Good at Games (27 page)

Fee gazed over at Rory. He was as white as a sheet. Poor thing. Of course, it had only been six weeks since Blanche had died. Hearing that something had happened to her mother must have brought all those terrible memories flooding back.

“It's all right.” Impulsively, she crossed the office and gave Rory a quick, fierce hug. “Really, it's OK. She isn't going to die. She's had a fall, that's all. A slipped disk.”

Poor Rory. She could feel him trembling all over. It occurred to Fee that if he was reacting this emotionally, Suzy might be upset too.

With a worried glance across at Suzy, she said, “How about you? Are you all right?”

Suzy looked amazed. “Of course I am! Why wouldn't I be?”

“I said I'd come tell you,” said Jaz, “and you'd call him back. He's at the hospital, at this number.” Taking a scrap of paper from his shirt pocket, he handed it to Fee, who picked up the phone.

Rory's weekend was collapsing before his very eyes. It felt like his whole world. He listened to Fee's conversation with her father. She sounded calm, practical, and completely in control as she assured him that yes, she could be in Bournemouth by six o'clock.

Nooo!
Rory longed to yell.
You don't have to go right away, surely? It's only a slipped disk. That's not serious. Couldn't you just leave it until Monday?

Please.

He didn't say it, of course. The only noise to escape from his throat was a kind of strangled whinny. Thankfully, it was barely audible.

Although Suzy did raise an eyebrow and give him an odd look.

Fuck
, thought Rory, who never ever swore, even to himself.
Fuck, fuck, fuck…FUCK.

“You look like one of the undead,” Suzy cheerfully informed Jaz, while Fee was still on the phone. In fact, in his crumpled black shirt and trousers and with his dark, heavily shadowed eyes burning like coals in his pale face, Jaz gave the impression that he hadn't eaten or slept for a week.

Then again, she had never seen him look happier or more alive.

Jaz grinned broadly at her. “It's going so well. You wouldn't believe it.”

Jaz could hardly believe it himself. Now that he'd started writing songs again, he was unable to stop. Ideas were spilling out of him like lemmings hurtling over the edge of a cliff. And most amazingly of all, he had Lucille there with him to put her own unique twist on the music. Writing songs might not be her forte—OK, it
wasn't
her forte—but personalizing and interpreting them in ways Jaz had never even imagined was most definitely where her talents lay. Together, they were creating something so incredible it took his breath away.

“That's great,” said Suzy, who didn't pretend to understand the writing process but was pleased for him anyway. “I'm really glad.”

Great? Great? How could
anything
be great?
Rory, jerkily polishing his glasses on his sleeve, was having trouble containing the lump in his throat. Disappointment swirled around him like dense fog. Much as he still longed for it to happen, he knew he had to face up to the fact that Fee was unlikely to put off visiting her hospitalized mother until after the weekend.

“OK, Dad, I'll meet you at the ward. See you at six. Bye.” Fee put the phone down and shook her head. “Well, that's me booked for the next month.”

The next month? Nooo!

Fee sighed. “Poor old Mum.”

Poor old
me, thought Rory.

“Will she be in the hospital for long?” said Suzy.

“No, but she'll need looking after when she gets out. And of course my father will need looking after in the meantime. He's the really helpless one,” Fee added drily. “That's where I'm really going to have my work cut out. I don't think he could even make himself a cup of tea.”

Then it's about time he bloody learned
, Rory silently howled.

“If you're catching the train, I'll give you a lift to the station,” said Jaz, feeling heroic. Battling through the Friday afternoon rush hour to Temple Meads would keep him out of the studio for at least another hour.

I could do that
, thought Rory, sitting up suddenly. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing… In fact, he could offer to drive Fee all the way to Bournemouth!

“Don't worry,” Fee told Jaz, “I'll drive. I'm going to need my car down there anyway.”

Rory's shoulders slumped once more.

“Ah, well, so much for our relaxation weekend.” Fee gave Rory an apologetic little smile. “Sorry about having to stand you up.”

“No problem.” Rory forced himself to sound casual. “No problem at all. Some other time, perhaps.”

At the tone of his voice, Fee's eyes grew round with alarm. “But you can still go. You mustn't miss out just because I have to. You'll love it, I promise!”

I won't, I promise!

“Please don't cancel because of me,” Fee begged. “The people there are great. You'll get on with them like a house on fire…and it'll do you
so
much good…”

It won't
, thought Rory,
because I won't be there.

“OK, maybe I will,” he said, purely because she was looking so worried. The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel guilty.

