Also by Jill Mansell
Miranda’s Big Mistake
Sheer Mischief
An Offer You Can’t Refuse
Millie’s Fling
Perfect Timing
Rumor Has It
Take a Chance on Me
Staying at Daisy’s
To the Moon and Back
Nadia Knows Best
A Walk in the Park
Thinking of You
Don’t Want to Miss a Thing
The Unexpected Consequences of Love
Making Your Mind Up
Falling for You
Good at Games
The One You Really Want
You and Me, Always
Three Amazing Things About You
Solo
Meet Me at Beachcomber Bay
Head Over Heels
This Could Change Everything
Sheer Mischief
Fast Friends
Maybe This Time
Kiss
Mixed Doubles
It Started with a Secret
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Books. Change. Lives.
Copyright © 1996, 2007, 2021 by Jill Mansell
Cover and internal design © 2021 by Sourcebooks
Cover design by Elsie Lyons
Cover images © PlainpictureElektrons 08/, ©mexrix/shutterstock, ©Creativika Graphics
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.
Published by Sourcebooks Landmark, an imprint of Sourcebooks
P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410
(630) 961-3900
sourcebooks.com
Originally published in 1996 in the United Kingdom by Bantam Books, a division of Transworld Publishers Ltd. This edition based on the paperback edition published in 2007 by Headline Review, an imprint of Headline Publishing Group, a division of Hachette Livre UK Ltd.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Mansell, Jill, author.
Title: Two’s company / Jill Mansell.
Description: Naperville, Illinois : Sourcebooks Landmark, [2021] | “Originally published in 1996 in the United Kingdom by Bantam Books, a division of Transworld Publishers Ltd. This edition based on the paperback edition published in 2007 by Headline Review, an imprint of Headline Publishing Group, a division of Hachette Livre UK Ltd”--Title page verso.
Identifiers: LCCN 2020023586 | (paperback)
Subjects: GSAFD: Love stories.
Classification: LCC PR6063.A395 T96 2021 | DDC 823/.914--dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020023586
Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Excerpt from And Now You’re Back
About the Author
Back Cover
To Cory
with all my love
Chapter 1
Cass Mandeville, gradually stirring from sleep, stretched out an arm and encountered warm, bare flesh. She gave it a light tap. When the warm, bare flesh in turn shifted and its owner mumbled, “OK, OK,” Cass raised herself up on one elbow and dropped a playful, nuzzling kiss on the back of her husband’s neck.
“Forty-one today,” she sang quietly. “Forty-one today…”
Jack, rolling over onto his back, prodded her in the ribs. “I’m forty.”
“I know, but it doesn’t scan.” Cass prodded him back. “And forty’s quite shameful enough. Should an old man like you be lying in bed naked anyway? Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable wearing stripy pajamas and a mesh tank top?”
Jack pinched the tender flesh at the top of her thigh. “Great idea. And you can parcel yourself up in one of those frilly flannel nighties with a drawstring around the hem to stop dirty old men like me taking advantage of tender spring chickens like you. Cass, it’s my birthday,” he wheedled. “I don’t ask for much. Just a kiss from my lovely wife and a cup of tea in bed.”
Cass giggled as he began trailing kisses up her arm. “Is that all?”
“Well, toast and marmalade would be nice.” The kisses reached her elbow. “Then maybe a bacon-and-mushroom sandwich or two and a few newspapers to keep me company.”
“I could keep you company.”
The kisses, having reached her shoulder, abruptly stopped. Jack gave her a sorrowful look.
“You’ll be too busy making the bacon-and-mushroom sandwiches. Besides, what would I want with a thirty-nine-year-old woman? We older men prefer nubile young beauties, not a day over twenty-three, to tell us how wonderful we are.”
“How gray, you mean.” Gleefully, Cass ran her fingers along his temples, where the first flecks of silver mingled with the unruly, swept-back black hair that always seemed to need cutting.
“Cass, my angel.” Jack was reduced to begging now. “I’m starving. It’s still my birthday. Cup of tea, bacon sandwich…?”
“Aaargh!” In answer, she reached across and seized the alarm clock, giving it a frenzied shake. “Shit, it’s stopped! Jack, what’s the time?”
“Don’t tell me we’ve slept through my whole birthday,” he grumbled, seeing no reason to panic. His own watch, an unglamorous but infinitely reliable Sekonda, rested on the table next to his side of the bed. “Nine forty-five. Is that so desperate?”
