MILLIE'S FLING (28 page)

Then, pointedly, she nudged Con.

‘Time we were off.’

‘Me too,’ said Hugh.

So he could take a hint, that was something.

Good. Sod off then, you big
warthog
, said Millie.

Telepathically, of course.

‘Look at them,’ said Moira Deveraux, waving from the terrace as the orange Mercedes drew to a halt at the top of the drive and Con and Millie jumped out. ‘Don’t they make the perfect couple?’

Still struggling to take in Moira's devastating news, Orla simply nodded and gave her hand a squeeze. But Moira was right about Millie and Con; they really did seem perfect together. And it was all thanks to her.

‘Bloody hell,’ said Giles, watching in alarm as Orla's eyes began to swim with tears. ‘I’m stuck in the middle of a Harlequin romance.’

‘A happy ending,’ said Moira, who didn’t much like Orla's husband. She smiled blandly at Giles. ‘What's wrong with that?’

Two hours later as the helicopter rose into the sky, Orla blurted out, ‘She's got a brain tumor, you know. Just a few months to live… God, can you believe it? I had no
idea
. And she's such a lovely person!’

‘I know. Con told me.’ Millie carried on waving up at the sky as Giles, rolling his eyes, disappeared into the house.

‘You and Con. This is
fantastic
.’ Orla gave her a hug, then dragged a tissue out of her pocket and dabbed her cheeks. ‘Look at me, blubbing like a baby. But you’ve made Moira
so
happy. Imagine being told you’re going to die… it certainly puts your own life into perspective. There's me, getting twitchy and neurotic whenever Giles is late home because I’m so scared he might have found someone
else… I mean, how utterly pathetic is that? When all the time JD and Moira are discussing funeral services… honestly, I’m so selfish I’m
ashamed
of myself, I’ve got a marvelous husband who loves me to bits and I don’t
deserve
him!

Millie blinked. Was this a joke? But it seemed not; Orla was busy fumbling in her skirt pockets for her cigarettes and lighter and there wasn’t a punchline in sight.

Having lit her cigarette, Orla tucked her free arm through Millie's. ‘Come on, let's go up to my study and you can fill me in on everything that's happened. And I shall be wanting
all
the naughty details!’

Her eyes had by this time brightened at the prospect of lots of salacious gossip and plenty of material for her book. Millie sighed inwardly. The trouble with Orla was she couldn’t keep quiet about something longer than she could hold back a sneeze. It was a physical impossibility for her—as she’d so ably demonstrated by blurting out the news of Moira's brain tumor practically before the helicopter had had a chance to get off the ground.

Millie definitely wasn’t going to tell her about Con being gay.

Nor did she have any intention of mentioning any of last night's shenanigans with Hugh, not least because she wouldn’t put it past Orla to decide that here was a situation ripe for a spot of meddling and to promptly start meddling for all she was worth.

Or more likely, giving her the mother of all lectures and shrieking, ‘For heaven's sake, only a complete
twerp
would fall for a line like that… how could you be so
stupid
?’

Either prospect sent shivers of mortification down her spine.

Five thousand pounds, thought Millie, painfully aware that Orla wasn’t getting her money's worth. Once again she was editing her own life. Actually, there was an idea. Wouldn’t it be great if you could go back and edit to your heart's content, gaily snipping out and discarding any bits that made you shudder and cringe…? Somebody should definitely invent that.

‘Con's brilliant company. We get on really well together. We had breakfast at the Ocean View Hotel, then spent a few hours mucking about on the beach.’

This much had been true. Millie, swinging her legs against the side of Orla's desk, glanced out of the upstairs window at the lovingly tended rose garden. ‘Oh, and Richard-the-gardener kissed me last night. He kisses like an Aquavac!’

Excitedly, Orla scribbled on one of the charts pinned up to the left of the filing cabinet, then searched for a different colored felt-tipped pen and dashed to another chart above the desk.

‘Fabulous! Did Con see him kissing you? Was he madly jealous?’

