Good at Games (28 page)

Blanche had kept the two halves of her life efficiently compartmentalized. There were no clues anywhere to her other existence. Suzy, who hadn't expected to find any, marveled at her mother's ability to keep her two families so entirely separate.

The junk in the attic would be easy to dispose of, at least. There was nothing up here that couldn't be dealt with by the house-clearance firm. Slapping lime-green Post-it Notes on all the boxes, bags, ancient lampshades, and assorted rolls of carpet, Suzy wiped her hands on the sides of her leather jeans and heaved a sigh of relief.

There, done. Hooray.

As she climbed down the stepladder, Suzy wondered if she was alone in the house. She'd been upstairs for hours. Leo and the landscaper were probably long gone by now. Not wanting to get his head bitten off—again—Leo had clearly thought better of venturing upstairs to say good-bye.

But when Suzy reached the kitchen, she saw him sitting at the scrubbed-oak table with his long legs stretched out in front of him, drinking coffee and studying the plans left by the landscape gardener.

“Oh.” She hesitated in the open doorway. “I didn't know you were still here.”

“Why? Were you hiding up there until I'd gone?”

“No.”

Leo tapped his own cup. “Coffee?”

“No.” Suzy shook her head. All she wanted to do now was get home. She needed a long bath, a massive glass of wine, and a jolly good cry.

“Kettle's just boiled,” said Leo. Almost smiling, he added, “I'd be more than happy to lend you some of my milk.”

Something inside Suzy went snap.

“Look, will you
please
stop humoring me?” she bellowed. “I've spent the whole of today being a bad-tempered bitch, OK? I know I have, and you know I have, so all this offering-me-cups-of-coffee stuff is just getting on my
nerves
. I mean, what is it, Be Nice to Suzy Day and nobody remembered to tell me?”

There, if that didn't get a reaction, nothing would. She felt that pressure-cooker sensation welling up again inside her rib cage. Her hands were on her hips, her fingers digging into the leather of her jeans. Every muscle in her body felt as taut as a coiled spring. Any minute now, Suzy realized, she was in danger of going
boiiing
, like Tigger.

“OK,” said Leo, “if you want to put it like that. It is Be Nice to Suzy Day.”

“Ha! Be
Unnaturally
Nice.”

He shrugged. “It's a rotten job.”

“But somebody's got to do it, and you drew the short straw? Oh, bad luck,” jeered Suzy.

“I meant having to clear out the house. Sorting through your mother's possessions.” Leo remained calm. “It's an emotional experience. You're bound to be upset.”

Opening her mouth to protest, Suzy abruptly closed it again.

Was that it? Could that really be the reason she'd spent the day feeling so awful?

Oh no, surely not. It
couldn't
be that.

“I'm not upset. I'm absolutely fine,” Suzy declared frostily. “Why should clearing out my mother's things be an emotional experience? Heavens, it's not even as if we were that close!”

Her voice sounded high-pitched and weird. How embarrassing. Desperate to make a quick getaway, Suzy scanned the kitchen in search of her car keys.

“The reason I stayed on this afternoon is that Roger found something in the garden,” said Leo, “while he was checking the quality of the soil. It was buried over there.” He pointed through the kitchen window. “Beneath that peony.”

Hair like orange cotton candy and a name like Roger,
thought Suzy, distracting herself for a second or two.
Crikey, how unlucky was that?

She knew at once, of course, what Roger had found. Earlier, she hadn't been able to work out why his digging with the spade had triggered off such a sensation of familiarity. Now it came flooding back.

“So what did he unearth?” Beneath her air of flippancy, Suzy's heart was clattering like a giant maraca. “Severed arm? Hidden treasure? Blue-and-gold cookie tin with a picture of a peacock on the lid?”

Swiveling around in his chair, Leo reached for the blue-and-gold tin.

“I didn't know what might be in it,” he told Suzy. “So I had a quick look.”

He held the tin out to her and she took it, placing it carefully on the kitchen table. Most of the mud had been washed off. The blues and golds were faded and mottled with rust but still instantly identifiable.

Suzy knew exactly what she would find inside. A thin leather dog's collar and leash. A ponytail of her own hair. Photographs cut from magazines, of her favorite pop stars. Photographs of herself, aged ten or eleven—with, needless to say, brutally short hair and a tearful expression. Several broken pieces of cheap jewelry. And, last but not least, a plastic-covered Duran Duran diary.

“I can't believe he found it.” Suzy sat down on one of the kitchen chairs with a wobbly smile and a bit of a bump. “I mean, it's not even as if it's a small garden. Of all the sections of earth he could have prodded with his metal rod”—she made a feeble stab at humor—“he had to prod that one.”

