by Jill Mansell
The girl from last night, whose name he now knew to be Saskia, crowed, 'Yay, Sir Max! Way to go!'
Baz and Eddie looked at each other in disgust. Like an irritated gorilla, Baz hauled himself out of his seat and clumped up to the front of the coach. Fenella had a treat in store.
Out of the corner of his eye, Max glimpsed Lou's anxious face over the top of the row of seats ahead of him. She could cope with Eddie in her own way but wasn't at all happy about her father—the root of all the trouble—wading in and getting involved.
Max ignored her and sat down. If he'd had a plan to win Eddie round with his warmth, wit, and generally irresistible personality, well, he now knew that wasn't going to work. Especially not in three days.
So, Plan B was definitely preferable. But Plan B relied rather heavily on divine intervention, involving as it did some kind of ter rible accident requiring Eddie to find himself in mortal danger and Max, swooping heroically to the rescue, to save his life.
And the chances of that happening, it had to be said, were slim.
Which meant he was going to have to go with Plan C. Max wasn't proud of himself, but sometimes you just had to make the best use you could of what you had. The tactics might be underhand, but if they worked, well, who gave a toss?
Eddie, meanwhile, had ostentatiously shifted across in his seat until he was hunched against the window.
'So, looking forward to Versailles?'
Could an eyebrow sneer? Eddie's appeared to be managing it. 'No.'
'It's pretty spectacular, you know.'
'If chandeliers and mirrors and fancy curtains are your thing.' Turning to stare pointedly out of the window, Eddie said, 'They're not mine.'
'Well, that's my job. Did Lou tell you I'm an interior designer?'
Eddie snorted. 'What a surprise.'
'Yes, well. It's not a bad career. You get to meet some inter esting people.'
More sarcasm. "Yeah, right."
Max shrugged and unfolded yesterday's newspaper. As the coach rolled out of the hotel's courtyard, he made a start on the crossword.
Twenty silent minutes later, he took out his mobile and rang home.
'Tilly? Hi, sweetheart, it's me. Listen, did the lads finish tiling that bathroom floor last night?'
'They finished at ten o'clock,' said Tilly. 'How's everything going with you?'
'Oh, fine. We're all getting on together really well.' Max grinned. 'Everyone loves me to bits.'
Next to him, Eddie heaved a sigh of you're-so-funny irritation.
'Now I know you're lying,' Tilly said cheerfully.
'Thanks. Anyway, about the bathroom. Jamie's happy with it, is he?' Lowering his voice slightly, Max went on, 'And Tandy?'
Eddie abruptly stopped picking at the loose threads on the knee of his ripped jeans.
'They're over the moon. When Tandy saw it, she cried.'
'Tandy cried? God, that girl's soft in the head. When she sees the bill for the finished job, that's when she'll want to start crying.'
'Except they've covered their costs, remember?'
Max chuckled. 'God bless Hi! magazine. Anyway, we'll be at Versailles in a minute, so I'll leave you to it. Give me a call if there are any problems.'
'God, poor you, I can't think of anything more boring.'
Max said, 'I know. Don't tell Jamie; he'll be as sick as a parrot. OK, speak to you later. Bye.'
He put away his phone. Eddie carried on gazing out of the window, his profile as chiseled and perfect as a Rodin statue.
Max returned his attention to the crossword. Bloody stupid crosswords, he hated the damn things. What were they for, exactly? What was the point of using up precious brain cells, just so you could fit stupid letters into squares? And speaking of stupid and pointless, was Eddie ever going to say anything or was he just going to keep staring out of that damn—
'So, what was that about then?'
Yee-ha! Bait taken!
'Hmm? Sorry?' Max glanced up from the paper, peered at him over the rim of his spectacles. 'Oh, just keeping in touch with my assistant. Making sure the clients are happy.'
'Right.' Eddie gave a dismissive shrug in agreement. But this time you could almost feel the curiosity burning through his Led Zeppelin T-shirt. 'So… who are they, then?'
