Rumor Has It

by Jill Mansell

  Sarkily, Stella said, 'We could always play I-Spy.'

  More guilt. He was being a lousy hospital visitor. 'Do you want to?'

  She rolled her eyes. 'No.'

  'Erin'll be here soon.'

  'Thank God for that. She's a damn sight better company than you are. Mind you, a bedpan would be better company.'

  'Sorry.'

  'I like Erin, you know. She's nice.'

  Fergus slowly nodded. At last.

  'I'm coming to your wedding, did she tell you?' Stella half smiled. 'When it gets to that bit where the vicar asks if anyone knows of any reason why you shouldn't marry, I'm going to stand up and say yes, because you wear women's underwear in bed.'

  It was Fergus's turn to smile. It wasn't true, but he could cer tainly imagine Stella standing up and saying it. Except she wouldn't get the chance, would she? Because by then she'd be—oh God, no, no, don't let him cry…

  But it overtook him without warning, a great tidal wave of emotion, and with a loud honking noise like a startled goose, Fergus buried his face in both hands and broke down completely. He sobbed and sobbed, unable to control himself, and the woman in the bed opposite sent her husband over with a box of man-sized tissues.

  Finally, he got himself back on an even keel. He wiped his face, noisily blew his nose, and looked up to see Stella lying back against her pillows, impassively watching him.

  'Sorry.' Fergus shook his head, embarrassed by the outburst. 'I don't know where that came from.'

  Did Stella know she was dying? Or, if she hadn't before, had he just given the game away?'

  She slid her skinny arm across the bed and clasped his hand in hers. Her skin was dry and papery and too big for the bones beneath it.

  'It's all right; I know why you're crying.' With a ghost of a smile Stella said, 'You've just realized you're stuck with Erin now. And you wish you were still with me.'

  And, being Stella, it was impossible to know whether this was a joke or if she meant it.

  Fergus, who had no intention of finding out, checked his watch again and said, 'She'll be here in a minute. I'll go and find someone to help, then we'll get you into a chair.'

  Between them, he and the cheerful nurse managed to transfer Stella from the bed into a wheelchair. She grimaced and winced with pain but didn't complain. Finally, with the bag from her intra venous drip swinging from its hook above her head, she was ready to go.

  This, another of Erin's ideas, was the highlight of Stella's day. Fergus wheeled her out of the ward and down the long corridor until they reached the main entrance. Outside the building, smokers congregated in the sunshine. Seated on a bench opposite, beneath a chestnut tree, Erin was waiting for them.

  This time it was Stella's eyes that filled with tears. Fergus parked her in front of the bench and Erin opened the front of the carrying case next to her. Bing snaked out, yowling impatiently, and stepped across on to Stella's bony, blanket-covered lap.

  'Oh Bing, my baby.' Stella lovingly stroked him and Bing, re garding her with his usual baleful expression, submitted himself to her kisses. He tolerated the attention like a truculent teenager being forced to visit his whiskery incontinent granny.

  At least he stayed put, didn't try to run off. Erin watched as Stella cradled her cat and murmured endearments into his ear. Bringing Bing along to see her had really lifted Stella's spirits and given her something to look forward to each day, even if persuading Bing into his carrying case and having to endure his outraged com mentary of meows and yowls during the car journeys were enough to test anyone's patience.

  'It's all right, baby, Mummy'll be home soon.' Stella kissed his front paws. 'Are you missing me, hmm?'

  'He had a tin of salmon last night.' Well, had was putting it optimistically. When Erin had put the bowl on the floor, Bing had given her his most disdainful Gordon-Ramsay-served-rank-food-by some-useless-amateur look and stalked off. Still, most of it had gone by this morning.

  'He prefers smoked salmon, chopped up into pieces an inch square. Oh sweetheart, did they try and make you eat nasty old tinned? My poor baby, they're so mean to you.'