It was, actually. With a flash of guilt, Cass remembered that she hadn’t quite been able to bring herself to tell him about this morning’s interview with the people from Hi! magazine. Having been forced to put them off last week at embarrassingly short notice because she’d forgotten she was supposed to be presenting the prizes at Sophie’s school sports day, she hadn’t had the heart to say no when Hi! had suggested rescheduling the visit for this morning.
Hi! was one of the numerous magazines cashing in on the phenomenally successful formula initiated by Hello!, a formula mocked by many but devoured by millions. Cass, who read them herself, enjoyed seeing how other people lived. Appearing in them—she had been “done” by Hello! years ago—was both lucrative and painless because you knew there was no way in the world the saccharine-penned journalist would write a single unflattering comment about you, your family, or your choice in pink-and-green tartan wallpaper.
The drawback was Jack, who thought all such magazines were nauseating beyond belief, an insult to journalism, and completely crappy to boot. Jack had been away working for a month in Australia when the Hello! people had interviewed Cass. On his return, she had eased the pain of presenting him with the fait accompli with a new conservatory already in situ and paid for with the magazine’s ludicrously generous fee.
They had made Cass an offer she couldn’t refuse. The trouble was, as Jack so acidly pointed out, she could never refuse anyone anything anyway. She would have said yes if they’d offered her fifty pence to swim the Channel.
Oh dear, thought Cass, her heart racing slightly at the prospect of having to tell him now. And this time, I’ve said yes for even less than that.
“What?” Watching her, Jack frowned. “You’re twitching. You look guilty. What is it?”
“Ah…”
“Mum! Dad! Someone downstairs to see you,” bawled Sophie on the other side of the bedroom door. She sounded as if she was yelling through a mouthful of cornflakes, which was entirely likely.
Jack raised his eyebrows. He turned his gaze back to Cass. “A strippergram? I’m so old and in need of humiliation, you’ve gotten me a strippergram?”
Cass hesitated, still wondering how best to word it.
“Sophie!” shouted Jack. “This someone. Is she by any chance wearing stockings and garters?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t looked.” Even through the closed door, they could hear their fourteen-year-old daughter’s prosaic sigh. “It’s possible, I suppose. D’you want me to ask him?”
It was no good. Cass, as incapable of keeping guests waiting as she was of saying no in the first place, grabbed a pink-and-white striped satin robe with yellow butterflies on it and threw it on.
“I’ll make the tea. He’s a journalist, come to do a piece on us. I got kind of bamboozled into it,” she went on hurriedly as, with a loud groan, Jack began to slide down under the duvet. “We had a phone-in on the show about the best ways to fundraise, and this sweet girl called in to say she’s never seen us interviewed in a magazine, so why didn’t we do it and donate the fee to charity?”
“My God…” Jack had by this time disappeared from view.
“So I said what a good idea, because what else could I say on live radio?” Cass protested. “And within minutes, this editor-in-chief from Hi! was on the phone pledging ten grand to the charity of my choice if I took her up on it.”
The groans increased in volume. “And who was the sweet girl, her secretary?”
“Oh, now that isn’t fair.”
Jack raised his eyebrows in disbelief at his trusting wife’s gullibility. Cass was about as streetwise as Bambi.
“Maybe not, but I’ll bet it’s true.”
“You’re so cynical,” Cass protested.
“That’s because I’m so old.” He smiled slightly as he hauled himself back into a sitting position. “You go ahead, sweetheart. This is your problem. You deal with it. All the more reason for me to stay in bed.”
* * *
“Hi, hello! So sorry to have kept you waiting like this!”
Gushing and breathless, Cass arrived downstairs to find her visitor waiting in the kitchen. Sophie had been joking. It wasn’t a male visitor with transvestite leanings but a friendly-looking girl in her midtwenties, wearing a dark-green fitted jacket and a short red skirt that clashed wonderfully with her streaky orange hair.
To make matters even worse than they already were, she was sitting at the kitchen table, which was strewn with the debris of Sophie’s haphazard breakfast together with last night’s supper dishes. Belatedly as usual, Cass remembered that Mrs. Bedford wouldn’t be in until midday because her husband needed her with him to make sure he didn’t pass out at the dentist’s.