Because that was the great thing about Jamie and Tandy: their names, together, were recognizable. They were all set to be the new Posh and Becks, the new Wayne and Coleen—well, they were if Tandy got her way.
'I'm not meant to talk about my clients.' Max hesitated then said reluctantly, 'It's just a footballer and his girlfriend.'
Eddie was staring at him now. 'Jamie Michaels and his girlfriend? Serious, is that who you're working for?'
'Sshh. Don't tell everyone.'
'Bloody hell. And you've actually met them? Like, properly?'
'Of course I've met them.'
'But, Jamie Michaels isn't… you know, gay.'
'No, he isn't.' Max marveled at the workings of a fourteen-year old's mind. 'I did his friend's house last year, and his friend recom mended me to Jamie and Tandy.'
'Who was his friend?'
'Colin, was it?' Frowning as if trying to remember, Max said, 'No, Cal, that's the one. Cal Cavanagh.'
Eddie sat bolt upright and shouted, 'You are joking! Cal Cavanagh!'
'Will you keep your voice down?'
'But… but he's, like, the most genius footballer on the planet.'
'Is he? I don't know a lot about football. Lucky old Cal.'
Eddie's eyes narrowed. He was visibly hyperventilating. 'Is this a wind-up?'
Max shrugged and said, 'Why would it be a wind-up?'
Finally convinced, Eddie leaned his head against the padded
velour seat back. 'That is so amazing. You have no idea. Cal Cavanagh and Jamie Michaels play for the best team in the world and you actu ally know them. Any minute now, your phone could ring and it could be them on the other end. That's the team I support, you know. Ever since I was a little kid. I was wearing the shirt yesterday.'
Max knew that, although it had taken awhile to twig. He hadn't been lying about football not being his thing.
'I can't believe it,' Eddie went on. 'All this time and Lou never said anything.'
'She's not interested in football either.'
'So, Cal Cavanagh. Does he live in, like, a huge mansion?'
Max nodded. 'Pretty huge. Electric gates. Eight bedrooms, nine bathrooms, a billiards room, and an indoor pool with the names Cal and Nicole spelled out in gold tiles on the bottom of the pool.' They were reaching the entrance to the park of Versailles now.
'Cal and Nicole?' Eddie's eyes widened. 'But they broke up six months ago. He chucked her!'
Max nodded briefly. 'I know. I told him those gold tiles were a mistake.'
On Saturday evening, they ate outside in the courtyard of the hotel. An almost-full moon hung in a clear, starry sky and the scents of bougainvillea, garlic, and Gauloises mingled with those of Year Nine, Harleston Hall—a rather less exotic blend of adolescents and overheated trainers.
As the children let off steam, playing pétanque against teams of French teenagers, Max and Fenella Trent sat at a long trestle table with Tom Lewis and Josie Endell. The conversation had been about Versailles for long enough. Topping up his and Josie's wine glasses, Max had finally managed to swing it around—via Sophia Coppola's lush version of Marie Antoinette—to favorite films.
'It's a Wonderful Life!' Fenella's glossy hair swung from side to side as she excitedly clapped her hands. Bloody hell, and she was only on orange juice. 'Ooh, Follow the Fleet! Or Top Hat! Anything with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers!' Clasping her chest in ecstasy, she cried, 'I could watch them forever.'
Blimey, how old was she? Ninety?
'I won't be inviting you out to the pictures, then.' In his easy, laconic way, Tom Lewis leaned back on his chair and counted off on his fingers. 'OK, top three. Terminator. Gladiator. Rambo.'
Josie Endell gave hi
m a playful thump on the arm. 'You and your testosterone. Honestly, you are such a boy.'
For a split second Max caught Tom's eye and something un spoken passed between them. Tom knew that he knew. The silent acknowledgement was there. Then the moment passed and Tom shrugged. 'What's wrong with that? They're the kind of films I like to watch.'
