by Jill Mansell
Ginny felt sick. What a terrible, terrible thing to happen. “And was it true? About him being the father?”
“Oh yes. Finn let me read the letter that night. Basically, Tamsin had met this Italian—Angelo Balboa, his name was—in a nightclub one night while Finn was away on a buying trip. They had an affair that carried on for a few weeks then ended when Angelo had to go away to Australia on business. When Tamsin found out she was pregnant it was a toss-up which of them might turn out to be the father. And when Mae was born—well, Finn and Angelo both have dark hair and dark eyes, so she could have got away with it.”
“So why didn’t she?”
“For the first couple of months she did.” Drily Evie made a whirly motion with her finger. “But maybe the mention of the helicopter gave you a clue? Angelo Balboa is seriously wealthy. His family made zillions in the olive oil industry. And Tamsin’s always had a liking for the good things in life, especially good-looking zillionaires. I mean, Finn’s done well for himself, but he’s not in the same league as Angelo. And I imagine this swayed Tamsin’s judgment. In the letter she told Finn that she’d had a DNA test done and that Mae wasn’t his. Naturally, she’d then felt obliged to write to Angelo and let him know he had a daughter. And bingo, Angelo came up trumps! In the romantic modern way, he demanded more DNA tests to prove it. But as soon as they had, he did the honorable thing and announced that from now on, Tamsin and Mae were his.”
“What a nightmare. Poor Finn.” Now there was a sentiment Ginny had never envisaged herself feeling. Raking her fingers through her hair, she said, “What did he do?”
Evie shrugged. “What could he do? Nothing at all. Well, apart from drink himself stupid for a while. And cancel the wedding. And come to terms with the realization that he wasn’t a father after all.”
“God. And he hasn’t seen them since?”
“Nope. They’re in London with Angelo.”
“When did it happen?”
“October.”
October. And Mae had been born in July. So that meant Finn had had three whole months in which to bond with this living, breathing baby, believing her to be his daughter and loving her more than life itself, before she’d been whisked away without even a chance to hold her in his arms one last time and say good-bye.
Imagining it, Ginny felt a lump form in her throat. She couldn’t speak. How would she have felt if someone had tried to take Jem, as a baby, away from her?
“Maybe I shouldn’t have told you.” Evie looked worried.
“No, you should.” Vigorously, Ginny shook her head. “God, I’ve already put my foot in it once. That’s more than enough.” Another thought struck her. “And it was only a few weeks after it happened that he saw me in the shop that first time. No wonder he wasn’t in the sunniest of moods.”
“Now you know why Finn’s got such a thing about honesty and trust.” Fiddling with the freesias in the vase in front of her, Evie said, “Can’t blame him, I suppose. Up until Tamsin left, he’d always prided himself on being a great judge of character. It must come as a kick in the teeth when you realize you’ve got it so badly wrong about the woman you were planning to marry.”
Well, quite. Lots of people later discovered they’d got it wrong when it came to choosing who to marry (mentioning no names… OK, Gavin).
But what Tamsin had done was beyond belief.
Chapter 15
When she arrived home at five o’clock, Ginny saw Gavin’s white Porsche, muddier than ever, parked outside the house. She winced slightly, because this meant he’d introduced himself to Laurel without her being there to act as a buffer.
She winced even more when, upon letting herself in through the front door, the first thing she heard was Gavin saying, “… I mean look at your shoes, they’re ugly. You’re never going to get wolf-whistled at in the street wearing shoes like that.”
Good old Gavin, as subtle and sympathetic as ever. Hastening into the living room, Ginny saw that Laurel was sitting bolt upright on a chair with a trapped-rabbit look in her eyes.
“Gavin, leave her alone.”
“Me? I haven’t laid a finger on her. We’re just having a friendly chat.” Gavin spread his hands. “I popped over to see you and you weren’t here so Laurel and I have been getting to know each other. And let me tell you, I’ve learned a lot.”