‘It wasn’t the kind of kiss anyone would be jealous of.’ Millie pulled a face, just recalling it was enough to make her feel queasy. ‘Richard was very drunk.’

‘He really likes you, it's sooo obvious. Oh, I
knew
this party would get things moving.’ Orla sounded triumphant. Here, clearly, were the beginnings of an entertaining little subplot. ‘So how did you feel when he kissed you?’

Honestly, she sounded like a psychiatrist.

‘Wet.’ Millie watched the felt-tipped pen flying over the chart; Orla's handwriting really was beyond belief.

‘And what about Hester?’

‘I’ve never tried kissing Hester. She’d probably bite me.’

‘I meant did she get anywhere with Lucas last night? You could tell she was pretty smitten.’ Orla paused, her greeny gold eyes dancing at the possibility of intrigue. ‘But this falling-asleep-by-the-pool business sounds pretty suspicious to me.’

‘And her boyfriend drove down from Glasgow to see her,’ said Millie.

‘No! When?’

‘Last night. He slept in his car outside our house.’

‘Oh good grief! And Hester didn’t come home! But that's…
dreadful
.’’ Orla, who had been about to say it was fantastic, stopped herself in the nick of time. ‘Nat, isn’t it? So what did he say when Hester finally turned up?’

‘Nothing. He’d gone by then. Driven back to Scotland. Not thrilled.’ Millie pulled a face. ‘Still, look on the bright side. At least he wasn’t still there when Hester rolled up in your Mercedes with Con.’

HESTER WAS ON THE sofa shivering like a beaten whippet when Millie arrived home at seven-thirty. Orla, who had given her a lift back, had been clamoring to come in for an update. Glad she’d managed to fend her off, Millie said gently, ‘Spoken to him yet?’

Hester nodded, her lower lip beginning to wobble. Her duvet was wrapped around her, a sure sign of emotional upset. The phone squatted on the carpet amid a scattering of Cadbury Twiglets. A party-sized Twiglet drum poked out from beneath the sofa. Picking it up, Millie saw that the drum was empty. Plus, the Twiglets had been a month past their sell-by date. They must have tasted awful but Hester had plowed her way through them anyway, because this was what she did in times of stress. Demolished whole treeloads of Twiglets.

‘I’ve been phoning and phoning all day. Leaving messages for Nat to ring me. He called ten minutes ago. Oh Millie, it was awful.’ Hester gasped and shuddered, clawing pitifully at the duvet in search of leftover bits of Twiglet. ‘He sounded like… like an android. All calm and polite, as if he didn’t even know me. And I told him the truth—that I went to the party with you and fell asleep in the garden—but I just
know
he didn’t believe me! Oh God, oh God,’ she wailed, rocking backwards and forwards, ‘what am I going to
do
?’

Compared with Hester, Millie felt she was coping with her own emotional catastrophe remarkably well. Actually, the Nat thing had done a good job of taking her mind off… what was his name? Oh yes, Hugh.

‘Right.’ Striding up and down the living room, she forced Hester's head to swivel from side to side like a spectator at Wimbledon. Then, slipping into scary-businesswoman mode, she began ticking points off on her fingers. ‘Number one, okay, he's not very happy right now, but that's because he's just driven a thousand miles and didn’t get to see you. Number two, he might think you’ve spent the night having riotous sex with some other bloke, but he's wrong. You didn’t. Number three, so all we have to do is convince him. Proof, that's what Nat needs. So what I’ll do is get Orla to ring him up and tell him the truth, that nothing went on, you just fell asleep in her garden.’

Hester was looking torn, as if half of her wanted to leap at this idea—which was, frankly, brilliant—while the other half was digging its heels in and whining, Yes, but what if he doesn’t
believe
Orla?

‘Yes, but—’ began Hester.

‘No, no buts about it.’ Millie was brisk. ‘You’re acting like the guilty party here, but you aren’t guilty, are you? Don’t you see, you didn’t do anything wrong!’

