Good at Games (35 page)

“Hi,” said Fee with a bright smile. “I'm back.”

Rory, who was scrabbling on the floor beneath his desk for the pen he had just dropped, jerked upright and hit his head—
clunk
—against the underside of the left-hand drawer.

“Oh, poor you!” Fee cried as, dazed, he made it into a sitting position. “Are you all right?”

“Fine, fine,” murmured Rory, feeling sick and faint but somehow ecstatic at the same time.
You're back! At last! I've missed you so much!

Of course, he didn't actually say that. Instead, he held his breath and quietly quivered with pleasure while Fee examined his head.

“Bit of a dent,” she pronounced at last, straightening up. “But no blood.”

“Shame.” If there had been blood, she could have mopped it up. “I mean, good,” Rory hastily amended. “How are you, anyway? Mother better now?”

“Tons better.”

“You're looking well.”

“Thanks.” Fee blushed. “I just popped in to say hello, see how you all are.”

Attempting joviality, Rory said, “All the better for seeing you!” and instantly wanted to die. Only a complete and utter nerd would say that.

Seized with a sudden overwhelming urge to say, “God, sorry, I'm not really a nerd,” then realizing that this would only make matters worse, Rory rushed on, “Actually, we've been pretty busy. Managed to sell Harley House at last—ha-ha. And we've handled three apartments in Royal York Crescent in the last fortnight alone!”

Oh, dazzling stuff. Absolutely riveting.
Rubbing his head, Rory wondered unhappily if he could plead concussion.

“Still working too hard,” Fee remarked, smiling and giving him a tut-tut look. “Suzy told me you missed the relaxation weekend.”

“I know. I should have gone. Maybe another time, now that you're back.” Rory didn't allow himself to get his hopes up. By now he had surely blown it. The chances of Fee being interested in spending a relaxation weekend away with an uptight workaholic who was also now officially a world-class nerd had to be in the range of zero-to-nil.

“Actually, I don't know if you'd be able to get away”—Fee was pulling her woolly gloves off with her teeth and delving into her bag—“but I've got a leaflet here; there's a great-sounding course in Snowdonia this weekend.” Pulling out the skinny brochure, she grimaced and said apologetically, “I suppose that's too short notice.”

In a daze, Rory said, “
This
weekend?”

“I know. And it's Thursday already. Oh well, it was just a thought.”

“I'm free,” announced Rory. “I can make it.” He nodded his head vigorously. He would make it if it killed him.

“Are you sure?” Fee looked delighted.

Rory, the great decision maker, nodded again. “Yes.”

“So shall I give them a call?”

“Absolutely. Just what we both need, a bit of a break. And this time,” Rory told Fee with absolute confidence, “nothing's going to get in the way.”

* * *

“Can you believe it?” gasped Suzy as she was hurled by a gust of wind through the door of the office the following afternoon. “The middle of November and it's starting to snow! They're giving out weather warnings on the radio: gales, blizzards, the works. My nose feels as if it's dropped off and my fingers have frostbite—I'm telling you, it's like Siberia out there.”

“Poor old Jaz and Lucille,” Donna remarked sympathetically, “stuck on some rotten beach in Mauritius.”

“Sun, sea, and oodles of sex.” Suzy sighed. “God, I feel so sorry for them. I mean, why would anyone want to be there when they could be here, experiencing all this?” She waved an expansive arm, indicating the gray, windswept street outside, the huge sticky snowflakes swirling past almost horizontally, the bundled-up passersby struggling to stay upright. “And if this is what we've got in Bristol, imagine what it's like in the wilds of Wales. You're going to have to cancel your trip.” She looked over at Rory who was determinedly ignoring her. “You do realize that, don't you?”

Rory carried on furiously rattling keys on the computer. “We'll be fine. Lot of fuss about nothing.”

“Rory, you'll never reach Snowdonia. The roads will be impassable. According to the weather forecast we're in for a whole week of this stuff.”

“I'm not canceling.” Rory's jaw was set in a stubborn line. “I promised Fee we'd go, and that's it. We're going.”

