Good at Games

by Jill Mansell

  Suzy heard the blood drumming like a thousand tom-toms in her ears. Loudly, but sadly not quite loudly enough to drown out Harry’s words.

  Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion too. But, again, not quite slowly enough.

  You could have heard a pin drop in the conference room. All eyes were upon her.

  Oh no, this isn’t fair. I’m trapped! I need an ejector seat! How can I say yes?

  Except, except…how could she possibly say no?

  OK, keep calm, deep breaths. Basically, there’s no way in the world I can say no. Not here in public, like this.

  Right, so all I have to do is say yes but not mean it. And explain to Harry in private later that I can’t possibly marry him, I only said yes to spare him the ultimate humiliation.

  “OK,” said Suzy. Oops, loads more enthusiasm than that. Hurriedly—and at the same time mentally crossing her fingers—she said, “Yes, Harry. Yes, I’ll marry you. Of course I will!”

  * * *

  After that, wheeling in the children whose lives Harry had saved came almost as an anticlimax. The toddler, Mikey, clung to his mother’s skirt, and the six-year-old, Lauren, was clearly overwhelmed by the attentions of so many photographers. Their mother, tearful and almost speechless with gratitude, hugged and kissed Harry and told the reporters over and over again that it was a miracle and Harry was an angel who had fallen to earth.

  Even Harry had the grace to look embarrassed by this.

  Suzy sat through the rest of the press conference in a daze. Her life was spinning crazily out of control. The wedding—Harry had already assured everyone—would take place soon. Of course they wanted a family of their own…three, maybe four children, God willing. And yes, of course Jaz Dreyfuss would be invited to the wedding—he and Jaz were great friends, they got on like a house on fire… And the ring? Oh, nothing flashy, probably a platinum-set diamond solitaire.

  * * *

  Suzy had planned to tell Harry the moment they arrived back on the ward that he needn’t buy her a ring because there wasn’t going to be any wedding.

  But when they reached Harry’s room, someone else was already there waiting to speak to him.

  Waving—quite literally—a checkbook.

  “Hi! Terence DeVere, from Hi! magazine!”

  Clearly, this was his little joke.

  “Great, great story,” the man went on. Flicking back his groomed hair, he beamed at Suzy.

  “The feel-good story of the year, I’m telling you! Just the kind of thing our readers go for. OK, cards on the table. Initial in-depth interview. Exclusive rights to cover the wedding. And honeymoon pictures, of course. Total, two hundred and fifty thousand pounds. So, do we have ourselves a deal?”

  Suzy felt as if she were on a plane having trouble with cabin pressure. Her ears were popping, and there was no sign of the flight attendant with the big silver tray of hard candies.

  Harry leaned forward in his wheelchair and shook Terence DeVere’s pudgy pink hand.

  Grinning broadly, he said, “Oh yes, we definitely have ourselves a deal.”

  * * *

  Having battled with disinterested pub landlords to get Jaz and his band their first bookings when they were unknown, Fee wasn’t afraid of anyone.

  But while she wasn’t what you could call afraid of Rory Curtis, she was certainly in awe of him. It was all right for Suzy to describe him as a big old pussycat—she was his sister. As far as Fee could make out, Rory was brusque, uptight, somewhat humorless, and basically a bit daunting.

  Still, no need to feel daunted today.

  Rory was on the phone when Fee pushed open the door to the office of Curtis and Co. Correction, he was on the phone, scribbling notes with one hand and simultaneously tapping into a computer with the other. A ferociously hard worker—Fee knew this from Suzy—Rory never did one job when he could do three. Suzy might provide the style and the panache, but he was undoubtedly the one who supplied the sheer hard slog that kept the business afloat.

  This, of course, was the reason his brief marriage ten years earlier had failed. And Rory had given that side of things a miss ever since.

