It Started with a Secret: The feel-good novel of the year, from the bestselling author of MAYBE THIS TIME

by Jill Mansell

  Finally he headed back to the office, sat down with his iPad and began to compose an email.

  Dear Nerys,

  Thank you for your letter. Sorry about not reading the previous ones you sent. Of course I remember your mother, Sandy. She was a lovely girl and I’m so sorry to hear she’s no longer with us. We shared such happy times together and I remember how sad I was when she left to look after her father. I hope her life was happy after she returned to the UK.

  Sorry, I’m not very good at writing. Not my greatest skill. If you have any photos of Sandy, I’d like to see them.

  Best wishes,

  Richard

  It was a stilted, poorly constructed effort, he knew that. With the endless alterations, it had taken him the best part of an hour to write those few lines. Lainey could have managed it in two minutes, but he was determined to do it himself, without the help of a ghost writer. He pressed send, then sat back and closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun on his eyelids. How long would it be before he heard back?

  All of a sudden he couldn’t bear the fact that he was now the one having to wait. The words Always so impatient! sang through his mind, and he looked at the framed photo on his desk of his beloved lost son, remembering how Tony had always teased him for his inability to allow things to happen in their own good time.

  He felt the familiar cavernous ache of loss for the boy he’d loved so much. Oh Tony, is that really you talking to me? How I wish you were still here.

  ‘Well?’ said Lainey when Richard found her in the kitchen, energetically scrubbing the floor.

  ‘I’ve sent her an email, asked if she has any photos of Sandy.’

  ‘That’s great!’

  ‘But that was ten minutes ago and she hasn’t got back to me yet.’

  ‘Pot, kettle,’ said Lainey.

  ‘I know, I know. Feel free to gloat.’

  ‘Want me to make you a coffee?’

  ‘I can make my own.’ He found the pods and took a mug down from the cupboard; if it hadn’t been so early, a proper drink would have gone down nicely and settled the butterflies in his chest. God, waiting for something important to happen was just the pits; how he hated the way it made him feel.

  Ting sang the iPad he’d carried in and left on the kitchen table, and his pulse rate doubled.

  ‘Is it her?’ Lainey stopped scrubbing and sat back on her heels.

  ‘Yes.’ Richard nodded and opened the email. It took a few seconds for the attached photos to download, and as soon as he saw them, a lump expanded in his throat.

  He should have known this would be a mistake.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Lainey sounded concerned.

  It came out as a croak. ‘When I asked to see photos, I wasn’t expecting her to send me these.’

  There were three, and the sight of them had sent him hurtling back in time to a lazy summer’s afternoon in his apartment. He’d brought home a camera with a self-timer, and they’d been able to take photos of the two of them together. Nothing seedy, just normal happy snaps, with Sandy wearing a pink and white gingham dress and the biggest smile, and himself in a white shirt and dark grey high-waisted trousers, with his arms around her waist and their heads close together. In the third photo they were kissing, and he could remember it as clearly as if it had happened yesterday: the feel of her skin, the smell of her neck, the sound of her laughter . . .

  He swallowed the lump in his throat. ‘She could have sold these to the movie magazines, made some money. But she didn’t.’

  ‘Because she was a good person.’ Lainey was at his side now, studying the photos. ‘She looks lovely.’

  ‘She was.’ He scrolled up to read what Nerys had written above them: These are the ones she especially treasured. Did you want me to send you a couple of more recent pics?

  He hesitated; did he?

  Oh, who was he kidding?

  Yes please.

  Chapter 28

  This time Richard had to wait less than a minute. When the next email dropped into his inbox, there was a photo of Sandy smiling for the camera, looking contented and cheerful in a lilac dress, her creamy-white hair swept back and tucked behind her ears. She looked exactly as she’d always looked, just fifty years older.

  While he’d been studying every last detail of her, a second photograph had downloaded. This time Sandy was sitting on a sofa next to a younger woman who had to be Nerys, because the likeness was so strong. Her hair was blonde and she was wearing a stripy cardigan and jeans. But the sparkling eyes and shy smile were the same as her mother’s and he sensed at once that she shared Sandy’s kind nature and absolute trustworthiness.

