The Unexpected Consequences of Love (30 page)

This time the shop was open. Since he wasn't stupid—not twice, anyway—Josh had called in advance to double-check.

And now he was here. It had begun to feel as if the fates were conspiring against him, but it was happening at last.

Please God, don't let Theo Pargeter refuse point-blank to speak to him when he found out the reason for his visit.

Josh braced himself. The conversation would be infinitely easier without other customers around. And it looked as if he were in luck; getting here this early seemed to have paid off. When he made his way through the gates, he saw only the one person in the outdoor section of the shop, busy unstacking a delivery of glazed planter pots.

“Hi.” Noticing him, Theo Pargeter straightened up and said in a friendly manner, “Anything I can help you with?”

Just
a
bit
.

“I hope so. But it's not to do with this.” Josh indicated the garden furniture surrounding them. “More…personal.”

Theo looked taken aback. “Oh? What kind of personal?”

Okay, this was way more difficult than the meetings he'd had with entertainment industry bigwigs back in LA. Probably because the outcome was way more important.

“I need to ask some questions.” Josh cleared his throat, which appeared to have his heart beating away in it. “About Sophie Wells.”

Theo went very still. The color drained visibly from his face. At last he said, “Why? Is she all right?”

“She's alive. Fit and healthy. I don't know about all right.”

“Who are you?” said Theo.

Honesty had to be the best policy. May as well go for it. “I know her. We know each other. As friends,” Josh amended. “I wish it was more, but it isn't.”

“Why not?” Theo was eyeing him warily.

“Because something happened in Sophie's past that…changed her. And I don't know what that something is, but I need to find out. Because I love her. And I think she has feelings for me, but she won't let herself get emotionally involved with anyone.” He shook his head. “Not with anyone at all.”

The silence lengthened between them. Finally Theo said, “Have you tried asking her why not?”

“Of course I've tried. She refuses to talk about it. And it's killing me,” said Josh. “I need to know what happened. Maybe then I can help. Whatever it is, I just want Sophie to be able to put it behind her…because there has to be a way. If she can just get over it, she can be happy again.”

“Oh God.” Theo ran a shaking hand over his forehead. “Does she know you're here?”

“No.” Josh knew he had to ask the question. “Will you tell me? Did she try to commit suicide? Is that what happened?”

More silence.

Then Theo shook his head. “No, Sophie didn't try to commit suicide. I did.”

In the frozen seconds following this startling pronouncement, a Kawasaki motorbike pulled into the parking area. A skinny lad removed his crash helmet and said, “Sorry I'm late. A truck broke down on Falcondale Road. Traffic was chaos.”

“Doesn't matter.” Theo shook his head. “Roddie, can you finish unpacking these pots and take charge? I have to go out for a bit.”

Roddie, who evidently worked as Theo's assistant, shrugged and said, “Cool, no probs.”

The two of them walked up the road to a small café and found a quiet corner where they couldn't be overheard. Then Josh sat and listened as Theo began to talk.

The whole story came out, jerkily at first, then faster and faster as it went along, fueled by shame and remorse.

“It was my fault. All my fault. Sophie didn't do anything wrong. God, I had no idea. I swear I never thought it would have that kind of effect on her. I don't know how she stuck it out with me for as long as she did. I was a nightmare.” Theo grimaced at the memory. “Well, I was ill. The doctors told me I'd had a complete nervous breakdown. It was hell for both of us. But after the overdose, when I told Sophie I never wanted to see her again, it was because I was so ashamed of what I'd done. And I told myself I was doing the right thing. I thought she'd be happy to be off the hook. The reason I left Birmingham was to give her some space. Well, I needed to get away too, take some time to sort myself out. Then after a while I heard she'd moved down to Cornwall. Is that where you're from too?”

Josh nodded, still taking in everything he'd heard. “St. Carys, on the north coast.”

“I know. I googled her name. She has her own photography business.” Theo's smile was brief. “Good for Sophie. It's what she always wanted.”

Hmm, not quite true; what most twentysomething girls wanted was to live normal, happy lives and not be too terrified to allow themselves to fall in love
.

“And how are you now? Are you happy?”

“Completely.” Theo shrugged. “Everything's great. You don't think your life can change like that, become so much better; you just can't imagine it. But it can. It really can.”

“You could have sent Sophie an email,” said Josh. “Just to let her know you were fine.” But he knew now, understood why that had never happened.

“It never occurred to me for a single moment that she'd be interested. I swear I just thought she'd be glad to have me out of her life. I caused her so much pain.” Theo had been shredding a paper napkin as he spoke; now he tidied the torn remnants on his saucer. “And I felt so guilty about that.” He paused. “
So
guilty. Why would she ever want to hear from me again?”

Josh looked at him. It was no one's fault. God, what a mess, all these years of needless misery.