Ginny didn’t doubt it. Asking impertinent questions was a specialty of Gavin’s.
“He says I’m boring,” said Laurel, her knuckles white as she clasped her knees.
Not to mention offering impertinent opinions, whether they were welcome or not.
“Gavin.” Ginny shot him a fierce look. “You can’t go around saying things like that.”
“Yes, I can.” Unperturbed, he turned back to address Laurel. “You are boring. It’s not rocket science. You’re never going to get over Kevin until you meet someone else to take your mind off him, and you’re never going to find someone else because all you do is talk about Kevin.”
“How long have you been here?” Ginny wondered if a good clip round the ear would do the trick.
“An hour. A whole hour, and believe me it’s felt more like a week. I’ve been telling her, it’s time to move on. Put the whole Kevin thing behind her.” Gavin made helpful, pushing-backward gestures with his arms. “And just move on. Which means getting out and socializing. And wearing shoes that won’t send men screaming in the opposite direction.”
Laurel was still looking shell-shocked. “Are you always this rude?”
“Yes,” said Ginny apologetically.
“I prefer to call it honest. If you were wearing beautiful shoes, I’d tell you. And you’re not a bad-looking girl,” Gavin went on, sizing Laurel up like a racehorse. “Nice face, shiny hair, decent figure. I don’t much go for redheads myself, but—”
“Good, because I don’t go for men with double chins and receding hairlines.”
“Fair point. Each to their own.” Gavin wasn’t offended. “But I’m serious about you needing to get over this ex of yours.” He paused, looking thoughtful for a moment. “In fact, I bet I know someone you’d hit it off with.”
Hurriedly, Laurel said, “No thanks!”
“See? Don’t be so negative! I think the two of you would really get along.”
“I’m not interested.”
Despite her misgivings, Ginny said, “Who?”
“His name’s Hamish. Lovely chap. Bit on the shy side, but a heart of gold. He’s the sensitive type.” Gavin was warming to his theme. “You know the kind. Writes poetry. Reads books.”
Ginny stared at him. “How on earth do you know someone who writes poetry?”
“He’s joined our club. It’s a singles club,” Gavin explained to Laurel. “Fabulous fun. We meet twice a week. What I could do is mention you to Hamish, put in a good word on your behalf, then when you turn up I’ll introduce you to him, and Bob’s your uncle.”
Laurel’s light green eyes widened in horror. “I’m not doing that.”
“Oh, come on, live a little! You know, the more I think about it, the more sure I am that you two would be perfect for each other. He’s tall and skinny, just like you. And quiet! Half the time he sits on his own in the corner and we hardly even notice he’s—”
“No.” Vehemently, Laurel shook her head. “No way. Me, go to a singles club? Not in a million years.”
“So you’d rather be miserable for a million years.”
“I’m not going to a singles club,” Laurel repeated flatly.
“Leave her alone,” Ginny protested, but weakly because while Gavin might not be subtle, what he was saying made a lot of sense. It would be heavenly if Laurel were to meet a kindred spirit.
“You don’t want to go on your own? Fine. Gin, how about the two of you coming along together?” Gavin the perennial salesman raised his eyebrows at Ginny, making an offer she couldn’t refuse.
Maybe it would be worth it. “Well…”
“Tomorrow night.”
&nb
sp; “Oh.” Tomorrow was dinner-with-Perry night. “I can’t,” Ginny apologized. “I’m busy.”
“Doing what?”
“Seeing a friend!”
“Well, how about next week?”
“Excuse me, am I invisible?” Shaking back her hair, Laurel stood up and said impatiently, “I told you I wasn’t going and I meant it, so will you please stop trying to make me do something I don’t want to do?”
“If you met Hamish, you’d like him,” Gavin wheedled.
“That’s your opinion.” As she stalked out of the living room, Laurel said, “If you ask me, he sounds like a complete drip.”
