by Jill Mansell
Ciao for now? Did people really still say that? This one evidently did.
Emily left them, doing her wiggly model-walk all the way back to the table so that everyone would look at her.
Ethan murmured, ‘We’ll have to get out of here before that happens.’
‘That’s a terrible thing to say. She might be one of my closest friends.’
‘Except she isn’t.’ He looked amused.
‘How about you?’ Evie countered. ‘Is she one of yours?’
‘Not at all. I just know her from the hotel. I get the impression she’s what’s known as a man’s woman.’
‘That’s the polite way of putting it.’ Evie pulled a face; Emily regarded other women as rivals and liked to bring them down at every opportunity.
‘So shall we pretend she didn’t mention the wedding?’ Ethan paused. ‘Or do you want to talk about it?’
‘I’m fine. It’s not a secret.’
‘Now I understand why you weren’t keen on coming out to dinner with me. Can I just say, though, anyone who jilts another person at the altar deserves to be miserable for the rest of their life. That’s just a disgusting thing to do. Evil. And he certainly didn’t deserve you.’
‘Thanks, it’s nice of you to say so.’ Evie looked suitably grateful. ‘Sadly, the disgusting evil jilter wasn’t him. It was me.’
Without missing a beat, Ethan said, ‘In that case, brilliant. Good for you. You did exactly the right thing.’
Evie smiled, and liked him more. ‘I know.’
‘And he obviously deserved it.’
‘Funnily enough, he did.’
‘Are you glad you didn’t marry him?’
‘I think so. I mean, I know it was the right thing to do.’ Ethan was easy to talk to, she was discovering. Some people just had that natural ability to be good listeners. ‘But I was expecting to get married . . . we’d been together for a few years . . . it takes a while to get used to being single again. It’s all a bit urgh, to be honest. Kind of confusing.’
‘No wonder you didn’t want to meet me tonight.’
‘It’s OK. At least I warned you I’d be boring.’
‘You call this boring?’
‘Well,’ Evie picked up her wine glass and gave the stem a twirl, ‘you know what I mean. If this was a proper date I wouldn’t be telling you how I really feel, would I? I’d be putting on a front to impress you, pretending I was totally fine and over it. I’d be acting all confident . . .’
‘Like Emily.’
‘Exactly like Emily. She used to flirt with my fiancé.’ A thought belatedly occurred to Evie. ‘Oh God, he probably slept with her too.’
‘Is that what happened? He had an affair?’
‘Plural. It turns out he had many affairs. But yes, basically he felt sharing himself with just me was a bit of a waste. Why only sleep with one girl when you can have six?’ She saw the look of puzzlement on his face. ‘But I only properly found out on the way to the church. Not the greatest timing in the world. Still, like Emily said, it gave everyone something to talk about.’
Ethan was frowning now. ‘And this happened when?’
‘Three weeks ago.’
He blinked. ‘But that was when I first saw you. In the car park at the hotel. You were . . . oh shit, you weren’t part of the photo shoot, were you? You were in a wedding dress because . . .’
‘Because I’d just run away from my wedding. I know,’ Evie marvelled, ‘what are the chances? And thanks for thinking I was a model, by the way. That was really an ego boost. But I’m not.’
Their food arrived and they carried on chatting about MadAboutParties, about unexpectedly not getting married at the last minute, even about gardening and how to keep temperamental house plants alive. Much to her surprise Evie found herself relaxing and enjoying the evening she really hadn’t expected to enjoy. Thanks to his laid-back manner, Ethan was easy company. There was no need to try and impress him. Appearance-wise he was frankly a bit of a disaster, which helped a lot. He was so unassuming. For years she’d been accustomed to Joel being the centre of attention wherever they went. Being out with someone like Ethan was far easier; gone was the stress of knowing you were being covertly watched all the time.
Although . . . yes, across the terrace, Emily Morris was still keeping an eye on them. But that was only because she was an absolute fiend for gossip.
‘Right,’ Ethan declared when dinner was over, ‘Emily and her friend are still on pudding, so how about we make a quick getaway before they try and join us?’
‘Definitely.’ Evie watched him signal to the waiter. ‘And we’re splitting the bill.’