“Really, it’s no problem.” The girl rose to her feet, smiled, and shook Cass’s hand. “It’s my fault anyway. I’m early. It’s a failing of mine.”
“And I’m always hopelessly disorganized,” Cass admitted with a sigh. “I forgot to set the alarm last night, so I’m afraid we overslept. Oh dear, this is terrible. What must you think of us? Did Sophie even offer you a cup of tea?”
She was getting into a flap. As she frantically attempted to clear the worst of the mess on the table, the loose sleeve of her dressing gown caught on the handle of the milk jug shaped like a cow, a ghastly monstrosity given to them for Christmas by Mrs. Bedford. Before Cass knew what was happening, a tidal wave of milk shot up her sleeve and down her front. The cow skidded with its feet in the air across the table.
Like lightning, the girl in the smart outfit put out an elegant hand and caught it before it hurtled over the edge.
“Oh, I say. Well held,” Cass gasped. Then she gazed down in dismay at the milk dripping down her front. “Eurgh. Just like breastfeeding.”
“Look, why don’t you sit down?” To Cass’s amazement, the girl was taking control of the situation, piling up dirty plates and transferring them briskly to the sink. The kettle was switched on, the milk jug refilled. At this rate, Jack was in danger of having his breakfast cooked for him by someone far more efficient than his own wife.
“Sorry, it looks as if it’s going to be one of those days.” All Cass could do was sit and watch and look suitably appreciative. It seemed safer somehow.
“You’ve only just woken up. I’m exactly the same.” The girl gave her a reassuring grin.
“But you’ve come here to do an interview, and look at the state of this place…”
“Let me tell you, it makes a nice change.” The girl laughed. “All I usually ever get to see are glittering showhouses where you’re scared to step on the carpet. It’s so much more reassuring to know the people you’re interviewing are human. Now, milk and sugar for you? Is this strong enough?”
Cass, accepting the cup of tea, was almost pathetically grateful. “You’re being so kind. I still can’t believe Sophie didn’t offer to make you one earlier,” she fretted. “She’s usually quite good.”
The girl sat down opposite her. “Well, she did ask me if I was wearing stockings and garters.”
Cass groaned and clutched her head. “Oh God.”
* * *
Over the cours
e of the next fifteen minutes, the girl from Hi!, whose name was Imogen Trent, made more tea, helped Cass stack the dishwasher, and regaled her with discreetly scurrilous stories of other celebrities she had interviewed over the past year. Cass, enchanted by her friendliness and unaffected, down-to-earth manner, forgot all about Jack lording it upstairs, waiting for his breakfast to be brought to him in bed. Only when they had polished off five croissants between them—somehow, the flaky crumbs didn’t plaster themselves around Imogen’s mouth as they did hers—was Cass jolted into remembering by the clunk of more mail than usual being shoveled through the mail slot.
“Hell, instant divorce.” Hurriedly, she drained her own teacup, refilled it from the pot, and began heaping in the sugar. Jack drank his black and hideously sweet.
Imogen grinned. “Can I quote you on that?”
“It’s Jack’s birthday. I was supposed to take this up twenty minutes ago.” Even as she spoke, Cass heard the sound of bad-tempered footsteps on the stairs.
“Ah,” said Imogen when the kitchen door opened. She didn’t seem at all intimidated by the look of irritation Jack shot her. “Mr. Mandeville. Many happy returns of the day.”
In one hand, Jack was clutching an assortment of mail. Some were cards, and others were evidently bills. With his free hand, he took the cup Cass held toward him and swallowed the lukewarm contents in one go.
“Sorry, darling. This is Imogen Trent.” Cass silently willed him to smile. “She’s been wonderfully understanding about all the mess. Now what was it you wanted, bacon and mushrooms?”
Jack, who was wearing a pale-pink sweatshirt and gray tracksuit bottoms, took his car keys down from the hook on the dresser.
“I’m going to the club for a swim. Maybe a game of squash.”
There wasn’t any point protesting; he had clearly made up his mind.
“OK. See you later.” Cass signaled apology with her eyes.
“You will be here tomorrow afternoon for the photographer, won’t you?” Imogen swiveled around in her chair to look at him.
Jack, in return, glanced at her skirt. He didn’t smile. “No.”
When he had gone and Cass had quickly changed into a white T-shirt and jeans, Imogen said, “Right,” and prepared to get down to business. She took a small tape recorder from her bag and placed it on the table between them.