On a Night Like This, page 1
ON A NIGHT LIKE THIS
Lindsey Kelk
Copyright
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street,
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2021
Copyright © Lindsey Kelk 2021
Jacket design by Holly MacDonald © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2021
Jacket illustration © Lucy Truman / Meiklejohn
Lindsey Kelk asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008407773
Ebook Edition © November 2021 ISBN: 9780008407797
Version: 2021-09-30
Praise
‘Sparkles on the page like champagne in the glass’
Milly Johnson, bestselling author of The Woman in the Middle
‘The kind of book you can’t put down but also want to last forever. Kelk’s signature wit and clever prose – along with her complicated, lovable characters – are at their very best here’
Emily Henry, bestselling author of Beach Read
‘As warm as a hug but as funny as a night out with the girls’
Laura Jane Williams, bestselling author of The Lucky Escape
‘Touching, hugely enjoyable and properly laugh-out-loud funny with a wonderful heroine that feels completely real … I loved every page’
Sophia Money-Coutts, bestselling author of Did You Miss Me?
‘As far as romcoms go, this really is the best of the best. Absolutely loved it. Five sparkling stars’
Lizzy Dent, bestselling author of The Summer Job
‘The friendships in this book are warm and real, the hero is incredibly, incredibly amazing and the romance is sizzing and tender … You will not want to miss your invite to this ball’
Cressida McLaughlin, bestselling author of The Cornish Cream Tea Wedding
‘An absolutely enchanting book – I loved it! The perfect balance between sparkly escapism and big-hearted realness’
Sophie Ranald, author of He’s Cancelled
‘Pure joy. Full of Lindsey’s trademark warmth and wit’
Alex Brown, bestselling author of A Postcard from Paris
‘Sparkling and gorgeously romantic’
Sarah Morgan, bestselling author of The Summer Seekers
‘Perfect, escapist fiction. Hilarious, and so true to heart. The sort of book that makes you realise life is always yours for the taking’
Lia Louis, bestselling author of Eight Perfect Hours
Dedication
For Juliette and Orlander,
who lent their names to this book
and deserve so much more.
Thank you.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Praise
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Acknowledgements
Keep Reading …
About the Author
Also by Lindsey Kelk
About the Publisher
CHAPTER ONE
‘Once upon a time, in a faraway kingdom, there was a woman called Francesca who couldn’t be on time to save her life,’ Jess announced as I blew through the door of Suzette’s Café on Wednesday morning.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, giving her a quick hug before starting to unravel my many winter layers. After an unseasonably mild October, November was not messing around in Sheffield. ‘You know I hate being late but Stew said he’d drop me off but his dad called and he had to run and I missed the bus and—’
‘Fran.’ My best friend pushed a cup of coffee towards me, along with a white paper bag. ‘It’s fine, relax, I’m joking. Sit down, I ordered for you because I’m so nice.’ I dumped my tote bag on the table and smiled as she opened her own bag and inhaled. ‘What does she put in these bloody muffins? How are they so good?’
‘Best not to ask,’ I advised, glancing over to the counter where Suzette was fixing tinsel to the shelves with a threatening-looking staple gun. ‘Something we’re not supposed to be eating any more, like white sugar or stem cells or crack.’
‘All very moreish in their own way,’ she replied, breaking off a chunk of muffin before fixing me with a look. ‘Are you all right? You two aren’t fighting again, are you?’
‘I’m fine,’ I said, waving away her concerns with the end of my scarf. My hair frizzed up around me in a static halo as I pulled off my bobble hat. ‘Just feeling a bit meh, that’s all.’ Jess narrowed her eyes to let me know she didn’t quite believe me but wasn’t going to force the issue. ‘Seriously, I’m so sorry. Are you in a rush?’ I asked. ‘Or can you stay for a bit?’
She shook her head as she pulled a neon-pink travel mug out of her own tote bag, unscrewed the top and poured her giant coffee inside. ‘I’ve got to run,’ she said, the tip of her tongue poking out the corner of her mouth as she poured. ‘There are a million meetings today and for some reason, they need me in every bloody one of them. I swear, if I wasn’t there, the place would burn to the ground in twenty-four hours.’
Jess was a very cool marketing director who did very cool things at a very cool brewery and, while she complained about her job constantly, I knew she loved it down to her bones.
‘No worries,’ I repeated. ‘Everything’s fine.’
‘Shall I come round tonight?’ she suggested gently. ‘Stew’s got football practice, hasn’t he?’
I nodded, extremely happy with that plan. ‘Sounds grand, I’ll make dinner. Is there anything you’re not eating right now?’
‘No, it’s too close to Christmas for that,’ she replied, screwing the lid back on her cup and dropping it in her bag. ‘They’ve already got the Quality Street open at work, I’ll bring you a big purple one.’ She scooted around the table to give me a kiss on the cheek. ‘What’s on your agenda for today?’