Leo's smile, understandably, was brief. “Why did you bury it?”

“Posterity.” As she spoke, Suzy was already easing off the airtight lid. Everything was there, carefully wrapped in plastic bags, just as she remembered. “I think I got the idea from some kids' TV show. You bury a time capsule, and hundreds of years later, someone comes along and finds it and is enthralled to discover what it was like to be a belligerent teenager in the nineteen eighties.”

“Look, I could pretend I didn't open your diary,” said Leo, “but I'm not going to. I needed to find out who it belonged to.”

Suzy unwrapped it with trembling fingers. “Did you read every word?”

“Just the first page. Which pretty much said it all. Shall I make that coffee now?”

Miles away—
years
away—Suzy nodded and turned to the first page, the one Leo had already read.

This diary belongs to Suzy Curtis, age 11, Sheldrake House, Sneyd Park, Bristol, England.

January.
I don't think my mother loves me. She was here for Christmas, but on Boxing Day, she went again. To Hong Kong for two weeks. I miss her, and I love her, but she can't miss me or she wouldn't go.

And I didn't get a dog for Christmas like I asked for, so spending my pocket money on the leash and collar was a big waste. And my hair looks awful since bloody Julia cut it. If Mummy were here, she could have taken me to the proper hairdressers. I look stupid with short hair, and now everyone is going to laugh at me—

Reaching the end of the page, Suzy realized she couldn't bring herself to read any more. Her throat thickened with tears, the eleven-year-old handwriting dissolved and danced before her eyes, and an undignified sob broke the silence in the kitchen.

Honk.

Good grief, she sounded like a goose laying an egg.

HOOONK.

An egg the size of a watermelon.

HONK, HONK, WAAHAAHAAA!

It really was the most appalling noise, but she was powerless to prevent it happening. In a way, it was such a relief to let it all out that she didn't even care.

Suzy had no idea how long she sat there bawling her eyes out like a two-year-old and making a total spectacle of herself. In the background she was dimly aware of Leo, wisely leaving her to get on with it. He moved around quietly, making the coffee, tidying up, and locating a clean tea towel. When Suzy's one and only tissue had been shredded into oblivion, he handed her the tea towel—thankfully one of those soft, absorbent ones, not horrid scratchy Irish linen.

At long last the worst of it was out of her system, the torrent of tears having given way to sniffly hiccups and the occasional shuddering sob. Suzy, immediately regretting the outburst, stood up and went over to the window so she could pretend to be looking out over the garden rather than be forced to meet Leo's unnerving gaze.

Taking a deep breath, she said brightly, “Well, gosh, I think I had a bit of a delayed reaction thing back there. I promise you, I had no idea that was going to happen!”

She couldn't see Leo, but she knew where he was. Behind her, standing by the dresser, roughly fifteen feet away.

“I'm glad it did happen,” said Leo.

“Such a girly thing to do, blubbering like that. I'm so sorry—”

“Suzy, there's nothing to be ashamed of. You mustn't apologize.”

He was closer now. At a guess, nine or ten feet away. The backs of Suzy's knees began to tremble.

This is like the game we used to play at primary school… Grandmother's Footsteps…

“I'd forgotten all about that tin, you know. I hardly ever think about the past. I suppose that's why it caught me by surprise; everything came back with a bit of a whoosh.”

“I think you needed to do it,” Leo told her. “In fact, I'm sure you did. Bottling things up isn't the answer.”

Five, six feet away?

Suzy's spine was fizzing like 7UP. She closed her eyes. “I didn't cry when she died.”

Silence. She had absolutely no idea how far away Leo was from her now.

I'm going to feel like such a twit if I turn around and find he's gone home.

And then she felt it, the faintest glimmer of warm breath on the back of her neck.

I can't say it, I can't say it…

But she knew she must.

“I must be such a horrible person,” Suzy muttered, covering her eyes and realizing that the tears hadn't finished with her yet. “Oh God, I'm s-so, so ashamed of myself…”

The next moment Leo's arms had enfolded her like a blanket. His mouth inches from her ear, he murmured, “You don't have to be ashamed. Lots of people can't cry straightaway.”

“It's n-not that.” Glancing down, Suzy saw his hands around her waist, clasped together just beneath her rib cage. As she watched, two hot tears slid down her cheeks and landed like raindrops on his tanned wrist.

“OK.” Leo paused. “Did you murder her?”

“No.”

“Well, that's good. So what have you done to be so terribly ashamed of?”