But seriously, why would he be even remotely tempted to go alone? Without Fee there, what
would
be the point?

* * *

“I know what you're doing,” Celeste announced. She turned to face Harry as he hobbled into the kitchen behind her.

“Oh yes?”

“
Oh
yes. And I know why you're doing it too.”

Behind her, steam billowed from the spout of the kettle as it came to a boil.

“Waiting for a cup of tea?” guessed Harry. “Because I'm thirsty?”

“Flirting with me,” Celeste corrected him mildly. “Because you want to make Suzy jealous.”

Harry moved toward her, his crutches making rhythmic clunking noises against the tiled floor. He sounded like Long John Silver.

“Really? Is that what you think?”

Celeste's nostrils twitched involuntarily. Heavens, his just-washed hair smelled gorgeous.

“Oh yes, that's exactly what I think,” she murmured, her thin elbows resting on the countertop behind her. Her breasts, jutting forward, were clearly visible through the flimsy white cotton of her dress.

“Well, you're wrong,” said Harry. “OK, maybe it started out that way, but not anymore.” He moved another step—
clunk
—closer. “So how about you? Why have you been flirting so outrageously with me? Just to pay Jaz back for abandoning you? Or…?” He paused, the corners of his mouth beginning to twitch.

“Or what?” breathed Celeste. Heavens, her heart was breaking into such a
gallop
.

“Or do you think you might be experiencing the same feelings as me?”

She smiled. Harry knew as well as she did exactly what had been taking place over the course of the last couple of weeks. And you had to give him his due; he'd handled it brilliantly, like a pro.

The timing was spot-on, Celeste decided with a little shiver of appreciation. At first, they had flirted with each other for the sheer hell of it, really just for something to do to pass the time.

Then, after the first few days, had come the temptation to take things further. And by
not
doing so, the flirtation had become all the more delicious.

By the middle of the second week, the sense of anticipation was almost unbearable; they had reached a state of barely controlled frenzy. Every look and smile and teasing remark was enough to set off another spasm of longing.

And now, just as Celeste had begun to wonder if she could stand another day—even another
hour
—of nothing happening, it finally
had
happened.

Harry had made his move.

Yesss!

God, this was going to be fantastic. She just knew it.

“Well?” teased Harry, still apparently waiting for an answer.

Ha, as if he didn't already know!

Pushing herself away from the marble countertop, Celeste took a step forward. Lifting her face, she brushed her lips oh-so-lightly against the left-hand corner of his mouth.

Harry shuddered and sighed. What Celeste didn't realize—and how ironic was this?—was that all this putting-off-the-moment business had been Suzy's idea.

And Suzy, he had to admit, had been right. Exasperating, but right. Her six-week rule might be extreme—two weeks had been as far as Harry had been able to stretch to—but he certainly understood now why she did it.

He had never been so aroused in his life.

As Celeste kissed him again, her gaze fell upon the montage of photos stuck haphazardly to the bulletin board next to the kitchen door. There was Suzy, dressed up as a fairy at some debauched party last Christmas. And there she was again, tanned and tawny-haired in an emerald-green bikini, with one arm draped around Jaz's neck and the other waving—heaven knows why—a gigantic pair of wellington boots.

Suzy and Lucille, screaming with laughter, together on the sofa.

Suzy in bed with a hangover, caught with her hair all over the place and baggy, morning-after eyes like Deputy Dawg.

Suzy, poured into a shimmering gold evening dress, caught on camera at some gala event or other, pinching the bottom of a well-known rugby player.

Suzy, Suzy, bloody Suzy,
thought Celeste. She always had to be the center of attention, didn't she? Nothing was ever allowed to happen unless it involved Suzy.

“What are you thinking?” Harry murmured against her neck.

“Honestly?” Celeste caught her breath as he trailed his warm tongue along the delicate line of her collarbone.

“Mmm, honestly.”

“OK. I'm here, kissing Suzy Curtis's fiancé.” She grinned and raised a playful eyebrow. “Don't you think that's pretty cool?”

Harry frowned.

“Is that the only reason you're doing it?”

“Of course not. I'd feel this way about you whomever you were engaged to. But you have to admit,” Celeste told him with a provocative nudge of her hips. “It's an added bonus.”

Now that she knew the sale of Sheldrake House was definitely going through, Suzy had to arrange to have it cleared of her mother's possessions. The contracts had been signed, and the closing would take place toward the end of October.

