Lottie Carlyle is happy enough. Living in a beautiful cottage with her two adorable - sometimes - kids in an idyllic village, on good terms with her ex-husband, and with friends all around, everything is going just fine. But when she meets her new boss, her peaceful world is thrown into delightful, exciting, and frustrating chaos. Tyler is perfect for Lottie, but her kids do not agree. To make matters worse, the handsome and mysterious Seb appears on the scene, intriguing - and distracting - Lottie and charming her children, making it more difficult for her to make up her mind...
"Very nicely done... Jill Mansell's chorus of sharp-witted youth, shaking sticks at the foibles of their elders, is delightful." - Daily Express
"A smashing read that both delights and surprises the reader." - The Sun
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The lane
that ran alongside the garden of Hestacombe House was narrow and banked high on
both sides with poppies, cow parsley, and blackberry bushes. Turning left,
Tyler Klein worked out, would lead you back up to the village of Hestacombe.
Turning right took you down to the lake. As he took the right turn, Tyler heard
the sound of running feet and giggling.
Rounding
the first bend in the lane, he saw two small children twenty or thirty yards
away, clambering over a stile. Dressed in shorts, T--shirts, and baseball caps,
the one in front was carrying a rolled--up yellow-and-white-striped striped
towel, while his companion clutched a haphazard bundle of clothes. Glancing up
the lane and spotting Tyler, they giggled again and leaped down from the stile
into the cornfield beyond. By the time he reached the stile they’d scurried out
of sight, no doubt having taken some shortcut back to the village following
their dip in the lake.
The lane opened out into a sandy clearing that sloped
down to meet a small artificial beach. Freddie Masterson had had this
constructed several years ago, chiefly for the benefit of visitors to his
lakeside vacation cottages, but also—-as Tyler had just witnessed—-to be
enjoyed by the inhabitants of Hestacombe. Shielding his eyes from the glare of
the afternoon sun as it bounced off the lake, Tyler saw a girl in a bright
turquoise bikini floating lazily on her back in the water. There was a faint
unearthly wailing sound coming from somewhere he couldn’t quite place. Then the
noise—-was it singing?—-stopped. Moments later, as Tyler watched, the girl
turned onto her front and began to swim slowly back to shore.
It could
almost be that scene from Dr. No, where Sean Connery observes Ursula
Andress emerging goddess--like from a tropical sea. Except he wasn’t hiding in
the bushes and he had all his own hair. And this girl didn’t have a large knife
strapped to her thigh.
She
wasn’t blond either. Her long dark hair was a riot of snaky curls plastered to
her shoulders, her body curvy and deeply tanned. Impressed—-because an
encounter like this was the last thing he’d been expecting—-Tyler nodded in a
friendly fashion as she paused to wring water from her dripping hair and said,
“Good swim?”
The girl
surveyed him steadily, then looked around the tiny beach. Finally she said,
“Where’s my stuff?”
Stuff. Taken aback, Tyler gazed around too, even though he
had no idea what he was meant to be looking for. For one bizarre moment he
wondered if she had arranged to meet a drug dealer here. That was what people
said, wasn’t it, when they met up with their dealer?
“What
stuff?”
“The
usual stuff you leave out of the water when you go for a swim. Clothes. Towel.
Diamond earrings.”
Tyler
said, “Where did you put them?”
“Right
there where you’re standing. Right there,” the girl repeated, pointing
at his polished black shoes. She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Is this
a joke?”
“I guess
it is. But I’m not the one playing it.” Half turning, Tyler indicated the
narrow lane behind him. “I passed a couple kids back there, carrying off
stuff.”
She had
her hands on her hips now, and was surveying him with growing disbelief. “And
it didn’t occur to you to stop them?”
“I
thought it was their stuff.” This was ridiculous, he’d never said the word stuff
so many times before in his life. “I guess I just thought they’d been swimming
down here in this lake.”
“You
thought the size ten pink halter--necked dress and size seven silver sandals
belonged to them.” The sarcasm—-that particularly British form of sarcasm—-was
evident in her voice.
“The
sandals were wrapped up in something pink. I didn’t actually get a close look
at the labels. I was thirty yards away.”
“But you
thought they’d been swimming.” Gazing at him intently, the girl said, “Tell me
something. Were they…wet?”
Shit. The
kids hadn’t been wet. He’d make a lousy private eye. Unwilling to concede
defeat, Tyler said, “They could have come down for a paddle. Look, did you
really leave diamond earrings with your clothes?”
“Do I
look completely stupid? No, of course I didn’t. Diamonds don’t dissolve in
water.” Impatiently she shook back her hair to show him the studs glittering in
her earlobes. “Right, what did these kids look like?”