‘Sitting here and waiting for literally anything to happen?’
‘We don’t wait for things to happen,’ Jess said, white paper muffin bag in one hand, car keys in the other. ‘We make them happen!’
‘You sound like an Instagram post,’ I called after her. ‘If you tell me to live, laugh and love, you’re not allowed round for tea.’
‘More like nap, nom and Netflix,’ she shouted back, already halfway out the door. ‘See you tonight.’
It had been almost a month since I’d finished my last temping job – a thrilling adventure through the world of data entry for a logistics company in Rotherham – and so far, not a single one of the agencies I was signed up with could find me a new one. Apparently I was ‘over-qualified’ for almost everything and even though I would have happily wiped Satan’s bottom for minimum wage if it meant getting out of the house for eight hours a day, they couldn’t find me a thing. All the shops had hired their seasonal staff already and no one else was recruiting this close to Christmas.
Peering through the window of the café, I watched as the shops and businesses turned on their lights, the high street springing to life, the post office, the off-licence, the beauty salon, the bookshop. Everyone else’s day was starting while I drank my coffee, ate my muffin and pulled my computer out of my backpack. Everyone had somewhere to go and something to do except for me.
Hands hovering over the ancient laptop as it clicked and whirred into life, I stared at the two rings I wore every day, the only jewellery I ever wore, really. On my left hand, my engagement ring from Stew, a dainty diamond affair shaped like a flower, that had belonged to his beloved Nana Beryl before it was passed down to me with the most serious of strings attached. And on the third finger of my right hand, my mum’s gold wedding band. She’d be so disappointed, I thought, twisting it around and around and around. Susan Cooper hadn’t spent so much as a day out of work, a fact she had been fiercely proud of, and the thought of letting he
‘Don’t wait for things to happen,’ I whispered, attempting to stoke a fire that had all but burned out. ‘Make them happen.’
With some uncertainty, I slipped my earbuds into my ears and dialled a number I had not dialled in months.
‘Vine & Walsh, Rose speaking.’
‘Rose, it’s Fran, Fran Cooper,’ I said, straightening my shoulders and taking a deep, steadying breath. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m well, thank you, how are you?’ The silky southern accent on the other end of the phone sounded surprised to hear from me, which was fair, given that I hadn’t been in touch for the best part of a year.
‘Really well but still looking for work.’ I tapped my fingers against the edge of the table, heart in my mouth. ‘I was wondering if you might have anything for me?’
‘I’ll happily take a look,’ Rose replied. ‘But I’m fairly certain we don’t have anything in your area, unless you’ve changed your mind about taking work outside South Yorkshire?’
And that was the reason I hadn’t been in touch for the best part of a year. Vine & Walsh was an executive recruitment firm, not just your average temp agency, and every time I spoke with Rose, she told me about one incredible job after another and I had to turn each and every one of them down. In my wildest professional fantasies, I was totally jet set. I dreamed of travelling, seeing the world, of waking up to find I was the kind of woman who could pack two weeks-worth of clothes in a carry on and could go from conference room B to the bar to an all-night karaoke party with nothing more than a swipe of red lipstick and a change of earrings, but after we moved back to Sheffield, Stew and I had both agreed we wouldn’t travel for work. Admittedly, that deal was made three years ago when we were living in London and there were a lot more jobs to choose from, but a deal is a deal and it was made for a reason, so I kept my ambitions local.
‘Sorry, no,’ I said as my heart sank slowly back towards my feet. ‘Just thought it was worth checking in.’
As Rose let out a quiet, frustrated sigh, a new email from one of the local temp agencies appeared in my inbox. A vet in Brincliffe needed an office manager to do a two-week holiday cover starting Christmas Eve. Utterly depressing and still the best offer I’d had in months.
‘There is one thing, and you’d be perfect for it,’ Rose said, a note of possibility in her voice. ‘It would mean you’d have to travel, but it’s very short term and the money is amazing. I need a personal assistant for a very, very – let me say this again – very high-profile client.’
I looked out of the window at the stone-clad buildings opposite, almost the exact same shade of grey as the sky above them.
‘How short term and how much money?’
‘Not even a week, it’s five days. All your expenses would be covered, and the salary is very generous. Extremely generous. And the money isn’t even the best part.’
I wound the cord from my earbuds around my finger and squeezed it tightly. Curiosity might have killed the cat but perhaps I could get away with only being lightly maimed.
‘OK,’ I said, breathing out slowly. ‘What’s the catch?’
Rose gave a slightly maniacal laugh down the line. ‘Don’t let this put you off, but I can’t say. Fran, it is VV VIP. You’ll have to sign a non-disclosure agreement before I can even send the job description over, and I’ll need you down in London to interview ASAP, but if I were you, I would seriously consider this one. It could be a huge break. This is a life-changing opportunity.’