‘I invited you. Let me pay.’
‘No, please, I can’t.’ She flushed slightly; it was like holding up a placard announcing I REALLY DON’T FANCY YOU, NOT EVEN A LITTLE BIT, SO DON’T GO THINKING ANYTHING’S GOING TO HAPPEN AT THE END OF THE NIGHT BECAUSE IT JUST WON’T.
‘Fine then, no problem.’ Ethan silently read the placard and backed down with good grace.
‘It’s just, we’re not on a real date. I’m really not ready for anything like that. But I have had fun,’ said Evie. ‘It’s been better than I expected.’
He smiled briefly. ‘For me too.’
‘I’ll be back in a minute.’ Evie excused herself and headed inside to the Ladies’.
She was washing her hands when the door swung open and Emily appeared reflected in the mirror behind her. ‘Hiya! We were about to come and join you but I’ve just spoken to Ethan and he says you have to leave.’
‘Yes we do.’
‘That’s such a shame, it’s so nice to see you again. I’m just amazed you’re out and about like this . . . after what happened, I thought you’d be in pieces for, like, months!’
‘Life goes on,’ said Evie, rinsing the soap off her hands.
‘Well, obviously. And good for you. I had no idea you and Ethan were . . .’ Emily bobbed her head from side to side and waited expectantly.
‘Friends.’ Evie plunged her hands into the supersonic hand-dryer, forcing Emily to wait for her to finish.
‘Well, I have to say I’m impressed. So, are you sleeping with him?’
Honestly, what was this girl like? The eagerness in her eyes was positively avid.
‘No, I am not,’ said Evie.
‘Sure?’ An idea belatedly occurred to Emily and she gasped. ‘Oh my God, is Ethan the real reason you didn’t marry Joel?’
Poor Ethan. If he got to hear about this, hopefully he’d find it funny. Evie said, ‘There’s nothing going on. At all. I didn’t even know him before the wedding. He’s just the handyman from the Ellison, I bumped into him when I was dropping off some outfits, then yesterday he brought them back to the shop. That’s all there is to it. We’re just two people having a chat.’
While she’d been speaking, Emily had been lavishly applying creamy beige lipstick. Now, meeting Evie’s gaze in the mirror, she raised an eyebrow and said, ‘He’s just the handyman at the Ellison?’
Oh no, not again. When you were being picked up for making a condescending remark by Emily Morris, you knew you’d put your foot in it big time.
‘I don’t mean it like that at all. He’s the gardener-handyman, there’s nothing wrong with that, it’s a perfectly good job, I was just explaining that’s how we met.’
Emily finished filling in her lips. She efficiently clicked the top back on the lipstick – Dior, what else? – and turned round. There was an expression on her face that Evie was familiar with, the one where Emily knew something the other person didn’t and she couldn’t be happier about it.
‘Right, I see. So . . . is that what Ethan told you? That he’s the gardener-handyman?’
‘Yes. Why?’ She’d seen him watering the tubs. He dressed like a gardener. They’d talked about his job, for heaven’s sake. He hadn’t said anything to contradict her. Evie frowned and said, ‘Doesn’t he work there?’
‘Not really.’ Emily was having trouble kee
ping a straight face. ‘I mean, not properly. Ethan owns the hotel.’
He owned the hotel. Of course he did. Evie digested this piece of information. The Ellison belonged to Ethan. She’d decided he was the gardener and for whatever reason he’d carried on letting her think it.
Like a complete div.
Emily, visibly in her element, said with a mix of elation and mock concern, ‘Oh my God, I can’t believe you didn’t know! You must be so embarrassed!’
‘There you are. I was starting to think you’d jumped out of a back window.’
‘I tried. It was too small. I’d have got stuck and had to be winched out with a crane.’ The bill was on the table along with two twenty pound notes. Grateful that he was letting her pay her way, Evie opened her purse and put down the same amount. All the same, forty pounds. Ouch.
‘Did you really want to escape?’
‘I did a bit, yes.’
Ethan looked worried ‘Why?’
‘Humiliation. Awkwardness. Feeling like a prize idiot.’ Out of the corner of her eye Evie saw Emily heading towards them once more. ‘Let’s get out of here, shall we, before she comes over to gloat?’