'Audrey Hepburn!' squealed Fenella.
Max kept a straight face. 'Was she in Rambo?'
'No, silly! Breakfast at Tiffany's!'
Josie said comfortably, 'Boys like boys' films, girls go for girly ones. My favorites are Love, Actually and When Harry Met Sally. Can't beat a good old romantic comedy.' Dimpling, she addressed Tom. 'And I bet Claudine's the same, isn't she?'
Claudine, that was it. Max recalled Lou telling him about Mr Lewis's seriously attractive girlfriend. The question was, did Claudine know her boyfriend was gay?
'God, yes, all that girly stuff.' Tom took a glug of lager and wiped the condensation from his hand on to his jeans. 'She watches her films while I'm out training. I watch mine while she's buying handbags or getting her hair done. There's only one film we both like, and that's The Great Escape.' He looked at Max and said cheer fully, 'How about you?'
'Well, I'm afraid I'm a bit of a purist when it comes to the cinema. Black and white with subtitles for me. Fassbinder,' said Max. 'Wenders, Almodóvar, Truffaut.' He paused, nodding in a thought ful, intellectual way. 'But I suppose if I'm forced to narrow it down, I'd have to say my top three would be Borat, Mr Bean, and ET.'
Tom grinned. Josie clutched at Tom's wrist and shrieked with laughter. Eddie and Baz, who had been hovering a short distance away, moved closer. Fenella gave Max a sympathetic look. 'And they're all outsiders seeking acceptance, aren't they? Is that why they're your favorite films, because you identify with the lead characters?'
'No, they're my favorite films because they make me laugh,' said Max. 'Same as you liking Breakfast at Tiffany's doesn't mean you secretly want to become a prostitute.'
Sniggering under their breath, Eddie and Baz casually pulled up a couple of chairs and joined them at the table. 'Mr Bean's funny,' Eddie ventured. 'He's hilarious. Have you seen the one where he's a spy?'
'I like that one too.' Max nodded.
Baz said eagerly, 'And Alien, sir? Where they're on a spaceship in outer space and this, like, alien bursts out of this guy's stomach?'
'Goodness me!' Clearly shocked, Fenella said, 'I can't believe your parents allow you to watch films like that.'
Eddie said defensively, 'It's brilliant.'
'The sequel's even better,' said Max.
'Well, really,' Fenella huffed.
'They're fourteen years old,' Max told her. 'Kids these days watch this stuff.'
'My Sophie doesn't! I don't let her! We only watch educational programs on TV.'
Which could go some way towards explaining why prim, cosseted little Sophie always seemed to be hovering miserably on the sidelines watching the rest of the children having fun. Heroically, Max didn't say this aloud. Instead, turning back to Eddie and Baz, he said, 'How about Bruce Lee? Ever seen any of his films?'
'Yeah! Bruce Lee, brilliant!' Eddie struck a pose and began to yowl like a cat.
'I've got all of them on DVD. In fact, Enter the Dragon may have to go into my all-time top three.'
'Three's not going to be enough.' Tom shook his head. 'We haven't even started on James Bond yet.'
'James Bond's all right.' Max intercepted Eddie's grimace. 'But I prefer Shrek.'
'Shrek is cool.' Vigorously nodding in agreement, Eddie said, 'Uh, sir? You know you know footballers? Well, do you know any, like, famous film stars as well?'
Max glanced across the table at Tom. There it was again, that complicit flicker of connection. He thought for a moment then shrugged. 'I suppose maybe one or two.'
Chapter 43
'OOOH, I NEED A wee, I'm scared.' Kaye was bleating with fear as they pulled up in the taxi outside the hotel.
Tilly didn't blame her. If she was the one being auctioned off for charity she'd be petrified. But, since this was what friends were for, she said consolingly, 'It'll be great, everyone'll be bidding for you. Dorothy won't let them not bid.'