Theo's phone beeped, signaling the arrival of a text. He checked it and said, “Right, we need to get back.”

But when they returned to the shop, Theo walked past it and headed for the adjoining house instead, gesturing for Josh to follow him.

“Come along inside. There's something I want you to see.”

“Oh wow.” Tula's mouth dropped open as she gazed around the hotel lobby, breathed in the smell of money in the air. “How the other half lives.”

“Stop gawking,” said Marguerite. “You look like a tourist.”

“I
am
a tourist.” The diamond-patterned black-and-white marble floor gleamed, chandeliers glittered above their heads, and the wallpaper and furniture were like something out of a palace. A porter was wheeling a trolley piled high with Louis Vuitton luggage toward the lifts, and the chances were that it wasn't even fake. Every single person in this reception hall looked like a millionaire. Sliding her phone out of her pocket, Tula said, “Am I allowed to take photos?”

“No, you are
not
. Put that thing away.” Marguerite rolled her eyes at the very idea. “Don't embarrass yourself.”

Tula grinned, because she was learning that Marguerite's bark was infinitely worse than her bite. “Spoilsport. But don't you ever walk into a place like this and pinch yourself because you're here and it's just so incredible? Or are you so used to it by now that you don't even notice? I mean,
look
at it…”

“Oh, of course I notice.” Tula's refusal to be intimidated by Marguerite had, happily, resulted in the older woman relaxing and lowering her own guard. “I may be rich on the outside, but I still feel poor on the inside. You never forget your roots.”

“Well, anyway, thanks for letting me come along.” Tula, poor inside and out but used to it, added, “You have no idea; this is so exciting for me.”

Marguerite was smiling at her now. “Is it? Good. Ah, here comes Riley with the keys.”

Back from getting them checked in, Riley said, “Here we go. We're on the third floor.”

A porter, materializing as if by magic at Tula's other side, said, “Madame, would you like me to take care of your bag?”

God, how mortifying. Not only did he look like something out of
Downton
Abbey
, but her overnight bag was from a thrift store. “Thanks, but it's okay. No need,” she reassured him. “They're the guests. I'm staying somewhere else.”

As they made their way up in the unbelievably plush lift, Tula marveled at the sequence of events that had brought her here to London and the Savoy Hotel. Forty-eight hours ago, Marguerite had hosted a book club event at Moor Court and Tula had been called upon to help out for the first time. The evening had gone well. Everyone had enjoyed themselves and Marguerite had been on top lady-author form. Following the departure of the last few guests, however, she'd discovered that one of her diamond earrings had fallen out. Panic ensued. After twenty minutes of frantic searching, Tula had located the missing earring buried in the deep pile of the ivory carpet in the drawing room, where the event had taken place.

Shortly after that, while she'd been washing up the perilously long-stemmed wineglasses, she'd listened while Marguerite and Riley, at the scrubbed-oak kitchen table, went through the appointments diary for the coming week. Thursday was publication day in the UK for
Tell
Me
Now
, Marguerite's latest novel, and there was a ton of promotional work to be done. Interviews with journalists for newspapers and the most popular websites had been lined up. Videos needed to be made and posted online. There were book signings and an endless round of radio interviews…

“And on Thursday you've got the
EveryDay
show.” Riley moved on down the list.

“Right. Who am I on with?”

Tula's ears pricked up as Riley mentioned the names of the British-born Hollywood actor and the nation's favorite songstress.

“Well, I've heard of the actor,” said Marguerite, “but the other one…no idea. You'd better dig up some info for me so I have some clue who she is.”

“I will.” Riley nodded and scribbled a note on the page. “Although the audience loved it last year when you asked Dustin Hoffman what films he'd been in.”

Dustin
Hoffman
. Tula almost snapped one of the long-stemmed wineglasses.
Imagine
. “He was very nice about it,” Marguerite admitted. “Okay, carry on. What happens on Friday?”

“Can I just say something? You should be more excited than this.” Having finished rinsing the last of the glasses, Tula picked up a tea towel. “Seriously, you're going to be on TV with really famous people and millions of viewers.” The
EveryDay
show was massively popular, an early evening magazine-style program hosted by Jon and Jackie Jerome, a much-loved former comedian and his perky wife. “I'd give anything to be on a show like that. Even being in a TV studio would be thrilling for most people. And you're not even excited.”

“It's just work. Selling books, that's all.” Sounding surprised, Marguerite said, “Have you really never visited a TV studio?”

Hello? Real world?
“No! Believe it or not, most people haven't.”

“Well, are you free on Thursday? If you want,” Marguerite offered, “you can come up with us.” She turned to Riley and said innocently, “That'd be okay, wouldn't it? You wouldn't mind?”

