It Started with a Secret: The feel-good novel of the year, from the bestselling author of MAYBE THIS TIME
Page 1
Copyright © 2020 Jill Mansell
Extract from Maybe This Time © 2019 Jill Mansell
The right of Jill Mansell to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
First published in 2020 by
HEADLINE REVIEW
An imprint of HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
First published as an Ebook in 2020 by
HEADLINE REVIEW
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
eISBN: 978 1 4722 4848 0
Jacket design by Siobhan Hooper; jacket illustration © Giovanna Giuliano; title lettering © www.sophiaslater.com.
Map illustration by Laura Hall
HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About the Author
Praise
Also by Jill Mansell
About the Book
Dedication
Map of St Carys
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Read the opening chapters of MAYBE THIS TIME
Don’t miss Jill Mansell’s other unforgettable novels
About the Author
It Started With A Secret is the thirty-first fabulous, feel-good novel from Jill Mansell, whose books have sold over 11 million copies around the world.
Jill lives with her family in Bristol, and is now a full-time writer, having previously worked in the field of Clinical Neurophysiology.
Her hobbies include buying stationery, particularly magical new colours of ink for the fountain pen she uses to write all her books. (And if ‘magical’ sounds far-fetched, go on, just take a look at internet images for Emerald of Chivor, Jill’s favourite.)
Her other hobbies include people-watching and finding new characters to put in her novels. So when you’re out, make sure to always be on your best behaviour. And beware beady-eyed authors carrying notebooks . . .
Twitter @JillMansell
Facebook/OfficialJillMansell
The joy of Jill Mansell
‘A heartwarming treat from one of my favourite writers’ Katie Fforde
‘Romantic and brilliantly written . . . A feel-good gem’ **** Heat
‘Reading Jill is always such a joy!’ Veronica Henry
‘A lovely uplifting read’ Good Housekeeping
‘Fans of PS, I LOVE YOU will enjoy this funny and heart-warming read’ Bella
‘The sweetest love story of the year’ Fabulous
‘A wonderful feel-good summer read that’s full of unexpected twists and turns’ S Magazine, Sunday Express
‘Jill Mansell is the queen of witty, heart-warming, feel-good love stories’ Red
‘The perfect romantic read to make you smile and dream of long summer days by the beach’ Woman & Home
Also by Jill Mansell
It Started With A Secret
Maybe This Time
This Could Change Everything
Meet Me At Beachcomber Bay
You And Me, Always
Three Amazing Things About You
The Unpredictable Consequences Of Love
Don’t Want To Miss A Thing
A Walk In The Park
To The Moon And Back
Take A Chance On Me
Rumour Has It
An Offer You Can’t Refuse
Thinking Of You
Making Your Mind Up
The One You Really Want
Falling For You
Nadia Knows Best
Staying At Daisy’s
Millie’s Fling
Good At Games
Miranda’s Big Mistake
Head Over Heels
Mixed Doubles
Perfect Timing
Fast Friends
Solo
Kiss
Sheer Mischief
Open House
Two’s Company
About the Book
The trouble with secrets is that you can’t guess what the consequences will be . . .
Lainey has just lost everything. Luckily one little fib (OK, quite a big fib) helps nail her dream job. Soon she’s living in a stunning house by the sea, fending off obsessed fans for a retired – if far-from-retiring – actor and organising his charming but chaotic family. Yes, everyone thinks she’s part of a couple and it’s tricky keeping this secret. But at least she’s not looking for love: with her disastrous relationship history, men are definitely off the agenda.
Except Seth, the actor’s grandson, really is very attractive. There’s growing chemistry and a definite connection between them. What would happen if he knew the truth?
But Lainey’s not the only one with a secret – it seems everyone has them! And they’re all about to start unravelling . . .
This book is dedicated to the Romantic Novelists’ Association, which celebrates its Diamond Jubilee in 2020. I’m proud to belong to such a welcoming, supportive and friendly organisation. Here’s to all members past, present and future, and to the next sixty years of romantic fiction. Love is love!
Chapter 1
Lainey could hear the helicopter before it came into view over the tops of the trees, the powerful thud-thud-thud of the rotor blades quite thrilling out here in the depths of the French countryside. She wondered what it would be like to actually take a trip in a helicopter.
Blinking, she shielded her eyes from the bright afternoon sun. ‘Here they are then, right on time.’
Bill, standing next to her on the ancient sto
ne steps of the chateau, said, ‘Remember, anything they want, they get. Before they even know they want it.’
