by Jill Mansell
Ellie drank some water. It was no good, she had to say it. ‘Can I tell you why I’m a horrible person?’
‘Let me guess. Jamie’s gone and I’m still here. If one of us had to die, you wish it could have been me.’
Oh God. He knew.
‘Yes.’ Shamed, she nodded, her knees pressed tightly together beneath the table.
‘Ell, you think I hadn’t worked that out? From day one?’
‘Sorry. I tried not to.’ She felt like a wrung-out flannel. ‘But I couldn’t help it.’
‘And there was me, feeling guilty because I was still alive. Because why should I be? It’s not a good feeling,’ said Todd. ‘I knew I wasn’t better than Jamie. I didn’t deserve to be the one who was saved. I’ve asked myself that question a million times. Why me?’ His eyes were pain-filled, reflecting his anguish. ‘And the thing is, there’s no answer. So the guilt never goes away. My best friend isn’t here anymore and I miss him so much… and I still think that if only I’d turned up late instead of early that night, or if I’d gone for a walk around the block like Jamie told me to, the accident wouldn’t have happened.’
He’d been torturing himself with that too? Now Ellie was the one overcome with guilt. She reached across the table and took his hand. ‘Oh, Todd, I miss him too. But it wasn’t your fault.’ She squeezed his fingers to show she meant it and saw the beginnings of relief on his face. ‘It really wasn’t. And I’m not going to be a cow anymore, I promise.’
Their first course arrived and the atmosphere relaxed. Now that she’d confessed to having wanted him dead and Todd had forgiven her for it, the tension between them miraculously melted away. The food was delicious but they were too busy catching up to do it proper justice. Todd told her about life in Massachusetts and demonstrated his Boston accent, which made him sound like the confused love-child of Loyd Grossman and Dick Van Dyke. Although working there had been interesting, he’d only transferred in an effort to escape his grief. But that hadn’t been the answer and now he was back, ready to resume his London life, albeit this time without Jamie in it.
Then it was Ellie’s turn to tell him about Tony’s shock when he’d visited the Hammersmith flat, and his decision to buy the place in Nevis Street. ‘I feel guilty that I’m living somewhere so nice, all because Jamie died.’ She hadn’t actually admitted this to anyone before; it must be how people felt when they collected life insurance and discovered they could now afford a luxury holiday.
‘Tony did it because he wanted to. I bet it’s made him feel better,’ said Todd.
Maybe. Actually, she knew it was true. Their main courses arrived and Ellie described how trapped she’d felt at Brace House. ‘People were nicer to me than I deserved. I just never felt normal. It was like walking around with WIDOW spray-painted across my forehead. So from this Monday it’s a new job, a new boss, and a fresh start.’
They carried on eating and talking. She told Todd about Roo. In return he relayed how embarrassing it was, as a Brit in the States, to get into a tricky situation as a result of misunderstanding the meaning of the word pants.
Their wine glasses were refilled.
‘Do I look older?’ Ellie leaned closer, lifting her chin so he could see her better.
‘No.’ He smiled. ‘You’re exactly the same. Why?’
‘Because you look older. Sorry.’ She pulled a face. ‘Maybe it’s the haircut. You look… more like a grown-up.’
‘I am more like a grown-up. I’m more mature. I’ve even given up watching SpongeBob SquarePants.’
Encouraged by this flash of his old humor, Ellie said playfully, ‘So how about the girls in Boston? Meet any good ones? Meet any deranged enough to go out with you?’
‘Honestly? More than you’d think.’ Todd grimaced. ‘More than I was expecting, that’s for sure. It’s the British accent apparently. They’re mad for it. They think we’re all dead posh.’
‘So you’re telling me you were inundated with offers.’ Of course he had been; Todd was a catch. With his winning smile and cheery, laid-back attitude, what girl wouldn’t be attracted to him?
‘With offers.’ He nodded, holding back.
‘What does that mean?’
‘You want the truth? OK, I went out with one girl. For a few weeks. She was… fine. Nothing wrong with her. But I just couldn’t let myself get involved. Because I felt guilty. It wasn’t fair that I could still be doing all that stuff when Jamie couldn’t.’ Todd shrugged and said simply, ‘So I didn’t.’
