The Unexpected Consequences of Love (34 page)

When Tula and Riley arrived back at Moor Court, Marguerite came rushing out to greet them.

“And? Tell me everything! We're
dying
to know.”

“We? Who else is here?” Riley looked around; there were no other cars on the driveway.

“Not
here
here,” Marguerite said impatiently. “I meant Baz. We're on Skype!”

“Again? Has he asked you to marry him yet?”

“Oh
shush
.” But Marguerite's eyes were sparkling as she shook her head at Riley; her Skype calls with Baz were rapidly approaching marathon status. “We've been talking nonstop since midday.”

Tula marveled at the change in Marguerite; the last week had been eventful to say the least. Following her shock confession on the
EveryDay
show, the backlash had been swift and brutal. Her fans had felt cheated and betrayed, and coruscating journalists berated Marguerite for lying to her readers and treating them like gullible fools.

People who'd never read any of her books piled in to condemn her, and the hatred gathered pace to such an extent that she was practically public enemy number one.

This continued for forty-eight hours and could well have carried on had Bertha Mulligan, Marguerite's deadliest and most vociferous rival in the world of contemporary women's fiction, not launched her own personal attack. Bertha was singularly self-important, and her latest face-lift had left her looking like a bulldog wrapped in cling film. Miraculously, it was the utter viciousness of her comments that caused everyone to take against her and decide they'd far rather be on Marguerite's side instead.

Sympathy then turned to admiration when Marguerite refused to retaliate and Bertha found herself an object of ridicule and distaste.

The general public, who had always admired and respected Marguerite, now decided to love her instead. An underdog for the first time in her life, she found herself taken into their collective hearts. Her publishers, needless to say, breathed a hurricane-sized sigh of relief.

At the same time, interest in Riley had grown at a rate of knots, book sales rocketed, and the publishers had already suggested that if he wanted to divide his time between coauthoring Marguerite's books and writing something else in a different genre under his own name, they would back him to the hilt. It was an idea Riley had never considered before, but their support—and Marguerite's—had inspired him to begin plotting out an action thriller with a hero who could feature in future books.

The other exciting development had occurred last week when Marguerite's agent had been contacted by a U.S.-based film producer keen on turning her life story into a movie.

This wasn't unusual in itself—options on her books had been snapped up over the years by various TV and film production companies—but the difference this time was the man doing the snapping. Baz Kingsley had emailed Marguerite, then he'd phoned her…and phoned again, swiftly establishing a rapport. In no time at all they'd progressed to video calls, and now Baz was flying over next week to meet her in person. They were as besotted with each other as teenagers, completely smitten.

Which was wonderful in one way—Baz was ruggedly good-looking, hugely successful, and had his own teeth
and
private jet. The slight downside was that he had five ex-wives.

Five
.

Frankly, it was a miracle he had any money left at all.

Having been updated with the details of Sophie's meeting with Theo on the beach, Marguerite said, “Poor darling, what that girl's been through.” She looked at Riley and raised her eyebrows. “We could use it in our next book.”

“No, we couldn't.” Riley shook his head firmly. “That wouldn't be fair.”

“Spoilsport. Oh well, I suppose you're right. I've invited a few people down from the publishers next week, by the way. So they can meet Baz. I'd better get back to him; he'll be wondering where I've gotten to.” Taking a crimson Dior lipstick from her skirt pocket, she applied it with a practiced flourish, then bared her teeth tigerishly at Tula. “Am I okay? Any on my teeth?”

“No, you're fine.” Tula did her best to keep a straight face as Marguerite patted her hair and pinched her cheeks to make herself camera ready once more for Baz.

“Oh, stop it; I know you're laughing at me. I know how crazy this whole thing probably seems to you. But that's because you're young,” Marguerite chided, “and I'm not. And I've never felt this way about any man before. Not any of my husbands,” she announced defiantly. “Not even Lawrence. This thing with Baz… Okay, I know we haven't met in person yet, but it just feels so different; it's like the moment I first saw him…”

“We know.” Riley winked at Tula as Marguerite gazed off dreamily into the distance. “We can tell. It was love at first Skype.”

It was six o'clock when Sophie left her flat and walked up the hill toward the hotel. The shoot had gone well. Gloria had been thrilled with the pictures of her with her impressively large bump. In one of the photos Sophie had even managed to capture the moment when the baby had been kicking and flailing, so that pushed-out hand and footprints were clearly visible on the outside.

Which had been both miraculous and a little bit weird.

“You can't imagine how it feels.” Gloria had run her hands lovingly over her watermelon-sized stomach. “You just have to wait until it happens to you.”

And for the first time—the
very
first time—the idea of it didn't fill Sophie with terror.

Everything felt different now. It was incredible. She felt as if she were starting a whole new life of her own.

Arriving at Mariscombe House, Sophie glanced down and stopped in her tracks. Oh, brilliant, so much for calm and in control. From the ankles up she was okay, wearing a sleeveless lilac dress and a bit of makeup, no problem there. But from the ankles down… Well, one orange flip-flop and one purple one probably was a bit of a giveaway.

How had that even happened? Oh well, never mind, too late now. She pushed open the door and made her way through the hotel and out onto the broad terrace at the back, boasting the best views in St. Carys.

She waved at Dot and Lawrence, sitting at a table at the other end of the terrace. Home from hospital now, Lawrence was recuperating nicely, and he and Dot were inseparable. It made your heart sing to see them together, reunited at last.

There were plenty of other guests out here too, eating and drinking and enjoying the early evening sunshine. Sophie spotted the ones she was looking for and went over to them.