Suzy and Donna exchanged glances.

“But Fee might not
want
to go,” Suzy patiently explained. “Not now the weather's gone bananas. Anyway”—she was struck by a thought—“what with it being this windy, they might close the Severn Bridge. Then you wouldn't be
able
to get across to Wales.”

That did it. Rory's bags were all packed and ready in the car. Reaching for the phone, he dialed Fee's number.

Funny how he knew it by heart.

“Hi, it's me. The weather's not looking too marvelous, so I thought we might set off early. Or”—he forced his voice to remain neutral—“if you'd rather give it a miss, we'll cancel.”

After a moment's hesitation, Fee said cautiously, “Do
you
want to cancel?”

In the office, making a point of ignoring Suzy, Rory gripped the phone. “No. Not at all.”

“Oh well, in that case”—Fee sounded as if she was smiling—“I'm game if you are.”

Rory breathed a sigh of relief. “I'll pick you up in five minutes.”

Another blast of icy air swirled into the office as the door swung open and shut behind him. In no time at all, like Batman, Rory was gone.

“Blimey, he must be desperate,” Donna marveled. “He left without even switching off his computer.”

“Hmmm.” Suzy had begun to suspect that something a bit unusual was going on here. “I can't help wondering just how relaxing my brother's going to find it, spending the weekend halfway up some mountain with his car stuck in a fifteen-foot snowdrift.”

* * *

The door swung open three hours later, just as they were closing up for the night. By this time it was pitch-black outside and the fat, somersaulting snowflakes were hurtling past the window at breakneck speed.

“Suzy! Goodness, what about this snow, isn't it just fabulous?” Gabriella was laughing as she pulled off her white fake-fur hat and shook snowflakes from her glossy hair.

“Oh. Hi.” Suzy instantly felt like a big heifer in comparison. Gabriella was looking tiny and absolutely dazzling in a scarlet wool coat trimmed with the same fake fur as her hat. Her cheeks and nose were a delicate shade of pink, her eyes as bright as diamonds. She looked exactly like someone in a Ralph Lauren ad…with the added bonus that if you happened to keel over with a heart attack she'd know all the latest resuscitation techniques.

Dammit, she even smelled gorgeous.

“Fantastic news about Lucille,” exclaimed Gabriella. “You must be thrilled for her.”

“I am,” Suzy agreed. “Really happy. They're going to get married, did you know?”

“Must be catching.” Smiling broadly, Gabriella waggled her engagement ring—
flash flash
—then dived into her shiny black Hermès bag and pulled out a couple of envelopes. “That's exactly why I'm here. I was just around the corner speaking to the people who are doing the flowers for our wedding, so I thought I may as well pop in, say hello, and give you your invitation. Lucille's too, if you wouldn't mind passing it on to her when she gets back.”

“Lovely,” said Suzy, with over-the-top enthusiasm. Opening the heavy envelope, she slid out the embossed, white-on-white card. “Wow! December the twenty-fourth.”

“I know, a Christmas Eve wedding. Can you think of anything more romantic?”

Not offhand, no
, thought Suzy.
Unless you count
me
marrying Leo…

“Ooh, I love Christmas weddings.” Eagerly, Donna said, “So what's your dress like?”

“Heaven.” Gabriella was clearly delighted to have been asked. “In fact, I just picked it up from the dressmaker yesterday.” Unfastening her coat, she sketched the outline of the dress against herself with her narrow, expressive hands. “Deep-red velvet bodice, cut low like this and this…dark green beading around the bustline…then a creamy-white satin skirt, very full and coming out like
this
…and a dark green velvet cloak with deep-red beading, instead of a veil. Oh, and the cloak's lined with crimson satin, and I've got shoes to match.”

“Cool,” said Donna, nodding in appreciation. “Plain white's just boring, isn't it? If my guy asked me to marry him, we'd have a real Goth ceremony. I'd wear a big black wedding dress. But yours sounds great too, doesn't it, Suzy? Hello? Suzy?”

“What? Oh…oh yes, um, gorgeous.”