‘Do the stuff?’
‘That’s right.’
‘You mean have the sex?’
‘Spot on.’
‘What, you didn’t even try?’
‘Didn’t want to try.’
‘And how did the girl feel about that?’
‘She was devastated, thought it was all her fault. Then when I told her about Jamie she thought maybe I was gay.’ Todd took a drink. ‘So I had to explain that I wasn’t. And after that I was a challenge. Girls were falling over themselves to seduce me. And the harder they tried, the more I backed off. Talk about weird.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve never been so popular. Bloody typical that I didn’t get to take advantage of it. I bet Jamie was up there laughing his head off.’
How had she kept her distance from Todd for so long? He’d loved Jamie just as much as she had. Ellie said, ‘I bet he was too.’
He leaned towards her, lowered his voice. ‘Do you ever talk to him?’
Ellie’s stomach gave a squeeze. She nodded. ‘I do.’
‘Me too.’
She put down her fork. ‘Does he talk back?’
‘No.’ Todd looked bemused; the idea had evidently never occurred to him. ‘How can he? He’s dead.’
***
‘Still speaking to me, then?’ Tony greeted them on their return to the flat.
‘You did exactly the right thing.’ Ellie gave him a hug. ‘Thank you.’
He patted her on the shoulder. ‘I’m glad it worked out. Just call me Svengali. Todd, come here. Good to see you again.’
Leaving them to their reunion, Ellie went through to the kitchen and put the kettle on. When they rejoined her, she said, ‘More like fairy godmother, the way you’ve been sorting out my problems.’
‘Make the most of it, I’m only here until Wednesday.’ Tony pinched a biscuit out of the tin. ‘Oh, and your new boss rang earlier. Can you call him back?’
‘He’s changed his mind about taking you on. You’re sacked already,’ said Todd.
Ellie made the coffee, then phoned Zack.
‘Hi, just letting you know I’ve got a breakfast meeting at the Savoy on Monday morning, so don’t turn up at the house at nine. Make it ten instead. I’ll definitely be back by then.’
‘OK, fine. Thanks.’ This was the kind of message she liked to hear.
Zack cleared his throat. ‘Who was it who answered the phone when I called before?’
Ellie hesitated; why was he so interested? And to think it was women who were meant to ask all the questions. Anyway, it wasn’t as if he could have recognized Tony’s voice; it wasn’t that distinctive. Easily she said, ‘That was just my friend. Right, ten o’clock on Monday. Anything else I need to know?’
‘Not that I can think of.’ For a moment he sounded as if he did want to say something else but was keeping a lid on it. ‘Right, enjoy the rest of your weekend,’ Zack said abruptly. ‘I’ll see you then.’
Chapter 13
It was Monday afternoon, a balmy summer’s day, and all human life was out here on Primrose Hill.
Well, not all human life. But enough to keep you entertained for hours. Following a morning of press interviews, Tony was enjoying being able to give his voice a rest. From his position on this south-facing bench, possibly the most spectacular view in London was stretched out in front of him. The sun blazed down from an almost cloudless sky. There were dog walkers out in force, and parents with small children playing games on the grass. There was a group of adults prac
ticing t’ai chi. Sunbathers stripped down to essentials were stretched out on the ground, soaking up as many rays as humanly possible. Toddlers ate ice lollies and investigated daisies, teenagers played football, and a grandfather was gamely attempting to teach his grandson how to fly a kite.
Grandchildren. Tony, who would now never experience that particular joy, was speared with fresh grief. He watched the man try and fail to coax the kite up into the still air.
Don’t think about it.
A Rollerblader swooshed past with a Labrador on an extendable lead. On a bench further down the hill an old man was feeding the birds with a carrier bag of seed. Straight-backed and lost in concentration, a woman sat at an easel, painting the view. Her hair was very short, her skin was coffee-brown, and she was wearing a long geranium-red cotton dress that covered a generously curved body. Tony watched as her brush moved confidently across the paper, her bare arm almost dancing as she added color to the sky. One minute she was leaning forward concentrating on intricate detail, the next she was sitting back to survey the results. At one stage she smiled with satisfaction and he found himself smiling too, because the pleasure she was taking in creating the picture was infectious. From forty feet away he couldn’t be sure, but he thought she might be singing to herself.
