Jill Mansell Boxed Set

by Jill Mansell

  ‘Oh.’

  Computer talk was something of a no-go area, as far as Orla was concerned. Technology wasn’t her forte.

  ‘Well?’ Hugh prompted. ‘Is it?’

  Orla looked blank; she hadn’t the least idea. Crikey, she didn’t even understand the question. This was like being asked to stand up and explain the inner workings of a carburetor.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, is the provider taking a long time to connect?’

  Mystified, Orla shrugged.

  ‘It’s not a good idea to overload the system. The hard drive probably needs clearing.’ Hugh added kindly, ‘Would you like me to take a look while I’m here? Sort it out for you, before…?’

  He didn’t say so, but the implication was clear. Before it crashed, basically. Taking her entire manuscript with it.

  ‘Heavens, would you?’ Orla’s feet jiggled with anxiety. ‘I had no idea this could happen.’

  ‘I did mention it when I installed the system,’ said Hugh.

  ‘I didn’t listen! It’s not the kind of thing I listen to!’

  ‘Never mind. I’m here now.’

  Oh, those reassuring words, like Batman swooping to the rescue.

  ‘Thank goodness I bumped into you today!’ Orla exclaimed. ‘This is so kind of you.’

  Hugh broke into a smile as he pushed back his chair.

  ‘I know.’

  Chapter 44

  Upstairs in her office, from the safety of the window seat, Orla watched him with the kind of awe generally reserved for army experts detonating an unexploded bomb.

  Hugh, working in silence to access the hard drive, determinedly didn’t feel mean.

  Ten minutes later, Orla reached for her cigarettes. Without looking up, Hugh said, ‘You shouldn’t smoke around computers. It buggers them up.’

  She pulled a face; this was definitely something he’d told her before. Not that she’d taken a blind bit of notice.

  ‘I don’t know what this world’s coming to, I really don’t.’ Orla heaved a sigh and fiddled with her necklaces instead. ‘Can’t smoke in front of children or pregnant women or computers. If I went back to writing by hand, I’d probably be had up for cruelty to felt-tips.’

  ‘Look.’ Hugh pointed to the screen. ‘Forty megabytes of memory. Everything shoved in, willy-nilly. It’s taking up too much space, like bundling clothes into a chest of drawers. You have to throw out the stuff you don’t need and put the rest into some kind of order.’

  Orla rolled her eyes like a teenager being nagged to tidy her room.

  ‘And you need backup on an external hard drive.’

  ‘What I need is a cigarette.’ Defiantly, Orla slid a Marlboro out of the packet. ‘Darling, don’t look at me like that. You can manage all this external hard drive business without me, can’t you? I’ll just be in the garden getting some fresh air.’

  Hugh forced himself to wait until the backing-up was in progress before studying the various charts pinned up around the office. This time Orla had had no idea that he would be coming in here and no opportunity to take down the relevant sections.

  The ones with his name on them.

  As the computer busily clicked and whirred behind him, Hugh checked each chart in turn.

  His name wasn’t there. It wasn’t anywhere.

  The sense of relief was incredible. Orla hadn’t been lying to him after all. Millie hadn’t used him. She hadn’t breathed so much as a word to Orla about their night together.

  Then again, this might have less to do with sparing his feelings and more with being too embarrassed to admit to Orla that she’d slept with someone who’d run out on her with no rational explanation.

  At least, not one that he’d been able to put across.

  Hugh pushed his fingers through his hair and gazed out of the window. He’d treated Millie abysmally and she hadn’t done anything to deserve it.

  Something she did deserve was an apology.

  Then again, how much of a success was that likely to be? Absently fiddling with the loose button on the cuff of his white cotton shirt, he ran swiftly through the dialogue in his mind. Oh Millie, by the way, sorry if I’ve been keeping my distance lately, but a couple of things happened that I needed to sort out. First, I panicked after our night together. It was guilt, pure and simple. I felt like I was betraying Louisa… well, I was betraying Louisa… anyway, it hit me for six. And then the next thing was, I thought you’d been relaying every detail of our relationship back to Orla to give her book a bit of a boost. Except now, I realize you weren’t telling her about us at all. So, well done you!