Another tear dropped onto the thumb of his left hand.

Then another, and another.

“I'm j-jealous of Lucille.” Suzy hung her head. There, it was out. She'd said it at last. She was officially a mean and despicable person.

Now he'll
really
hate me.

“Go on,” Leo prompted.

At least he hadn't given her a disgusted whack on the head with the soggy tea towel.

“I know how awful that sounds,” Suzy muttered. “I mean, we were the ones who grew up in the big house in Sneyd Park and went abroad for our vacations. Lucille didn't have any of that. She didn't even have a full-time mother, for heaven's sake. But…but at least she understood why Blanche couldn't always be there, and she knew Blanche loved her.” Oh, this was hard. Biting her lip, Suzy forced herself to go on. “All the time I was growing up, I could sense that my mother was on edge. She did her best to be cheerful, but really she was just doing her duty, counting the days before she could disappear abroad on another of her jaunts. Except now I know it wasn't that at all. She was counting the days until she could be with William and Lucille again, like…like…”

“Yes?” Leo hadn't moved; he was still holding her.

Suzy sighed. “Like when you're seven and you know you have to finish your vegetables before you're allowed any pudding.”

“And you were one of the vegetables?”

“Not even the sweet corn or the asparagus,” she said miserably. “I was probably the cabbage. Don't laugh. This isn't meant to be
funny
.”

“I wasn't laughing,” Leo promised, turning her around to face him. The corners of his mouth twitched. “Well, not at the way you felt. I just had a mental picture of you sitting on a dinner plate covered in gravy.”

“Huh, thanks a lot,” said Suzy, miffed.

“Seriously,” said Leo, “I can understand why you might feel like that. But you really mustn't.”

“Do you hate me now? For being jealous of Lucille?”

He gazed down at her for a long moment. “I don't hate you at all.”

Hypnotized by his mouth, Suzy realized that—
help!
—it was moving closer. He was going to kiss her. His hands were moving up her back, and, oh yes, he was definitely going to kiss her…

In the nick of time, Suzy realized what was happening. Damn Leo Fitzallan. It was nothing but a trick, yet another underhanded attempt to catch her out and prove what a heartless two-timing hussy she was.

Like a boxer in the ring facing a lethal left hook, Suzy ducked out of range. Deftly breaking the circle of his arms, she shrieked, “Good grief, is that the time? I promised Maeve I'd be back by five. She'll be wondering where I've gotten to! Now, where did I put my car keys?”

“Suzy—”

“I'll take this home with me too.” Still gabbling, Suzy reached across the kitchen table for the blue-and-gold tin and squashed the incriminating Duran Duran diary into it before forcing the lid on. “Oh, phone… Hello? Yes? Can I help you?”

Too flustered to realize that the ringing cell phone she'd picked up was Leo's and not hers, Suzy was taken aback when a fuzzy but astonished-sounding female voice said, “I'm sorry, who's speaking please?”

For a split second she couldn't think. Then it came back to her.

“Suzy Curtis of Curtis and Co. If this is a property inquiry—”

“Suzy,
hi
! It's Gaby,” the fuzzy female voice exclaimed delightedly. “What are you doing answering Leo's phone?”

What?

“Oh! God, sorry, I thought it was mine! Hang on.” Suzy felt a rush of color sweep like a tidal wave up her neck. “He's right here. I'll pass you over—”

“No need,” Gaby cut in cheerfully. “I've worked it out now. You're both still over at the house. Look, I'm on the train. I just called to let Leo know we'll be pulling into Temple Meads in five minutes, so if he could come pick me up, that'd be great. If he's too busy, I can get a cab.”

“No, no, he's not too busy.” Suzy looked at Leo, who was still standing over by the window. Imagine if she hadn't dodged out of the way in time; he'd still have been busy kissing her senseless when the phone had begun to ring.

And unlike Harry, who was only a pretend fiancé, Gaby Price was the Real Thing.

“Sure?” said Gaby. “Because it's no problem, if you've still got stuff to do.”

“Absolutely sure,” Suzy replied firmly. “We're finished here anyway. He'll meet the train.”

“There won't be anywhere to park.” Leo's tone was brusque. “Tell her to wait outside, next to the taxi stand.”

“Didn't you ever see
Brief Encounter
?” said Suzy. “Don't be so lazy. Meet her on the platform. Far more romantic.”

* * *

Rory phoned Suzy at home on Sunday evening on the pretext of needing to check that the sale of a rather glamorous house in Leigh Woods was still going through.

“Of course it's going through. They're closing on Wednesday. You
know
that.”