  Erin didn't take offense; gratitude would have been too much to hope for. She sat back and idly watched the comings and goings outside the entrance to the hospital, then turned to follow the prog ress of a boy on crutches making his way towards the gates.

  Hang on. Who was that, heading up the road past him?

  Wasn't that…?

  Crikey, it was.

  'Stella.'

  'Oh, look at your beautiful whiskers, they're so silky.'

  'Stella.' Erin gave the side of the wheelchair a gentle nudge. 'Looks like you've got another visitor.'

  'What?'

  'Someone's come to see you.' At last, but better late than never. Pleased for Stella, Erin pointed the visitor out to her. Amy, wearing a daffodil-yellow V-necked top, cream jeans, and high-heeled sandals, was making her way up the road towards them.

  Stella smiled, visibly relieved to see her friend at long last.

  Amy grew closer. Recognizing first Erin, then Fergus, she nodded briefly in acknowledgement.

  Then carried on walking by.

  Boggling, they stared after her as she click-clacked past and ap proached the glass sliding doors of the building's main entrance.

  'Amy,' Fergus called out, stopping her in her tracks. When she turned, he said redundantly, 'We're over here!'

  Mystified, Amy looked at him, then at Erin. Finally, her gaze went to Stella in the wheelchair and her expression altered, changed to one of horror as recognition dawned. Belatedly, Erin realized that Amy hadn't come here to visit Stella; the thought that she might bump into her today hadn't so much as crossed her mind.

  'Stella? How are you?' Staying where she was, Amy waved across the distance between them as if greeting a casual friend on Ladies' Day at Ascot. 'How nice to see you! You're looking… um…'

  'Stunning,' Stella murmured dryly. 'I know.'

  'Gosh, I'd love to stop and chat, but I'm late for my appoint ment! Having my first scan.' Amy beamed with excitement.

  'Erin mentioned you were pregnant,' said Stella. She paused. 'Congratulations.'

  'Thanks! Well, I'd better rush, don't want to keep the doctor waiting. Wish me luck,' trilled Amy. 'See you around!'

  They watched in silence as Amy teetered in through the glass doors.

  Stella carried on stroking Bing. Finally she spoke. 'That poor baby. Fancy not even knowing who the father is. D'you think the scan will be able to see if it's got Rupert's ears?'

  Chapter 41

  FOR ONCE THE SCHOOL car park was alive with activity at seven in the morning. Max pulled into a space and hauled Lou's turquoise case off the back seat of the car.

  She threw her arms around him, kissed him on both cheeks, and gave him an extra hug for luck, a habit they'd got into when she'd been a toddler and one he hoped she'd never break. When you counted up how many extra hugs he'd had over the years, they prob ably amounted to—God, tens of thousands. And he wouldn't have missed out on them for the world.

  'Thanks for bringing me this early.' Lou's curls tickled his nose. 'Love you. Bye, Dad.'

  'Hang on a sec.' Releasing her, Max strode round to the back of the car and clicked open the boot.

  'Why? What's in there?' Lou's puzzled frown deepened as he pulled out a second case. 'What's going on? Who's that for?'

  The coach was already filling up with pupils and teachers; in ten minutes, it would be setting off on its journey to Paris.

  'Me,' said Max.

  'Why? You're not coming.'

  'I am.'

  'Oh Dad, no!' Lou looked panicky and upset, and Max knew why. His heart went out to her.

  'Hey, it's OK. It'll be fine.'

  'It won't be fine! Eddie Marshall-Hicks is going on the trip, and his friend Baz… they might say things…'

  'If they try it, I'll crack their heads together and push them off the Eiffel Tower. Well,' Max amended, 'I would if I was allow
ed to.'

  Parents and children were swarming around them. Lou was already glancing apprehensively at each arriving car, clearly unhappy with the situation. 'Dad, they're vile. This is going to be awful.'

  Which just went to prove that, contrary to what she might have promised him, the snide remarks hadn't stopped.