Leo, who planned to have the garden landscaped and was keen to make a start before the temperature plummeted still further and the ground froze solid, had already asked Suzy for permission to allow the firm of landscape gardeners access to the garden on Sunday. Since this was her only free day, Suzy decided she may as well turn up too, and start sorting through everything. All the unwanted furniture would go to auction. Most of the smaller stuff she could donate to local thrift shops—and hope that Maeve wouldn't buy it back. Then there were the thousands of books, the closets full of clothes, the miscellaneous contents of the attic, the garage, the store room…

Actually, Suzy realized, she could do with a bit of help.

Or even a lot.

Except Rory couldn't give her a hand, because he was away on his relaxation weekend. Which, God knows, he certainly needed.

Julia didn't sound thrilled to hear from Suzy.

“Why me?” she said irritably. “I thought you were in charge of selling the house?”

“They're Mum's things. I thought you'd want to help. There might be some stuff you'd like to keep.”

“There won't be,” said Julia, who had already been through Blanche's jewelry case like a one-woman plague of locusts. She'd also scooped up all the best paintings, claiming that money was irrelevant; she wanted them for their sentimental value. “Anyway, I'm busy on Sunday. We're having a lunch party for sixteen.”

“OK,” said Suzy. “Never mind. I expect Lucille will be able to help.”

She heard a kind of reverse hissing sound as the air was sucked sharply in through Julia's teeth.

“Not her! Oh no. I'm sorry. You can't do that.”

“Blanche was her mother too.”

Julia snorted. “Maybe so, but Sheldrake House was never her home. No, no, Suzy, we grew up there. She didn't. The thought of that Lucille person in
our
house, picking through
our
mother's things like some kind of vulture… No, sorry, absolutely not. I'm afraid I just can't allow it.”

* * *

Suzy was on her knees in the drawing room surrounded by woody-smelling tea chests and mountains of books when she heard familiar footsteps in the hall behind her.

“I saw your car in the drive,” said Leo, “and the front door was open. Making a start on the sorting out?”

“There's loads to do.” Suzy puffed her hair out of her eyes and lifted a teetering pile of books into the nearest tea chest. A cloud of dust billowed up, making her sneeze. She wiped the sleeve of her orange sweatshirt across her forehead, leaving behind a dusty gray smear. After four backbreaking hours, she was still only on the second room.

“All on your own?”

“Rory's away. Julia's busy.” She paused. “So's Lucille.”

Lucille had instantly concurred with Julia's decision.

“She's absolutely right,” Lucille had announced, upon hearing Suzy's story of the phone conversation with Julia. “It's your family home, with your family's things in it. I'd just feel like an intruder.”

Suzy had nodded and smiled in a noncommittal fashion and hated herself for even wondering if Lucille really meant it, or if she just couldn't bear the thought of missing out on yet another fourteen-hour stint in the recording studio with Jaz.

“You've got your work cut out,” Leo observed now.

“You don't say. I thought it would only take a few minutes.”

Oops. Suzy realized she was in danger of getting belligerent. It was clearly going to be one of those days.

Leo, meanwhile, was pushing up the sleeves of his charcoal-gray sweater.

“I could give you a hand if you like.”

He had really nice hands. Rather lovely forearms too. It was a generous offer, but Suzy wasn't in the mood. Hopelessly jittery and on edge, she didn't trust herself not to snap and start screeching at him like a fishwife for no reason at all.

She hadn't the faintest idea what was making her feel this way, but she knew the one thing she really couldn't cope with right now was Leo being kind to her.

“It's OK.” Suzy shook her head. “I'm fine on my own. Anyway, you're busy too.”

He looked at her. “Are you all right?”

No, go away! Just stop interfering and leave me
alone
!

Aloud she said, “Perfect.”

Then she picked up a book and frowned, as if deep in concentration. It was a travel guide to Peru. Which was all very well, but had Blanche even
been
to Peru? Had she ever actually traveled farther afield than Bournemouth?

Rain began to rattle like stones against the drawing room windows. Outside, the sky was a darker gray than Leo's sweater. Suzy was glad; the weather suited her mood.

Leo, clearly humoring her, said, “I'm going to get wet out there.”

You'll get wet if you stay in here
, thought Suzy,
because I'll throw my can of Dr Pepper at you.

Oh, good grief,
what is the matter with me today
?

When she looked up, Leo had gone. She was alone once more.

With her mother's books.

Across the Sahara on a Camel.

Oh, right, highly likely.

The Beauty of Fiji.

Yes, Mum, but do you actually know where Fiji is?

