by Jill Mansell
Seth’s face cleared. “This is the forty-thousand-pound ring you told me about. I get it now.” He took hold of her hand and looked more closely at the brilliant, almost-flawless diamond. “Wow.”
Even on a gray, drizzly day, it was dazzling, throwing out flashes of light, but it was the sensation of his fingers closing around hers that caused Lainey’s breath to catch in her throat.
“Oi, oi, what’s going on here, then?” Kit rounded the side of the house pushing a loaded wheelbarrow. “Is someone else proposing to my girlfriend behind my back?”
Imagine if that were true…
Lainey held her hand out to him. “I found Wyatt’s ring inside a hankie in my jacket pocket.”
“You’re kidding. That’s amazing!” Abandoning the wheelbarrow, Kit came over to see it. “What are the chances?”
“I still can’t believe it.” Lainey shook her head.
“What are you going to do?” said Seth.
Kit raised his eyebrows. “Caribbean cruise?”
Lainey said, “I only had 2 percent battery left. That’s why I had to come home, so we can phone—”
“The travel agent, to book our Caribbean cruise?”
“If it’s a Caribbean cruise you’re after,” said Seth, “I can recommend an excellent travel agent.”
“Stop.” Lainey gave Kit a nudge. “And get your phone out. If we call Biddy, she can give us Wyatt’s number. He’s going to be so relieved when we tell him we’ve found it.”
* * *
Biddy was so overwhelmed, she burst into tears of relief.
“Oh thank goodness,” she exclaimed between gulping sobs. “We can stop looking at last. I just felt so guilty, as if it was our fault it had gone missing. I’ve been having the most terrible nightmares about searching for it. Last night, I dreamed I was dredging the lake with a sieve.”
Poor Biddy and Bill, there hadn’t been any interest yet in the chateau, and who knew how long it might be before a potential buyer came along? Having scribbled down the number Biddy gave her, Lainey promised to keep them updated and rang off.
Now came the even better call to make.
Except…
“Oh, hi,” said Wyatt when Lainey reminded him who she was.
“I just called the chateau to get your number from Biddy and Bill. Listen, you’ll never guess what’s happened. I’ve found your ring!”
“Right, OK. The engagement ring? Where was it?”
He didn’t sound remotely overwhelmed. The excitement was nonexistent.
When Lainey had finished explaining the chain of events that had led to the ring being discovered in her pocket in a post office line in St. Carys, Wyatt said, “Well, that’s good news, I guess. Thanks for letting me know.”
“Right.” Lainey was really wishing she’d kept it now; this was what it was like to be a multimillionaire who’d gotten trashed and carelessly mislaid a forty-thousand-pound diamond. It was roughly the equivalent of her losing a sock after a visit to the launderette. “So how am I going to get it back to you?”
“I’ll text you my address, then you can courier it over. How does that sound?”
It sounded expensive. Lainey had no idea how much it would cost to courier something that valuable, but the thought of it was already making her nervous. Also, it was his ring; she was just the one who’d found it.
She cleared her throat. “Look, sorry about this, but does couriering cost a lot? Because right now I’m not sure I can afford…” Her voice trailed off. Oh God, now she sounded like the Little Match Girl.
“No, no, I’m the one who should apologize. Sorry, how rude of me. You’re in Cornwall, did you say?”
It was endearing hearing him say it with his American accent, pronouncing it as if it were two words: Corn Wall. Lainey said, “Yes, St. Carys.”
“OK, well, I don’t want to put you out. It’s good of you to call. I’m due to attend a wedding in Cornwall at the end of this month, so why don’t you hang on to it till then? I’ll swing by on my way to the wedding. How does that sound?”
It definitely sounded cheaper. Lainey bit her lip, longing to ask Wyatt if he was glad she’d found the ring. Because he didn’t sound as if he was. Then again, the thought of it was probably stirring up sad memories. This was the ring he’d wanted to give to Penny.