“Like
kids. I don’t know.” Tyler shrugged. “They were wearing T--shirts, I guess.
And, um, shorts…”
The girl
raised her eyebrows. “That’s incredible. Your powers of observation are
dazzling. OK, was it a boy and a girl?”
“Maybe.”
He’d assumed they were boys, but one had had longer hair than the other. “Like
I said, I only saw them from a distance. They were climbing over a stile.”
“Dark
hair? Thin and wiry?” the girl persisted. “Did they look like a couple of
gypsies?”
“Yes.”
Tyler was instantly on the alert; when Freddie Masterson had been singing the
praises of Hestacombe he hadn’t mentioned any gypsies. “Are they a problem
around here?”
“Damn
right they’re a problem around here. They’re my children.” Intercepting the
look of horror on his face, the girl broke into a mischievous smile. “Relax,
they’re not really gypsies. You haven’t just mortally offended me.”
“Well,”
said Tyler, “I’m glad about that.”
“I didn’t see a thing, little sods. They must have crawled
through the bushes and sneaked off with my stuff when I wasn’t looking. That’s
what happens when you have kids who are hell--bent on joining the SAS. But this
isn’t funny.” No longer amused, the girl said impatiently, “I can’t believe
they’d do something so stupid. They don’t think, do they? Because now
I’m stuck here with no clothes—-”
“You’re
welcome to borrow my jacket.”
“And no
shoes.”
“I’m not
lending you my shoes,” Tyler drawled. “You’d look ridiculous. Plus, that’d
leave me with nothing to put on my feet.”
“Wuss.”
Thinking hard, the girl said, “OK, look, can you do me a favor? Go back up to
the village, past the pub, and my house is three doors down on the right.
Piper’s Cottage. The doorbell’s broken so you’ll have to bang on the door. Tell
Ruby and Nat to give you my clothes. Then you can bring them back down to me.
How does that sound?”
Water
from her hair was dripping into her clear hazel eyes, glistening on her tanned
skin. She had excellent white teeth and a persuasive manner. Tyler frowned.
“What if
the kids aren’t there?”
“Right,
now I know this isn’t ideal, but you have an honest face so I’m going to have
to trust you. If they aren’t there, you’ll just have to take the front door key
out from under the tub of geraniums by the porch and let yourself into the
house. My bedroom’s on the left at the top of the stairs. Just grab something
from the wardrobe.” Her mouth twitching, the girl said, “And no snooping in my
panty drawer while you’re there. Just pick out a dress and some shoes then let
yourself out of the house. You can be back here in ten minutes.”
“I can’t
do this.” Tyler shook his head. “You don’t even know me. I’m not going to let
myself into a strange house. And if your kids are there…well, that’s even
worse.”
“Hi.” Seizing his hand, she enthusiastically shook it.
“I’m Lottie Carlyle. There, now I’ve introduced myself. And my house really isn’t
that strange. A bit untidy perhaps, but that’s allowed. And you are?”
“Tyler.
Tyler Klein. Still not doing it.”
“Well,
you’re a big help. I’m going to look like an idiot walking through the village
like this.”
“I told you, you can borrow my jacket.” Seeing as she was
dripping wet and his suit jacket was silk--lined and seriously expensive, he
felt this was a pretty generous offer. Lottie Carlyle, however, seemed
unimpressed.
“I’d still look stupid. You could lend me your shirt,”
she wheedled. “That’d be better.”
Tyler was
here on business. He had no intention of removing his shirt. Firmly he said, “I
don’t think so. It’s the jacket or nothing.”
Realizing
when she was beaten, Lottie Carlyle took the jacket from him and put it on.
“You drive a hard bargain. There, do I look completely ridiculous?”
“Yes.”
“You’re
too kind.” She looked sadly down at her bare feet. “Any chance of a piggy
back?”
Tyler
looked amused. “Don’t push your luck.”
“Are you
saying I’m fat?”
“I’m
thinking of my street cred.”
Interested,
Lottie said, “What are you doing here, anyway? In your smart city suit and
shiny shoes?”
There clearly wasn’t much call for city suits here in
Hestacombe. As they turned to leave, Tyler glanced back at the lake, where
iridescent dragonflies were darting over the surface of the water and a family
of ducks had just swum into view. Casually he said,
“Just visiting.”
“Just visiting.”
Gingerly
picking her way along the stony, uneven lane, Lottie winced and said
meaningfully, “Ouch, my feet."
3 copies of Making Your Mind Up by Jill Mansell
Open until 6/1/2015
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