The Unexpected Consequences of Love (25 page)

It was three in the afternoon by the time Marguerite arrived back at Moor Court. The journalist had been apologetic and easily charmed, and the male photographer had taken some good shots of her in and around the hotel. The interview had gone well—talking about herself was never a hardship—and hopefully the piece, when it appeared in the magazine, would result in increased sales for the upcoming hardback.

Letting herself into the house, she found Riley hard at work in the office.

“How's it going?”

He sat back and rotated his shoulders to ease the knots from them. “Well, chapter twenty-eight's been a bitch; I've rewritten the last scene four times. But it's done now. Take a look at it and tell me what you think.”

“I will. Later.” Marguerite indicated the curtains pulled across the window. “You don't have to keep those closed anymore, by the way. Sophie's got the shots she was after. And I was right about it being a Cornish chough.”

“You're always right.” Riley half smiled. “I don't know how Lawrence ever dared to disagree with you in the first place.”

Marguerite was used to being revered and looked up to. She'd already spoken to Lawrence on the phone and informed him of his mistake; somewhat to her frustration, he had simply roared with laughter and said, “You mean you actually hired a professional photographer to
stalk
the poor bird and prove me wrong? Priceless! How much did that cost you?”

Which had actually made her feel a tiny bit foolish. She also suspected he wasn't bothered by his mistake…and that he'd only been teasing her all along when he'd insisted it was a blackbird.

And what would Sophie charge for her visits? Fifty or sixty pounds, at a guess. Oh well, she'd just have to call it research for business purposes and offset the bill against tax.

“Anyway,” said Riley, “how did the interview go?”

“Fine. No problems. One of the questions she asked was how would I cope if I ran out of ideas and could no longer write.” Marguerite pulled a face.

“What did you say?”

“That it was my worst nightmare, but luckily nothing like that would ever happen because I have a million ideas bursting to get out of my head.”

“Right.”

“And she said that was a relief, because otherwise my legions of fans would be thrown into a panic.”

“I'm sure they would be.” Reaching for the can on the desk, Riley took a gulp of Coke.

“I had a nice chat with Sophie.”

“Yeah?”

“And with Tula.”

If this had been a TV sitcom, Riley would at this point have spluttered and choked on his drink, maybe dropped it on the computer keyboard or somehow managed to fall off his chair and into the trash can.

Since this wasn't a sitcom, he didn't do anything like that, but what did happen was almost more interesting. The changes were subtle, but Marguerite was an expert at detecting microexpressions. There was the brief pressing together of his lips, the increased tension around the eyes, the quickening of his breathing.

More significant than anything else, however, was the heightened color in her nephew's face. And this was Riley, for goodness' sake: outrageous, flirtatious, and utterly unembarrassable in every way.

She'd never seen him blush before, but it was happening now. This was the effect Tula had on him.

Extraordinary.

Marguerite said, “Keen on her, are you?”

Discomfort was radiating from him like heat. Feigning a casual shrug, as if he could barely recall who they were talking about, Riley said, “Who, Tula? Not particularly.”

“Seems to me that you are. And she says she likes you, just not in
that
way. Any idea why that is?”

He shook his head. “No.”

How had she known he wouldn't admit the real reason? “Must be annoying, though.”

Another shrug.

“Don't you find it a bit…upsetting?”

“Why would I? Hey, there's a million more girls out there, plenty to choose from. You know me.” Flashing his irreverent lady-killer grin, Riley said, “What am I going to do, mope?”

“You? Never.” Marguerite smiled; that was it, the old Riley was back in control. But how illuminating had that brief glimpse beneath the surface been?

Very interesting indeed.

She said, “Print off what you've written and I'll read through it later. So, where are you off to tonight?”

“Don't know.” Riley's streaky blond hair fell over his forehead as he bent the Coke can's ring pull this way and that until it snapped in half. “Just…out.”

***

Picking up girls was easy.

Riley checked his watch; he'd come out at nine o'clock. It was now eleven thirty and he'd achieved what he'd set out to do.

Piece of cake.

Her name was Lauren and she was almost as tall as he was, an elegant blond with a discreet tattoo at the nape of her neck. She was wearing a peach silk dress that slithered over her hips and showed off her long legs. She smelled of Chanel No. 19—over the years he'd had plenty of practice learning to recognize the more popular perfumes—and worked as a dental hygienist in Coventry.

