by Jill Mansell
All love,
Sav
xxx
Gabe smiled and wondered how much money he’d missed out on. He could have used it to leave the papping life behind him and start afresh in a studio… Oh well, never mind, too late to worry about it now. The charity wouldn’t be too thrilled if he were to ring them and demand his share of the fee back. And in time he would set up on his own, specializing in portrait photography. At least Savannah had made the effort to contact him, which was good of her.
He was glad she’d thought of him.
Sally was outside the bathroom, waiting for him and visibly bracing herself. ‘Well?’
She’d probably had her ear pressed up against the door. ‘It’s fine. Nothing important.’
He saw her exhale. ‘Really? Oh thank God. You’re not cross that I didn’t tell you?’
Gabe shook his head. ‘No.’
Sally hugged him. ‘Sorry. I love you.’ She leaned back, gazing into his eyes. ‘You’re sure it’s OK?’
‘I love you too.’ Kissing her, Gabe said, ‘And I’m sure. It was just someone wanting me to take a few photos of them. I’d probably have said no anyway.’
‘Girlie handwriting.’
‘That would be because it was written by a girl.’
‘Pretty?’
‘Yes.’
‘Girlfriend of yours?’ Sally ventured.
Had Savannah ever really been his girlfriend? Not if he was honest. Gabe shook his head. ‘No, just a friend. And I won’t be hearing from her again now.’
‘Well, good. Especially if she’s pretty.’ Sally eyed the letter folded in his hand. ‘Can I read it?’
‘Why? Don’t you trust me?’ Then, when she hesitated, ‘Look, I know you’ve had a rotten time with men in the past, but I’m not like them.’
‘I know.’
Gabe held up the letter. ‘Here, you can read it if you want.’
Sally visibly relaxed. ‘It’s OK. I don’t need to. You can throw it away.’
‘Trust me?’
‘I trust you.’
Gabe softened. Slowly but surely he would convince her that he’d never let her down, that she was the most important person in his life. Dropping the letter into the loo, he pulled the flush and said, ‘Good.’
Chapter 55
Lola was on the shop floor rebuilding a display of cookery books that had been casually demolished by a student’s backpack. As she balanced Delia on top of Jean-Christophe Novelli—ha, it was all right for some—a woman with a bag-laden stroller came racing into the shop. Flustered and clearly in a state of panic she rushed up to Lola. ‘Excuse me, do you have a loo?’
The boy lolling in the stroller glanced up at Lola, typical male, sublimely unconcerned by the problems he was causing. Feeling sorry for the woman—this was the joys of motherhood for you—Lola said, ‘Yes, over there to the left of the biographies, right at the back of the shop.’
The perspiring woman gasped, ‘Thanks so much,’ picked up the carton of fruit juice her son had just chucked to the ground and yanked the stroller to the left. ‘Come on, Tom, let’s go.’
Before she could scoot him away, the little boy beamed up at Lola and said in a loud, conspiratorial voice, ‘Mummy’s got to do a big poo.’ Which hugely entertained everyone else in the vicinity. Sniggers abounded as the poor mortified woman scurried off. Normally an event like this would have made Lola’s day. Instead she carried on propping up books.
‘Are you all right?’ Cheryl arrived with another box of hardbacks to add to the display.
‘I think I need something to look forward to.’ Lola’s stomach rumbled as she said it. Checking her watch and realizing it was twelve fifteen, she said impulsively, ‘Like a really nice lunch. How about coming with me to Rossano’s? My treat.’
But Cheryl was already looking awkward and shaking her head. ‘Today? Sorry, can’t make it. I’ve got an appointment.’
‘Oh.’ Why didn’t that sound believable—apart from the fact that Cheryl was the world’s most feeble liar?
‘Sorry! But some other time, definitely!’
Lola nodded. ‘Who’s your appointment with?’
‘Um… a doctor.’
Well, how about that? Untruthfuller and untruthfuller. Lola looked concerned. ‘Are you ill?’
‘N-no.’
‘Pregnant?’
‘No!’
This was fascinating. Her assistant manager was by this time the color of a plum.
