by Jill Mansell
The waiter nodded and left.
Leo, studying the menu, said, “The smoked duck sounds good.” He glanced up and added mildly, “No, I don’t go for really tacky decor. And I prefer Victorian properties.”
“Top price, four fifty?”
“Maybe five.”
Five hundred thousand pounds, thought Suzy. Business must be good. What had Harry said his brother was involved in? Oh yes, a chain of fast-food outlets, that was it. Leo was Britain’s answer to Ronald McDonald, according to Harry.
“And where do you want to live? Clifton? Sneyd Park? Stoke Bishop? Leigh Woods?”
Leo shrugged. “I’m not bothered. I just want to see a house and fall in love with it.”
Suzy smiled. She knew exactly what he meant. And she approved. Some clients were only interested in properties that “fit the bill,” that were “the sort of thing we’re after.” Others wanted a house they could fall in love with. Such a property wasn’t necessarily the sensible choice, but the moment you clapped eyes on it, your heart went ziiing and you knew this was the one you Had to Have.
The first kind of client was by far the easiest, of course, but the second was so infinitely more rewarding.
At that moment, Suzy was seized by inspiration.
“I’ve got somewhere fabulous to show you. It could be the house of your dreams.” Putting down her wineglass, she delved into her bag and pulled out her appointment book. “Can you make it tomorrow?”
“No, I’m—”
“The next day?”
“—in New York,” Leo finished. “For a week.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to leave in just over eight hours.”
Biting her lip in frustration, Suzy felt her stomach rumble with hunger. She saw the young waiter edging toward them again. She breathed in the heavenly garlicky cooking smells emanating from the kitchen…
Do it, do it now!
“OK.” She abruptly slid off her bar stool. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 10
“Haddock and fries and mushy peas,” Suzy announced, jumping back into the driver’s seat and lobbing two hot parcels into Leo’s lap. “And I got you an orange Fanta. Is that all right?”
“Perfect. Who needs Chateauneuf-du-Pape when you can have orange Fanta?” Leo unwrapped one of the fragrant parcels and offered her a fry. “Jesus, what’s that?” He shuddered as the sound of a thousand Irish feet began to boom through the in-car speakers.
Proudly, Suzy said, “Riverdance.”
Oh, that music, it was stirring her blood already! All the little hairs on the back of her neck were leaping to attention.
“At least you can’t dance to this in public,” remarked Leo.
Maybe not, Suzy thought, but you should see me in the privacy of my own bedroom, jigging away in front of the full-length mirror.
Then again, perhaps it was just as well he couldn’t.
“Is this how you normally do business?” said Leo, as they sped across the Downs.
“It’s called seizing the moment.” Actually, it was called intuition. “I’m giving you first refusal on a house I think you’ll really like. If we leave it until after you get back from the States, it could be too late.”
“Don’t tell me,” said Leo, his tone dry. “There’s someone else mad about the place and if I don’t put in an offer tonight they’ll snap it up.”
“Not at all. Nobody else has even seen it yet.” Reaching over, Suzy pinched another fry. “But I just think you might kick yourself if that happened.”
The corners of his mouth lifted a fraction.
“Harry told me you were a great saleswoman.”
“I have a talent for matching people up with the right properties,” Suzy told him happily. “It’s my specialty. That’s what makes me great.”
“Actually, this fish is pretty good.” Leo looked up, alarmed. “Good grief, what’s that noise?”
She grinned. “Don’t panic. Just my tragically empty stomach.”
* * *
Once they were inside the house, Suzy turned on the oven and threw her untouched parcel of haddock and fries in to keep warm. Forty minutes later, when she had given Leo the full guided tour—including the floodlit garden—she led him back to the kitchen, took the parcel out of the oven, and began to devour the contents.
With a passion.
“Sorry, I’m starving. Well? What do you think?”
“I like it. A lot. I think this could be just what I’m looking for. But,” Leo went on slowly, “you can’t seriously expect me to put in an offer now. Of four hundred and eighty thousand pounds. For something I haven’t even seen in daylight.”
“Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?” Suzy protested. “It’s even better in daylight! You won’t believe the view.”
Leo watched her jump up, race across the kitchen, pull open a cupboard, and take out a bottle of Heinz tomato ketchup.
“So this is where you grew up.”
Suzy pulled a face.
“Well, that’s debatable. I probably only grew up when I divorced Jaz.” She shook the bottle like a grand prix winner and dolloped sauce generously over her fries. “But this is where I lived.”
“And were you happy here?”
“Happy? Oh yes.” Suzy smiled slightly. “Despite my mother.”
Leo took another look around the ground floor while she demolished the rest of her meal. Returning, he leaned in the doorway with his hands in his pockets and watched her stuff the empty wrappers into the kitchen trash.
“I’m definitely interested, but I’d have to see it again. Properly, in daylight.”
Spoilsport.
“OK.”
“We’d better be making a move. I have to be at Heathrow by seven.”
“Right.” Suzy switched off the lights in the kitchen. “I’ll take you back to your car.”
* * *
The Volvo was still there, parked in the darkened driveway of the hideous house at the top of Parry’s Lane. Pulling up behind it—thankful it hadn’t been stolen—Suzy jumped out to shake hands with Leo Fitzallan in true real-estate-agent fashion.
As she reached into her bag in search of a business card, a bird swooped down from one of the trees lining the drive, missing her head by inches.
“Here we are. Call me when you’re back from the States. If you’re still interested and the house hasn’t been sold, we can fix—God, what is that?”
The dark shape flitted past her again, even closer this time.
“A bat,” said Leo.
“Aaargh!” Letting out a strangled scream, Suzy seized the straps of her handbag and swung it around her head. Spiders were OK, spiders she could handle, but bats. Ugh, they were something else. They had sharp little teeth and flappy, pointy wings and their mission in life was to get themselves tangled up in your hair. Ducking, panicking, and dimly aware that undignified whimpering noises were emanating from her throat, Suzy swung the bag frantically, like an Olympic hammer thrower going for gold.
Except the knack with Olympic hammer throwing is knowing when to let go. Before she could stop it happening, the leather straps had wound themselves embarrassingly around her neck and the bag—with its heavy metal clasp—made violent contact with the front of her face.
Clonk went the clasp against her nose, and Suzy let out another shriek, this time of pain.
“Owww! My node! Oh no…”
As her hands flew up to her face, she felt the telltale warm trickle of blood. Oh, brilliant. Great. A nosebleed. Just what a girl needs when she’s wearing her lucky lilac jacket and a white Donna Karan camisole top.
At least the bat had gone. With any luck she’d hit it for six into next door’s garden.
God, I knew I hated this house.
The blood began to gather speed, the trickle turning into a flood.
Reflexively, to save her clothes, Suzy flung her head right back. The blood, promptly altering course, slid down the back of her nose and throat. When she tried to breathe, the air came out in a kind of panicky bubbling snort.
She wailed, “Help, help, I’m drowning!”
It came out as “I’b drowding!”
“Here.” Leo pulled a clean white handkerchief out of his jacket pocket. Suzy jammed it—wumph—over her nose and mouth. Within seconds it was crimson. Her nosebleeds had always been fast and furious.
“Open by bag—ged the keys.” She pointed to her handbag on the ground, then to the house, remembering that the previous owners had left a couple of guest towels in the downstairs bathroom.
Thankfully, Leo didn’t argue. Within seconds he had found the keys, unlocked the front door, and switched on the lights. Still spluttering, but desperate not to drip blood on the hall carpet, Suzy followed him in and made a lunge for the bathroom.
She blanched at the sight of herself in the mirror above the pristine white sink. Oh yes, very Interview with the Vampire. And despite her best efforts, there was plenty of blood on her favorite top.
Pinching the bridge of her nose hard and mopping up with one of the lime-green hand towels, she leaned against the sink. Leo, behind her in the doorway, said, “Is it broken?”