“Just double-checking,” Rory said briskly. “I took a call from a client who was interested in the property.”

“Well, he can't have it. Tell him to choose another one.”

“Right. Fine. Oh—how's Fee, by the way?”

Subtle or what? Rory thought with a surge of triumph. He'd managed to slip the question in as a kind of ultracasual afterthought. To hear him, no one would ever guess he'd spent the last two hours practicing those exact words in front of a mirror.

“Fee? She just called. Her mum's OK, but she's definitely going to be stuck down there for the next few weeks.”

The next few weeks. Suzy made it sound like nothing at all. As far as Rory was concerned, it was a disaster, like having your jaws wired together without warning and being casually informed by the surgeon that you wouldn't be able to eat solid food for the next few months.

“Anyway,” Suzy went on, “tell me how it went.”

“What?”

“Your relaxation weekend. I want to hear all about it!”

For a split second, Rory hesitated. Should he tell the truth or attempt the bluff? Except he was the world's most hopeless liar, and whenever he tried it, he was always caught out.

Usually by Suzy.

“I didn't go.”

“Oh, you're kidding!” Suzy wailed. “Why not?”

Because I couldn't face turning up on my own
, Rory longed to blurt out,
because I'd have found it too
stressful
. And I only ever agreed to try it in the first place so I could go with Fee.

But since he certainly couldn't admit that to Suzy—he was thirty-four years old, for heaven's sake—he said vaguely, “I had things to do. Paperwork to catch up on.”

“You mean you couldn't be bothered,” Suzy declared crossly. “Oh well, that's just fabulous. Thank you so much for letting me know.”

Startled, Rory said, “Why? What difference would it have made to you?”

“Quite a lot, as it happens,” Suzy yelled into the phone. “Because I spent the whole day sorting out Mum's stuff, and a helping hand would have been nice, but oh no, Julia was too busy, Lucille was too busy, and—”

“You didn't ask,” said Rory, bewildered.

“Because I thought you were
away in Wales
!”

“Look, I'm sorry, but you aren't being fair—”

“Aren't I? Aren't I? So just how fair do you think it is, leaving
me
to do
everything
myself?” Suzy was shrieking now, her rising voice doing painful things to his telephone ear. Taking a step back, unaware that his other foot was resting on the telephone cord, Rory unknowingly yanked the connector out of the wall.

The phone went dead, and he heaved a sigh. Suzy was in a major fit and had slammed down the receiver. Typical of his volatile younger sister to overreact.

Oh well, maybe it was for the best, Rory decided as he hung up. Give her a chance to sleep on it. Dramatic and over-the-top Suzy might be, but at least she wasn't the kind to hold a grudge. By tomorrow morning, with any luck, she'd be fine, back to her usual sunny-natured, happy-go-lucky self.

* * *

“I don't believe it,” squealed Suzy, staring at the receiver in disbelief. “You utter, utter bastard. How
could
you?”

“How could I what?” Harry called through from the sitting room. “What have I done now?”

“Not you. My brother.” Suzy dialed Rory's number, got a busy signal, and realized he was deliberately leaving the phone off the hook. “Bloody hung up on me!”

“My brother hung up on you?”

“No.
My
brother.” Despairingly, Suzy pushed her fingers through her hair. What a rotten, lousy day. It surely couldn't get any worse.

“I had a call too, this afternoon,” said Harry. “From Terence DeVere.”

Suzy, reappearing in the sitting room, said, “Who?”

Harry gave her a how-could-you-have-forgotten look.

“From
Hi!
magazine. They want to know when they can start making the wedding arrangements.”

The day
could
get worse, Suzy discovered.

“He phoned you on a
Sunday
?”

Harry shrugged. “They need to firm up the details.”

“Go away.” Suzy groaned, covering her eyes in despair. “Leave me alone. I don't need this right now.”

“But—”

“No, don't. Stop pressuring me.” Her voice rose. “I've got a
headache
.”

* * *

Sleep was like public transport, Suzy deduced several hours later. It never came along when you were most desperate for it.

She was still awake—and hot and irritable to boot—when Lucille came creeping in at two o'clock in the morning.

Lucille was doing her best to be quiet, but every creaking floorboard sounded like a clap of thunder to Suzy's
en pointe
ears.

“You sound like a baby elephant crashing around,” she declared crossly as Lucille attempted to creep around the sofa on the way to her room.

“Sorry, sorry. I was trying not to wake you up.”

“Well, you did.” In a big huff, Suzy rolled over onto her side, losing most of the duvet on the way.