Silence.

‘Oh God.’ Millie stared at her as if she’d just sprouted two horns and a pointy tail. Orla had been right after all. ‘You
did
. You spent the night having riotous sex with somebody else. Holy mackerel— not Lucas!’

Hester shook her head and looked utterly miserable.

‘No.’

‘WHO WITH, THEN?’ bellowed Millie.

‘Nobody. I mean, it was Lucas, but we didn’t have sex.’ Her shoulders slumped in defeat. ‘I tried my best, but he refused. He just wasn’t interested.’

‘Good grief.’ Forgetting all about being brisk and businesslike, Millie plonked herself down on the sofa next to Hester. ‘You mean you actually offered yourself to him?’

‘Ripped off all my clothes, jumped into the pool, and
launched
myself at him,’ Hester groaned. ‘And he still turned me down. I mean, there I was,
naked
, and Lucas Kemp didn’t want to have sex with me! Can you think of anything more humiliating? Because I can’t.’

Millie was stunned. It certainly didn’t sound like Lucas.

‘Did he, um, say why?’

‘Some utter crap about me having a boyfriend already and him actually possessing some scruples.’

Oh dear. More and more unlikely.

Scruples? Lucas? Surely not.

Millie pulled a sympathetic face, because if ever there was a ridiculous excuse, this had to be it. Clearly, as far as Lucas was concerned, the prospect of intimate physical contact with Hester was too horrible for words.

‘Still, look on the bright side.’ Millie's tone was soothing. ‘Nothing happened.’

‘I wanted it to happen.’

Patience, patience.

‘Yes, I know that, but it still didn’t. So you don’t have to give me two hundred pounds!’

‘It would have been worth it.’ Hester bunked and looked desolate.

Déjà vu. For a second, Millie was tempted to confess about Hugh. But only for a very brief second, because a) she didn’t
want
Hester to know about it, and b) what good would it do?

Instead she said, ‘But at least you can forget about Lucas now, put it down to experience, and stop fantasizing about him.’

‘Right.’ Unearthing a lone Twiglet from a folded-over bit of duvet, Hester ate it and looked more wretched than ever.

‘And you can concentrate on getting Nat back! Not that he's gone anywhere,’ Millie added. Then, because of course Nat
had
gone somewhere—left the country, in fact—she went on, ‘I mean, it's not as if he's dumped you.’

‘He might, though.’ Wearily, Hester rubbed her face. ‘He could be building up to it.’

‘Well then, we have to make sure that doesn’t happen! Convince him that you’re innocent. I still think Orla's our best bet,’ Millie declared. ‘She’ll vouch for you, no problem, and you know how persuasive Orla can be, she’ll just keep going on and on until Nat sees sense, she's brilliant at that kind of thing… gosh, by the time she's finished, you’ll have Nat on his knees groveling and apologizing and begging you to forgive
him
—’

Millie stopped abruptly. Hester was crying.

‘Why are you crying?’

‘Because I hate myself. Because I would have been unfaithful to Nat if only bloody Lucas had let me, and Nat doesn’t deserve to be treated like that. I love him so much. How could I even try to do what I did? I’m disgusting,’ sobbed Hester, ‘just a complete trollop.’

‘So you want Nat to finish with you?’

‘I deserve to be finished with.’

‘And would that make you happy?’

‘Noooo!’

Hester was in the grip of a major guilt trip, Millie realized. Time to be brisk and businesslike again.

‘You’re going to pull yourself together,’ she announced very firmly indeed, ‘and salvage the only thing that matters, which is your relationship with Nat. Because if you let him go, I’m telling you, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.’

‘I’m such an idiot,’ Hester moaned softly.

‘No you aren’t, you just made a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes.’ Millie forced herself not to think about Hugh. ‘But it doesn’t have to be the end of the world, okay?’

‘What are you doing?’

Millie slithered off the sofa and reached for the phone.

‘Ringing Orla.’