Suzy shook her head gingerly. Then, moving the towel away from her mouth, she spat a mouthful of blood into the sink.
Oh dear, elegant or what?
“No. I’ve always been a bit prone to nosebleeds. It’ll stop in a minute.”
The owners of the house had thoughtfully left a roll of toilet paper behind as well. Tearing off a couple of sheets, Suzy rolled them up and stuffed one—even more elegantly—up each nostril. Meeting Leo’s gaze in the mirror—was he making a heroic attempt not to laugh?—she explained, “Don’t want to drip all over my car seats.”
Leo straightened up. “What’s that noise?”
Aware that she was snuffling like a Pekingese, Suzy said, “Me, probably. Trying to breathe.”
“No, outside.”
The next moment they heard footsteps racing on the gravel. The front door, already open, was flung violently back on its hinges.
“OK, nobody move!” bawled a male voice behind them. “Put your hands up! Stay right where you are!”
As Suzy turned slowly around, the sodden toilet paper plug dropped out of her left nostril. It came to rest in her blood spattered cleavage. She saw the look of horror in the eyes of the policeman in the doorway.
“Are you all right, miss? Don’t worry, you’re safe now.” Whipping out a pair of handcuffs, he grabbed Leo’s wrists and twisted them behind his back. “Jesus, what’s he done to you?”
“Really, he didn’t…” Suzy began as a second set of footsteps echoed in the hall.
“Better radio for an ambulance,” barked the first policeman over his shoulder.
“She doesn’t need one,” Leo said calmly.
Suzy heard an astonished voice gasp, “Leo?”
The first policeman, his tone grim, said, “Know him, do you?”
“Quite well, actually,” said Leo.
Suzy summoned up a reassuring smile as the second policeman appeared in the doorway. Well, as reassuring as she could manage with ribbons of blood and saliva dripping from her teeth.
“Hello, Harry.”
* * *
Harry insisted on driving her home in the Rolls.
“The neighbors phoned us to report a break-in. They knew the house was empty. They heard a commotion in the front garden…”
“Bats,” said Suzy.
“Not at all. They thought it was burglars. They did absolutely the right thing.”
“I mean, there was a bat flying around my head. I panicked and tried to hit it away with my handbag. Caught my nose instead.”
“So you said.” Harry pulled up outside her house. He turned sideways in the driver’s seat, his expression troubled. “What I don’t understand is what you were doing there at that time in the first place. I mean, it’s hardly normal, is it? Showing people around houses at eleven thirty at night?”
“You do what you have to do.” Suzy shrugged. “See an opportunity, seize an opportunity.”
Harry sniffed. “And why does it smell of fish and chips in this car?”
“Because we stopped for fish and chips on the way.” Patiently, Suzy explained, “We’re putting my mother’s house on the market. From what Leo was saying, I guessed he might be interested. He’s off to the States in a few hours and I really wanted him to see it before he left.” She blinked, her patience beginning to slip. “Harry, please stop looking at me like that. When a client has that amount of money to spend on a house, you do whatever it takes to sell him one. Leo’s registered with three other agencies besides ours. I’d like Curtis’s to be the one he ends up doing business with. You can understand that, surely?”
“Oh yes, I can understand that. Money talks,” said Harry, “and my brother’s loaded.” He paused. “So? Did he make a move?”
“A move?”
“Come on, don’t look so innocent. You know what I’m talking about.”
Astonished, Suzy wailed, “Of course he didn’t make a move! For heaven’s sake, this was business.”
Harry, his voice level, replied, “And you’ve just told me that you’ll do whatever it takes to seal a deal.”
Phew, jealous or what?
“Now you’re just being ridiculous.” Suzy shook her head in disbelief.
“He’s my brother,” said Harry. “I know what he’s like. To be honest, I’m amazed he didn’t try to take you out to dinner.”
“Well, I didn’t have dinner with him.”