‘I think I can guess,’ said Lola. ‘It’s Botox.’
Cheryl’s shoulders sagged with relief. ‘Yes, Botox.’
‘The time has come and you’re giving it a whirl.’
‘Well, you know.’ Cheryl touched her forehead. ‘I’ve been getting a bit… frowny lately.’
Lola nodded. ‘I’ve noticed that too. Look, why don’t I come along and hold your hand?’
Cheryl said hurriedly, ‘Oh, there’s no need, it’s just a preliminary appointment to have a chat about it. I haven’t made my mind up quite yet.’
One o’clock arrived and there was only one thing for it. Lola left the shop first with a cheery, ‘Good luck!’ and melted into the crowds of shoppers on the opposite side of the road. In all honesty, there was nothing like a spot of harmless sleuthing to cheer a girl up on a Tuesday lunchtime.
When Cheryl emerged from Kingsley’s five minutes later she turned left and headed up Regent Street at quite a pace. Lola tucked the collar of her black coat up around her neck, as all the good spies do, and followed at a discreet distance. Cheryl had re-done her make-up and taken her hair out of its ponytail. She was wearing a swingy white jacket over her red dress and the flat grey pumps she wore for work had been replaced with crimson high heels. She looked lovely. Any syringe-wielding medic would have been impressed. Relieved she hadn’t flagged down a cab, Lola stayed on her tail as she plunged down a side street. With fewer people around she’d be spotted if Cheryl looked back, might have to pretend to be engrossed in the eye-popping display—yeek!—in the window of this Soho sex shop.
But Cheryl didn’t look back. She carried on heading deeper into Soho. Finally reaching Wardour Street, she paused outside a super-chic, green and silver-fronted restaurant. Lola hung back, watching with interest as she ran up the steps and disappeared inside.
Well, this was interesting. Cheryl was without question meeting a man and chances were that his interest in her wasn’t medical. (‘Why, Doctor, is that a Botox syringe in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?’)
The big puzzle was, why was she being so evasive about it?
OK, only one way to find out.
‘Good afternoon,’ said the charming blond receptionist. ‘May I help you?’ The interior of the restaurant was pale green and silver, modern and expensive-looking and curvy.
‘Hi there, I’m supposed to be meeting my friend,’ said Lola. ‘Her name’s Cheryl Dixon.’
‘I’m sorry, madam, we don’t have a booking in that name.’
‘I know, I’m so sorry, I can’t remember the name of the other person.’ Lola smiled, determined to out-charm the receptionist, and attempted to sneak a look at the list of names on the computer screen. ‘My friend just came in a minute ago, she’s wearing red stilettos.’
The receptionist swiftly swung the computer screen around so Lola couldn’t see it.
‘Sorry, madam, if you don’t have a booking…’
‘Oh please, I have to see them, it’s urgent… her car’s being towed away…’
The receptionist’s smile was now a thing of the past. ‘But that’s not actually true, is it?’
Blimey, what was this place, Fort Knox? The tables were situated in booths, which meant you couldn’t see who was seated at them. At this rate the restaur
ant had to be harboring the Pope out on a hot date with Maggie Smith.
‘OK, I need the loo,’ said Lola.
‘Madam, the cloakroom facilities are for customers only.’
Why was this girl being so obstructive? ‘Sorry, but I need the loo now. It’s an emergency.’ Lola gazed at her then raised her voice slightly. ‘I have to do a big poo.’
She watched the receptionist wondering if she meant it. After a second—because what if she did?—the blond pointed the way. ‘Over there, up the stairs and on the left.’
‘Thanks.’ Lola set off across the restaurant, peering into each booth as she passed and earning herself some odd looks along the way. No Pope so far. No Cheryl either.
Then she saw them. So wrapped up in each other they didn’t even notice her standing there. Stunned, Lola observed the giveaway body language going on between the two of them; if that wasn’t full-blown flirtation she didn’t know what was.
Hell’s bells, and she hadn’t even had the slightest inkling…
On the other hand, thank God it wasn’t who she’d subconsciously been afraid it might be.
