Jill Mansell Boxed Set

by Jill Mansell

  ‘OK.’

  Proudly—and loudly—Sally whispered, ‘I don’t have cellulite.’

  God, he loved her so much. Gabe gave her knee a squeeze. ‘I know.’

  Thirty minutes later, as they were queuing to get off the plane, Gabe reached down to pick up the abandoned magazine.

  ‘Ga-abe, you’re worse than me,’ Sally protested behind him. ‘Put it down and step away from the magazine. I can’t believe you’re doing this. You never used to be interested.’

  ‘I just want to know who took one of the photos.’ He turned over the magazine and saw with a jolt that he hadn’t been mistaken. There on the cover, staring up at him, was Savannah.

  More to the point, it was one of the photographs he had taken of her. Bald and proud, smiling bravely. No Hair, No Shame! announced the headline, above the quote: ‘This is me, take me or leave me.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ Sally let out a shriek of disbelief. ‘That’s Savannah Hudson! What happened to her hair?’ She seized the magazine and flicked through it until she found the article inside. ‘She’s had alopecia for ages and was too ashamed to admit it!’ Skimming the page at the speed of light she said breathlessly, ‘She’s been wearing a wig for almost two years and no one ever guessed. She felt ugly and thought people would laugh at her… oh bless!… then she met someone who gave her the confidence to… oops, sorry.’

  The queue was moving. Sally was being jostled along the aisle by an impatient nun. Gabe, his heart quickening, said, ‘Does it say who?’

  ‘Hmm? Um… no, no name, she’s being discreet. Probably one of the actors from her last film.’ There was a rustle of pages behind him, then Sally said suddenly, ‘Bloody hell!’

  He braced himself. ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t believe it!’

  They’d reached the front of the plane; it was time to smile and thank the air hostess before disembarking via the metal staircase. The lively Irish wind was busy riffling the pages of the magazine and plastering Sally’s hair to her freshly applied lipstick, but Gabe knew she was still bursting to share her startling discovery. Savannah must have given the game away. Aloud he said, ‘You don’t believe what?’

  Sally clattered down the steps, leaning on her stick and shaking her head incredulously. ‘Savannah Hudson’s hair. Not her real hair, obviously, because she hasn’t got any. But that blond wig she’s been wearing. It cost seven thousand pounds!’

  Savannah hadn’t given the game away. When they reached baggage reclaim Gabe read through the article himself.

  ‘Why are you so interested?’ Sally rested her head against his shoulder.

  ‘I snapped her a while back, at a premiere in Leicester Square. Just wondered who’d done the photo session.’ His name hadn’t been printed; there was no byline. But pride still surged up because these were his photographs. And they looked great.

  ‘Oh sweetie, someone a bit more famous than you.’ Sally gave him a consoling hug. ‘Never mind, maybe one day you’ll be doing proper photos too.’

  Gabe half smiled, because there was no point in taking offense. It was the truth; half the people he photographed were prepared to tolerate him briefly, to spare him a few seconds as they emerged from a restaurant or paused on their way along the red carpet. The other half covered their faces or ran off in the opposite direction the moment they clapped eyes on him. It was fantastic that Savannah had used the photos he’d taken of her, but disappointing that she couldn’t have given him the credit. Especially as she had promised he could be the one to take the shots of her big ‘reveal.’

  Gabe shrugged. Oh well, that was life. He’d hurt her feelings; what did he expect?

  ‘It’s so brave of her,’ Sally was still gazing at the photo. ‘I mean, she’s Savannah Hudson. Poor thing, she looked amazing with hair. It must be awful to lose it.’

  Gabe felt compelled to defend her. ‘She still looks good.’

  ‘Pretty good,’ Sally conceded, tilting her head as she traced the outline of Savannah’s ears. ‘But you have to admit, these stick out a bit. A drop of Superglue might have helped. She does look a bit like a wing nut.’

  Chapter 53

  Nick stood by the mirrored doors at the entrance to the Savoy’s Lancaster Ballroom. Everyone had enjoyed an excellent dinner and the babble of voices was deafening. Scanning the room, he spotted Doug Tennant at one of the circular tables close to the stage. Presumably those around him were the work colleagues who had given Lola such a hard time on New Year’s Eve.