  Over at her desk, Donna was on the phone. Waiting for one of them to become free—and secretly hoping it would be Donna—Fee waited and watched Rory’s dark eyes narrow with exasperation behind his glasses as, glancing up at the computer screen in front of him, he realized he’d deleted something he hadn’t meant to delete.

  “OK. Two o’clock. Bye.” Rory hung up, clattered a few computer keys, heaved a gusty sigh, ran his fingers through his straight dark hair, scrawled a note in his diary…and looked up at Fee. “Oh, hi. Bringing the keys back? Thanks for doing that—tell Suzy she owes you a drink.”

  Fee handed him the keys to the house in Alma Vale. “No need. I enjoyed it.”

  “Time wasters.” Rory threw the keys into his desk drawer. He had no time for time wasters, but in this business, you had to humor them.

  “Actually,” said Fee, “they want to buy it.”

  Rory’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re kidding! They actually put in an offer? A lousy one, I suppose.”

  Fee took the folded-up particulars out of her shirt pocket. “It says here three hundred and twenty thousand. They offered three hundred, but I told them the vendors had already turned down three hundred and ten. So they decided to go with the asking price. I said I’d tell you, and you’d call them back when you’d spoken to the sellers.” Feeling the beginnings of a blush crawling out from under her russet bangs, Fee said, “Was that OK?”

  “OK?” Rory actually broke into an incredulous smile. “It’s a miracle!” The smile vanished. “Unless it’s a joke, of course. Did Suzy put you up to this?”

  “No,” said Fee equably. “Why don’t you call them, if you don’t believe me?”

  “I believe you. But I’d still better call them. Ummm…there’s coffee in the machine.” Distracted, Rory was already reaching for the phone. “Help yourself.”

  Fee made coffee for the three of them. By the time she’d finished, Rory had hung up.

  “You’re a genius,” he told her.

  “You’re not.” Feeling brave, Fee nodded at the flashing computer screen. “I don’t think you meant to do that, did you?”

  Rory sighed and pushed his fingers through his hair again, ruffling it up at the back.

  “I wasn’t meant to be doing it in the first place, but we’re pretty snowed under. Donna’s up to her eyebrows, and I’ve got clients lining up for appointments…”

  Over at her desk, Donna waggled her jet-black, painted on eyebrows and pulled a face.

  “He’s a slave driver, that’s what he is.”

  It was Rory’s ruffled-up hair that did it. It made him look less intimidating, more vulnerable.

  And quite a lot like a parrot. Shyly, Fee said, “I could give you a hand if you like. Help out with the backlog. I’m not busy this afternoon, and I know how to use a computer.”

  She’d never seen a man look so relieved.

  “You’re a lifesaver,” Rory declared. Hastily, he added, “I’ll pay you, of course.”

  “Don’t be daft.” Fee felt herself going pink all over again. “I’m happy to help out.”

  Chapter 21

  “Harry, this is out of control. It’s just…mad.”

  For the first time, Suzy had managed to get him on his own, by wheeling him outside into the tiny rose garden separating Harry’s ward from the one next to it.

  It was sunny and still hot for mid-September. Suzy pushed up the sleeves of her black lace top and put on her serious face.

  “We have to talk about this. Be honest, you weren’t planning to ask me to marry you last night.”

  “I was,” said Harry.

  “But we’ve only known each other for three weeks!”

  “Nearly f
our.”

  “Harry!”

  “Anyway, that’s what makes it so romantic. It’s a whirlwind affair.”

  “It isn’t any kind of affair,” wailed Suzy. “Affairs are when you’re sleeping with each other. And we aren’t doing that.”

  “I meant it when I said I loved you.” Harry looked mystified. “We’re fantastic together, you and me. And now all this has happened…it’s like a dream come true! It’s the opportunity of a lifetime! We’d be crazy not to make the most of it.”

  Suzy shook her head.