Through the Rain Forest.

The rainy Forest of Dean, presumably.

Oh, what was the point of this? Why was she even bothering?

Suzy gathered the books into her arms and swept them into the tea chest. She kept going until the floor was clear and the tea chests full. The whole lot could go to the thrift shop. Who knows, Blanche's travel guides might even end up being bought by people who were actually interested in traveling to Patagonia and Pompeii and Peru.

Suzy made her way irritably around the drawing room, slapping yellow Post-it Notes on all the items the auctioneers were coming to pick up tomorrow.

It was lunchtime, but she wasn't hungry. Standing at the sash window, drumming her fingers restlessly against the radiator beneath it, Suzy watched Leo out in the garden, deep in discussion with the landscape gardener who surely must have better things to do on a Sunday. The icy, driving rain had soaked them both to the skin, but it suited Leo better than it did the other man, who had a pinched red face and thinning ginger hair plastered to his scalp. He was also wearing a pair of unfortunately tight beige trousers.

Leo might look good in his dark blue Barbour and jeans, but he must still be frozen. It occurred to Suzy that if she wanted to do a nice thing, she could go through to the kitchen and make the two men a coffee. Black, because there was no milk, but with cognac splashed in to warm them both up.

At that moment Leo stretched out an arm, encompassing the weeping cherry trees her father had loved so much. As he spoke to the landscape gardener, making brisk, get-rid-of-these gestures with his hand, Suzy felt her own fingers clench with annoyance around the bars of the radiator.

It had taken her father years to get the garden just as he'd wanted it. How
dare
Leo Fitzallan come swanning in and change everything?

Forget it. Now he definitely wasn't going to get any coffee.

* * *

Dealing with the contents of Blanche's closets was weirder than Suzy had imagined. Every single item of clothing conjured up a mental picture of her mother wearing it. Blanche had always loved clothes with a bit of drama and originality to them; everything she had worn had been highly distinctive. Suzy, currently filling her fifteenth black trash bag, wondered if perhaps she should take these to some thrift shop out of Bristol. It might feel a bit odd, suddenly spotting someone in the street wearing a pair of her mother's trousers or one of her flower-bedecked hats.

At the sight of Blanche's sapphire-blue velvet evening dress, yet another image sprang into Suzy's mind, like the next color transparency clicking up onto a screen. Her mother and father, celebrating their thirtieth wedding anniversary. Throwing a huge party—Blanche's idea, of course—to celebrate thirty years of married bliss.

Ha!

Into the bag it went with all the rest of the stuff.

Coats next, then shoes.

Suzy had no intention of stopping until she'd finished.

“OK if I put the kettle on?” shouted Leo up the stairs.

Cheek.

“Go ahead.”

Damn cheek, Suzy thought indignantly when he appeared in the bedroom doorway five minutes later with a steaming cup. Offering it to her, he said, “Ready for some coffee?”

“Oh, I see.” Suzy's shoulders stiffened. Her voice came out sounding jerky and strange. “So you just thought you'd make yourself at home, did you? It didn't occur to you that it might have been polite to ask me first, before you helped yourself to coffee that didn't belong to you?”

Oh dear. Losing it, losing it…

Leo gave her a measured look.

“I knew I was going to be here for a few hours,” he said calmly. “So I brought along a jar of coffee and a pint of milk.”

Oh. Blast.

This is where I'm supposed to smile and say sorry
, Suzy thought,
and apologize for overreacting.

But she couldn't bring herself to do it.

Her teeth were too gritted, for a start. Actually, they felt as if they'd been welded together with superglue.

“So, do you want this?” Leo held out the mug in a just-take-it kind of way.

Suzy, who had finished her can of Dr Pepper two hours ago and could have murdered a coffee, decided she didn't much care for his patronizing tone and ever-so-slightly long suffering manner.

Pointedly, turning her back on Leo, she said, “No thanks.”

* * *

By three o'clock it had stopped raining. Suzy, stacking the bulging trash bags on the landing ready for collection tomorrow, looked out of the window and saw the landscape gardener pacing around the garden sticking a thin metal rod into the wet ground at intervals and making notes in a notepad.

What was Leo planning to do with the garden anyway? The gardener was picking up a spade now. As she watched, he thrust it into the corner of a flower bed, dug up a spadeful of earth, and pushed the metal rod into the ground again.

Frustratingly, it reminded Suzy of something from the dim and distant past—but she couldn't remember what.

Oh well, forget it. On with the show. Attic next.