Back from the beach, Theo and Lorna each had a twin on their lap.

“Hi.” Sophie opened her turquoise and silver bag and took out an envelope. “Can't stop, but I just wanted you to have this. I took it earlier, kind of by accident. Thought you might like it.”

Theo slid the glossy enlarged photo from the envelope. He studied the picture of himself smiling and gazing lovingly into his daughter's eyes as she lay cradled in his arms, clutching a shell and giggling with delight.

“Wow.” Leaning over to take a look, Lorna said, “That's fantastic.”

Sophie shrugged. “I couldn't help myself. You just looked so happy.”

“I am.” Theo nodded. “You know, you're pretty good at this. You should think about taking it up professionally.”

“I may just do that.” Sophie turned to leave, smiling at Lorna and waggling her fingers at the girls. “See you later.”

Back inside, she stopped at the reception desk and said, “Hi, is Josh around?”

The new receptionist shook her head. “He isn't in the office.”

“Oh.” Sophie's heart was clattering around inside her rib cage like a church bell; please don't let him have gone out.

“He's busy upstairs in his apartment, said he had some very important work to be getting on with.” The girl was new and hesitant. “I could call him if it's really urgent, and ask him to come down.”

There was no going back now. Sophie said, “It's okay, I'll head on up.”

“But…do you know him?”

“I do.”
And
I'm about to get to know him even better
.

The receptionist said helplessly, “Should I give him a ring first?”

“No, let's make it a surprise.” Sophie was already halfway up the first flight of stairs.

“Um, excuse me. You've got different-colored flip-flops on!”

“I know,” Sophie called over her shoulder. “It's a style statement.”

She reached the door on the third floor and knocked straight away.
Here
I
am. Here we go. It's happening at last
.

Josh looked surprised when he opened the door. “Hi. I thought you'd call first.”

Ah, look at him. Look at that face, those incredible eyes…

“Couldn't wait.” Her mouth curved into an unstoppable smile. “Besides, I wanted to see what you were up to. The receptionist says you're busy doing some
very
important work.”

With a whiffle of delight, Griff bounced off the sofa and trotted over to see her. She bent and tickled his ears.

“Hey, sweetie, what's this incredibly important work that's being dealt with up here, hmm?”

The TV was on, showing an old film starring Frank Sinatra. Josh's computer was also open and she got to it before he could shut it down.

“Aha, Angry Birds.” Sophie nodded triumphantly. “Very busy, very important work.”

Josh closed the lid of the computer and gave her a long look. “It's all right for you; you've had something to distract you. I've spent the last three hours wondering when you might turn up or even
if
you'd turn up and what you might say if you did.” He paused to take a steadying breath. “Because that's the thing about you… I never know what you're going to say—apart from
no
, rather more often than I'd like.”

Sophie gazed up at him. Josh Strachan, impulsive and impatient by nature, had been infinitely more patient than she deserved. A lesser man would have given up on her months ago.

But that was the thing about Josh; he wasn't a lesser man. He was strong and honest and knew what he wanted. He was also a problem solver, and somehow, miraculously, he had managed to sort out her problem.

He'd freed her from the cage she'd built around herself.

“I'm going to say thank-you,” said Sophie. “For everything.”

She stepped forward, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him on the mouth. Oh wow, and there it was, happening again, fireworks exploding and every molecule in her body fizzing with adrenaline… The sensations were just overwhelming and it felt like coming home.

Was it possible to be happier than this?

“You see?” When the kiss finally ended, Josh held her face between his hands. “That's the kind of answer I like. It's the kind of answer worth waiting for.”

He smiled, and the look in those glittering dark eyes made Sophie's insides melt with love.

“Thanks for finding Theo and making it happen. Thanks for understanding how I felt.” She had never felt so elated, so helium-filled with joy. “Thanks for hanging in there. It means the world to me. You're everything I ever wanted.” Her eyes were prickling this time, with tears of happiness. “And everything I thought I could never let myself have.”

“You're worth it.” Josh tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and gazed at her. “Honestly? I didn't even know the kind of girl I was looking for. And then you came along, and you were it. You were just perfect. So I really didn't have any choice.”

“I'm not perfect.”

“You are to me.” He paused and frowned. “Apart from one slight problem…”

“Oh?” Were her boobs too small?

Josh moved back, glanced down at her feet. “Want to tell me what happened? Or are they meant to be like that?”

“I was on my way here to see you.” Sophie smiled and slid her arms around his waist. “Obviously I was distracted. Don't worry; I didn't do it on purpose.”

“Good. Glad about that.” His smile broadened. “It does look a bit…you know, eclectic.”

Griff, his tail wagging, was still dancing excitedly around them. They'd reached the stage, Sophie felt, where some alone time might be preferable. Bending down, she eased off the flip-flops and sandwiched them together, then offered them to Griff. The little dog, who loved
all
footwear with a passion, gave an ecstatic wiggle and grabbed them, cigar-style, between his teeth.

“What are you doing?” Josh watched as she crossed the room and opened the door to let Griff out.

“Sometimes,” said Sophie, “three's a crowd.”

They heard the clatter of claws on polished wood as Griff disappeared downstairs with his fabulous treasure of one orange flip-flop and one purple one.

“You're mad,” said Josh. “He could take them anywhere; you know what he's like about burying things. You might never see them again.”

Sophie closed the door and turned the key in the lock so they couldn't be interrupted. “Don't worry about it.” With a playful smile, she made her way back to Josh. “I've got another pair just like them at home.”

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Jill Mansell's next book

Making Your

Mind Up

Available May 2015 from

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