by Jill Mansell
‘I’m Joel.’ He gestured to indicate the others. ‘This is Evie, the love of my life. And Harry somebody-or-other, who definitely isn’t.’
‘So I gathered. Anyway, I’m just off out to visit my mother and I wondered if you’d like a lift somewhere? So long as it’s not too far out of my way.’ Jacqueline pulled a face. ‘I mean, not Manchester or anything.’
‘That would be perfect.’ Evie exhaled with relief. ‘Thanks so much, you’re a star. He just needs dropping off at his flat in Bannerdown . . .’
‘No problem,’ Jacqueline said cheerfully. She waved her car keys at Joel. ‘Come on then, let’s go.’
‘What if I want to go to Manchester?’ Joel protested.
‘You don’t.’ Evie was firm. ‘Bye.’
They stood together on the doorstep and watched Joel climb into the passenger seat of Jacqueline’s lime-green Fiesta. When it had pulled away, they headed back inside the house.
‘You’re popular,’ said Harry.
‘Not really.’ Evie sighed. ‘It’s not that much fun being popular with the wrong people.’
‘Hey, cheer up. You’re doing really well.’
He was so nice. ‘I’m not. I’m a walking disaster. Still, at least we have roast potatoes.’
‘Followed by Scrabble,’ Harry reminded her.
‘Let’s see if Lara’s on her way back.’ Evie sent a quick text: ‘Dinner’s ready – how soon will you be home?’
By the time the plates were lined up, her mobile buzzed with Lara’s reply: ‘Not before ten, we’re still in Bristol. Save some for me? Have fun! xxx’
It was only six thirty. Evie held up the phone to show him. ‘She’s not going to be back until ten.’
‘Fine by me,’ Harry said easily. ‘Lara doesn’t like Scrabble. That means more games for us.’
‘Don’t expect to win,’ Evie warned him. ‘I’m good, you know.’
There was a glint in Harry’s eye as he surveyed her. ‘I’m better.’
‘Ha.’ Lara gazed in triumph at her phone. ‘Knew it!’
‘Knew what?’
They were just leaving Bristol on their way back to Bath. She waited until Flynn had pulled up at the traffic lights at the bottom of Park Street and showed him the texts. The second one from Evie said: ‘OK, will do! See you later xx.’
‘I am brilliant,’ Lara said smugly.
‘You’re talking in tongues again. I need a translator.’
‘Come on, it’s obvious! Evie wasn’t texting me because she needed to find out what time I’d be back for dinner. She’s at the house with Harry and she wanted to know how much longer they had alone together!’
Flynn frowned. ‘Because she was bored?’
‘No! Because they don’t want to be interrupted!’
He looked bemused. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure.’ She marvelled at his inability to understand. ‘It’s obvious. And when I told her to have fun, she said, “I will!”’
‘But you asked her to save you some food. Are you sure that wasn’t why she said it?’
‘Look, you’re just a man. I’m the expert.’ Delighted with her matchmaking prowess, Lara said, ‘Trust me, I’m right.’
‘Except you told her you were staying in Bristol.’ They were passing Cabot Circus now, about to hit the motorway. ‘You can’t go home until ten.’
He had a point; she hadn’t thought this through. Okaaay . . .
‘I’ll go to the cinema,’ said Lara. That was a good decision, wasn’t it? ‘Just drop me by the Odeon.’
Forty minutes later they were in Bath.
‘What are you going to see?’ Flynn pulled up on double yellows outside the cinema.
Lara pointed to a poster. ‘That spy film with Rupert Everett.’
‘Really? It’s had terrible reviews.’
‘OK then, the comedy with Jack Black and the other fat one.’
‘That’s supposed to be even worse.’
Lara already knew this; she’d Googled them on her phone as they’d been speeding along the M4. ‘Fine, I’ll watch the sci-fi horror thingy with the bald guy and Paris Hilton.’
Flynn smiled slightly, not even bothering to state the obvious. ‘You can’t stand sci-fi.’
‘Maybe I’ll just head over to the Ellison instead, then. See what Enjay’s up to.’
He gave her a long look and pulled away from the kerb.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Home.’