  Bugger. Hugh cursed under his breath as the button came off his shirt. Apologizing was all very well, but what was he supposed to do after that? More to the point, what was Millie likely to do? Because if she flung her arms around him crying, ‘Oh thank God, I knew you loved me really,’ he was going to be faced with the horrid task of disentangling himself and explaining that no, no, sorry, she’d got hold of completely the wrong end of the stick here. This was an apology, pure and simple. It didn’t mean he wanted them to be together. In fact, that was the last thing he wanted. She really shouldn’t jump to conclusions.

  Hugh shuddered at the thought of actually saying the words. Basically, he knew he couldn’t.

  But that was the situation. If Millie had been upset when he’d done his runner—if she really had liked him a lot—then getting her hopes up and dashing them again would be cruel. Not to mention awkward.

  Then again, maybe he was flattering himself. She might not have given him a second thought. As far as she was concerned, it could simply have been a no-strings one-night stand.

  In which case, there was no need to even bring the subject up. She would have moved on by now, consigned it to the past and embarked on new adventures.

  With the likes of Con Deveraux.

  By the time Orla returned, several chain-smoked cigarettes later, he had finished backing-up her files and clearing space on the hard drive. He had also learnt from the chaotically scrawled charts pinned up around the office that Con Deveraux was currently in New York, that Hester’s boyfriend Nat was back from Glasgow, and that, having in the meantime slept with Lucas Kemp, Hester had discovered that he was staggeringly inept in bed.

  He found this last snippet of information hard to believe but curiously comforting.

  ‘All done?’ Orla, reeking of smoke, flashed him a bright smile.

  ‘All done.’ Hugh switched off the computer, then nodded casually at the charts on the walls. ‘These to do with the new book?’

  ‘Yes! I’m having a complete change of direction—this is my fly-on-the-wall, coming-of-age, literary novel.’ Orla beamed, as proud as any new mother.

  Hugh nodded. ‘And how’s it going?’

  ‘Really well! I’m actually enjoying the discipline of writing properly, after all these years of churning out mindless pap. Apart from the fact that it’s supposed to be about sex and relationships and my main character’s being completely hopeless and leading the life of an agoraphobic nun.’ Orla pulled a face and laughed. ‘Still, we’ll soon snap her out of that. It’s my friend Millie,’ she explained as an afterthought. ‘She was at my party the other week, but I’m fairly sure I didn’t introduce you.’

  Truthfully, Hugh replied, ‘No, you didn’t.’

  ‘Anyway, I’ve been doing a spot of matchmaking, so things are starting to look up.’ Orla’s green eyes sparkled with mischief. ‘In fact, she’s got a date tomorrow night with a lovely chap and I just know they’re going to get on.’

  Hugh’s faint smile concealed the involuntary tightening of the muscles in his jaw. ‘Really?’

  ‘Oh yes. See for yourself.’ Kneeling up on the window seat, Orla excitedly beckoned him over. ‘There he is, down there!’

  The man trimming the edges of the lawn was stripped to the waist, with broad, tanned shoulders and a capable air about him. He was also instantly recognizable as the drunk at Orla’s part
y who had grabbed hold of Millie and—in her own words—kissed like an Aquavac.

  ‘Your gardener.’ Hugh felt the muscles in his jaw relax.

  ‘He’s very well educated,’ Orla announced with pride. ‘His favorite author is Salman Rushdie.’

  Moving away from the window so she wouldn’t see the expression on his face, Hugh said idly, ‘And how can you be sure that this girl…’ he searched for the name ‘… Millie, tells you about everything she’s been up to?’

  Orla burst out laughing.

  ‘Honestly, that is such a typical man thing to say! I’ve already told you, Millie’s my friend. I trust her.’

  ‘How do you know you can trust her?’ Hugh was enjoying himself.

  The look Orla gave him was full of pity.

  ‘Because, Mr. Doubting Thomas, I know her. And she wouldn’t dream of lying to me. Millie Brady is as honest as the day is long.’

  Just so long as it’s a day in the middle of winter in Greenland, thought Hugh.

  ‘Anyway, we have to keep our fingers crossed for them.’ Crossing her own with a dazzle of diamonds, Orla wagged them gaily under his nose. ‘Because I’m telling you, I have very high hopes for tomorrow night.’