Cheryl spotted her first. Her face changed in an instant from lit up to oh fuck. She promptly knocked over her glass of wine.
‘Hi, Cheryl. I wouldn’t let him inject your frown lines if I were you. I’m not sure he’s a qualified doctor.’
‘You followed me!’ Cheryl bat-squeaked, the familiar flush crawling up her neck.
‘I had to. You wouldn’t tell me who you were seeing. Hello, Dad.’ Lola gave her father a hug. ‘I tried to ring you on Saturday night to see if you wanted to go to the cinema but your phone was switched off.’
‘Boring works do.’ Nick kissed her on the cheek then regarded her with concern. ‘Sorry about this. Are you upset?’
‘About you and Cheryl? God no, it’s fantastic! I just can’t believe it. How long has this been going on?’
‘A few weeks.’ Luckily the spilled wine was white; Nick used a pale green napkin to mop it up.
‘So that’s why you’ve been coming into the shop to buy so many books. I thought you were doing it so you could see me!’
‘Sweetheart, I was.’ Nick grinned. ‘You were the number one reason.’ He paused. ‘Cheryl was the unexpected bonus.’
Lola pulled up an extra chair and sat down. ‘Now I know how the star of the show feels when the understudy gets more applause than she does.’
‘Then I came in one day when you were off and we got chatting.’
‘I told him how nice you were to work for,’ Cheryl said hopefully.
‘Anyway, there was a spark between us, so I asked her out. We had a great time and it’s gone on from there.’
‘And you just forgot to mention it to your only daughter.’
‘We didn’t know how you’d react,’ said Cheryl.
‘You make it sound as if you’re scared of me.’ Lola shook her head in disbelief.
Cheryl pulled a face. ‘I am.’
‘Madam?’ A waiter materialized at the table with their menus. ‘Are you joining your friends for lunch?’
Lola’s stomach gurgled. She looked from her father to Cheryl then back again.
‘Is that your stomach? Are you starving?’ Nick squeezed her arm. ‘Of course you’re staying for lunch.’
Touched by the offer when it was so obvious they’d rather be alone together, Lola pushed back her chair. ‘It’s OK, I’ll leave you to it. And don’t worry, I think it’s great that you’re seeing each other.’
She honestly genuinely truthfully did. And not just because Cheryl was lovely and deserved someone nice after her pig of an ex-husband had abandoned her three years ago. Lola hugged them both and left them to enjoy their lunch in peace. What she couldn’t admit to anyone was the sensation of icy fear she’d experienced on realizing that Cheryl didn’t want her to know who she was seeing.
Of course it seemed ridiculous now, but just for a while back there it had crossed her mind to wonder if it could have been Doug.
The blond receptionist raised oh-so-polite, perfectly sculptured eyebrows as Lola sashayed past the desk. ‘Better now, madam?’
The receptionist who was so perfect, naturally, that she’d never been to the loo in her life.
Lola nodded and beamed at her. ‘Yes thanks. Much.’
Chapter 56
The woman placing the order rested threadbare elbows on the counter and said, ‘It’s the most marvelous book, you know. Called When Miss Denby went to Devon. By Fidelma Barlow. Have you heard of it?’
‘Sorry, no, that one’s passed me by.’ Lola typed the details into the computer.
‘Oh, it’s unputdownable, an absolute joy! I can’t understand why it isn’t a Sunday Times bestseller. It deserves to be made into a film!’ The woman nodded enthusiastically. ‘Miss Denby would be a wonderful role for Dame Judi Dench.’
Lola checked the screen. ‘Okaaay, yes, we can get that for you by Friday.’
‘Lovely!’ The woman’s face lit up. ‘Can I order fifty copies please?’
‘Fifty! Gosh.’ Maybe it was for a book club. Hesitating for a moment, Lola said, ‘You have to pay for them in advance, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh no, it’s OK.’ The woman shook her head. ‘I don’t want to pay for them.’
‘I know it’s a lot of money. But somebody has to.’
‘But not me! I just want you to put them on the shelves. Make a nice display like you do with the Richard and Judy books. Right at the front of the shop,’ the woman said helpfully, ‘so that people will buy them.’