‘No,’ Lara protested. ‘Evie and Harry aren’t expecting me. I don’t want to be a gooseberry.’
‘Not your home,’ said Flynn. ‘Mine.’
Ooh, that sounded masterful . . .
The flat, on the top floor of a smart Georgian terrace close to the Royal Crescent, was in what estate agents would describe as a prime location with stunning views over the city. Gigi had been here before but it was Lara’s first time. The kitchen was pretty small but the sitting room was huge and airy, with faded-aubergine walls and a purply-grey carpet. There were interesting paintings on the walls, a typically massive TV and a fantastically comfortable dark blue velvet sofa. Switching on the TV while Flynn was in the kitchen making coffee, Lara moved a couple of copies of SKI magazine off the sofa and on to the floor, then kicked off her shoes and tucked her bare feet under her. It had started to rain outside; the sound of raindrops pattering against the windows was oddly hypnotic. There was nothing good on TV though; honestly, why were early Sunday evenings always so rubbish? Flynn’s DVDs were over there but she’d got herself all comfortable now, couldn’t be bothered to move . . . mmm . . . mmm . . .
Swimming back to consciousness with her eyes still closed, the first thing Lara became aware of was the warmth of the pillow her head was resting on. Followed by the realisation that it wasn’t remotely pillowy.
Plus, it appeared to be breathing . . .
Her brain clicked into gear and began to race. She’d fallen asleep. Flynn had brought the coffee through from the kitchen and joined her on the sofa. At some stage she’d slid sideways from her upright position and ended up with her head against his chest.
It felt fantastic.
Next, she discovered his right hand was resting on her tucked-up knee; she could feel the warmth and the weight of it. To be fair, the way she’d ended up curled against him, there hadn’t really been anywhere else for it to go. Oh God, though, that felt brilliant too.
Keeping her breathing slow and even, Lara half-opened her eyes. This was dangerous territory; she already knew she shouldn’t be doing this. But it wasn’t her fault, you really couldn’t help what you got up to while you were fast asleep.
Like resting your own arm across the chest of the person you’d accidentally ended up snuggling against. Whoops, and there it was, draped over him. There was Flynn’s white shirt, now crumpled as a result of the snuggling. And his dark grey trousers, his tanned forearm, his beautiful body, the delicious oh-so-familiar smell of him . . .
‘Are you awake?’
She jumped slightly and felt him tilt his head to look at her.
‘Just woke up. Didn’t mean to fall asleep. Sorry.’
‘No problem.’
Her own weakness terrified her. Lara struggled into a sitting position, raked her fingers through her hair and said, ‘I should go.’
‘You don’t have to.’
She didn’t have to, obviously. But she definitely should leave. And Flynn wasn’t going to be any help, that was blatantly obvious. His hand was still resting on her leg, his thumb idly stroking her knee. He had that look in his eyes and it was having its usual chaotic effect. Lara found herself transfixed by his mouth.
‘Stay,’ Flynn murmured. ‘I don’t want you to go.’
The buzzing, when it came, felt like an actual electric shock. In her dazed state it took Lara a second to realise it was the phone in her shirt pocket, pressed between them and exerting a mini-jolt against both their chests, like being resuscitated in A&E.
&n
bsp; She pulled back and eased the phone out of her pocket.
Flynn said, ‘You could always not answer it.’
‘It could be Gigi, she might need me.’ Shamed by her earlier weakness, Lara intimated he didn’t understand; when you were a parent, ignoring a ringing phone simply wasn’t an option.
She knew the moment she’d said hello, even before hearing the voice at the other end of the line. The moment of hesitation was what gave it away. Her heart did an abrupt swoop-and-dive inside her ribcage and she could no longer meet Flynn’s gaze – his presence was too much of a distraction.
‘Ah, hello, you left your number a while back and I’m returning your call. My name’s James Agnew.’
I know, I know, I KNOW. It was the voice she’d been waiting to hear. Propelled to her feet, Lara jumped up and moved over to the window. He even sounded right, somehow. As if he could be her father.
‘Yes. Hi.’ Her pulse was galloping. ‘OK, um, this might be a bit of a bolt from the blue, but did you once know someone called Barbara Carson?’