A powerful rush of adrenaline shot through my body and I glanced at my cup to make sure it was definitely full of coffee and not rocket fuel.
‘It’s been a while since I did any top-level stuff,’ I admitted, clenching hard. ‘The last couple of years I’ve mostly been at smaller, local companies. Are you sure I’d be a good fit?’
‘Positive. It’s a PA role, not a corporate job, so you’re not going to be making PowerPoints and pivot tables, no one’s expecting you to be up on EU regulations or lack thereof. Plus you’ve got all the extras they’re looking for, multiple languages, first aid qualifications, and the sailing experience is just mwah, chef’s kiss. Puts you right over the edge.’
Ahh yes, the summer I’d spent working in the café on the Newcastle to Amsterdam ferry after my A levels. Truly invaluable sailing experience. Thankfully, I really did have a degree in French and Italian, even if I hadn’t used either for anything more advanced than ordering a lasagne from Nonna’s on Ecclesall Road in the last three years.
‘I can’t tell you anything else until you sign the NDA but, Fran, I cannot stress enough what a one-of-a-kind opportunity this is. If they’d let me, I’d quit and do it myself.’
‘If it’s that amazing, why hasn’t it been filled already?’ I asked, suddenly wary. Rose was altogether too excited for my liking and I knew from personal experience nothing in life was ever too good to be true.
‘It came up quite last minute,’ she replied with no small degree of hesitancy. ‘And the person in charge of hiring on their end is quite particular. She knows what she doesn’t want even if she doesn’t seem to have a very clear picture of what she does want.’
So it was a she. I wondered who it could be. You heard all kinds of stories in the temp community. A friend of mine in London once did a stint at a fancy estate agents for a fortnight and ended up selling a house to George and Amal. Well, she was fairly sure she saw the back of George’s head from her car when she went to drop off the spare keys, but when I thought about a choice between scheduling appointments for Gavin the epileptic guinea pig or potentially spotting the back of George Clooney’s head, it wasn’t going to be too difficult a decision to make.
‘I’m going to call them right now,’ Rose said, the sound of her keyboard clacking decisively in the background. ‘Don’t go anywhere, I’ll bell you back in a sec.’
‘OK, sounds good,’ I confirmed. ‘I’ll be right here.’
She hung up, leaving me staring at my laptop screen, slightly out of breath and, I realized as I caught sight of my reflection in the window of the café, absolutely beaming. It was so long since I’d been excited about a job prospect, I’d forgotten how good it felt. The prickling nerves, the anticipation. I didn’t have the interview yet, but I was already planning my first day outfit. And it was just five days, Stew wouldn’t mind my being away for five days. Before, in my old assistant jobs, I was away all the time, traipsing up and down the country, nipping off to deeply exotic locations like Belgium for a convention or a trade show. I was practically never home. But it had been so long since I’d been anywhere, and things were so much better than they were last time. He wouldn’t mind. He definitely wouldn’t mind.
Leaning back in my chair, I stared past my reflection, out into the street. The pub on the corner was already busy with old boy regulars, and next door, the Be Beautiful salon was packed to the rafters with shadowy figures moving around behind the frosted windows. The door opened and the owner herself stepped out onto the street, vape pen in hand. I slouched down in my chair and wrapped both hands around my coffee mug. Lifting it to my mouth was as close as I would come to an upper body workout today.
Bryony looked beautiful, of course: blonde hair wrapped around her head in a braid crown, makeup perfectly applied and, even from across the road, I could see her perfect nails shone a rich ruby red. My own hair was full of half a can of dry shampoo, my makeup non-existent, and my nails were short and bare. Not painting them was the only way I could guarantee I wouldn’t chip them. You weren’t supposed to like your partner’s ex, I reminded myself as I continued to watch her with my standard level of morbid fascination, and at least Bryony had the decency to be deeply unpleasant whenever we were forced to interact, which was all too often since she was still Stew’s sister’s best friend. It would have been much worse if she was a wonderful person and I was just a jealous arse, pouting over the fact a woman much more beautiful than me had also once been engaged to Stew Bingham. But Stew didn’t care about things like elaborate hair and shiny nails, I reminded myself, reflexively touching my diamond ring. Stew cared about me.
It was a fact that might have been more reassuring if the door hadn’t opened for a second time, my fiancé walking right out of the salon behind Bryony. He was wearing the Bingham & Son overalls he’d left the house in that morning, and had an adorable smudge of something on his snub nose. Sinking lower, I pressed myself against the wall as I tried to come up with a reasonable explanation as to what he might be doing in the Be Beautiful salon, when he was supposed to be fitting a cast-iron claw-foot bath with his dad. Eyelash extensions? Colouring that flash of grey that had recently appeared at his temples? Or simply engaging in a good old-fashioned affair? Before my brain could completely spin off out of control, my phone vibrated into life with Rose’s name and number lighting up the screen.
