t have been exactly fair, would it? Kidnappers have a tendency to demand ransoms. I gave Josh and Ella money.”
“You almost gave me a heart attack,” grumbled Maxine, shivering as a gust of wind rattled around the porch. Her bare feet on the stone step were icy. “You shouldn’t have lied to me. It was a rotten thing to do.”
“Growing old and never being allowed to see your grandchildren is pretty rotten too.” Oliver, well wrapped up against the cold in a beige cashmere overcoat, also shivered. “Sometimes, d
esperate measures are called for. Maxine, I really am sorry you had to bear the brunt of my son’s anger, but…goodness, this wind is bitter, isn’t it?”
Maxine, standing her ground, forced herself not to smile. “I expect it’s nice and warm, though, inside your car.”
“Go on,” said Oliver. “Live a little. If you invite me in for a quick cup of coffee, we can both relax. Guy’s away; Josh and Ella are still at school. Nobody need ever know I’ve been here.”
“What are you, the king of the door-to-door salesmen?” Maxine started to laugh. “OK, you can come in. Just don’t try and sell me any floor mops.”
• • •
“…So you see, Guy never forgave me for speaking my mind,” Oliver concluded fifteen minutes later. “I felt he was too young to be married, that he was making a huge mistake, but he was too stubborn to take my advice. When Josh and Ella are grown up and he finds himself faced with the same problems, maybe he’ll understand I had only his best interests at heart.” He shrugged and pushed his empty cup to one side. “But by then it’ll be too late, of course. I’ll be dead.”
Maxine was well able to understand how he felt. Hadn’t Thea reacted in exactly the same way upon hearing that Janey’s decidedly unprodigal husband had breezed back into Trezale? And hadn’t Janey reacted just as Guy had done, refusing to accept for even a single moment that her mother’s opinion of him might be right?
“You might not be dead,” she ventured, struggling to say something reassuring. “Look, I do sympathize, but you must realize I’m in an impossible position here. I can’t help you. And if you think I can persuade Guy to see reason, well…I’d have about as much chance of getting him to believe in Father Christmas.”
“I want to see my grandchildren again,” said Oliver Cassidy.
“No.”
He was no longer smiling. The expression in his eyes, she realized, was one of ineffable sadness.