To her absolute horror Suzy realized she had been busy picturing herself in the dress Gabriella had described. What's more, she couldn't stop. Because she had actually been there, in the church, heading joyfully down the aisle with the organ booming out wedding-type music and Leo, in his tuxedo, turning to smile at her, hardly able to contain the look of love and pride in his dark blue eyes…
Oh yes, I'd look amazing in that dress, it would suit me far more than it would suit Gabriella. Wouldn't fit me, of course, seeing as it's a dinky size six and I'm an undinky size twelve, but if you could spread it out on the photocopier and just press the Enlarge button…

OK, getting seriously carried away now. Enough of the fantasy.
Cut.

“It all sounds brilliant.” Aware that her heart was racing like a hamster on a wheel, Suzy concentrated on appearing normal. Smiling, she said, “Really. Thanks so much for inviting me.”

“Don't be daft,” exclaimed Gabriella. “Of course you have to be there! Anyway, Leo insisted.”

Hmmm
, thought Suzy,
probably because he can't wait to rub in the fact that he's getting married…and Harry's getting married…and even Lucille's getting married.

And I'm not.

* * *

Rory's car was doing its best against the elements, but the elements were on the verge of victory.

“Did you ever see
Bambi
?” said Fee, her knuckles whitening as she clutched at her seat belt.

“Once. When I was about six.”

“The bit where Bambi's trying to stand up on the ice, with his legs going in all directions?”

“I think so,” said Rory. “Why?”

“Oh, I don't know. It's just the way this car keeps skidding across the road, I'm starting to feel a bit like Bambi.”

The Black Mountains of Wales were no longer black. Everything around them was fast disappearing beneath an impenetrable layer of white. The snow, pelting the car, stuck to it like papier-mâché. Sheep, huddling against low drystone walls for shelter, looked every bit as fed up as Rory felt.

“It's only the middle of November,” he said despairingly. “This isn't supposed to happen now.”

But, of course, Murphy's Law had decreed that it must happen, because he was, officially, the world's unluckiest man.

They weren't going to make it; he knew that for a fact. At this rate, Snowdonia was as out of reach as the Antarctic. If they slid off the road and into a ditch they could be stuck here for days.

“What do you want to do?” said Rory. “Go back?”

“I don't know. I'm not sure we can. I can't even work out where we are on the map,” said Fee. “I've had my eyes closed for so long I've completely lost my bearings.”

As she spoke, a signpost appeared ahead of them, just visible in the car's headlights but with its signs obliterated by snow. Shifting gears carefully, doing his best to avoid slamming into the post, Rory managed to slow the car to a halt. Leaping out onto the shoulder, Fee cleared the sign with the end of her woolly scarf.

“Hay-on-Wye, four miles.” She gasped, jumping back into the car and rubbing her icy hands together. “That'll do me.”

She sounded like a hitchhiker relieved to have flagged down a ride. Confused, Rory pushed his slipping glasses up over the bridge of his nose. “You mean…you want me to drop you there?”

Turning to look at him, Fee burst out laughing. “Rory, come on. We can't reach Snowdonia, and we can't go back. We're marooned. So why don't we just make the best of it? We'll improvise, have our very own relaxation weekend.”

“In Hay-on-Wye?” The worried look began to recede from Rory's face.

“You'll like it,” Fee assured him. “It's a beautiful place.”

“This is a beautiful place,” Rory agreed several hours later. The hotel they had booked into was warm and welcoming, inglenooked and open-fired. Over a magical dinner, they had talked nonstop, and it hadn't been stressful at all. Now, over coffee, he smiled and told Fee, “I'm relaxing already.”

“See? No pressure of work. No phones ringing, no belligerent clients to deal with, no houses to sell. You're free to do whatever you want.”

Oh
, Rory thought longingly,
if only you knew.

“Anything at all,” Fee reiterated, hinting madly and praying she didn't sound like a trollop.

Feeling daring, Rory said, “In that case, I'm going to ask the bartender if I can have a cognac to go with my coffee.”