  'Sweetheart, do you think I can't handle a couple of spoiled brats? Coming along on the trip was my idea, after Mrs Heron and I had our chat. She was all for it.'

  'So you set this up weeks ago, and it didn't even occur to you to tell me?' Lou said plaintively, 'Dad, this is my school trip.'

  'That's why we didn't tell you. You'd have begged me not to come along.'

  'I'm begging you now.'

  'Too late. We're here. Oh, don't look at me like that.' Max prayed he hadn't made a terrible mistake. 'I'm not doing this to punish you. Mrs Heron thinks it's a great idea.'

  Lou's eyes narrowed. 'Well, she would, wouldn't she? You aren't her dad.'

  But there was nothing she was able to do about it; he'd presented her with a fait accompli. Over the course of the next fifteen minutes, forty children and forty-four assorted items of luggage were installed on the coach. Astrid Heron turned up to see everyone off. Finally, she stood at the front of the coach, facing her overexcited pupils, and gave a brief, headmistressy speech.

  'Now, you already know Miss Endell and Mr Lewis, so just let me introduce our two volunteer parent helpers. Mrs Trent, mother of Sophie.'

  Next to Max, a beaming Fenella Trent leapt to her sensibly shod feet, waved enthusiastically and trilled, 'Hello, everyone!'

  'And Louisa's father, Mr Dineen.'

  OK, he definitely wasn't going to beam or wave. Max rose to his feet, gazed at the sea of faces, and said, 'Hi there, you can call me Max.'

  It didn't take a genius to work out where Eddie and his sidekick were sitting. Everyone on the bus heard the sniggers at the back and the loudly whispered, 'Or we could call you Poof.'

  Outraged, Mrs Heron barked, 'Who said that?'

  'It's OK.' Max stopped her with a brief smile; hadn't they already agreed to let him handle this in his own way? Addressing the back of the bus, he said pleasantly, 'You could call me that, but you might not like what I'd call you in return.'

  Astrid Heron was now looking as if she might be regretting her decision. 'Right. Well. Have a wonderful trip, all of you. And remember, you're representing Harleston Hall, so behave yourselves! Do us proud! À bientôt! Bon chance! Au revoir!'

  They got shot of her at last, and the coach trundled down the tree-lined, sun-dappled driveway. Max sat back and wondered if behave yourselves applied to him too. If the ferry crossing was rough and the opportunity presented itself, would it be so very wrong to tip Eddie and his sniggering sidekick over the rail and into the Channel?

  Next to him, Fenella adjusted her pink headband and said gaily, 'Well, we're off! This is going to be fun, isn't it!'

  'Let's hope so.'

  She leaned towards him slightly and lowered her voice. 'What was all that about, just now? I didn't quite catch it.'

  'A couple of the boys were having a dig at me,' said Max. 'Because I'm gay.'

  Fenella's eyebrows nearly collided with her headband. 'Are you joking?'

  'No.'

  'But… but you're Louisa's father!'

  Max shrugged slightly. 'Still gay.'

  Having evidently led an extremely sheltered life, Fenella flushed and shrank away from him. 'Well, I… I had no idea… good grief!'

  'I know. Shocking, isn't it?' said Max.

  God, keeping an eye on forty overexcited thirteen- and fourteen year-olds was knackering. Following an afternoon of sightseeing— the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, the Arc de Triomphe—they'd all eaten dinner at tables outside a vast pizza restaurant. (Pizza? Mais naturellement!) Now they were chatting and switching seats and eyeing up other groups of teenagers in the vicinity. Some of the boys were kicking screwed-up balls of foil around, dribbling them between the tables, and showing off their skills.

  Max drank his black coffee and watched Josie Endell's body language as she chatted animatedly to Tom Lewis. On to her second glass of wine now—quel daring!—she was leaning forward and arching her back in order to expose another inch of cleavage, using her hands a lot to illustrate whatever she was saying, and being slightly—daringly—flirtatious. To illustrate a point, she touched his arm. Each time she laughed, she flicked back her hair. Oh yes, the classic mating ritual of the bright-eyed, flicky-haired history teacher. No doubt about it, Miss Endell was not-so-secretly smitten with Mr Lewis.