Over the hill behind her came a teenager pushing a buggy and attempting to kick a soccer ball for the preschool boy with her. The baby in the buggy was crying, the small boy running ahead.
‘Kick it! Kick it to me!’ he yelled.
Distracted, the teenage girl managed to get the ball over to the boy and he aimed a wild kick at it, sending it sailing through the air. In a flash Tony saw what was going to happen next. The ball followed its inevitable trajectory, the boy chased after it, the teenage girl had already turned back to attend to the wailing baby… and with a thud the ball hit the woman in red squarely in the back.
Oh dear. Even from this distance Tony saw the paintbrush go splat against the painting and fly out of the woman’s hand. The boy, realizing he could be in trouble, abruptly stopped running and looked scared.
But when the woman turned to identify the culprit, she broke into a wonderful smile and bent to retrieve the ball from its position under her folding chair. Beckoning the boy over, she handed the ball back to him then rested a hand lightly on his shoulder as together they discussed the painting. Within seconds the boy was giggling and gazing up at her as if she were his favorite teacher.
As Tony sat and watched them, a gray cloud passed over and the temperature dropped. A couple of minutes later, the first drops of rain began to fall. The teenager called to the boy and he ran back to her with his ball, stopping to wave at the woman in red before they disappeared back over the hill. The woman waved and called out, ‘Bye, darling.’
The shower grew heavier as the cloud moved overhead. The woman had already flipped the easel over to protect her painting from the rain. But she wasn’t packing up her things or running for cover. Getting to his feet, Tony headed for the shelter of an oak tree. As he passed her, he said, ‘Would you like a hand with your things?’
‘No thank you, darling, it’s fine. This rain isn’t going to last long.’
Her voice was beautiful, velvety, and lilting. Tony said, ‘You’re going to get wet.’
Her smile broadened, lighting up her face. Running her hand over her bare arm, she replied easily, ‘No worries, I’m waterproof.’
She was soon proved right; within five minutes the cloud had passed over, the rain had stopped, and the sun was back out. Everyone who had taken shelter re-emerged onto the hill. As soon as the woman in red had tilted her easel back into position and opened the lid on her paintbox, Tony made his way over.
Up close, her close-cropped dark hair glittered with water. At a guess, she was in her late forties, but her good Afro-Caribbean bone structure and unlined complexion made it difficult to tell for sure. She was wearing no makeup. Her eyes were an amazing color, the light golden brown of maple syrup.
Not that she’d actually turned to look at him yet. All her attention was currently concentrated on the painting in front of her. Or, more likely, on the crimson splat courtesy of the ball landing in the small of her back.
The rest of the painting was a joy, executed with verve and style, depicting not just the wider view over London but the individual stories of the various characters spread across the hill. Tony smiled, spotting the ancient t’ai chi enthusiasts, the jogger, and the Rollerblader with his excitable Labrador, the pair of them colliding as the dog’s extendable lead wrapped itself around one of the ornamental lamp posts along the path.
‘Did he ruin it?’
‘The little boy? Bless him, he was almost in tears.’ The woman shook her head. ‘I told him it didn’t matter a jot, and that it might even make the painting better.’ Taking out a pencil, she deftly sketched around the splat for a minute or two. Then she sat back. ‘There, see? How about that?’
Tony leaned closer. In the lower left quadrant of the painting, a plump lady had materialized, sitting in front of an easel. She was gazing in dismay at her own painting, which now sported the red splodge, whilst overhead a guilty-looking seagull flew past clutching a tipped-up pot of paint.
‘Clever.’ There was something about the painting that just drew you in. Utterly drawn, Tony said, ‘Do you sell your work?’
‘Sometimes. Why, are you interested?’
‘Could be. I like a picture that tells a story. How much?’
‘One hundred and fifty pounds.’
Tony nodded. ‘I’d like to buy it.’