  “Harry, please, listen to me—”

  “No, you listen.” He gripped her hand, his eyes as bright as sapphires. “I’m a policeman. I earn an average wage. Signing that deal with Hi! gives me as much money as I’d make in ten years of patrolling the streets. Think about it, Suzy. It’s not even as if I have to do something horrible to earn it—all they want us to do is get married! And go off somewhere exotic on honeymoon! For pity’s sake, what’s so terrible about that?”

  “But it’s mercenary and calculated and…and it’s not real,” shouted Suzy. “And I don’t love you, and I don’t want to marry someone I don’t even love!”

  “Oh well,” said Harry, “now you’re just being selfish. Have you even bothered to think about the kids?”

  “I don’t want to have kids!”

  Not yet anyway, thought Suzy, and not with you.

  “I’m talking about Mikey and Lauren.” Harry gave her a sorrowful look. “They’re part of the deal too.”

  “What?” Suzy shook her head; she couldn’t for the life of her imagine what he meant. Unless…

  Oh, good grief. Don’t tell me we have to adopt them.

  “Their mother’s divorced and on welfare. They live in public housing, and they’ve never had a vacation in their lives,” said Harry. “When we get married, Lauren’s our flower girl, and Mikey’s a ring bearer—bit young, I know, but that can’t be helped. So they get ten grand, and their mother can afford to take them to Disneyland… Hi! wasn’t bothered about them, you know.” He sounded aggrieved. “But I insisted. For the sake of the kids.”

  Suzy still couldn’t believe this was happening to her. She had once, years ago, painted herself—literally—into a corner. In her kitchen, to be precise. To get out, she’d been forced to climb onto the washing machine, teeter along the windowsill, leap across to the fridge, then swing herself around the open kitchen door and out into the safety of the hall.

  This time, clearly, it wasn’t going to be so easy to escape.

  And I didn’t paint myself into this corner anyway, she thought. Harry’s done it for me.

  It was emotional blackmail, nothing less.

  “All my life,” Harry went on softly, almost to himself, “Leo’s been the successful one. He always got everything he wanted—the career, the money, the girls—and I’ve felt inferior to him. Second rate.” He shook his head defiantly. “But now I’ve got a chance to even things up. The money, the girl—you—and I’m a hero into the bargain. Don’t you see, Suzy? What was it that guy from Hi! said? This is the story that’s going to capture the hearts of our nation. And it’s going to change my whole life.”

  Suzy couldn’t speak. But she had to.

  “I don’t love you.”

  “Give it time,” Harry pleaded. “OK, maybe you don’t think you love me now. But I can make it happen, I know I can.”

  “You can’t,” said Suzy.

  “Why not? What have I ever done wrong?”

  This, for a start.

  Struggling to be honest, Suzy said, “It’s not you, it’s me. Harry, you’re a nice person.” She fiddled with the ends of the scary yellow-and-purple scarf in her lap. “I think it’s just that you’re too nice.”

  “Oh well, that’s easy enough to sort out.” Harry flashed her the smile that had earlier melted the hearts of every female in the conference room. “I’ll just have to be really horrible to you instead.”

  * * *

  Lucille arrived to visit Harry two hours later.

  “You look cheerful, for a man with barely an unbroken bone in his body.” Greeting him with a kiss, she tipped the contents of a shopping bag over Harry’s bed. Nectarines, bars of chocolate, a bottle of Gatorade, and several paperbacks tumbled out.

  “Anything else you need, just let me know,” said Lucille. “Although I expect Suzy’s gotten you loads of stuff already. Is she here?”

  “Hiding in my bedside cabinet.” Harry grinned. “No, she had to get back to work. She’ll be over again later.”

  “I brought your cards and birthday presents too.” Lucille emptied out a second bag. “Those are from me, these are Suzy’s. So how did the thingy go…the press conference?”

  “Brilliant.” Harry told her everything that had happened, leaving out the bit with Suzy afterward in the rose garden. He was confident he could overcome her qualms; his proposal had come out of the blue, that was all. As soon as Suzy was over the shock, he knew he’d be able to win her over.