So much for hint-dropping. Exasperated, Fee said, “That's your trouble. Sometimes you're just too polite. You're the customer, Rory. If you want a cognac, you can have one. You can have as many cognacs as you like.”

Rory had his cognac.

Then he had another, to give him some much-needed Dutch courage.

For Rory, who seldom drank, two cognacs was quite a lot.

Finally, as they were about to make their way upstairs, he said, “So, would you say that was a general rule, or does it only apply to cognac?”

Bewildered, Fee said, “I'm sorry?”

“It's the end of the evening. I think we've had a nice time. I've enjoyed myself, anyway.” Buoyed up by the alcohol, Rory went on, “And now I'd very much like to kiss you, but I don't know whether I'm supposed to ask you if I can kiss you, or if I should just go ahead and, er…do it.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Fee, tingling all over. “Well, um…gosh, I think you should just do it.”

“Not ask first? You're sure?”

“No no no, definitely don't ask first.” Leaning back against the heavy oak banister, her fingers curling helplessly around the newel posts, Fee whispered joyfully, “That would spoil the surprise.”

* * *

“What are you thinking?” Rory asked much, much later.

“Oh, just that it seems a bit of a waste, paying for two huge rooms when we're only going to be using one.”

Fee gazed lovingly down at Rory, lying next to her. His gray eyes—for once minus glasses—had lost their anxious expression. His whole face seemed to have softened and relaxed. And as for the rest of him…well, who would ever have guessed that beneath those crisp white shirts and conservative suits lurked quite such an impressive body?

Thank you, snow
, thought Fee, sinking back against the mountain of pillows and idly stroking Rory's bare torso.

“It's hardly worth canceling,” he said. “We're only here for two nights.”

In response to this, Fee jumped out of bed. Padding over to the window, she gazed out at the ever-deepening snow. Their room overlooked the main drag, which was looking ridiculously picturesque, like one of those sentimental black-and-white movies starring Greer Garson.

“Two nights?” Fee glanced mischievously at Rory over her shoulder. “You'll be lucky. By the look of this weather, we could be stuck here for quite some time.”

“Oh dear, that's terrible.” Rory sighed. “You mean we're going to be forced to spend days and days together, learning to relax?”

“Maybe even weeks and weeks.” Fee shook her auburn head sorrowfully.

“It's an absolute tragedy.” Reaching for her, Rory held out his arms. “Come here,” he murmured, pulling Fee gently back into bed with him, “and relax some more.”

* * *

The world had gone mad. It was, Suzy decided on Sunday evening, like finding yourself in an episode of
The Twilight Zone
where everything seemed normal but clearly wasn't. For a start, this definitely wasn't the real Rory she was speaking to on the phone. It had to be an alien impostor pretending to be Rory. And, to be frank, making a rather poor job of it.

“Well, there we go,” he wound up breezily—
breezily
, for heaven's sake. “Not a lot we can do about it, so I guess we'll just see you when we see you.”

I mean, how convincing was that? Rory said things like,
See you at ten thirty-five sharp
and
I'll be with you in exactly seventeen minutes.
His whole life was ruled by the clock; punctuality was the key to efficiency in Rory's book.

See you when we see you
simply didn't feature in his vocabulary.

And then there was the other thing.

“I don't get this.” Suzy frowned at the TV, which was showing the weather report. “There's no snow left in Bristol at all. It just came down in a giant whoosh on Friday and melted on Saturday. You'd never know it had been here.”

“Really? Lucky old you. We're still completely snowed in,” Rory repeated. “Can't imagine when we'll get out. Still,” he went on cheerfully—
cheerfully?
—“can't be helped. I'm sure you'll be able to cope.”

“What if I can't?”

“Hmmm? Oh, just make some phone calls, cancel a few appointments.”

Suzy goggled. “You're not serious!”

“Hey, it's only a few houses we're talking about.” Rory's tone was chiding. “Hardly life and death.”

Enough was enough.

“Let me speak to Fee,” Suzy barked.

“Sorry, she's in the bath. I'll give you a call during the week, OK? Until then, just go with the flow,” said Rory.

Or the alien masquerading as Rory, to be precise.