Tula hid a smile; Marguerite the meddling matchmaker was up to her tricks again. Honestly, it was so obvious. But visiting the TV studio was an irresistible draw. Let's face it; offers like this didn't come along every day.

“After tomorrow I've got two days off, so that'd be perfect. If you're sure?”

“Of course I'm sure.” Marguerite indicated the list. “We're booked into the Savoy, right?”

The
Savoy? Yikes.

“We are.” Riley nodded. “Two rooms.”

“Well, that's no problem. She can share yours.”

Riley was visibly mortified, shaking his head. “No, don't say that. It's just embarrassing.”

While Tula fleetingly imagined what it would be like to share a room—and a bed—with Riley.
In
the
Savoy
.

“Well, she certainly isn't sharing with me,” Marguerite retorted.

“Honestly, don't worry,” Tula blurted out, distracted by the unexpected mental image of Riley without any clothes on—God, where had
that
sprung from? “I'll sort out my own bed for the night.”

***

Which she had. But the urge to see
their
beds had been irresistible. And the two adjacent rooms were, as she'd known they would be, classy and immaculate in every way.

“Not bad, eh?” Marguerite joined her at the window as Tula gazed out at the view of the city skyline. The London Eye turned lazily on the South Bank, boats slid through the green-gray water of the Thames, and sunlight bounced off the windshields of the cars and trucks making their way across Westminster Bridge.

“It's amazing.” Tula pointed. “Look, there's the Houses of Parliament! This is like being in a film!”

“I know. It's why I always stay here when I'm in London. The heart of the capital city,” Marguerite announced dramatically. “The best view in the world.”

“Not quite,” said Tula. “Not as good as the view of St. Carys beach from the Mariscombe House Hotel.”

Marguerite smiled. “You like it there?”

“Love it. More than anything.”

“So you're planning to stick around.”

“Why would anyone want to leave?”

“I know. I feel the same way. There's no place like home.” After a moment, Marguerite added drily, “Even if things sometimes don't turn out according to plan.”

Tula instinctively knew what she was talking about; she gave the older woman's arm an impulsive squeeze. Lawrence and Dot were back together, a couple once more, and on the surface Marguerite had taken Lawrence's defection admirably well. But Tula sensed her feelings had been hurt rather more deeply than she'd let on.

“Anyway, I'm going to head off now.” Tula picked up the pink overnight bag that was looking so out of place in its plush surroundings.

“This is crazy. You don't have to go.” Marguerite gave it one last try. “You can stay in Riley's room.”

Sharing
a
bed
with
Riley…their bodies accidentally touching in the night…ripples of desire she might not have the strength of will to control…

“It's fine, honestly. And my room's all booked. Forty-three pounds.” Tula said it with pride, having haggled the price down from fifty-five. “Bargain!”

Marguerite suppressed a shudder of distaste. “How ghastly. I can't imagine anything worse.”

***

“This is
soooo
exciting.” Tula whispered the words into Riley's ear so no one else in the studio audience could hear. She didn't want to sound like a complete dork.

Oh, but there was such a buzz of anticipation in the air. The cameramen were maneuvering their cameras around the studio floor like Daleks; the presenters, Jon and Jackie, were making last-minute adjustments to their scripts and a makeup girl was busy dusting mattifying powder on Jon's forehead. In three minutes the show was set to start and they'd be live on air. The atmosphere was electric.

“Calm down,” Riley murmured back. “You aren't actually going to be on TV yourself.”

“I know.” He'd found it amusing earlier that she'd changed into a nice dress and put on makeup. “But I could be, that's the thing. Look at us, right here in the front row. If the show started and I suddenly jumped up and ran up there, they couldn't stop me. I could rip off my clothes and streak across the stage… By the time they realized what was going on—
pah
, it'd be too late.”

“All the same, probably better if you don't do it.” Riley seized her hand, his warm fingers closing around hers. “In fact, I'm going to keep hold of you, just to be on the safe side. Apart from anything else, Marguerite wouldn't be too thrilled if you stole her thunder.”

“True.” Tula settled back in her seat; it wasn't as if she was actually planning on doing a streak across the studio on live TV. But having her hand held by Riley was nice, and easier to cope with than those vivid mental images of being naked in bed with him…
Uh
oh, whoops, and now it's happening again…

“Sorry, can I squeeze in?” Suze, who worked in the publicity department at Marguerite's publisher and had been waiting backstage with her, made her way past them and settled into the empty seat on Riley's other side. She glanced at their entwined hands and switched off her phone before dropping it into her bag.

“How is she?” Riley asked. “Okay?”

“Quite nervous, actually. More than usual.” Suze shrugged, not particularly concerned. “Probably because she's on with Tony Weston. I think she finds him rather attractive.” Her eyes danced. “Sadly, Tony has his lovely wife with him… Ooh, here we go now. Show's about to start.”