  ‘Oh come on, cheer up, you’re not that ugly.’

  Millie, gazing without enthusiasm at her reflection in the mirror above the fireplace, said, ‘I don’t want to do this.’

  ‘Don’t do it then.’ Hester shrugged, as if it were that simple.

  ‘I have to. I feel sorry for him. You can’t be mean to someone whose dad’s just died.’

  ‘Fine. I was only trying to help. You go off out to dinner with Richard-the-gardener-whose-dad’s-just-died. Just try not to have too much fun, okay? We don’t want you keeling over with the excitement of it all!’

  A happy Hester was almost as unbearable as a suicidal one, Millie decided as the front door swung open heralding Nat’s return. Until Lucas’s new restaurant was up and running, Nat was working in a tapas bar on the promenade. Squealing with delight, Hester wound herself around him and covered him with kisses. In the mirror, Millie saw Nat grin and murmur something naughty in Hester’s ear. Then, catching Millie’s eye, he made an effort to control himself. Clearing his throat, he gave Hester a nudge. Because that was the kind of person Nat was, Millie reminded herself. Thoughtful. Kind and considerate. He wouldn’t want her to feel awkward.

  Taking several steps back, Millie surveyed her outfit in the mirror. Nothing dazzling, just a light green strappy dress and matching fluffy angora cardigan in case she was chilly later. A bit boring, to be honest, but somehow appropriate for dinner with a horticulturist.

  Waiting patiently for Hester to finish canoodling with Nat, she said, ‘How do I look?’

  Sensitivity and consideration for other people’s feelings had never been Hester’s big thing. She beamed at Millie.

  ‘Like a gooseberry.’

  Richard turned up, as Millie had known he would, bang on time and looking like every mother’s dream son-in-law. Muscly, but not too muscly. Clean-cut and handsome, but not too handsome. Wearing a navy polo shirt, crisply ironed beige chinos, and—most important— a pair of well-polished tan brogues. He was also wearing aftershave, but not too much of it. Short, clean nails. And one of those nice, honest, crinkly-eyed smiles so beloved of prospective mothers-in-law the world over.

  Millie’s heart sank into her bronze sandals. Here was exactly the kind of man she should be settling down with, the faithful, hardworking kind who’d treat you like a princess and bring you breakfast in bed.

  And he did absolutely nothing for her.

  It was so unfair.

  ‘You look fantastic.’ Richard’s cheeks promptly reddened, in a clean-cut, healthy way.

  ‘Thanks. Um, so do you.’

  Doh!

  ‘Ready to go?’

  Millie smiled brightly and reached for her bag. ‘All ready!’ Turning, she yelled, ‘Hess? We’re off now. See you later.’

  Hester appeared at the top of the stairs clutching an empty Evian bottle.

  ‘I’ve just spilt water all over my bedroom carpet.’ Innocently raising her eyebrows, she said, ‘Okay if I borrow your Aquavac?’

  Twenty-seven hours later, Richard went to the gents’, leaving Millie alone at their table. Actually, it wasn’t twenty-seven hours, it was only two, but it felt like twenty-seven.

  He had brought her to Vincenzo’s, a popular Italian harborside restaurant with candles flickering on every table, fishing nets slung authentically from the ceiling, and Just-One-Cornetto-type music oozing sensually from the rickety speakers above the bar. Nobody could accuse Vincenzo of failing to provide potential young lovers with lots and lots of atmosphere.

  Poor old Vincenzo, thought Millie, it certainly wasn’t his fault their evening wasn’t going with a swing.

  The problem was Richard, who had all the charisma of a party political broadcast. Her earlier fears that he might talk non-stop about his father hadn’t materialized. Instead, he’d gone on and on about something far worse.

  Gardening.

  With the occasional dollop of Salman Rushdie thrown in for light relief.

  Feeling mean, but not mean enough to stop, Millie fantasized about the toilet door getting stuck shut, forcing Richard to spend the rest of the evening in the gents’. She was bored, bored, bored. Not to mention horribly sober.

  Terrified of repeating his performance at Orla’s party, Richard was sticking resolutely to mineral water. When he had asked Millie earlier if she’d like some wine, she had nodded eagerly, expecting him to order a bottle. Richard, in turn, had smiled his true-blue, crinkly-eyed smile at the waitress and announced with pride, ‘And a small glass of white wine for the lady.’