  Nick weighed up the situation. Should he be doing what he was about to do?

  Sod it, why not?

  Doug was leaning to one side, laughing at something the girl next to him had just said, when he saw Nick making his way towards the table. Recognizing him at once, Doug straightened and said, ‘Hello there. On your own tonight?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Doug raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly. ‘Don’t tell me your daughter’s got you following me now.’

  ‘Is that what you think? Not at all,’ said Nick. ‘She doesn’t even know I’m here.’ The blond girl at his side must be Isabel; oh well, couldn’t be helped. Keeping his tone light, he went on, ‘Anyway, she’s given up on you. You had your chance and you blew it. It’s your loss. I just hope you don’t live to regret it.’

  ‘Excuse me.’ An older woman who’d only just begun paying attention put down her wine glass and demanded, ‘What’s going on? Who is this man?’

  ‘My name’s Nick James.’ If this was one of Doug’s employees she was knocking on a bit. ‘My daughter knows Doug. I just came over to say hello, and to tell him that in my view he’s made a big mistake. Sorry,’ Nick added, addressing the girl at Doug’s side, ‘but it’s something that needed to be said. I can’t help myself; I think she’s had a rum deal.’

  ‘Doug?’ The older woman was sitting there, stiff-backed like a judge, clearly dissatisfied with the answer. ‘Who’s this person talking about?’

  Doug said flatly, ‘Lola.’

  ‘What? Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ The woman stared at Nick in disbelief. ‘You’re the father?’

  Instantly Nick realized his mistake. ‘I am. And you’re Doug’s mother. How very nice to meet you at last.’

  They both knew he didn’t mean it. Adele Nicholson looked as if she’d swallowed a pickled chile. ‘And you seriously think my son made a mistake?’

  Nick flashed her his most charming smile. ‘I do.’

  ‘The only mistake he made was getting himself involved with your daughter in the first place,’ Adele flashed back. ‘Do you know what that girl did to him?’

  ‘Yes, I know exactly what she did. And she made a mistake too, I’m not denying that. But she had her reasons. My point is, we all make mistakes,’ said Nick, ‘but there’s such a thing as forgiveness. I made a huge mistake twenty-eight years ago, but Lola has forgiven me. So has her mother. And we’re all here tonight for the same reason. To help people who’ve made mistakes.’ Noting the look of incomprehension on Adele’s carefully made-up face he picked up one of the glossy embossed programs from the table. ‘This is a charity dinner in aid of the Prince’s Trust. Some of the money raised this evening will go to help former prisoners who are being rehabilitated into the community.’

  Adele clearly hadn’t thought this through, had only come tonight because of the royal connection. She now looked as if she’d swallowed a frog.

  ‘Anyway, lecture over. It seems that some people are more easily forgiven than others. I’ll leave you in peace.’ Nick looked at Doug. ‘As I’ve already said, Lola’s accepted that you aren’t interested and she’s moving on. Personally, I still think you’re making a mistake. I may not have known Lola for long but she’s an amazing girl, loyal and generous, one of a kind. And I’m proud to be her father.’ He paused then said evenly, ‘One last thing. I wonder if you
’ve ever asked yourself why she needed that money?’

  Nobody spoke. Up on the stage the MC was preparing to introduce the band.

  Nick nodded fractionally at Doug. ‘I’ll leave you to enjoy the rest of the evening. Bye.’

  He was upstairs in the bar when Doug appeared beside him twenty minutes later.

  ‘I thought you’d left,’ said Doug.

  ‘Just had to get away from that bloody awful music. Not my thing.’ Nick signaled to the barman. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘Scotch and water. Thanks. I was rude earlier,’ Doug said dipping his head, ‘and I apologize. I shouldn’t have made that remark about Lola sending you here to follow me. That was below the belt.’

  ‘Look,’ said Nick, ‘I love my daughter to bits, but I can admit that she’s done her fair share of chasing after you. Up until a few weeks ago she might well have tried that trick. But it’s over now.’ He paused, paid for the drinks and said, ‘I’m sorry too. It probably wasn’t very sensitive of me to say all that stuff in front of everyone.’

