Jill Mansell - Sheer Mischief

Janey, who had read books on the subject of coping with grief, said hesitantly, ‘I don’t know, but I think it’s a fairly normal kind of reaction. Probably men are more likely to go through that kind of phase than women, but once it’s out of their system they ... settle down again. What’s it like now? Do you feel more settled?’

It was an amazingly intimate conversation to be having with someone who was, after all, a virtual stranger. But she was genuinely interested in finding out how he had coped and was continuing to cope. She wondered too whether she would ever enter a promiscuous phase .. .

Guy didn’t appear in the least put out by her questions. Reaching for a bottle of white wine, he refilled both their glasses. ‘There’s still the problem of other people’s attitudes.’ His eyes registered mild contempt. ‘Not that I particularly care what they think, but it can get a bit wearing at times. After three years, it seems, I’m expected to remarry. And the pressure’s always there. Nowadays, every time I’m introduced to some new female at a dinner party I know it’s because she’s a carefully selected suitable candidate. Sometimes I half expect to find a tattoo on her forehead saying "Potential Wife". The next thing I know, everyone’s telling me how marvellous she is with children and saying how hard it must be for poor Josh and little Ella, at their ages, not having a mother.’ He shuddered at the unwelcome memory. ‘God, that’s happened to me so many times. It’s like a recurring nightmare. And it’s a bigger turn-off, of course, than a bucketful of bromide.’

‘What’s bromide?’ said Ella, and they both jumped.

Guy, recovering from the surprise of her unexpected appearance, said, ‘It’s a kind of cold porridge. You wouldn’t like it.’ Then, pulling her on to his lap, he added, ‘And what you need is a cowbell around your neck. Have you been eavesdropping, angel?’

‘No.’ She shook her head so vigorously that her white velvet headband slipped off. ‘I was listening to you. Daddy, when can I get married?’

He assumed a suitably serious expression. Why? When would you like to get married?’

‘Tomorrow’ Ella giggled and smoothed her lilac cotton dress over her knobbly knees. ‘I’m going to marry Luke.’ Luke was eight years old and Berenice’s nephew. ‘I see.’ Guy looked thoughtful. ‘Well, tomorrow sounds OK to me. But maybe I should have a word with him first.’

Ella frowned, anxious that he shouldn’t hear about the glass of lemonade she had accidentally spilled into a handbag left open and unattended in the kitchen. Biting her lower lip and looking dubious, she said, ‘Why?’

‘Marriage is a serious business,’ Guy told her. ‘I’d definitely need to speak to Luke, man to man. Apart from anything else,’ he added severely, ‘I have to ask him about his future prospects.’

‘You seemed to be getting on rather well with my boss,’ said Maxine, polishing off a slice of seafood quiche and sounding faintly put out. ‘What were you doing, giving him the rundown on my sordid past?’

‘Not at all.’ It was early evening now and they were sitting outside on a wooden bench enjoying the light breeze. For most of the day the temperature had been up in the eighties. Janey, examining her arms for signs of sunburn and hoping she wouldn’t wake up tomorrow with strap marks, said, ‘I was the one who stuck up for you, remember? I’m hardly likely to scare him to death by telling him what you’re really like. He might drag me into court and sue me for misrepresentation.’

‘So what were you talking about?’

Despite having wolfed down at least half a dozen sausage rolls and a slice of wedding cake as well as the quiche, Maxine’s lipstick was still immaculately in place. Shielding her eyes from the sinking sun, she was surreptitiously watching Guy Cassidy as he stood at the far end of the terrace talking to Berenice’s new mother-in-law.

‘He was telling me how fed up he gets, being chased by women hell-bent on becoming the next Mrs Cassidy.’ Janey’s tone of voice was casual but she felt it necessary to point out this fact, both to save her sister from making a fool of herself and to ensure that Guy wouldn’t dispense with Maxine’s services. Now that she had her flat to herself once more she wanted to keep it that way.

But Maxine only laughed. ‘They can’t have been very good at it then. The whole point of chasing a man — and catching him — is to make sure he doesn’t realize it’s happening. It’s a delicate process, Janey! Practically an art form in itself.’

‘Well, it sounds as if he’s had plenty of practice at being on the receiving end.’ Janey, having at least made her point, changed the subject. And you seemed to be getting on rather nicely with the best man anyway,’ she observed. ‘What was his name, Colin? He looked keen.’

‘He was.’ Maxine, licking her forefinger and dabbing at the crumbs of pastry on her plate, sounded gloomy. And I may as well change my name to Cinderella. Guy wants me to stay here for the rest of the weekend so the kids have a chance to get used to me before he leaves for Paris on Monday morning. Then I’ll be here on my own with them until he gets back on Friday. I’m allowed next weekend off, apparently, but by that time Colin will have left on a cricket tour.’

She shrugged. ‘We did try, but we couldn’t seem to get ourselves synchronized. At this rate my social life looks set to have all the sparkle of a squashed snail.’

‘Welcome to the real world,’ said Janey shortly. Her own social life had been practically non-existent for the past eighteen months.

Maxine cast her an impatient glance. ‘Yes, but it’s all right for you,’ she replied with characteristic lack of tact. ‘You’re used to it.’

Chapter 8

The heatwave continued. On Sunday morning Janey packed a canvas holdall and headed down to the beach. It would be packed solid but she could amuse herself by guessing, according to the various shades of pallor, redness and tan, how long the holidaymakers had been in Trezale.

And eavesdropping on their conversations — bickering couples were a particular favourite —

was always entertaining.

The beach was crowded but the tide was on its way out, which helped. A lot of sandcastles were being constructed along the stretch of damp sand, leaving more room for the serious sunbathers on the dry sand. Janey chose a promising spot where she could stretch out, make a start on the latest Danielle Steel novel and simultaneously overhear the lively argument already in progress between a pair of big, sunburnt Liverpudlians who couldn’t decide whether to go for cod and chips later or splash out on a proper Sunday lunch at that posh place in Amory Street.

She wondered idly whether to tell them that the posh place, Bruno’s, was closed on Sundays, but it seemed a shame to interrupt them. Uncapping her bottle of Ambre Solaire she smoothed the lotion haphazardly over the bits of her most likely to burn and promptly fell asleep instead.

She awoke with a start some time later. Ice-cold liquid was being dripped into her navel.

Grinning, Bruno held the Coke can aloft.

‘It should be Bollinger of course,’ he said, admiring her exposed body in the brief, fuchsia-pink bikini, ‘but sometimes one just has to improvise. Can I sit down?’

‘I don’t know.’ Shielding her eyes from the sun, Janey deadpanned, ‘Can you?’

‘OK. May I be permitted to share a corner of your towel?’ He lowered himself down beside her anyway and offered her the Coke. ‘You’re looking rather gorgeous, ‘I must say. I hardly recognized you at first, without your clothes on.’

Behind them, the Liverpudlian couple tittered. Janey tried hard not to flinch as Bruno ran a hand lightly across her stomach. It was a disturbingly pleasant sensation; she just wished her diet had been a bit more of a success.