The faint tremor in her boss’s voice signalled just how vital it was that this stay was a success. Lainey passed him a tissue so he could mop his brow. ‘Everything’s going to be fine.’ They’d worked so hard; every eventuality had been covered. What could possibly go wrong?
Well, apart from water pipes bursting, ceilings falling in or the electrics blowing up, but now wasn’t the time to think about things like that.
Together they followed the grey and silver helicopter’s trajectory as it drew nearer, descending from a cloudless cobalt-blue sky and aiming for the landing pad in the centre of the front lawn.
Bill puffed out a lungful of air and wiped his palms with an already damp and mangled tissue. ‘Everything has to be better than fine. It needs to be perfect.’
Lainey felt his pain. Behind them, Bill’s wife was shrilly calling out to everyone to gather on the steps in order to greet their all-important guests, Downton style. Bill and Biddy, in their late fifties, were lifelong Francophiles who had made the decision two years ago to take the plunge and exchange their immaculate semi in Hounslow for a dilapidated twelve-bedroom chateau in the Loire valley, with the aim of living the good life, enjoying the warmer weather and spectacular scenery, and socialising with like-minded expats and friendly locals alike. In order to finance the dream, the plan had been to host guests at the chateau, and hold weddings and special events there too.
In theory it had sounded like everyone’s idea of an idyllic existence, but it hadn’t turned out to be nearly as easy or as much fun as they’d envisaged. A centuries-old chateau was an always-ravenous money pit, and the small bequest left to them by Biddy’s parents had soon been swallowed up. The moment the fences were repaired, the drains collapsed. Once the leaking roof was fixed, fifty huge window frames needed replacing. No sooner were the chimneys unblocked than the ancient plumbing system disintegrated and the floorboards developed dry rot.
But Bill and Biddy had valiantly ploughed on, addressing the locals in loud mangled Franglais and getting frustrated when they were unable to make themselves understood. A year ago they’d taken on several members of staff, Lainey amongst them, and finally opened their expensively refurbished doors to paying guests.
Today’s were the most VIP visitors by far. Wyatt Hilstanton, a member of a hugely wealthy Boston banking dynasty, had relocated to London several years ago, and was arriving here with his British girlfriend, Penny, with the intention of proposing to her. It was to be the ultimate romantic surprise, and every last detail had been planned for weeks. The chateau was full of Hilstantons, who had arrived earlier and were currently hiding upstairs until it was time to celebrate.
Best of all, Wyatt’s father had booked the chateau for an entire week in August for the wedding itself.
As Lainey straightened her shoulders, footsteps sounded behind her and a hand came to rest lightly on her bottom. Turning, she glimpsed the flash of a grin before Anton raised his eyebrows in a Who, me? protestation of innocence. But his hand stayed where it was, and now it was her turn to smile. Maybe when they were off duty later tonight, they could celebrate Wyatt and Penny’s engagement in their own way.
The helicopter settled at the very centre of the landing pad. When the rotor blades had stopped turning, the guests alighted and made their way across the grass. ‘Just remember, everyone,’ Biddy murmured. ‘Be nice.’
‘Welcome, welcome to Chateau de Rafale!’ Bill pumped Wyatt’s hand in greeting and bowed, then shook Penny’s hand even more energetically and did a kind of manly curtsey. Biddy followed his lead, whilst the rest of them stood there and beamed until their cheeks ached.
Lainey studied Penny Carter, Wyatt’s girlfriend, and was relieved to see she wasn’t an obvious gold-digger type. Unless this was the nifty double bluff employed by all the most successful gold-diggers. But no, she was pretty certain that wasn’t the case here. While Wyatt was encased head to toe in Ralph Lauren, possibly a size too small for him, Penny was dressed in a white sleeveless cotton top, a plain knee-length pink skirt and sensible low-heeled espadrilles. Her hair and nails were short and unadorned. She had a pretty, heart-shaped face and a sweet smile.
‘I can’t believe how beautiful this place is,’ she marvelled. ‘I’ve never stayed in a chateau before!’
‘Everything’s ready for you,’ said Bill. ‘Let me show you upstairs to your rooms.’
‘My favourite stepson,’ Majella exclaimed with delight when she heard Seth’s voice on the phone. ‘Hello, darling! How are you?’
‘Good, thanks. I’ve just taken a look at the ad on the website.’ As always, Seth came straight to the point. ‘Did you write it?’
‘No.’ Majella was frantically searching the kitchen for her car keys. ‘I called the agency and explained what we needed, and they told me to leave it with them. Oh dear, is there a problem?’ She hadn’t spotted any errors, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any.
‘Right, let me read it out to you: “Live-in domestic couple, full-time permanent position, cleaning and organisation. Competitive salary. Cornwall.”’ Seth paused. ‘And that’s it.’