  His attention shifted back to what she had written above the photos:

  Here you are. Mum still looked wonderful, didn’t she? I loved her so much and of course still miss her dreadfully. As you can imagine, I was surprised when she first told me about you and her. Don’t worry, though, she never did tell anyone else – only my grandmother, and then me, once I’d turned twenty-one and could be trusted to keep the story to myself. She did what you wanted and kept everything a secret until the day she died. And I’ve never told anyone either.

  Richard finished reading. Then he reread the words. The blood in his veins seemed to heat up by a degree or two. He leaned over the iPad screen and typed: Told anyone what?

  The reply this time was almost instantaneous: You know what. Don’t you?

  He didn’t know, but a part of him was beginning to wonder. Unless he was reading into the words a meaning that hadn’t been implied.

  Or . . . or this was all some kind of elaborate double bluff.

  Clumsily, with fingers that suddenly felt too big for the keys on the screen, he typed: What’s your telephone number?

  No reply.

  No reply.

  No reply.

  Finally: Sorry, minor panic attack, needed a few minutes to prepare myself. This is my number . . .

  Having retreated to his office and closed the door firmly, Richard called the number. The phone was picked up on the fifth ring and he knew Nerys had been psyching herself up to answer it.

  ‘Hello.’ She sounded breathless. ‘Sorry if I muddle my words. I’m a bit nervous. Well, a lot nervous.’

  And there it was, the soft voice with the Welsh accent he’d always loved, followed by the shy laugh he remembered so well.

  ‘You sound just like her.’

  ‘You remember her voice?’

  ‘Of course I do.’ He knew the answer already, but the question needed to be asked. Bracing himself, he said, ‘Why did she disappear?’

  ‘She didn’t disappear. She came home, to Cardiff.’

  His fingers tightened around the phone that was pressed to his ear. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because she was pregnant.’

  There it was. Oh God.

  He gathered himself. ‘Pregnant with you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why didn’t she tell me?’

  There was a pause, then Nerys said, ‘Look, I don’t want anything from you, cross my heart, so you don’t have to pretend that you didn’t know—’

  ‘What? But I really didn’t know,’ Richard blurted out. ‘I had no idea. She didn’t tell me, I swear.’

  ‘You sound as if you’re telling the truth,’ said Nerys, ‘but that’s the trouble with you being an actor. How do I know?’

  ‘I’ll take a lie detector test. I swear on the life of my grandchildren. I was pretty broken up when she left, because I had no idea why she’d gone. She didn’t even say goodbye.’

  ‘OK, OK, I believe you. And if I’m honest, I did always kind of wonder, but Mum never wanted to rock the boat in case it caused upset. She was so worried you might be angry with her, or it could damage your career.’

  ‘I was away filming on location.’ Suspicions were beginning to unfurl in Richard’s mind. ‘When I got back, Mickey, my agent, told me she’d left. He said her father was ill and needed looking after, so she’d gone home to Cardiff.
Well, she knew my address and phone number, so I waited to hear from her. But I never did.’

  ‘Mum told me that she’d started feeling really sick in the mornings and Mickey caught her at work one day heaving at the smell of his cigar. When she asked to leave the office, he wouldn’t let her, so she ended up puking into his waste-paper basket.’

  ‘Oh God,’ said Richard. ‘Poor girl.’ Mickey Hartnett had been one of the most ruthless and successful agents in Hollywood, not to mention one of the most eagle-eyed. On one occasion when he’d been flirting with Sandy in reception, Mickey had spotted them together and had later jokingly warned him to keep away from his staff.

  ‘Well, it was a bit of a giveaway,’ Nerys continued. ‘And when Mum broke down in his office, it didn’t take Mickey long to find out who was responsible. He told her he’d get in touch with you.’

  ‘But he didn’t.’

  ‘Two days later, he called her into his office. He explained that you were sorry, but it would spell disaster for your career, and it was never meant to be more than a bit of harmless fun in the sun. He said you felt it was all a bit embarrassing and that all you could offer her was money.’

  It was Richard’s turn to feel sick. ‘He never breathed a word about any of this.’