But it was none of her business anyway; he would drop in to collect it, then they’d never see each other again.
“Yes, let’s do that. I’ll find a good place to hide it until you get here.”
Whereupon Wyatt, who evidently inhabited a whole different world, said, “No worries. Just put it in the safe.”
While she was showing the ring to Majella, Richard came into the kitchen. “Let’s have a look then. Oh, nice. That’s quite similar to the one I bought my second wife.” He frowned, examining it. “Or was it the third?”
“You bought the same ring for both of them,” Majella reminded him. “That’s why Tatiana ended up chucking hers into the sea.”
Honestly, other people treated their diamonds so casually. Lainey said, “Did you find it again?”
“Can’t remember. Where are you going to keep this one, then?”
“I thought I’d wrap it up in a sock, then stuff it into the toe of my winter boots, then hide it in a box at the back of the wardrobe in the flat.”
“Well, that’s the first place any half-decent cat burglar would look,” said Richard. “You’d be better off keeping it in my safe.”
“You have a safe?” Well, that was a relief.
“Of course I do.” Richard chuckled at the idea that he might not. “Where else am I going to keep all the secret stuff that would land me in a world of trouble if it ever got out?”
* * *
Jet lag on top of jet lag had numbed Wyatt Hilstanton’s brain. He raked his fingers through his uncombed hair and gazed out through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his hotel room overlooking Central Park, twelve stories below.
The call from the girl had woken him at five in the morning, after which he’d fallen back into an oblivious stupor. It was only now, at midday, that he was beginning to realize that his response had been less than generous. She hadn’t known she was calling him in New York; it was his own fault for groggily answering the phone or for forgetting to switch it to silent.
He could scarcely remember meeting her in the first place on the fateful night of the proposal that hadn’t gone to plan. Then again, was it any wonder, considering the amount of drink he’d tipped down his neck? He had only the vaguest memory of recognizing her as one of the members of staff when she’d come out to speak to him on the grounds once everyone else had retired to bed. She’d been wearing a denim jacket over her nightdress and there had been mascara smudges under her eyes; for some reason, he recalled that much. She’d also been incredibly kind to a tearful, overemotional, hopeless case, listening patiently while he’d droned on about being such a loser. But that was about as much as he could recall; he wouldn’t be able to pick her out in a police lineup.
His conscience prodding him, Wyatt surveyed the aerial view of the verdant park spread out before him and realized the girl needed a better, more effusive response than the one he’d given her. Well, maybe not effusive, but she at least deserved a text. The last few weeks might not have ranked among the happiest of his life, but that wasn’t her fault, was it?
He reached for his phone, headed out onto the balcony, and composed the text as it tumbled out of his brain:
Hi, it’s me again. I wanted to say sorry about earlier—I’m in NYC, so was asleep when you called. My memories of that night at the chateau are vague, but thank you for looking after me then, and for letting me know about the ring too—I may not have sounded grateful, but I am, I promise.
My friend’s wedding is in St. Ives on the last Saturday of the month, so I’ll see you
sometime around then—will be in touch again closer to that date. Once again, THANK YOU. (And I promise I’m really not as horrible as you must think.)
Best,
Wyatt
Pressing Send, he listened as the message of apology swooshed off into the ether and across the Atlantic. There, done.
And now, having spent the last fortnight struggling to come up with a plausible reason why he wouldn’t be able to attend the wedding in Cornwall, he realized he was definitely going to have to go.
Twenty minutes later, as he was heading down to the lobby in the elevator, his phone dinged to signal the arrival of a text.
Hi Wyatt,
Sorry about waking you earlier—we had no idea you were in the States. This isn’t Lainey, by the way—her phone was dead so she called you from mine. (I’m Kit, Lainey’s boyfriend. We were both working at the chateau when you were there and now we’re here in St. Carys.) Thanks so much for your message, which I’ll pass on to Lainey. What you’ve been through must have been completely traumatic, and being woken by a stranger in the middle of the night would just about put the tin lid on it. I don’t blame you one bit for being grumpy.