The world's definitely going mad
, thought Suzy, staring in disbelief at the receiver, which was now going
brrrrr
in her ear.

The alien had hung up.

* * *

“Are you sure?” Lucille was having a bit of trouble breathing, she was being hugged so hard. “I mean, I know you were fine about it on the phone, but are you
really
sure you're okay with this?”

Lucille had new beads in her hair to match the new glow of happiness surrounding her like a halo.

“Come on,” Suzy protested, “how can I not be thrilled? My favorite ex-husband and my favorite new sister?”

“Well, quite,” said Lucille. “Be honest, it must feel a bit odd.”

“Look, I want Jaz to be happy. The only reason I could never stop having a go at Celeste was because I knew she wasn't the one for him. She wasn't good enough, for a start.” Suzy spread her arms wide. “But this is completely different, because you are!”

More hugs, more squashed lungs, but there was still something bothering Lucille.

“When we argued that time…” She paused, hating to have to say it. “You were mad because you said Jaz liked me more than he liked you.”

“But I didn't mean it! We're sisters,” cried Suzy, “and we were having our first fight. What did I tell you about fighting with sisters? You say anything and everything that comes into your head, no holds barred. It doesn't
mean
anything; you weren't supposed to take it to heart. You especially weren't supposed to run away to a tropical island practically on the other side of the world…”

Tut-tutting as he lugged cases past them into the hallway, Jaz said, “I don't know, all this hugging and making up, it's like being trapped in an episode of
Friends
. Ah, Maeve, there you are. Excellent to see you again. Could we just shake hands and do without all the sloppy stuff?”

“Will you listen to this fellow?” Maeve's shriek rattled the chandeliers as she enveloped him in a mammoth embrace. “All tanned and gorgeous and announcing that he's getting married again, and he thinks he can get away without a proper welcome home!”

“Third time's the charm, what d'you think?” Jaz murmured the words almost under his breath as she went about kissing him noisily on both cheeks.

“I think—
mwah
—you've got it right at last—
mwah
—and about bloody time too,” Maeve declared. “If you must know, I saw it coming weeks ago. It half killed me, keeping my mouth shut and letting you figure it out for yourself.”

“You're a witch,” said Jaz.

“Tuh, nothing so exotic. I just watch the soaps,” Maeve boasted. “When you've seen as many as I have, you learn to spot the signs a mile off.”

“I'm sooo glad you're both back.” Suzy's tone was fretful. “It's been horrible here without you.”

Jaz was checking the cars parked outside.

“Where's Fee? I thought she'd be here too.”

“And that's another thing.” Rolling her eyes, Suzy said darkly, “Something extremely weird has happened to my brother.”

* * *

“I'm sorry,” panted Lucille, tugging uselessly on Baxter's leash as he cannoned through the front door of Curtis and Co. “I just couldn't stop him. We were on our way through Victoria Square when he suddenly started howling and rampaging across the flower beds. I think he realized he was around the corner from your office and decided he wanted to see you.”

Well, it was nice that someone did. Deeply flattered, Suzy waggled Baxter's ears and said, “You always were a dog with impeccable taste.”

“Just a quick hello, then we have to go,” Lucille warned Baxter. “Suzy's busy.”

“Actually, I'm meeting a client in Kensington Place.” Suzy reached for her bag and stood up. “It's not worth taking the car. Why don't we walk through the square together?”

Great idea
, snuffled Baxter,
and just to refresh my memory, is this the drawer where you keep your emergency supply of potato chips?

* * *

They were halfway across the square when two men sitting on one of the benches began grinning and nudging each other like a pair of music hall comedians.

“Do you know them?” said Suzy.

Lucille shook her head. “No, I thought they must know you.”

“Hey, Buster,” one of the men called out, clicking his fingers.

“No,
wrong
.” The other one shook his head vigorously. “It was Baxter, remember? Hey, Baxter, over here!”

Naturally, idiotically, Baxter bounded over to them like a dopey debutante at a party. He hadn't a clue who these guys were, but if they knew his name, that was good enough for him.

Besides, they might give him some chips.