  ‘Mickey took care of everything. Mum said he was very kind to her. He drew up a contract and she signed it, promising to never contact you again. Because she thought that was what you wanted. Then he arranged her flight home and that was it, she came back to Cardiff.’

  ‘How much did he pay her to leave?’ Richard scarcely recognised his own voice.

  ‘Oh, you were generous. Ten thousand dollars. Mum bought this house with the money. Two-bedroom terrace, little garden at the back, even an inside toilet. Everything a heartbroken single mother could wish for.’

  Ten thousand dollars for Mickey Hartnett to avoid a scandal. Small change compared to the money he was demanding from the studios if they wanted Richard Myles to star in their next blockbuster movie. He’d been aware, of course, that such negotiations went on within the industry – it was just the way things had worked back then – but it had never even occurred to him that he himself might have been involved in one.

  ‘I feel terrible about this. If I’d known, it could all have been handled differently.’

  ‘It’s a shame Mum isn’t still here. This would have made her so happy.’

  ‘What can I say? Mickey Hartnett was a ruthless bastard. It kills me that he knew the truth and never told me.’

  ‘But Mum was realistic. She was a nobody from Wales and you were a Hollywood star. She loved you till the day she died,’ Nerys continued softly, ‘and she loved me too. That was enough for her.’

  ‘I’m still sorry, though. God, I wish you’d contacted me before.’

  Her laugh was so like Sandy’s. ‘I did try, but you didn’t see the letters.’

  ‘I meant before she died.’

  ‘Ah, she always said we must never get in touch, not while she was alive. But afterwards . . . well, I suppose the internet made it possible. I bought my first computer two years ago, and suddenly I was able to learn so much more about you. I found a Facebook group online for fans of Sir Richard Myles, and that was an eye-opener, I can tell you.’

  ‘Oh crikey. What were they saying about me?’

  Drily, Nerys said, ‘That you never reply to their letters. But they love you anyway.’

  Richard half laughed, still unaccustomed to feeling guilty. ‘No accounting for taste.’

  ‘It’s a friendly group, they made me welcome. We even had a get-together last Christmas to celebrate your birthday. About twenty of us had lunch in a smart restaurant in Swindon. It’s mainly run by Pauline, of course. She’s a nice lady, a bit over the top and completely besotted with you, but she means well. Last night she wrote on there about getting to meet you when you were out having dinner with friends at one of the local hotels, and it was like the highlight of her entire life because you never usually speak to her at all!’

  He winced. ‘Sometimes it’s too much, it gets embarrassing.’

  ‘But Pauline did say she’d told you off for not answering our messages.’

  ‘She did.’ He nodded in agreement. ‘And she mentioned yours, in the turquoise envelope.’

  ‘I know, she told me that too. Wasn’t that kind of her? She’s always inviting us to go and stay with her so we can walk around St Carys and maybe catch a glimpse of you. Not that I’d ever do that,’ Nerys added hastily. ‘It sounds a bit stalkerish to me . . . Oh goodness, is that the time? I’m so sorry, I promised to take my neighbour to visit her husband in hospital. She’ll be wondering where I’ve got to!’

  Five minutes later, wandering outside, Richard found Majella working on her laptop in the garden while Lainey hung a basket of washing out to dry on the line.

  ‘How did it go?’ said Lainey. ‘Are you BFFs now?’

  ‘Am I what?’

  ‘You and Nerys, BFFs. It stands for best friends forever.’ She turned to Majella. ‘You aren’t going to believe this. Richard replied to one of his fans today! We actually shamed him into it. Turns out she’s the daughter of someone he knew in his Hollywood days, isn’t that brilliant? So he emailed her, then she emailed him back, and then he emailed her again!’

  ‘Wow.’ Majella looked up from her laptop. ‘That’s what I call a double first.’

  ‘She sounded nice in her letter. Was she nice?’

  ‘Er . . . yes. Fine.’ Nerys was his daughter, and she had ended their phone call because she was anxious not to keep her elderly neighbour waiting. After she’d hung up, Richard had found himself feeling . . . well, rejected.