Anyway, here’s Lainey’s number…
The brass-fronted elevator doors slid open and Wyatt stepped out into the marble lobby. The smartly dressed doorman opened the door for him, and there was the limo waiting, ready to take him downtown to Wall Street.
He wondered how Penny was doing. Dammit, he missed talking to her so much.
Chapter 14
“I feel sick.” Majella entered the kitchen smoothing her gray velvet shirt over her new narrow black trousers before realizing her palms were damp with nerves.
“Well, don’t.” Lainey, who’d been checking on the boeuf bourguignon, closed the oven. “You haven’t even tried the food yet. And you mustn’t be scared either. Everything’s under control here. And you look fantastic.”
“Too much lipstick, though?” She’d gone for a brighter shade of pink than usual. What if she looked like a drag queen?
“No. You have a beautiful mouth,” said Lainey. “So you should show it off.”
“I wasn’t this nervous on the morning of my wedding.” Because back then, Majella realized, there’d been nothing to be nervous about. She’d loved Tony, had known it would be a day to remember forever.
Whereas this, tonight, was a blind date.
Well, practically, apart from the couple of photos they’d found on Google Images.
“You’ll be fine.” Lainey’s tone was reassuring. “If everything goes well, brilliant. If it doesn’t, who cares? You finish your meal, wave goodbye, and never have to clap eyes on him again.”
“I know. I just keep imagining all the different ways it could go wrong.”
“The worst thing that can happen is that the orange soufflés don’t rise. And trust me, they will,” said Lainey. “Because when it comes to soufflés, I’m the best.”
* * *
An hour later, despite Majella’s very best efforts, the possibility that anything might come of this date had long evaporated like sea mist.
“I can’t believe it.” Justin Harlow shook his head, exaggeratedly baffled. “You mean to tell me you’re sitting at this table and it doesn’t even bother you that the painting over there above the fireplace is crooked?”
Justin was better looking in the flesh than in the photos they’d scrutinized online; smartly dressed, he was charming in a bank manager-y way. He was also the most persnickety person she’d ever encountered. As in, very persnickety indeed.
They were eating dinner in the seldom-used dining room, to give them privacy and allow the rest of the family to move around freely. So far, Justin had noticed and pointed out a tiny chip on his side plate, the fact that the floor-length topaz curtains were faded at the edges by exposure to sunlight, and the way the cutlery didn’t match the style of the room.
“Oh dear, sorry about that,” said Majella. “It never even occurred to me that it should.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m sure we can manage with these.” Justin gave the handle of his disappointingly non-Georgian fork a reassuring tap, then pointed to the light fittings on either side of the mantelpiece. “Well, will you look at that? You’ve got a forty-watt bulb in the one on the left and a sixty-watt bulb in the one on the right. Ah, thank you…” He smiled as Lainey eased open the door and carried in their starters of tomato-and-basil tarts. “Tell me, what kind of tomatoes are these?”
Lainey said evenly, “They’re red tomatoes.”
“Don’t worry. It’s fine if you don’t know what variety they are.” He nodded bravely as she set the plates down in front of them. “Just…are they organic?”
Fifteen minutes later, Lainey took their plates away, and Justin excused himself in order to pay a visit to the bathroom. Majella hurried into the kitchen after her and hissed, “He’s a nightmare.”
“Oh God, I know.” Lainey was shaking her head. “When I couldn’t tell him the age of the balsamic vinegar, I thought he was going to put me in detention.”
“He’s threatening to teach me about the different kinds of mortgages next.” Majella glanced at her watch and wished she could press the fast-forward button on this evening. “So if you come in and find me with my face in my plate, it’ll be because I’m comatose with boredom.” She still couldn’t get over the fact that Jess from the flower shop had been so certain she and Justin would be perfect for each other. Did this mean Jess thought she was mind-numbingly persnickety and boring too?
“Be brave,” said Lainey. “It’ll be over soon.”