True, just. Phew again.
“Only fish and chips,” muttered Harry.
“And I paid for them.” At that moment a police car drew up behind them, its headlights beaming into the car. Grateful for the reprieve, Suzy swung herself out of the passenger seat. “Your lift’s here. Thanks for driving me home. I’m sorry you think I’ve spent the evening doing my damnedest to seduce your brother.” She abruptly stuck out her hand. “Keys please.”
Harry looked taken aback. “Suzy, I didn’t mean—”
“No, no, that’s absolutely fine.” She could feel the muscles tensing up in her jaw. “I’m going to have a bath now. Good night.”
Chapter 11
Domesticity had never been one of Suzy’s great strengths. The next morning before work she popped next door to find Maeve, alone in the kitchen, singing to herself and energetically frying sausages and mushrooms.
Suzy hovered in the open doorway and looked helpless. “Maeve, how do I get blood out of a white top? I can’t remember if I’m supposed to boil it, or cover it in salt.”
“D’you think I was born yesterday?” Maeve chided over her shoulder.
“Maeve!” Suzy broke into a huge grin. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Bring it over here and I’ll deal with it later,” said Maeve, as Suzy had known she would. Dancing gleefully up behind her, she planted a kiss on the older woman’s tissue-soft cheek.
“Thanks, Maeve. You’re an angel. Ooh, and those sausages look fab.”
“They’re not fab at all. They’re not even sausages.” With an expression of disgust, Maeve gave them a prod with her steel spatula. “They’re those vegetarian things. For Celeste.”
“Made with what?”
“Pfff. From the taste of them, the sawdust sweepings off the floor of the butcher’s shop.”
Eyeing the sausages with reduced enthusiasm, Suzy said, “Should you be frying them like that, if they’re for Celeste?”
Celeste was a low-fat person.
“Celeste is in bed, the idle baggage.” Maeve snorted. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt me. Shift your
big bottom, now.” Nudging Suzy out of the way, Maeve switched off the gas burner and reached for a pile of plates. “Go fetch that white top of yours, why don’t you, so I can take a look at the damage.”
Like a magician, Suzy produced the bulging carrier from behind her back. With a flourish she whisked out the offending articles.
“Jesus, a bloodbath.” Maeve clucked. “The mischief you young people get up to these days, I don’t know.”
The truly great thing about Maeve, Suzy thought, was her utter unshockability. You could walk into the room with a pickax sticking out of your head and Maeve would say, “Will I be getting you a couple of aspirins, love? And how about a nice cup of tea to wash them down?”
At that moment Jaz and Fee came in, having finished their early morning stint in the pool. Fee, in a vibrant turquoise tracksuit, was rubbing dry her short, straight, sensibly cut hair. Jaz, still dripping wet and barefoot, was wearing a dark blue toweling robe.
“Sixty lengths.” He greeted Suzy with a grin. Then, noticing her blood-soaked clothes: “Christ, what have you been doing? Practicing open-heart surgery on yourself?”
“Good job I didn’t come here looking for sympathy.” Suzy touched the faint blue bruise on the bridge of her nose. But Maeve was taking a vast dish of kedgeree out of the oven, followed by a tray of cooked-to-perfection bacon. Unable to resist such sublime smells, she pulled out a chair and sat down. “Actually, I was with Harry’s brother when it happened.”
“So Harry’s got a brother, has he?” Jaz, sprawling opposite her and tipping his own chair back on its hind legs, said, “What’s he like?”
Hmmm. There was a sixty-four-thousand-dollar question if ever she’d heard one. Suzy hesitated for a moment, but the urge to talk was too strong. And—for better or for worse—she’d always been honest with Jaz.
Mentally bracing herself, she said, “He seems nice.”
“Nice?”
“Older than Harry,” Suzy elaborated, fractionally. “By five years.”
“Go on.”
She shrugged.
“Bit taller, I suppose. Six two, six three.”
“Really. And would you say he was, by any chance…better looking?”