  ‘Isn’t that great? I told you it’d be worth the effort – can you imagine how thrilled she must have been to hear from you?’ Evidently delighted with herself, Lainey went on, ‘Now, one of the other letters was from a man in Edinburgh whose sister’s having her seventieth birthday next week. So I think I’m going to buy some cards, then you can send her one and wish her a happy birthday.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘See?’ She beamed at him as she hung up one of Harry’s school shirts. ‘It’s nice to be nice, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, it’s the best.’ Richard checked his watch; was it midday yet? He’d just spoken to someone who was either a genius hoaxer or his daughter, and his emotions were all over the place. He could really do with a drink.

  One thing he did know, though, it was a good job Mickey-the-bastard Hartnett was no longer around. Because if he hadn’t snorted that bucketful of cocaine and drowned in his mistress’s hot tub twenty years ago, he’d definitely kill him.

  Chapter 29

  ‘OK, bit of an emergency. Who’s in the house right now? I need help and it needs to be fast.’

  It was Seth at the other end of the phone. Lainey blinked, because he was in Bristol. She put down the bag of rice and did a quick mental check. ‘Kit’s driving Wyatt and Penny down to St Ives, Harry and Violet are both out with friends, Majella’s getting ready for someone’s birthday lunch at the Italian place on Silver Street and Richard’s drinking gin in the garden. India’s upstairs in the bath and I’ve just started making a risotto.’

  ‘Perfect. Now listen, get India out of the bath. The two of you need to head over to Bude in no time flat and break into a house. I’ll text you the address.’

  It sounded horribly like the opening segment of an episode of Casualty. ‘Why, what’s happened, has there been an accident? Oh God, is someone dead?’ Alarmed, Lainey said, ‘Shouldn’t you call the police?’

  ‘It’s not that kind of emergency. My clients drove down from Bude to Southampton this morning to set out on their cruise, and they’ve forgotten their passports.’

  ‘Oh no.’

  ‘Tell me about it. I even made them stick a Post-it note to the front door, but it still happened. When you get to the address, you’re going to have to smash the window of the downstairs loo and climb in that way, because every
thing else is double-glazed. Then as soon as you’ve found the passports, you need to drive down to Southampton so the Gardners can get on board before the ship sets sail for New York at four thirty.’

  Was it even possible, time-wise? Just about. ‘And why do I need India with me?’

  ‘The broken window will be visible from the road, so she’ll have to stay at the house until a glazier can get there and make it secure. Because on top of everything else, they don’t need a burglary.’

  ‘Um . . . actually, I think India might be busy.’

  ‘This is an emergency. Tell her she has to do it.’

  Lainey’s mind was racing. ‘Maybe I could ask a neighbour to wait there until it’s fixed.’

  ‘And what if they can’t? Just take India, OK? You need to get a move on, there’s no time to waste.’

  As Lainey hung up, India wandered into the kitchen carrying a magazine, a packet of Jaffa Cakes and a Diet Coke. ‘You’re looking a bit panicky. Problem?’

  ‘No problem at all.’ Lainey switched off the heat beneath the diced onions gently sizzling in the pan.

  ‘That smells fantastic! What’s for lunch?’

  ‘Toast.’

  As they raced along narrow, twisting country lanes, Lainey said, ‘Look, I’m really sorry about this.’

  ‘Well I can’t say it’s how I was expecting to spend my Saturday afternoon. But never mind, can’t be helped. These things happen.’

  ‘I don’t think you should be doing that, though.’

  ‘Doing what? Waaahh!’ Majella let out a yelp as the car hit a pothole.

  ‘Plucking your eyebrows at thirty miles an hour. It’s asking for trouble.’

  ‘I’m only plucking one eyebrow. I’d just finished the first one when you dragged me downstairs. I can’t go out with uneven eyebrows,’ Majella protested. ‘It’s embarrassing.’

  ‘Not as embarrassing as losing an eye and having to spend the rest of your life telling people how it happened. Please, put the tweezers down.’

  Her phone beeped with a text from Seth, and Majella looked at it. ‘He’s sent the address of the house. I’ll put it into the satnav. God, I hope you can get the passports down there in time.’