To be fair, she did have excellent teeth.

Together they left the Mermaid and headed for the cottage Lauren and her sister had rented for their week's vacation in St. Carys.

“It's okay, Jen's gone out to dinner with some friends from the yacht club,” Lauren explained as they made their way along the narrow, cobbled streets. “She's not going to be back before one, so we won't be disturbed.”

They would be alone in the cottage. Something didn't feel quite right. Riley hesitated and said warily, “Look, maybe I shouldn't come in.”

She stopped dead in her tracks in the middle of the road. Beneath the golden glow of the street lamp her face registered disbelief. “What? Why not?”

“You don't know me. You shouldn't be inviting strangers home with you.”

“Oh, don't be such a wuss—I met your friends, didn't I? Everyone in that pub's known you for years. Besides”—she smiled flirtatiously and leaned up against him—“I asked the girl behind the bar about you.”

“And?”

“She said you're absolutely fantastic in bed.”

Okay, this was mad. The barmaid's name was Ellen and all she'd ever done was smile shyly at him over the counter. Riley said, “I haven't slept with her.”

“I know, but she says she knows plenty of girls who have. Don't look like that,” Lauren chided playfully. “It's a huge compliment!”

“Is it?”

“Well, it has to be better than everyone saying you're rubbish.” She laughed and tucked her arm through his. “Come on, nearly there. We're just on the left.”

It was one of the typically tiny Cornish cottages rented out for a few days at a time. Lauren put some music on, poured out drinks, and kicked off her high heels. Riley attempted to ignore his own unease, but the sense of claustrophobia was getting to him. What was more, it had nothing to do with the lack of space.

“We were going to have a week in Padstow.” Lauren flashed her excellent teeth at him. “I'm glad we came here instead.”

He smiled, attempted to relax. “When d'you have to go home?”

She pulled a mock-sad face. “Tomorrow. This is our last night.”

Sex, that was all she wanted. Where was the harm? A mutually enjoyable couple of hours in bed, followed by a cheery good-bye. After that, they wouldn't see each other again.

I mean, look at her; she was stunning. What was
wrong
with him tonight?

“Tell you what, why don't I give you a guided tour of our little palace? Come on…” And now she was taking his hand in hers, pulling him toward the narrow staircase.

Up they went in single file, with Lauren leading the way, slinking up the stairs like a starlet. When they reached the landing, she drew him into her room and kissed him enthusiastically on the mouth. Like a
hungry
starlet.

For a couple seconds Riley was on the verge of pulling away. Then he forced himself to go along with the kiss. It was easier, he discovered, if he closed his eyes and pretended it was Tula.

Except
it
wasn't Tula
.

It was no good; everything about this felt miserably, horribly wrong. He'd lost count of the number of times he had relived that kiss with Tula at the wedding. He could recall every last Technicolor detail of the way she'd felt, the warmth of her mouth, the electrifying sensation that had spread through his body… He knew how crazy it sounded, even to his own ears, but it had been a kiss like no other he'd ever experienced.

It had just felt so right, so completely…perfect.

Closing his eyes and pretending the girl he was kissing was Tula, Riley belatedly discovered, didn't work at all. It actually made him feel stupid for imagining it might have.

He broke away and said, “Sorry.”

“For what?” Lauren wasn't showing any signs of wanting to let him go; her fingers were digging into his shoulder blades.

“I can't do this.” He shook his head.

“Why not?”

“There's someone else.”

“No there isn't. You told me you didn't have a girlfriend. And I double-checked with that barmaid. She said you're definitely single.”

Okay, this wasn't a scenario with which he was in any way familiar.

“I know,” Riley said helplessly. “But there's this girl. I think I'm in love with her.”

Lauren's jaw jutted. “Okay, could I just give you a word of advice here? This probably isn't the best time to be admitting something like that.”

“I know, I'm sorry. It's never happened to me before. I don't know what to do about it.”

“You mean she's not interested in you?”

“No.” What else could he say? Lauren didn't want to hear the whole story.

“In that case, may I suggest that the best way to get her out of your system would be to have some fun with someone else? Like, for example…ooh, I don't know,
me
?”