  And she wasn't the only one. Amused, Max observed the scene playing out before him. Adolescent girls flitted around Tom Lewis like moths, asking him questions, making jokey comments, and generally practicing their fledgling flirting skills in the most harmless way: on someone who was attractive but safe.

  'Sir? Could you look after my iPhone for me?'

  The other thing that was interesting was watching the interac tion between the—

  'Sir?'

  'Oh, sorry.' Belatedly Max turned to the left. 'Didn't know you meant me. No one's ever called me sir before. Yes, I'll take care of it.' He slipped the iPhone into his jacket pocket. 'But it might be easier if you called me Max.'

  'OK, sir—Max.' The girl giggled.

  'Now that sounds good. Sir Max. I like it.' He nodded. 'How are you getting on, anyway? Having fun?'

  'Oh yes, Paris is dead cool. I liked seeing the Mona Lisa this afternoon. I saw a TV program about Leonardo da Vinci once and he did so many brilliant things.'

  One of the balls of foil had just been kicked under Max's chair. Eddie Marshall-Hicks, deftly hooking it out with his foot, gave a snort and said with derision, 'Leonardo da Vinci was gay.'

  The girl rolled her eyes. 'Eddie, you are such a prat.'

  He feigned innocence. 'But he was! I'm just saying.'

  'That's right. He was a genius,' said Max. 'One of the most multi-talented people who ever lived.'

  As Eddie dribbled the makeshift ball back to the game on the pavement, he said under his breath, 'And a shirt-lifter.'

  The girl shook her head in disgust. 'Sorry about him, sir… Max. He's really immature.'

  'You know what? I'd noticed.'

  'It was so great, that time when Lou punched him. Anyway, we're not all like Eddie. I think you're OK.'

  Max grinned. 'And guess what? You're absolutely right.'

  When the girl had rejoined her friends, Tom Lewis raised a hand to stop Josie Endell in mid-flirt and said to Max, 'Are you all right? Want me to have a word with him?'

  'No thanks, I'm fine.' Max shook his head briefly and signaled to the pretty waitress for another coffee. Bringing it, her gaze slid with sultry appreciation over the PE teacher's solid, super-trained body. Tom Lewis, wearing an open-necked khaki shirt and black jeans, exuded virility and fitness to a terrifying degree that women clearly found irresistible.

  'Non, merci.' Tom shook his sleek head when she asked if he'd like anything too, and Josie Endell, possibly without even realizing it, gave the waitress a possessive hands-off-he's-mine smile.

  Max finished stirring sugar into his coffee. Was it Superman who was the one with the X-ray vision, who could look at people and see right through their clothes? Because this was how he felt right now, being the only one who knew without a shadow of a doubt that Josie was wasting her time.

  No two ways about it. Gaydar was a wonderful thing.

  Chapter 42

  CLIMBING ON TO THE coach the next morning, Max could almost sympathize with the children. When you were thirteen or fourteen and there was a Disneyland in the vicinity, it wasn't easy to get excited about the fact that you were having to visit the Palace of Versailles instead.

  Oh well, that was school trips for you. Whoever said they were supposed to be fun? And this one was about to get worse for Eddie Marshall-Hicks.

  'Right, I'm sitting back here today. You'—Max indicated Baz— 'can move up to
the front and show Mrs Trent what a charming conversationalist you can be.'

  'Eh?' Mouth gormlessly open, Baz gazed up at him.

  'And I'm going to sit right here, next to Poison Eddie.'

  Eddie bristled. 'What? Why? I don't want you sitting next to me!'

  'Sorry, this is your punishment for all those witty comments yesterday. And I'm the parent helper, so you have to do as I say.'