This time she heard the surprise, the brief intake of breath. Followed by, ‘Oh my goodness. Yes I did. Barbara. Yes. Sorry, wasn’t expecting you to say that.’
Dimly aware that Flynn had disappeared into the kitchen to give her some privacy, Lara said, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know how else to do it.’
‘And now you’re contacting me. Can I ask . . . I mean, I’m listening to your voice. Is that . . . Lara?’
An enormous lump had sprung up in her throat. ‘Yes.’
Silence. Then, his own voice softening, James Agnew said, ‘Well, well, this is just amazing. I never thought I’d hear from you. How . . . absolutely wonderful.’
Hearing him was no longer enough. She wanted to see him, meet him in the flesh, know what he looked like. Nor could she ask him that all-important question, not over the phone. It wouldn’t be right.
‘I’ve called quite a few times,’ said Lara. ‘The woman who answered the phone couldn’t seem to understand me . . . you’ve been away for ages.’
‘World cruise. Just got back this morning. Yes, sorry about my housekeeper. She’s great at vacuuming carpets and watering plants but I’m afraid speaking English isn’t her forte.’
‘Could we meet up?’ Lara blurted the words out. ‘Would that be OK?’
‘Yes. Yes of course.’ She heard him exhale. ‘Oh dear, this is such unfortunate timing. Just back from the cruise, and on Tuesday morning I have to fly to New York on business, then on to Toronto after that. I’m away for three weeks . . . should we fix a date for the weekend after I get back?’
No, no, a whole month away? Lara’s heart plummeted; that was far too long to wait. She couldn’t bear it. But he clearly wouldn’t be able to cancel such an important business trip.
‘Unless . . . there’s tomorrow,’ James Agnew ventured. ‘I mean, I have a lot of catching up to do, stuff to sort out . . . I don’t know if there’s any way you could meet me here in London, maybe come to the house—’
‘Yes! Let’s do that!’ Oops, bit loud. ‘Sorry, did I just burst your eardrum? I’ll come to London.’ Lara was babbling, overcome with relief. The shop was closed on Mondays. ‘I’ve got your address, I know where you are. What time shall I get there? Whenever you like.’
‘Tomorrow then. Perfect. Shall we say midday? I can’t wait.’ He sounded as if he meant it. ‘Can I just ask one question?’
Oh God, did he know? Was he about to ask her if she knew he was her father? Lara said breathlessly, ‘Go on.’
‘How did you find me? How did you know my name?’
Lara exhaled. ‘Luck and subterfuge.’
He laughed. ‘Excellent. Good girl. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
She smiled, completely loving the sound, the elegant timbre of his voice. ‘I can’t wait.’
‘Well?’ said Flynn when she burst into the kitchen.
‘I’m meeting him tomorrow, going to his house. We’ll talk about everything then. Oh God, I’m shaking.’ She showed him her hands. ‘It’s really happening at last.’
‘How will you get up to London? Drive?’
He knew about her car, that there was an ominous rattling noise in the engine and she’d booked it into a local garage to get the rattle checked out. Lara pulled a face and said, ‘Can’t risk it. I’ll catch the train.’
But Flynn was already shaking his head. ‘They’re working on the line all week. Serious delays. Monday morning, it’ll be chaos.’
‘Hang on, I can’t concentrate. Everything’s in a whirl. I’ll get a taxi.’
‘You can’t get a taxi.’
‘Fine then, I’ll ask Enjay, maybe he’s going up.’ For goodness sake, she’d walk there if she had to.
‘Calm down, it’s OK. I’ll take you,’ said Flynn.
Ooh, that would be nice.
‘But you have to work.’
‘Gigi can hold the fort. I’ll take the day off.’
‘You don’t need to.’ Was it the mention of Enjay that had prompted the offer? ‘You could lend me your car.’
Flynn’s dark eyes flashed. ‘I’ll drive you. God knows, it’ll be safer that way.’
He was right; especially if she was going to be all of a jitter on the way there. Lara felt the tension ease from her shoulders.
‘OK, thanks.’
‘Hey, I’m happy for you. It’s great news. How does he sound?’
Would he understand? Lara said, ‘He sounds . . . right.’