She was reaching for him again; Riley took a step back. “Thanks, but it doesn't feel right. It wouldn't
be
right.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Okay, now look, this is the last night of my vacation.” Lauren tossed back her long hair. “My ex-boyfriend has a new girlfriend. They're probably at it right now. I just want to feel as if someone wants
me
.” Slightly desperately she added, “I wouldn't say anything, I promise. It's not as if it'd ruin your chances with whoever this girl is. No one would ever know.”

Not that he was remotely tempted to change his mind anyway, but Riley couldn't help recalling the last time he'd thought that. Until his photograph had been posted on Twitter and the truth, coming back to haunt him, had succeeded in ruining Tula's day too.

He shook his head at Lauren and said, “I'm sorry. I just…can't.”

Hell hath no fury like a woman discovering you didn't want to sleep with her after all. It turned out that the words
I
won't say anything, I promise
only applied if the evening ended as she'd hoped it would.

Instead, Riley found himself being ejected from the cottage to the ringing sounds of Lauren scornfully announcing: “Bye then, so-called stud. What a shame you couldn't manage to do anything! Never mind. If you go online, you can order pills to help with that little problem of yours. Ciao!”

She'd timed it well too, making sure it was heard by a group of passersby. Better still, they were local, so they all knew Riley and cracked up. Which was nice of them. Especially Marnie, who, as luck would have it, worked as a receptionist at the local doctor's office and yelled, “Ooh no, don't go ordering those things off the Internet. Want me to book you in for an appointment tomorrow, pet? Sounds like it's something you need to get sorted out!”

Everyone might be killing themselves laughing, but that didn't mean the rumor wouldn't spread throughout St. Carys in no time at all. Riley grimaced as Lauren triumphantly slammed the front door of the cottage shut behind him.

Great. No sex, no Tula, and a laughingstock to boot.

What better end to the night?

It had been ridiculously easy to track down Theo Pargeter on the Internet. There were only three people with that name in the UK, and one of them was eighty-six years old, a retired priest living in Aberdeen.

Not likely to be him.

The second Theo Pargeter was fifteen, lived with his parents in London, and was keen on skateboarding, thrash metal, and hanging out with his mates at the local skate park.

Even less likely to be him.

The third and final Theo was thirty years old and ran a garden craft business on the outskirts of Bristol. The website showed what was sold there: gates, wooden and iron; outdoor furniture; stone urns; paving slabs; wall plaques; statues; and water features.

On the home page were a couple photographs taken outside the shop. One of them featured Theo. He was wearing a khaki shirt, jeans, and desert boots and was half smiling for the camera with the air of someone not entirely relaxed about being photographed. Medium height, slim build, short brown hair, pretty good-looking… Yes, it was easy to picture younger versions of this man and Sophie choosing to be with each other. Until something had happened to end the relationship, something calamitous enough to cause Sophie to steer clear of
all
men as a result.

Suicide had been mentioned, but no one had died. Had Sophie been the one who'd attempted to end her own life? And why? Josh shuddered; the mere thought of it was enough to cause his stomach to contract with fear. What if she'd succeeded?

The only other thing he knew was that Theo hadn't physically hurt her.

Could he phone him? Just pick up the phone, ascertain that he was speaking to the Theo Pargeter who'd once been married to Sophie Wells, then ask him straight out what had happened between them?

Except how likely was it that this would get him the result he was after? Why on earth would a complete stranger tell another complete stranger such an intensely personal story over the phone?

No, this definitely wasn't the way to go. Josh took out his cell phone, brought up Google maps, and found the location of the shop in Bristol. It wasn't too far from the M5. He had a couple unavoidable meetings tomorrow morning, but once they were out of the way, there was nothing to stop him from jumping in the car and driving up there himself.

He had no idea what he would say, or if he stood the remotest chance of getting an answer. But it was the kind of conversation that definitely needed to be carried out face-to-face.

***

At two o'clock the next day, Josh was getting ready to leave.

“What's this?” Dot saw the car keys in his hand. “Where are you going?”

She sounded alarmed. He'd already decided that telling her what he was planning to do ran the risk of increasing the alarm. Not wanting to hear that confronting Sophie's ex-husband might be a terrible idea, he said casually, “Just heading into Exeter to pick up a few things.”