“The sooner the better.”
“Would you like me to secretly stir a bit of weed killer into his boeuf bourguignon?”
Majella grinned. “It’s a tempting offer, but I suppose we’d better not.”
Ten minutes later, the possibility that Lainey had done it after all flashed through her brain as Justin’s non-Georgian knife and fork clattered onto his plate and his eyes widened in alarm. But no, of course Lainey wouldn’t really have poisoned him. Oh God, though were the mushrooms not mushrooms after all? Were they poisonous toadstools instead? And now his face was turning red and he was clutching in desperation at his throat, barely able to speak, seemingly unable to breathe.
“Help…help!”
Majella flew into a panic, her chair tipping backward as she leaped to her feet. The next moment, the door crashed open and Lainey burst in like a bullet, taking in the situation at a glance.
“You’ve got something stuck in your throat?” She addressed Justin, who nodded wildly and jabbed a finger at his neck. “OK, keep calm. Can you cough?”
He shook his head helplessly, by this time puce in the face.
“Right, let’s try this first.” Pressing her left fist against his chest, Lainey slapped him hard on the back between his shoulder blades, then repeated the maneuver twice more.
Nothing happened. Petrified, Majella said, “Shall I call 999?”
“Hang on, let me just do this.” As Justin continued to flail, struggling to suck air into his blocked lungs, Lainey moved behind him and wrapped her arms around his chest. Clasping her hands together and placing them just beneath the center of his rib cage, she braced herself and said, “One, two, three,” before squeezing with as much force as she could muster.
Still nothing. Paralyzed with terror, Majella sensed movement in the doorway and saw that Seth had heard her cry for help from upstairs. Thank goodness—maybe he could help. But before he could step into the room, Lainey gathered herself, counted to three again, and gave a second almighty squeeze.
A lump of beef shot out of Justin’s mouth like a missile and landed on the carpet with a tiny but incredibly welcome thud.
“Oh thank God!” Majella let out a hoarse cry of relief as Justin took in huge gulps of air before collapsing on unste
ady legs back onto his chair. “Thank God you’re OK.”
Hands shaking, Justin took a clean and neatly pressed handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his perspiring forehead. When his breathing was back under control, he stared in disbelief at Majella. “How can I possibly be OK? I nearly died.”
“But you didn’t die. You’re still alive!” Majella’s voice was breaking with emotion as she said, “Lainey saved you.”
“What’s going on?” Harry, who’d been out in the garden playing with the dogs, now appeared in the doorway with them.
“Justin was choking, darling, but Lainey saved his life. It was—”
“She didn’t save my life,” Justin bellowed. “She tried to kill me!”
Shocked, Lainey said, “What? It’s the Heimlich maneuver. That’s how it’s done!”
Red-faced and scowling, Justin shook his head. “I’m talking about the boeuf bourguignon. The chunks of beef were too big; you couldn’t be bothered to cut them up properly. They were lethal.”
Majella’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Oh please, you had a knife and fork!”
Non-Georgian, but even so…
“Irrelevant. They should never have been served like that. Look, look at the size of it!” He jabbed a finger in the direction of the lump of meat that had landed on the floor, and Ernie, who’d been eyeing it intently, took this as his cue to leap forward and do his canine duty. Tail wagging, he deftly vacuumed up the evidence, then raised his head and gazed hopefully around at the rest of them for more.
“I can’t believe he’s just done that,” Justin bellowed. “Your dog is disgusting.”
Harry, surveying the goings-on with eleven-year-old delight, piped up, “I saw a vet program on TV, and there was a dog on there who ate his own poo!”
Justin looked as if he was about to throw up on the spot; he glared at Harry, then at Ernie, who wagged his tail unrepentantly. “I can’t stand dogs. Their habits are repulsive.” Turning to Majella, he said coldly, “To be honest, if I’d known beforehand that you were a dog owner, I would never have agreed to come here for dinner in the first place.”