'Yeah, right.' Kaye remained unconvinced. 'It's going to be embarrassing. God, why couldn't I be Beyoncé or Helen Mirren or someone men drool over?'
'Hey, relax. We're just going to have fun.' Bundling her out of the cab, Tilly said, 'And it's all in a good cause, isn't it? Even if you only raise fifty quid for the charity, that's still fifty quid more than they'd have had without you.'
Kaye let out a wail of anguish. 'Fifty quid!'
'OK, that was just an example. You'll get loads more than that, you know you will.'
'But that's the thing, I don't know. Oh God, at this rate I'm going to be bidding for myself.'
Inside the hotel, the buzzy atmosphere embraced them. Vaguely familiar faces from the ball were dotted around. Tilly spotted Dorothy and Harold, and carted Kaye over to them. Having greeted her effusively, they then dragged Kaye off—looking like a baby seal about to be clubbed to death—to meet and greet potential bidders.
Poor Kaye.
'She'll be all right,' said a voice behind her.
Tilly's heart did a dolphin leap in her chest. Turning, she stopped feeling sorry for Kaye and felt sorry for herself instead. She'd known Jack would be here tonight, had been bracing herself for the moment when she'd see him again, and he'd still managed to catch her off guard.
Jack was in the business of breaking hearts. He was damaged, scarred by grief, and incapable of giving himself fully to anyone. Irresistible he might be, but she'd made her decision. She was going to resist him because it was the only way. The irony of the situation didn't escape her; never having been able to bring herself to reject anyone once she'd gone off them, she had been forced to reject Jack, who'd meant more to her than any man before.
Still, that was self-preservation for you. It might hurt like hell, but it was undoubtedly the right thing to do. Jack Lucas wasn't someone you could trust, he was anti-commitment, he was trouble in every way you could think of.
And if you needed any more evidence of that, well, just look at Amy.
If he could wear a bell around his neck, that would be a big help too.
And now he was waiting for her to say something. Damn, what was it they'd been talking about? Oh yes, Kaye.
'She's terrified,' said Tilly.
'Watch her.' Moving to her side, Jack nodded over as Dorothy Summerskill began introducing Kaye to a boisterous group of men. 'She'll click into actress mode any second now. Ha, there, see it?'
And he was right. Kaye had pressed the switch and metaphori cally lit up. To the casual onlooker she was confident, dazzling, completely at ease as she laughed and chatted and effortlessly won over a group of complete strangers.
'Neat trick,' Tilly marveled. 'And inside, she's jelly.'
'It's called putting on a front.'
Tilly swallowed. What did he think she was doing right now? She summoned a breezy smile. 'Don't tell me you're here on your own tonight.'
Jack shook his head. 'My partner's been held up. She'll be along later. See the big guy with the white hair?' He indicated the men clustered around Kaye. 'That's Mitchell Masters. He owns half the nightclubs this side of London. Seriously loaded.'
Maybe, but he still had a Santa-sized stomach. Without think ing, Tilly said jokily, 'He looks a bit pregnant.'
Oops.
'Don't worry.' Jack sounded amused. 'I'm sure he isn't.'
He took a swallow of his drink, seemingly unconcerned by her faux pas. Did he think she hadn't heard the news? Oh help, now she'd started she couldn't stop. Tilly blurted out, 'So, what's hap pening with Amy, then?'
Jack surveyed her steadily. 'Now I hear she is pregnant.'
'And have you talked to her?'
He shrugged. 'No.'
'But you could be the father!' Baffled by his not-my-problem at titude, Tilly's
voice inadvertently rose. 'She's twelve weeks pregnant! That's when you slept with her. What if she's having your baby?'
A passing couple turned to look at them. Jack murmured, 'Sure you don't want a megaphone?'
Oh God, she was turning into a shrew. With an effort Tilly con trolled herself. 'But she could be. Doesn't that even bother you?'
Jack certainly didn't look bothered. 'I hear she slept with a couple of other guys too. I doubt the baby's mine.'