“What kind of things?”

Okay, now he couldn't think of
any
kind of things. “A birthday present.”

“Whose birthday is it?”

“Seriously, what is this? Twenty questions?”

“Well, anyway, you can't go,” said Dot. “I need you here.”

“Why?”

Now it was her turn to look shifty and hesitate in search of a plausible answer. Honestly, if they'd been a couple of criminals, they'd have given themselves away in no time flat. At last, Dot shrugged and said, “I can't tell you. It's a surprise.”

“What sort of surprise?”

She shook her head. “Now we're going round in circles. I'm just trying to do what I was asked to do and make sure you're around when…the thing happens. It's going to be any time now.”

Josh looked at her and wondered what
the
thing
could be. His thoughts went instantly to Sophie. What if she loved him and couldn't hide her real feelings a minute longer? Never mind what had happened in the past; none of that mattered. All he needed to know was that he meant the world to her and
please
could they just be together forev—

“Oh, my giddy aunt,” squealed Tula, hurtling up the steps into reception. “There's a limo coming up the drive that's almost as
long
as the drive! Is Beyoncé coming to stay and nobody thought to tell me?”

Josh looked at Dot. “Who is it?”

“I told you. A surprise.” Her light blue eyes sparkled with relief at not having to keep the secret anymore. “Go and see for yourself.”

Okay, if there was one thing he was absolutely sure Sophie
wouldn't
do, it was turn up in a stretch limousine in order to declare her undying love for him. But just on the off chance, he followed Tula outside anyway.

Because wasn't that what made surprises surprising?

It wasn't just any old stretch limo either. Finished in silver chrome with the sun bouncing off its polished surfaces, it was blindingly bright, the kind of effect favored by the more flamboyant look-at-me Premiership footballers.

“This is so
exciting
,” Tula said softly, to the left of him. “If it was my car, I wouldn't have blacked-out windows, though. I'd want everyone to see me in it!”

The limo slowed to a halt, its doors flew open, and out leaped three people. Predictably, none of them was Sophie.

To the right of him, Dot smiled and said, “There you go. That's why I couldn't tell you—they wanted it to be a complete surprise!”

Josh looked at Jem, Bonnie, and Cal, three of the four members of Go Destry. Only Dizzy was missing. Jem's hair was even blonder, Bonnie's was much longer, and Cal's, shaved at the sides, was spiky and silver-tipped. As always, they were dressed to be noticed in the kind of outfits most people wouldn't leave the house in.

Josh waited. There had been no contact between them since the day they'd sacked him as their manager. Basically, he'd neither planned on ever seeing them again nor expected it to happen.

The awkward little moment was broken by Jem breaking into the kind of skyscraper-heeled run that could so easily have resulted in a broken ankle. She stopped less than a meter away from him, her huge sapphire-blue eyes swimming with tears, and said in a voice trembling with emotion, “Oh God, Josh, you have no idea. We've missed you
so
much
.”

***

It was all very Disney. Josh was perfectly well acquainted with Jem's ability to cry on cue. But he did the decent thing and greeted them as if they were old friends. Then, because all eyes were upon them and Griff was now barking and leaping up and down like a mad thing on springs, he ushered them inside the hotel and into the empty drawing room.

Ironically, the room that had been the cause of his first-ever encounter with Sophie.

So much for his trip to Bristol this afternoon; he had a feeling that was no longer going to happen.

“Okay, cards on the table,” Jem announced; out of the three of them, she'd always been the one who'd done most of the talking. “We're sorry. We messed up big time. We thought we were doing the right thing and we were so, so wrong. Our new management guys suck.”

“I could have told you all that.” Josh shrugged. “In fact, I did. But you didn't listen.”

Bonnie said, “You're, like, a zillion times nicer than them. They treat us like total idiots.”

Sometimes no reply was necessary. A look sufficed.

Well, it would suffice if the people on the receiving end didn't think so highly of themselves that the possibility of irony wouldn't even occur to them.

“
They're
the ones who are idiots,” Jem exclaimed. “They're making all these terrible decisions, forcing us to do stupid things… We're going to end up a laughingstock!”

“Right.”

Cal joined in. “You should hear the tracks they want us to record for our next album. It's all so lame, like music for little kids. And the prototypes for our new dolls are just crappy. Mine makes me look like a complete
dick
.”