  “You’re kidding! That’s fantastic news,” squealed Lucille, her beaded hair flying as she threw her arms around him in delight.

  “Ouch,” Harry said mildly as one of the beads went clonk against the stitched-together gash on his left cheekbone. But his blue eyes were sparkling, and his smile was broad. “I know it is.”

  * * *

  Rory couldn’t believe he’d been so rude. It hadn’t even occurred to him at the time that he was being rude. But, mentally replaying his brief conversation with Fee Driscoll as he drove back to the office at five o’clock, he now cringed at his own boorishness.

  Fee had been generous enough to help them out and in return he had said, “Tell Suzy she owes you a drink.”

  Rory winced again. How utterly crass could you get? He could just imagine Fee’s remarks on the subject when she saw Suzy tonight.

  Which was odd, because normally he was too busy thinking about the business to worry about what anyone else might think of him.

  Rory pulled up at the toll booth, fed his money in, and set off across the Suspension Bridge. The sun was still bright, glittering on the river below, and he could see plenty of people sitting out on the terrace of the Avon Gorge Hotel.

  That’s what I’ll do, thought Rory. Get back to the office and announce that we all deserve a drink.

  He would show Fee that he appreciated her efforts, take them all down to the Terrace Bar, and buy a few rounds. Maybe even buy a couple of bottles of celebratory champagne.

  After all, Fee had sold a house to the Taylors, the original clients from hell.

  Yes, thought Rory, pleased with himself. That would be a nice touch.

  * * *

  Suzy was perched on the edge of her desk swinging her legs when Rory came into the office. Donna was still heroically working away behind her computer and Martin was hanging up sets of keys.

  “OK, we are done for the day. We’re off to the Terrace Bar, and the drinks are on me,” Rory declared. He peered around the door leading to the back room. “Where’s Fee?”

  “She left half an hour ago. Had some stuff to do before she goes out this evening,” said Donna.

  “Oh.” Damn. Rory wished he’d looked around the door before making his announcement. They wouldn’t let him back out of it now.

  Donna tapped a pile of letters in her out tray. “She did brilliantly. We’ve almost caught up.”

  Rory swallowed. That just made things worse. “Well…if it’s not convenient, we could always make it another time…?”

  Donna and Martin immediately looked outraged; he might have known it would never work.

  “Oh no, we couldn’t,” Suzy announced, jumping down from her desk. “Come on, let’s go. I definitely need a drink.”

  * * *

  The next day Harry’s picture was splashed across e
very paper. If he had been ugly, it would still have been a terrific story, but Harry’s movie-star looks were what had really tipped the scales.

  If there was anything the public liked better than a hero, it was a drop-dead gorgeous hero, Suzy realized, awed by the scale of the coverage. According to the hospital administrator in charge of Harry mania, the switchboard was being inundated with calls from well-wishers offering congratulations, get-well messages—and sometimes much more. There were plenty of amateur physical therapists out there, it seemed, all eager to offer services of an astonishingly personal nature if Harry required a bit of help getting his poor battered body back into full working order.

  Suzy just wished he’d take a few of them up on it.

  If one more person told her how lucky she was, she might be tempted to plunge a hypodermic needle into them.

  “Ooh, you’re so lucky,” said one of the auxiliary nurses who worked on an adjoining ward. She had popped in to Harry’s room to tell him how wonderful he was and ask for an autograph. With his right arm in a cast, Harry had had to sign his name with his left hand—a wobbly affair that looked as if it had been done by a three-year-old.

  Suzy smiled dutifully. Just as well there wasn’t a hypodermic needle in sight.

  “I know.”

  “I’m the lucky one,” said Harry. “Getting to marry the girl of my dreams.”

  Suzy’s smile grew fixed, like a beauty queen’s. Now remind me, where do they keep the sick bags?

  “You make such a perfect couple,” the nurse assured them. “Think of the beautiful children you’ll have!”

  The middle-aged receptionist popped her frizzy head around the door.