‘Gloat about what?’ Ethan followed her along the pavement.
‘About me thinking you were the odd-job guy at the hotel and not realising you owned the place.’
‘Ah.’ Ethan caught up with her. ‘Who told you, or is that a silly question?’
‘Emily just came and found me, in the loo.’
‘Of course she did.’ His eyes narrowed with amusement. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I thought you’d be embarrassed if I corrected you.’
‘Fine. Except I’m embarrassed now instead.’
‘Hey, stop for a minute.’ They’d rounded the corner into Manvers Street; now that they were out of sight of the restaurant, Ethan reached for her arm and turned her to face him. ‘I’ve really enjoyed this evening. It’s been great. And maybe it was just my imagination but I thought you were having a good time too.’
‘I was.’
‘Glad to hear it. And that was when you thought I was the odd-job guy. It didn’t bother you at all.’
‘No.’ Evie was forced to move closer to him as they were overtaken by a stream of Japanese tourists making their way to Pulteney Bridge.
‘I liked it that you didn’t know the truth. We just hit it off naturally. You know what usually happens when people figure out I own a big hotel?’
‘You find yourself the centre of attention?’
‘Exactly. From the kind of women I wouldn’t want attaching themselves to me.’ He paused. ‘Women with . . . expensive tastes, shall we say.’
‘Like Emily.’
‘Exactly like Emily.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘It’s bloody terrifying, actually. That highlighted hair of hers, all swingy and perfect . . . she told me it took thirteen hours in the hairdressers to get it looking like that. I mean, can you imagine? If you added up all the time I’ve spent in the hairdressers in my whole life it probably wouldn’t come to thirteen hours.’
Evie kept a straight face. ‘Now why doesn’t that surprise me?’
‘She asked me out last month. Four times. I kept having to say no.’ Ethan looked perplexed. ‘She has her eyelashes individually glued on in a beauty salon. They stay on for six weeks. Did you know that was even physically possible?’
‘Well, I’ve heard about it. Can’t say it’s something I’ve ever done myself.’
‘Exactly. It’s like science fiction.’ Ethan exhaled in disbelief and Evie realised her own particular unique selling point was the fact that she was as disastrously un-savvy in the hi-tech beauty stakes as he was. Together, essentially, they were Aunt Sally and Worzel Gummidge.
‘So what you’re saying is, you like me because I’m almost as scruffy as you are. Almost,’ Evie reiterated. ‘You still take the gold medal.’
He grinned, unoffended. ‘Hey, look at me. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t an advantage. I like you because of your smile, your personality and your honesty. But I also like the fact that you have your own fingernails, your eyelashes aren’t covered in black gloop and you can actually move your forehead.’
Yet another crowd of tourists was in the process of disembarking from their coach; the air was filled with excited chatter and clicking camera shutters.
‘If I’d known yesterday that you owned the hotel I wouldn’t have come out with you tonight.’
‘I guessed. That’s the other reason I didn’t tell you. Now, are we going to stand here on this pavement for the next three hours or shall we go somewhere for a drink and carry on getting to know each other?’
He might wear decrepit clothes but he did have a nice smile. ‘Well, OK then. But this still isn’t a date,’ said Evie.
Ethan shuddered and took her arm. ‘Eurgh, no way, definitely not. Perish the thought.’
‘Oh God,’ murmured Evie, ‘we’re the only ones left. I didn’t realise.’
‘No?’ Ethan grinned across at her, the light from the burnt-down candle on the table between them reflected in his eyes. ‘We’ve been the only ones in here for the last hour.’
‘What?’ She stared at her watch in disbelief. ‘Are you serious? It’s one thirty in the morning! I don’t believe it.’
‘If this is how observant you are, it’s probably just as well you aren’t an international spy.’
‘OK, this is embarrassing.’ Evie had no idea where the evening had gone. All she knew was that they’d talked non-stop. After leaving Brown’s they’d gone on to a bar. When that had closed, they had come to this dear little Italian restaurant. Not for food, because they’d already eaten, but in order to stay they had asked for wine and a pizza between them – which they’d been unable to resist picking at in the end. ‘I mean it,’ she said, mortified. ‘We have to go.’