‘Oh. Is it wrong?’
‘It’s so . . . bland.’
Majella sighed. ‘I know. But that’s what those kinds of adverts are like.’
‘Remind me what you said about the couple you interviewed on Monday.’
‘They were boring.’ She pulled a face at the thought of them; they’d actually been the king and queen of boring. The prospect of having to spend her days in their company was just too awful to contemplate.
‘And have there been any more applicants since then?’
‘None.’ For goodness’ sake, where were her car keys?
‘Well that’s probably because they fell asleep reading the advert. What’s that noise?’ said Seth.
‘Sorry, just dropped the biscuit tin. I’m looking for my keys. Oh Glenda, no, that’s naughty . . .’ But she was too late: the little dog had already snaffled up two digestives and was racing out of the kitchen, her tail helicoptering with joy at the unexpected gift.
‘You need to rewrite the ad,’ Seth advised. ‘In your own words. Say what you’re really looking for and let the applicants know what they’d be getting themselves into.’
‘Ha, they’d run a mile.’
‘Just be chatty and informal and honest, like the way you used to write to me when I was at school, remember?’
‘Of course I remember.’ Warmed by the memory, Majella nodded. ‘Yes, you’re right. Thank you, darling, I’ll do it tonight. Now, d’you have any idea where I might have left my car keys?’
‘No, but the last time you couldn’t find them, you’d put them in your bra for safe keeping.’
It was ten to six. The plan was that at six o’clock, Wyatt would suggest to Penny that they go for a stroll around the grounds of the chateau before dinner. Along the way, they would ‘accidentally’ discover a tiny stone crypt tucked in amongst the trees with its old wooden door standing slightly open. Wyatt would wonder aloud what might be inside, and they would venture towards the building to find out. Then, as they entered and closed the door behind them, Penny would be greeted by the sight of dozens of candles burning like tiny stars inside glass holders, silver heart-shaped helium balloons bobbing from the ceiling and hundreds of crimson rose petals strewn on the ground.
Lainey hadn’t been so sure about the heart-shaped helium balloons, but Wyatt had insisted. Nor had she been entirely convinced by the music he’d chosen to start playing as soon as the door was closed, because in all honesty he didn’t have the best singing voice and ‘My Heart Will Go On’ was a demanding song at the best of times. But apparently it was ‘their’ song and he’d made the recording specially. And as Bill had stressed several hundred times, Wyatt’s every wish was their command.
At six on the dot, showered and changed into smart evening clothes, the cou
ple arrived downstairs and headed outside for their pre-dinner stroll in the grounds. As soon as they’d made their way out through the front entrance, Lainey and her friend and fellow employee Kit collected together the silver ice bucket, the chilled vintage Bollinger, a silver tray and two crystal champagne flutes. Having filled the bucket with ice, they slid out through the side door of the kitchen and raced over to the crypt.
‘This bottle cost eight hundred euros,’ Kit murmured as he positioned it at an angle in the ice bucket. ‘I didn’t believe Bill when he told me. But then I googled it.’
Lainey had spent the last hour pulling petals off roses, which had made her feel like a murderer. Now she took them out of their bag and scattered them across the flagstoned floor. Above them, the helium balloons swayed in the faint breeze coming through the open door. She made sure the phone was set up on the docking station and slipped the remote control into her pocket. Right, all done. Time to escape and silently lurk behind the handily positioned stone wall to the left of the crypt.
They were joined there by Bill and Biddy. A few minutes later, they heard Penny and Wyatt making their approach. Biddy beamed excitedly at Lainey.
‘Oh hey, look at this place,’ Wyatt exclaimed. ‘Wonder what’s inside?’
‘We shouldn’t go in there.’ Penny sounded concerned. ‘It might be someone’s home or something.’
‘Honey, it’s fine, we’re not going to get into trouble. Come on, let’s take a look. Give me your hand . . .’
The group hiding behind the wall heard the door close with a heavy clunk, and Lainey pressed play on the remote control. The walls of the crypt were thick, so they couldn’t hear the music nor whatever else might be happening inside.
‘It’s so romantic,’ Biddy whispered gleefully. ‘She’s such a lucky girl! When Bill and I got engaged, we’d missed the last bus back to Swindon and were walking home in the rain. Bill said, “Oh, by the way, my mum wants to know if we’re getting hitched. What d’you reckon I should tell her?” And that was it! That was my proposal!’
Bill was laughing quietly. ‘Did the trick, though, didn’t it? You said yes. And we haven’t done too badly, have we?’