  Doug smiled slightly, shrugged it off. ‘Never mind. It’s this business with the money that I’m interested in.’

  Thought you might be.

  ‘Did you ever ask Lola why she took it?’ said Nick.

  ‘Of course I did. She said she couldn’t tell me.’ Doug waited, took a sip of his drink, then said with a trace of impatience, ‘Well? I’m assuming she told you.’

  ‘No. I asked her but there was no way of getting it out of her. She said she was sorry, but she could never tell me.’

  ‘Same here.’ Doug looked disappointed; he’d clearly thought he’d been about to find out the truth.

  ‘Sorry. But something interesting happened last week. You know Lola never ever wanted her mother to find out about the money thing?’ Nick waited for Doug to nod before proceeding. ‘Well, Blythe did find out about it. You can imagine how shocked she was. She even called me to tell me about it. She couldn’t believe Lola had done such a terrible thing to you.’

  ‘And?’ Doug was gazing at him intently.

  After a pause, Nick said, ‘Blythe asked Lola what she’d spent the money on and Lola told her. A fancy Jeep, apparently. Which was stolen a week later. She hadn’t insured it, so that was it, the money was gone.’

  ‘Really? A Jeep?’ Doug frowned.

  ‘That’s the story.’ Nick held his gaze for a long moment before knocking back his Scotch in one go. ‘Think about it,’ he added, ready to leave and wondering if Doug Tennant was smart enough—surely—and cared enough—hopefully—to work it out. ‘Then ask yourself whether you think the story Lola told her mother was the truth.’

  Chapter 54

  Going cold turkey was proving harder than Sally had imagined. This was a magazine habit they were talking about, after all, not crack cocaine.

  Oh, but she had a long-standing habit to kick and she badly missed turning those glossy, exciting-smelling, brand new pages. She was doing her best to keep herself entertained instead with a copy of Pride and Prejudice lent to her by Lola but it just wasn’t doing the trick. Apart from anything else the pages weren’t glossy and there was no mention in it anywhere of Coronation Street. What’s more, the print was so tiny she had to screw up her eyes to read it, which made her realize she was probably on the verge of needing reading glasses which in turn made her feel old.

  ‘Oh shut up,’ Sally wailed at the TV as an advert for the latest edition of Heat came on. Chucking Pride and Prejudice at the screen only caused the craving to intensify.

  She tried changing channels and folding her arms. Oh yes, great help. OK, but how about if she didn’t buy a new magazine, just had a little look through an old one instead? That would take the edge off the cravings, wouldn’t it? Except she’d have to contain herself until she got to work and nabbed one of the tatty old germ-laden cast-offs in the waiting room and she wasn’t working this afternoon… oh now, hang on, unless there were still a couple lurking around here somewhere that had managed to escape the cull…

  A light bulb went on inside Sally’s head and she launched herself off the sofa. Because the sofa was the answer! In the bad old days when she’d been forced to tidy up at a moment’s notice, as much excess mess as humanly possible had been squashed into that narrow space between sofa and carpet. Furthermore, because out of sight was completely out of mind, it had never occurred to her to clear the stuff out.

  And thank goodness for that! On her hands and knees Sally peered into the dark gap and saw shoes, empty crisp packets, plates, socks, one of her all-time favorite devoré scarves—yay!—and, oh joy, a scrumpled-up magazine. She reached under the sofa for it, stretching her fingers to the limit—

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Sally paused, bottom up in the air. ‘Just looking for my pink scarf.’ She dragged it out, said triumphantly, ‘And here it is! Why, what are you doing?’

  ‘Admiring the view.’ Gabe grinned and gave her bottom a pat. ‘I’m off for a shower, got an appointment with a Page Three girl in Hyde Park.’

  ‘Lucky you. Will she be naked?’

  ‘Clothes on. Her agent set it up; it’s for a snatch pose. Which is not what it sounds like.’ He gave her a look as she started to snigger. ‘It means you use a long lens and make the shots look as if they’ve been snatched from a distance. The girl’s going to have a huge fight with her boyfriend at eleven o’clock on the bridge over the Serpentine. If it rains, we’ll shoot it in the café.’