‘Good.’ Flynn gave her a hug that five minutes ago would have played havoc with her body. Now she couldn’t even concentrate on Flynn; her mind was in a complete spin.
Luckily for her, unluckily for him.
‘Who are you calling now?’ He watched her fumbling with her phone.
‘Sorry? Hang on. Hi, it’s me,’ said Lara as Evie answered the phone. ‘Look, is it OK if I come home?’
‘Of course it’s OK. Just give us enough time to get our clothes back on.’
‘Really?’
‘No, not really. We put them back on ages ago.’
‘Oh my God, really?’
‘That was another joke,’ said Evie. ‘It’s fine to come home. Why are you sounding so weird? Are you all right?’
‘James Agnew just called. I’m meeting him tomorrow.’ Her voice trembled with happiness; she’d begun to think it would never happen.
‘Yay, brilliant! What does he sound like?’
Lara took a deep breath and experienced a rush of pure happiness. ‘I think he sounds . . . like my father.’
‘Here it is,’ said Flynn. ‘This is the one.’
For a moment Lara couldn’t speak. How many times had she studied this house, this street, every last detail on Google Earth? But now she was actually here in Belvedere Grove, seeing it with her own eyes. A large property set back from the road, a nice garden that had presumably been kept that way by a gardener while James Agnew was off on his world cruise. Variegated ivy climbed the walls of the white stucco-fronted villa and the wooden shutters were painted a deeper shade of green. The house was clearly well cared for, its polished windows gleaming in the sunshine.
‘Thanks for bringing me.’ He’d been right about her being in too much of a state to drive; she’d never been more jumpy in her life. ‘Do I look OK?’
Flynn smiled. ‘You’ll do.’
The irony of the situation hadn’t escaped her. Lara said, ‘This is exactly how Gigi felt before she met you for the first time.’
‘I know. And that hasn’t turned out too badly, has it?’ He reached over and gave her hand a brief reassuring squeeze. ‘Off you go. I’ll see you later. Good luck.’
Once he’d driven off, Lara straightened her collar and smoothed her fingers over her hair. Last night she’d spent ages agonising over what to wear today. In the end she’d gone for nice jeans and her favourite white shirt, because it wasn’t a job interview. She’d kept the make-up simple too, knowing from experience that the more important the
event, the more likely she was to keep slathering it on. Plus, she might cry and the clown look was never a good one.
The front door was dark green and glossy with a heavy brass knocker shaped like a lion’s head.
Right, here goes.
As she raised her hand to lift the knocker, the door opened.
And there he was, James Agnew, hopefully her father.
It was like being punched in the stomach, but in a good way.
He was tall, imposing, handsome, with silver-grey hair swept back from a tanned face and faded blue eyes surrounded by laughter lines. If she’d met him during those first few years of her life, she had no memory of it. Did he look like her? She couldn’t tell. There was no deep-down thud of recognition, but it somehow didn’t matter.
‘I watched you getting out of the car. Look at you.’ He shook his head, genial and marvelling at her. ‘Baby Lara. I never thought the day would come. This is just . . . incredible.’ He held out his hands, then hesitated. ‘May I?’
He was actually asking permission to give her a hug. Lara nodded, unable to speak, and allowed him to envelop her in his arms. He smelled of cigars and coffee and expensive cologne.
How soon could she ask him?
Then he was ushering her into the house, across the hall, through a stunning pale yellow living room and out into an airy conservatory overlooking the garden. A tiny woman with a face like a wizened sultana followed them in and placed a laden tray on the gleaming glass-topped table, then noiselessly retreated and left them in peace.
‘So. I want to know everything,’ James announced. ‘Did your mother tell you about me?’
‘No. Never. I don’t know if you know, she died when I was thirteen.’
He sighed. ‘I did, I did. I came back to Bath, must have been a year or two after that, and asked one of the neighbours if the Carsons were still living in the house. That’s when the woman told me about Barbara, that she’d died. I was devastated. As you must have been. I’m so sorry.’
Lara nodded. She still couldn’t ask him; the words were trapped inside her chest. But if he had been her father, wouldn’t he have hammered on the door, irrespective of Charles Carson’s outrage, and demanded custody of his child?