***
Ginny met Perry the following night at the Green Room, the cliff-top restaurant on the outskirts of Portsilver. This time he didn’t stand up and kiss her in front of everyone but the food was good, they talked nonstop, and she still felt that spark of attraction every time she looked at him.
“Your ex sounds like a character.” Taking her free hand when she’d finished telling him about Laurel’s run-in with Gavin, Perry idly stroked her fingers. “How long have you two been divorced?”
“Nine years.” Ginny was finding it hard to concentrate; all of a sudden her hand had turned into an erogenous zone.
“Nine years. That’s a long time. You must have had other relationships since then.”
“Well, yes.” Was he trying to find out whether she was a saucy trollop who bundled men into bed at every opportunity? “Not many. Just… you know, a few.”
Perry raised a questioning eyebrow.
“OK, three,” said Ginny.
He smiled. “That’s good. Three’s a nice ladylike number. I knew you were a lady.”
It was a compliment, but Ginny wasn’t sure she deserved it. If she had been free of responsibilities, her life, sex-wise, might have been far more eventful. But with Jem around, that kind of thing hadn’t been a priority. Motherhood had come first and men had been a distraction she simply hadn’t needed.
“You know, I appreciate that, I really do.” Perry nodded and carried on stroking her hand. “It’s more romantic when people take the time to get to know each other properly, isn’t it? Too many people just go from one one-night stand to the next. And that just cheapens everything for me.” He gazed into Ginny’s eyes. “I’m so glad you’re not like that.”
Bugger, thought Ginny. Just because she’d been like that in the past didn’t mean she wanted to be like it now.
True to his word, when the meal was over, Perry kissed her in the car park then did the gentlemanly thing and helped her into her car—before Ginny could throw him over the bonnet and rip his shirt off, which was what she really wanted to do.
Oh well, it was flattering in its own way. If Perry thought she was a lady worthy of respect, that was… nice.
“You’re gorgeous,” Perry murmured. Cradling her face between his warm hands, he kissed her again, lingeringly, before pulling away.
See? That was nice. And a million times more romantic than being groped by some panting Neanderthal intent on getting inside your bra.
“I’ll be in touch,” said Perry. “Take care.”
He really likes me, thought Ginny, happiness bubbling up inside her as she drove out of the car park.
Wasn’t that great?
Chapter 16
Ginny still found going for a walk without a dog a strange experience, like waking up on Christmas morning and finding your stocking empty. Even after all this time, she still found herself glancing around, expecting to see Bellamy either trotting along beside her or madly bounding around in circles in search of treasure.
Even more disconcertingly, at least for anyone who happened to be watching, she still sometimes picked up sticks and went to hurl them into the air before realizing Bellamy was no longer there to retrieve them.
That got you some funny looks from passersby.
The beach had always been their favorite place. Now, as she made her way along the shoreline, Ginny kept her hands stuffed firmly in the pockets of her black padded jacket. There, tangled in a skein of glossy wet seaweed, was a piece of driftwood ideal for throwing. (Mustn’t pick it up, mustn’t throw it.) A crab skittered across the sand heading for the shelter of a semi-submerged rock. One of Bellamy’s favorite games had been snuffling after crabs, nudging them with his nose then leaping back like an outraged maiden aunt confronted by a male stripper when the crabs retaliated with their claws.
Oh God, she missed Bellamy so much. Strolling along the beach wasn’t the same without him. Nor without Jem. For years it had been the three of them splashing through the waves, playing frenetic games, and collecting shells for Jem’s bedroom windowsill.
Now it’s just me, thought Ginny, gazing out to sea and watching a lone fishing boat chug along with seagulls swooping in its wake.
The phone rang in her pocket.
“Mum?”
“Hello, darling!” The sound of Jem’s voice, just when she most needed to hear it, lifted Ginny’s spirits in a flash. “How lovely to hear from you! What have you been up to?”
“Oh, you know, all the usual stuff. Buckets of work. Boring old essays, bossy lecturers… did you get my email yesterday?”