‘Does that mean you’ve had enough of me?’
‘It means these poor people are waiting to go home!’ Evie gestured with agitation at the last remaining staff, chatting desultorily as they polished wine glasses behind the bar.
‘Hey, don’t worry. All sorted.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I had a quiet word with them after the last table left, said we’d like to stay on for a bit and that I’d pay them extra for their trouble. They were more than happy with that. We can stay here all night if we want.’
Evie exhaled with relief. ‘But we can’t really.’
‘I suppose not. And you want to leave now, I can see that. You wait here,’ said Ethan, ‘and I’ll sort them out.’
She sat back and watched him, amazed by the turn the evening had taken. Well, it just went to show what could happen when you weren’t expecting it. In fact, her expectations had been completely confounded. What a fantastic time they’d ended up having. And if they didn’t both have work in the morning she could easily have stayed here all night. Ethan had been a revelation. It was as if they had been fated to meet . . . OK, this sounded crazy and she wouldn’t say it out loud to anyone, but being with him had almost felt like falling under a spell, as if some kind of magic dust had been sprinkled over them . . .
And she wasn’t even drunk.
Oh God, whatever happened, she mustn’t tell him that. And especially mustn’t try to kiss him. Just play it cool, play it cool . . .
It was raining and Lara was in the car on her way to Bradford on Avon. Funny how you could be dreading and looking forward to something at the same time.
Yesterday she had introduced Jo to Gigi, then Flynn had arrived and the four of them had enjoyed a barbecue in the sunny back garden, everyone getting on well together so effortlessly that the evening had been an absolute joy. From a distance they could have been mistaken for a proper family. If only that were true. How must it feel to be normal?
Oh well, maybe normality was overrated. Never having experienced it, she wouldn’t know. Lara drove down the steep winding hill into Bradford on Avon and switched her wipers up to double-speed to keep the windscre
en clear. Anyway, she had a job to do today and it was already making her feel sick with anticipation. Like those dreams where you walked into an exam room and suddenly realised you’d been studying the wrong syllabus . . .
It didn’t take long to find Bingham Close; she’d learned the directions off by heart. The sky was charcoal grey. Number 32 was at the end of the street, suitably dark and gothic and wrapped in a cloak of dripping trees.
The good news was that, despite the fact that it was ten o’clock in the morning, there were lights on in the house and two cars on the driveway.
Pulling up, Lara switched off the engine and took a deep breath. Let her be in, let her be in. And please God let her talk.
The front door was opened by Joan, the elder of the two sisters, whose mouth snapped shut like a rat trap at the sight of Lara on the doorstep.
‘Hi, I’ve come to see Janice. It’s about something very important.’
‘She’s having breakfast.’
Janice had always liked her lie-ins; Lara had deliberately chosen this time because she’d be unlikely to be out.
‘I can wait until she’s finished. I really do need to see her though.’
‘What about?’
‘It’s private.’ She was going with the polite-but-firm approach, praying that curiosity would overcome Janice’s instinctive reluctance to see her.
‘Stay there,’ Joan ordered, her dyed black hair quivering with disdain. ‘Don’t move.’
Within thirty seconds she was back from the kitchen.
‘She’ll see you in fifteen minutes. You’ll have to wait outside until then.’
‘In the rain?’
A beady glare and a cool response. ‘What do you expect, turning up without warning?’
Touché.
‘OK, no problem.’ Since saying thank you would make her sound desperate, Lara said, ‘See you in a bit.’
She waited in the car for exactly fifteen minutes then rang the doorbell. Joan answered the door again and silently ushered her towards the sitting room. Lara’s nostrils quivered; there was the smell of Janice’s cloying, noxious perfume, the lingering dregs of which she’d had to work so hard to eradicate from her own house. The room itself was large and gloomy, with heavy dark furniture and hectically patterned carpet. And there, sitting in the centre of the ox-blood leather sofa, was Janice, toadlike and wearing her habitual navy blue; her bosom rested on her stomach and her pudgy feet were squashed into high-heeled court shoes.