By the time Lola had finished explaining the niceties of stock ordering to a disappointed Fidelma Barlow, it was almost eight o’clock, kicking out time. Fidelma, shoulders drooping, left the shop. Lola, who knew just how she felt, dispiritedly straightened a pile of bookmarks and wondered if she could bear to go along to the party tonight that Tim and Darren had invited her to… except she already knew she couldn’t, which meant she was now going to have to come up with a convincing reason why not.
The next moment she looked up and almost fell over. There, standing six feet away like an honest-to-goodness mirage, was Doug.
Lola’s heart, which never listened to her head and hadn’t yet learned to stop hoping, went into instantaneous clattery overdrive.
‘Hello.’ She clutched the computer for support. ‘What’s this? Is my mum on the telly again?’
Doug smiled slightly. ‘No.’
‘My dad then? On Crimewatch?’
‘Haven’t spotted him on Crimewatch. Maybe he was the one in the balaclava.’ Tilting his head, Doug said, ‘But you’re half right. I am here because of your dad.’
‘You are?’ She hadn’t been expecting him to say that.
‘We had a chat on Saturday night.’
‘You did?’
‘He didn’t mention it? OK, obviously not. Well, we were at the Savoy.’
Lola boggled. ‘My dad was there?’ So that was why his mobile had been switched off. And to think he could have come along to the cinema with her instead.
‘Well, we didn’t communicate by telepathy. He spoke to me about you. Quite forcefully, in fact.’ Doug paused, then glanced over at a nervously hovering Darren who was waiting to empty the till. ‘Sorry, could you just give us a couple of minutes?’
‘Um, but I need to get the—’
‘Darren?’ Lola murmured the word out of the corner of her mouth. ‘Go away.’
‘OK.’ Defeated, Darren slunk off.
‘I was watching you with that woman just now. The one who wanted you to stock her book,’ said Doug. ‘You were really nice to her.’
‘That’s because I’m a really nice person. Believe it or not. And you were eavesdropping.’
‘Not eavesdroppi
ng. Listening. Like I listened to your dad on Saturday night.’ He waited, gazing directly into Lola’s eyes. ‘I know why you took that money when my mother offered it to you.’
‘What?’ Lola felt as if all the air had been vacuumed out of her lungs. How could he know that? It wasn’t physically possible; it just wasn’t.
Doug gave an infinitesimal shrug. ‘OK, I don’t know exactly why. But I do know it didn’t have anything to do with a Jeep.’
‘How? Why not?’ Anxiety was now skittering around inside Lola’s stomach like a squirrel.
‘Because you told me you could never tell me the reason you needed the money. And that’s what you said to your father too.’ Doug tilted an eyebrow at her. ‘But if the Jeep story was true, there’s no reason why you couldn’t have told us that. Therefore it stands to reason that it wasn’t.’
Lola felt dizzy. This was like being cross-examined on the witness stand by a barrister a zillion times cleverer than you. In fact this might be a good moment to faint.
‘So basically,’ Doug continued, ‘you needed the money for something that meant far more to you than a Jeep. It was also something you were determined your mother was never to find out about.’ Pause. ‘Well, there was only one other person on the planet who was that important to you back then.’ Another longer pause. ‘And that was your stepfather Alex.’
Lola’s eyes filled with tears. She blinked and realized the shop was empty. No customers, no staff. Everyone had gone, miraculously disappeared. Thank God.
‘I can’t tell you.’ Helplessly she shook her head. ‘I just can’t. I made a promise.’
‘That’s OK, I’m not asking you to. No digging.’ Doug’s voice softened. ‘I know who you did it for. I don’t need to know why. I didn’t understand before, but I do now. That’s enough. It’s all in the past.’
Was this how Catholics felt when they were absolved of all sin and forgiven by God? Lola, who hated crying in front of people but seemed to have been doing a lot of it lately, could feel the tears rolling faster and faster down her face. She couldn’t speak, only nod in a hopeless, all-over-the-place, nodding-doggy kind of way.