‘Really? That’s very sweet of you.’ Smiling, she continued adding detail. ‘In that case, you don’t have to buy it. You may have the painting.’
‘What does that mean?’ He was taken aback.
‘Tell me, have you ever been given a present you didn’t like?’
Tony hesitated. ‘Yes.’
‘It’s a horrible feeling, isn’t it? But have you ever given someone else a present and known for sure that they absolutely loved it?’
‘Well… yes.’ He nodded.
‘And doesn’t it feel fantastic?’
‘There’s no other sensation quite like it.’
Turning at last to look at him, her golden eyes danced. ‘Which is why it gives me pleasure to give you my painting. If you enjoy it enough to pay for it, it’s yours. On the house. A little gift to you from me. When it’s finished, of course.’
There had been no flicker of recognition when she’d looked at him. Years of practice enabled Tony to be able to tell when people were pretending not to know who he was. This woman, with her guileless smile and easy manner, wasn’t playing any kind of game.
‘That’s incredibly generous of you. Thank you.’ Tony shook his head. ‘But you’re never going to make the shortlist for Businesswoman of the Year.’
‘Ah, but I know my painting’s going to a good home. It’ll be properly appreciated.’ She loaded a fine brush with topaz yellow. ‘That’s good enough for me.’
‘Do you always give them away?’
‘Only when the mood takes me.’
‘Where do you exhibit your work?’
‘Nowhere fancy. Just the occasional art fair. And online.’ Leaning closer to the easel, she painted a child’s sundress.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Martha.’
‘I’m going to need more than that,’ said Tony, ‘if I’m going to look you up on the Internet.’
She burst out laughing. ‘Sorry, I’m a hopeless case. I’m Martha Daines. Now, are you local? Could you be here tomorrow afternoon?’
‘After two, no problem.’ He had an interview at twelve thirty.
‘See you tomorrow, then. I’ll bring it with me. And your name is?’
‘Tony.’ She didn’t have a clue.
‘Tony. It’s been lovely to meet you. Thank you for liking my work.’ Bracelets jangled on her wrist as she waved her paintbrush at him. ‘Bye!’
&nb
sp; Chapter 14
It was almost the end of her first day. With all the new information she was absorbing, Ellie felt as if her head was ready to explode. Zack had been in and out of the house, receiving visits from clients and disappearing to meet with others. His working life was chaotic and his phone never seemed to stop ringing. She was typing up reports, fielding calls, making travel arrangements for upcoming trips to Zurich and Madrid, and familiarizing herself with the all-important business diary, as well as the general workings of the office.
Zack was upstairs taking a conference call when the doorbell went at ten past five. Opening the front door, Ellie found herself face to face with a polished, sheeny-looking redhead in a sage green, fitted linen dress.
‘Well, hello. So you’re the new girl.’ Her mascaraed lashes batted as she carried out a comprehensive up-and-down. ‘Alice?’
‘Ellie.’
‘Right. Bit of a change from Barbara. I’m Louisa, I expect Zack’s mentioned me.’
He hadn’t, but Ellie diplomatically didn’t say so. She recognized Louisa from the newsagents the other week and wasn’t at all surprised that Louisa hadn’t, in turn, recognized her. She didn’t seem like the kind of person who would. And presumably she was Zack’s girlfriend. Bad luck for Roo then, who had been keen to find out if he was single.
Then they heard footsteps on the staircase and, conference call evidently over, Zack appeared.
‘Darling, hi.’ Louisa moved forward to greet him with a kiss that announced, loud and clear, that he belonged to her. Or she would have done if Zack hadn’t leaned back and turned his head slightly, preventing the public display of affection. Or ownership. Ellie wondered if it would save all sorts of hassle if she just said, ‘Look, it’s OK, you don’t have to worry about me, I’m really not after him.’
But no, it was hardly the kind of thing you could announce. Instead she said, ‘I’ve booked the flights and the hotels, and the letters are all ready for signing.’
‘Great, thanks. Come on through.’ Leading the way into the kitchen, Zack said, ‘It’s time for you to meet someone you’re going to get to know pretty well.’