  To be fair, he’d ordered her another, fifty-five minutes later. Forty-five minutes after she’d finished the first.

  Feeling wicked—why, why?—Millie resolved to take advantage of his absence. Reaching for her empty glass, she attempted, valiantly, to gain the attention of a waiter.

  He whisked past without noticing the pleading tilt of her eyebrows. Bugger, so much for subtlety. Nat had always told her it was the height of rudeness to click your fingers for attention, but it had worked for that fat bloke over by the window. Maybe if she stood on her chair, pointed, and bawled, ‘Oi, you!’ that might do the trick.

  Millie’s shoulders were in the process of slumping in defeat when a voice murmured in her ear, ‘If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a damsel in distress.’

  Chapter 45

  The tables at Vincenzo’s were squashed together—to make it more atmospheric, Millie presumed. Startled, she watched one of the men at the adjoining table whisk her glass from her hand and fill it to the brim with red wine. With a flourish, he presented it to her, his chair still tilted back on its hind legs, and added, ‘There you go, you look as if you need it.’

  He was in his late twenties, Millie guessed, and he was laughing at her. But in a nice way. And he’d certainly done a kind thing, even if he did appear to think she was an alcoholic.

  ‘Thanks. But I’m not a damsel in distress.’

  ‘Ha, could have fooled us.’ The other one grinned at her.

  ‘Really, I’m not!’ Even as she was protesting her innocence, Millie couldn’t resist glugging back the wine.

  ‘My dear girl, you can’t fool us. We’ve been sitting here eavesdropping for the last forty minutes. And you are not having a happy time of it,’ the first one solemnly pronounced. ‘Furthermore, as doctors, we are in complete agreement. Our diagnosis is acute distress.’ He refilled her glass as he spoke. ‘Triggered by terminal boredom and talk of rhododendrons.’

  ‘And deciduous seedlings,’ monotoned his friend.

  ‘And rockeries and nasturtiums and the importance of mulching your grass cuttings.’

  ‘Although, to be fair, we did find the bit about cross-fertilization techniques almost interesting.’

  ‘Only because you thought he was
leading the conversation around to sex,’ the other one chided. He shook his head at Millie in sorrowful fashion. ‘We’re right though, aren’t we? You’re in the middle of the date from hell and you need rescuing.’

  Oh I do, I do!

  ‘He’s a nice person,’ Millie feebly protested.

  ‘Treatment is simple. A good brisk walk. I’m Jed, by the way.’ He winked and nodded in the direction of the propped-open front door.

  ‘I can’t. His father just died.’

  ‘Probably from boredom, having to sit and listen to his son droning on and on about potting compost and adequate drainage and the importance of pruning—’

  ‘He’s coming back,’ squeaked Millie as Richard reappeared, threading his way between the packed-together tables.

  As he sat down, Richard said with enthusiasm, ‘Sorry I’ve been a while. There’s a pot of pelargoniums on the window ledge in the gents’, about to expire! I’ve just been explaining to the owner of the restaurant that it needs regular watering and its tips pinched out if it’s going to have any chance of flourishing back there.’

  ‘Really?’ Out of the corner of her eye Millie could see Jed’s shoulders shaking. Cradling her glass so Richard couldn’t see the dregs of red in it, she said bravely, ‘I’d love another drink.’

  Ten minutes later, Jed and his friend finished their meal and asked for the bill. When they’d paid, Jed stood up and announced, ‘Right, we’re off. Actually, I need the loo first. You go on ahead.’

  As he moved away he glanced over his shoulder, catching Millie’s eye for a fraction of a second. Waiting until he had disappeared through the swing doors, she reached for her bag and pushed back her own chair.

  ‘Excuse me for a moment.’

  Jed was waiting for her in the narrow corridor leading to the loos.

  ‘I couldn’t go without checking on that pelargonium,’ he told Millie. ‘I’ve been worried sick about it.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Millie. ‘I just hope Vincenzo remembers to pinch those tips out.’

  ‘I knew I knew you from somewhere. Couldn’t figure it out before.’ Jed grinned at her. ‘You’re the gorillagram.’