  Sally smiled and watched Gabe disappear into the bathroom. The moment the door closed behind him she was burrowing back under the sofa for the magazine… reeeeach… oh dear, was this the equivalent of someone who’s given up cigarettes scrabbling about in the gutter for somebody else’s abandoned dog end?

  She fell on the magazine with a cry of relief. Dog-eared and battered it may be, but it was only a few weeks old. Still kneeling on the floor, Sally lovingly turned the pages. There was an interview with Nicole Kidman about her latest film. Kate Moss was wearing purple micro shorts and pink polka-dotted Wellingtons—as you do—as she shopped in Knightsbridge. Leonardo diCaprio was photographed playing volleyball on the beach, here was the montage of cellulite shots, there the snaps of unshaven armpits, the soap stars making holy shows of themselves at a party after an awards ceremony. OK, it wasn’t intellectual but it was entertaining, and during her darker days she’d drawn huge comfort from knowing that even super-glamorous celebrities could have disastrous love lives too. Not that this applied to her now, ta dah, she no longer needed to surround herself with other people’s misery because she had Gabe and he was everything she’d ever—oh.

  Sally’s stomach clenched with recognition as she turned a page and the envelope dropped out of the magazine into her lap. So that was what had happened to it during her fit of frenzied tidying the other week.

  She put down the magazine and examined the envelope with Gabe’s name on it. In one way it was nice to have the mystery of its disappearance solved. But it also presented her with a dilemma because she’d never actually mentioned the letter to Gabe.

  The temptation was to rip it to shreds and stuff it in the bottom of the kitchen bin. After first reading it, naturally. She knew it was from a female, and that around the time of its delivery Gabe had been in a seriously iffy mood. There was a distinct possibility that the non-arrival of the letter could have had something to do with that.

  Tear it up.

  Read it first.

  No, just tear it up and throw it away, it’s better not to know.

  OK, stop, stop. Sally closed her eyes. She loved Gabe and that meant she had to be honest with him.

  Fear beat like a bird inside her chest. Over the years, being honest hadn’t always come naturally to her. As she pushed open the bathroom door it crossed her mind that this could be the last time she saw his body
naked. And she’d only just got to know it. Oh God, could she do this?

  ‘Gabe?’ She opened the shower cubicle an inch, experienced a little frisson of lust at the sight of him and said, ‘I’ve got something for you.’

  Steam billowed out of the cubicle. Gabe turned, shampoo streaming down his face as he rinsed his hair. With a grin he opened the door wider and in one movement pulled her into the shower. The next moment she was minus her sodden dressing gown. ‘That’s a coincidence,’ he said playfully, ‘I’ve got something for you too.’

  Honestly, what a wasted opportunity; if she’d taken the envelope in with her, the ink would have run and the letter would have been rendered illegible, neatly solving all her problems in one go.

  Except she hadn’t thought of that, had she? Instead, like a complete durr-brain, she’d dropped it onto the tiled floor as Gabe was yanking her into the shower. And here it was, patiently waiting for them when they eventually emerged, twenty highly pleasurable minutes later.

  ‘OK, don’t be cross with me.’ Sally retrieved the envelope and handed it to him. ‘This arrived a couple of weeks ago, then it went missing. And that was your fault because you made me tidy the flat.’ She kissed him hard on the mouth. ‘I just found it under the sofa inside a magazine.’

  Gabe, who found her self-imposed ban hilarious, said affectionately, ‘Not that you’d ever look inside one of those.’

  ‘I lapsed. I’m only human. Anyway, read your letter.’ Grabbing a white bath towel and wrapping it around herself, Sally hastily left the bathroom.

  Mystified, Gabe shook back his hair then opened the envelope. The letter was handwritten in turquoise ink.

  Dearest Gabe,

  I deleted your number from my phone to stop myself from becoming your nuisance caller, hence this letter.

  Well, I’ve decided the time has come to show the world the real me. And I want to use the photos you took. Hope that’s OK with you. If you want me to give you the credit and a byline, get in touch. If I don’t hear from you I’ll be discreet and won’t use your name. I shall also donate the fee for the article and your photos to Alopecia UK.