“That's very sad.” Josh eyed them gravely. “But I don't know why you're telling me this. You need to speak to your management about it.”

“Except they don't listen.” Bonnie fixed him with a pleading gaze. “Not like you used to.”

“Okay, so here's the thing,” said Jem. “We don't want them looking after us anymore. We want you.”

“We're
so
sorry.” Bonnie clasped her hands together as if she were praying. “For everything. All we're asking is for you to take us back.”

“And we'll work so hard for you,” Cal said earnestly. “Swear to God, no more messing about and backchat and giving you a hard time. None of that stuff.”

“We didn't appreciate you before.” Jem looked as if she might be about to burst into tears; her bottom lip was doing its quivery thing. “But that's because we were stupid and took you for granted. We wouldn't make that mistake again.”

“Where's Dizzy?” said Josh, though he had an inkling.

Bonnie shook her head. “He's just taking things easy, having a bit of a rest…”

“He's in rehab.” Cal was blunt. “Drying out, getting himself clean. But he's going to do it. And he wants you back, same as the rest of us.”

“We've stopped all that too,” Jem added. “No more messing ourselves up. It'll be a fresh start. We want to come back bigger and better and stronger than before. And with you managing us, we can do that; we know we can.” Her eyes lit up at the thought of it. “Go Destry rides again!”

“Look, it's nice of you to make the offer. I'm flattered.” Josh surveyed their hopeful faces. “But I'm not interested. I've moved on. I'm living back here now and—”

“Not so fast,” said Cal. “What d'ya think of the limo?”

“It's very…silver.” Well, it was better than saying it looked like a giant toaster on wheels.

“It's yours.” Cal nodded his spiky head in triumph. “You can have it. And it's called chrome-wrapped, not silver. Anyhow, if you come back to us, it's all yours.”

Josh envisaged the chaos he would cause attempting to maneuver the ultrastretch limo through the narrow, cobbled streets of St. Carys. It would be like attempting to fit a brontosaurus into a rabbit hutch.

Then again, if he went back to managing Go Destry, he wouldn't be here in St. Carys, would he?

He looked at Cal. “You don't own the limo. It's hired.” Apart from anything else, it had been driven down here by a uniformed chauffeur.

“I know that. But on the way down, we found out how much it'd cost us to buy it.”

“I live here now. I'm helping to run this hotel.”

“But we need you,” said Jem. “We really do. Even if it's just for the next couple years…”

“We flew all this way to ask you,” Bonnie added. “We made the effort so you'd know how serious we are.”

“And we've changed.” Jem's heart-shaped face was both saintly and penitent. “We're better people now. I guess we were kind of idiots before, but we've learned our lesson.”

Josh nodded. “I'm sure you have, but the answer's still no.”

Cal said, “But—”

“Okay, listen to me.” Jem's voice rose above the others' clamor of protests. “Don't say no yet. You need time to think about it. We're gonna give you forty-eight hours. How about that? And after you've considered all the angles,
then
you can tell us what you decide.”

“What will you do in the meantime?”

“Just hang out here, I guess. Chill for a couple days.”

“And where will you stay?” said Josh.

“This is your hotel, right? We'll stay here.”

Josh silently marveled at their assumption that there would be rooms available; it wouldn't occur to them that they might need to book ahead. Luckily, there'd been a cancellation.

“I'll need to check with reception. You girls will have to share,” he told them.

“Cool, I guess we can do that. Just like in the old days.” Bonnie's smile was bright and brave. “When we were poor.”

“Is there much to do here?” Cal was gazing out of the window, sounding dubious. “Not exactly Caesar's Palace, is it?”

Jem gave him a sharp nudge. “Shut up. This is Josh's place.” She turned back and said cheerily, “So we'll do that, shall we? Ask that old woman on reception to fix us up with a couple of rooms? It'll be great!”

They were evidently at a bit of a loose end; with their lead singer tucked away in rehab, there wasn't a great deal else the rest of them could do. Go Destry without Dizzy was like the Rolling Stones without Mick.

“Fine, then,” said Josh. “But the old woman on reception is my grandmother. And if you really want to live until the weekend, it might help to know that her name is Dot.”