“I did.” Jem had attached a photo to the email, of Lucy and herself on their way out to a party. “And I can’t believe you weren’t wearing your new boots.” When Jem bought anything new, she had a habit of wearing it nonstop for the next three months.
Giggling, Jem said, “I was.”
“I meant the pink ones. Oh, you naughty girl, don’t tell me you’ve bought another pair.”
“I didn’t; Rupert did. He didn’t like my pink boots so he threw them out of the window at some people who were annoying us.” Still laughing, Jem said, “Then the next day he gave me the money to buy a new pair. Can you believe it? He gave me a hundred pounds!”
Ginny was incensed. “He just threw them out of the window? What kind of person does that? You loved those boots.”
“And now I love these ones! Oh, Mum, it was funny; you should have been there. And mine were a bit cheap-looking. These are much nicer. I’m wearing them now. Rupert thinks they’re great; he says I don’t look like a hooker anymore.”
Rupert was a prat and an arrogant one at that; if he’d tried chucking anything of hers out of a window, Ginny would have thrown him out after it. Hearing Jem, normally so sensible, leaping to his defense sent a faint chill down her spine.
“And is he still with his girlfriend? What’s her name… Caro?”
“Nope. They broke up.” At this, Ginny’s sense of foreboding increased. “Anyway,” Jem went on, “I want to know how your new job’s going. Is it good?”
Right. Change of subject. For the next few minutes, as the seagulls wheeled overhead, Ginny told Jem all about her first evening shift yesterday at Penhaligon’s. Finn hadn’t been there and she had enjoyed herself hugely; Evie and Martha were fun to work with, the kitchen staff was hardworking and cheerful, and she had enjoyed getting to know the regular customers.
Jem was delighted. “Hey, Mum, good for you. Maybe I should come down and meet them too.”
“Except you’re working.” Ginny darted out of the way as a wave lapped against her trainers.
“Ah, but I’m not! That’s why I’m ringing.” Jem was triumphant. “The pub landlord called me this morning—a pipe burst in the roof last night and the place got flooded, so it’s closed until next week. Which means I’m free,” she went on gaily, “so I thought I’d shoot down for the weekend, if that’s OK with you.”
This time, Ginny was so overjoyed she didn’t even notice the next wave breaking over both her feet. She wouldn’t have noticed if a shark had reared up out of the water with a mermaid on its back.
“Of course it’s OK with me. Oh, darling, that’s fantastic news. I can’t wait!”
***
“You can’t do that.” Rupert emerged from the kitchen as Jem came off the phone. “You mustn’t go home. That’s a
complete waste of a weekend.”
“How can it be a waste of a weekend? I’ll be seeing my mum.”
“I mean a waste for us.” In the middle of the living room he slid his arms round her. “I’ll be here all on my own. What’ll I do with myself while you’re gone?”
“You won’t be on your own. Lucy’s going to be here.”
“She isn’t. She’s just told me she’s off up to Manchester for some cousin’s wedding.”
“Damn.” Lucy was in the shower; Jem gazed in dismay at the closed bathroom door. “I thought she’d be around so we wouldn’t have the chance to… you know… be together.”
“Well, she won’t be. Which gives us all the time in the world to… you know… be together.” As he mimicked her choice of expression, Rupert grinned wickedly and pressed his groin against hers. “I mean, think how much being together we could do.”
Jem was torn. It was an opportunity they weren’t often likely to get. If only she’d known twenty minutes earlier that Lucy would be away.
“Mmm,” Rupert murmured, moving his hips. “Being together, being together…”
“I’ve told Mum now. She’s expecting me.”
“You’re starting to sound like Davy Stokes. Hey, come on, you only told her five minutes ago. Call her back and say you can’t make it.” As he nuzzled her ear, Rupert said with amusement, “Just tell her something’s come up. That wouldn’t be a lie now, would it?”