“Here, I've got it. Let me tuck you in.” Lucille bent over apologetically and hauled the sliding duvet back over Suzy's bare legs. “I didn't mean to be so late. We were just having the most amazing session! Jaz wrote another song today. Honestly, you
must
hear it…”

“Oh, must I, really?” parroted Suzy, amazed by Lucille's self-centered attitude. Had it not even occurred to her that while she was closeted away in Jaz's recording studio, other people might
not
have been having the best time of their lives?

“What? What's wrong?” Sensing that something was up, Lucille finished tucking the side of the duvet into the gap between the sofa cushions then stepped back, her forehead creased with concern.

“Wrong? Why would anything be wrong?” demanded Suzy. “I spent the day sorting through
our
mother's belongings while you were closeted away with
my
ex-husband. I mean, it's lucky I'm not the suspicious type, isn't it? Otherwise, we could almost see some kind of pattern emerging here.”

Even as the words were spilling from Suzy's mouth she was hating herself for even thinking them. But it had been that kind of day. She couldn't
not
say what was uppermost in her mind.

“I don't know what you mean.” Lucille sounded startled.

“Oh, I think you do. After all, it's pretty obvious, isn't it? You made Blanche love you more than she ever loved me, and now you're doing the same thing all over again with Jaz.”

There were no lights on in the living room, but even in the dim amber glow of the street lamp outside the window, Suzy could see Lucille's eyes widen in dismay.

“That's not true!”

“Isn't it?” Despising herself for being like this but quite unable to stop now, Suzy lifted her head from the pillow. “Well, that's what it looks like to me.”

Lucille gasped, clutching her chest. “I can't believe you think that. Blanche didn't love me more than she loved you!”

Suzy's lower lip began to tremble. She bit it, hard.

“If it hadn't been for you, she wouldn't have spent her whole life disappearing for weeks on end.”

She wasn't going to cry. She
wasn't
.

“This isn't fair.” The multicolored beads rattled in Lucille's hair as she shook her head.

“Why isn't it fair? I've just spent the shittiest day ever, clearing out
our
mother's house…and where were you? Cozily tucked up with
my
ex-husband, that's where!”

“Oh, come
on
.” Lucille's voice rose. “You make it sound as if we've spent the day in bed! It's not like that at all and you know it!”

“Jesus, what's going
on
here?” The bedroom door flew open and Harry appeared in the doorway, naked apart from a pair of black boxer shorts and leaning heavily on one crutch. “Do you two have any idea how much noise you're making?”

“Don't look at me,” Suzy retorted hotly. “It's not my fault. She's the one who's just crept in at two o'clock in the morning because it's taken her this long to peel herself away from Jaz.”

“We've been RECORDING A SONG,” bellowed Lucille.

“HA!”

“It's OK, just ignore her.” Harry rolled his eyes sympathetically at Lucille. “She's been in a pissy mood all night. I tried to ask her a perfectly reasonable question earlier about our wedding, and she almost ripped my head off.”

Suzy stared at them both. They were ganging up on her. It was outrageous.

“Oh well, that's hardly the surprise of the century, is it?” she drawled. “I might have guessed you two would stick up for each other. In fact, here's an idea.” She sat bolt upright again, unaware that with her hair sticking out all over her head she looked like an indignant parakeet. “First you took my mother, then you started spending practically
every
waking second with my ex-husband…so, may as well go for the hat trick, don't you think? Please, help yourself, feel free to have sex with
my
fiancé…on
my
bed…”

In the dim recesses of her mind, Suzy was aware that she'd gotten completely carried away. For heaven's sake, Harry hopping into bed with another woman would be the answer to all her prayers.

Except, hang on… Why
should
it have to be the answer to her prayers? Only some bizarre, totally misguided sense of loyalty had gotten her into this ridiculous mess in the first place. Harry had bamboozled her into going along with the engagement, hadn't he? And she didn't actually
owe
him anything, did she? Bloody hell, all she needed to do was straighten her shoulders, stick out her chest, and tell him to take a running leap.

Metaphorically speaking, of course.

I'll say it. I'll say it right now. I'll—

“Fine.” Lucille interrupted her triumphant train of thought. “If that's the way you feel, I'll move my stuff out in the morning.”

“Fabulous,” said Suzy, stunned but at the same time damned if she was going to start backing down now.

Mother stealer.

“You don't mean that,” Harry announced, hobbling toward her.

“I do. And I'm not going to marry you either, so you may as well call that ridiculous magazine of yours and tell them the wedding's off.”

“See what I mean?” Harry turned to Lucille with a long suffering expression. “This is the kind of mood she's been in all night.”