by Jill Mansell
“We thought Thornbury Castle for the wedding,” she announced.
Maeve sighed. “So romantic.”
“Harry wondered if you’d like to be his best man,” Suzy told Jaz.
He looked horrified. “You must be joking. I don’t even know him!”
“OK, but you could give me away.”
“Sounds more like it.” Jaz grinned. “Giving away my ex-wife, handing her over to the next poor sucker.”
“Like selling an old car you don’t want anymore,” Celeste joined in. “Hardly able to believe that someone is gullible enough to be taking it off your hands.”
“Stop it now,” Maeve scolded. “When’s it going to be, love?”
“Oh, as soon as Harry’s out of his casts. Hi! wants to feature it in its Christmas issue.”
“What I don’t get,” Jaz said, “is you told me you were never going to marry again. You swore you never would. And now…this.”
“Of course I said that. Blimey, I’d just come out of the marriage from hell.” Suzy rolled her eyes at his stupidity. “But everything’s different now. I met Harry, and we fell in love with each other. He’s perfect for me.”
“He is, he is,” Maeve agreed dreamily. “He’s like a real life James Bond. When that reporter phoned yesterday to speak to Jaz about it, I told him his paper should set up a fan club and sell T-shirts with Harry’s face printed on them. He thought that was a grand idea.”
T-shirts.
Harry the Hero T-shirts.
Suzy suppressed a shudder of alarm.
But Jaz was smirking again. He clearly found the idea ludicrous.
“Jaz had a fan club once,” Suzy told Lucille, her tone conversational. “Of course, that was years ago, before he became a washed-up has-been.”
Jaz had chosen the music that was murmuring quietly in the background. Noticing that Lucille was familiar with the track currently playing—her lips were moving silently along with the vocals—he said, “D’you like Nina Simone?”
Lucille looked startled, almost guilty. “Ummm…yes.”
“Oh dear, you’ve got taste.” Jaz pulled a sympathetic face. “It can’t be easy for you, sharing an apartment with Suzy.”
Glad to get off the subject of weddings and fan clubs and T-shirts with Harry’s face on them, Suzy said, “Has it ever occurred to you that I could be the one with taste and the rest of you are all just hopelessly tone-deaf?”
“So who are you going to have singing at your wedding?” said Jaz. “The Smurfs?”
Suzy shrugged, feeling sorry for him.
“The thing is, you think that would be oh-so-terrible. But I don’t. I think it’d be great.”
“But you’re into real music.” Jaz turned his attention back to Lucille. “That’s a relief anyway. Tell me who else you like.”
“Ooh,” cried Celeste, jumping up from the table. “I know!”
Bemused, Lucille said, “Chris Rea, Van Morrison, Mary J. Blige…”
“Hang on, it’s here somewhere. I brought it down earlier.” Celeste was over by the stereo now, riffling through a pile of loose tapes. “Ah, here we are! This is the kind of music Lucille really likes…”
Lucille watched, mystified, as the Nina Simone CD was abruptly ejected and a cassette slotted into the tape deck.
Moments later her skin began to crawl as the opening notes flooded the room.
Triumphantly, Celeste upped the volume.
“Tuh,” said Suzy. “Call that music? Sounds like Björk, trapped in a trash can.”
“Turn it off,” croaked Lucille, breaking into a sweat.
“Björk, trapped in a trash can, having her teeth pulled out by a mad dentist.” Suzy started to laugh. “Oh well, if this is real music, I’m glad I’m a pleb. Give me New Kids on the Block any day.”
Recognizing the tune—such as it was—Jaz frowned and said, “This is the thing you were playing upstairs earlier. I don’t get it. Why would—”
“It’s you, isn’t it?” Celeste turned joyfully to address Lucille. “That’s you, singing. I wasn’t sure at first, but it’s definitely your voice.” She giggled. “Do tell. Did you write the song as well?”
Lucille leaped up from the table, raced across the room, and snatched the tape from the machine so fast it unraveled like knitting.
“You had no right to do that,” she shouted at Celeste. Crimson blotches of embarrassment had sprung up over her neck and shoulders and she was shaking with rage. “How dare you…how dare you! You stole that tape…”
Belatedly putting two and two together, Suzy said, “If you don’t give her a slap, I will.”
“You’re not serious,” said Jaz. “That wasn’t really you?”
Maeve said diplomatically, “Well, I liked it. I think you have a grand voice, love. Very…original.”
Celeste looked bewildered. She held up her hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean to upset you, truly. It was just a joke.”
Lucille was longing to slap Celeste, but she was here as a guest in Jaz’s house. Innate good manners—much to her disgust—got the better of her and kept her tightly clenched hands down by her sides. Only the gentle rattle of the beads in her hair betrayed the fact that she was still trembling.
In a low voice, Lucille said, “It’s not funny, OK? If you ever touch any of my things again, I’ll kill you.”
“Now, now, girls.” Maeve held up a serving spoon. “Who’s for another helping of coq au vin?”
“Anyway,” Suzy said hotly, “what Maeve said just now was right—Lucille does have a grand voice. It’s true,” she added, because Jaz was giving her one of his looks. He clearly thought he was going to have to do the decent thing—lie through his teeth and tell Lucille her tape was a work of towering genius.
Lucille sat back down. “Look,” she said firmly, “can we just forget this?”
“No, we can’t,” Suzy countered, even more firmly. She turned back to Jaz. “I don’t know what that tape’s all about, but Lucille’s a fantastic singer.”
“I’m sure she is.” Jaz really wished Suzy wouldn’t do this to him.
“I mean it. Better than that Nina Simone girl any day.” Well, Suzy silently amended, any day apart from the one Lucille had made that weird tape.
“Yes, yes,” murmured Jaz.
“She’s a professional,” Suzy went on, exasperated. “She sings in clubs and bars. The only reason I didn’t tell you before was because Lucille made me promise not to. She’s a very modest person…”
“I’m not surprised,” Celeste murmured in an undertone.
“Oh, do shut up.” Marching around the table, Suzy stopped at Lucille. “Right, well, this is easily solved.”
“Oh no it isn’t,” said Lucille.
“Don’t be such a wimp.” Suzy held out her arms and tried to yank her to her feet. “Go on, sing!”
“I will not,” hissed Lucille, hanging on to her chair for dear life.
“Suzy,” Jaz said wearily, “leave the girl alone. Please.”
“I want you to hear her! How else can I prove I’m telling the truth?”
“You don’t have to. We believe you.”
“Yes, but—”
“Lucille, do you want to sing for us?” Jaz asked reasonably.
“No,” said Lucille, her knuckles white where she was still clinging to the chair.
“There, you see? She really doesn’t want to.” Jaz gave Suzy his I-mean-it look. “Now put her down this minute.”
To Lucille’s immense relief, she did.
“This is ridiculous.” Suzy sat down and helped herself to more mashed potato from the oval dish in front of her. “Lucille didn’t want you to know she was a singer because she didn’t want you to think she was some kind of groupie.”
“Not groupie,” said Lucille. “I didn’t mean gr
oupie.” She turned to look at Jaz. “I just thought you might feel…you know…”
Jaz nodded. He knew exactly what she was trying to say.
“It’s OK.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “But I still can’t figure out the tape. What happened there?”
The colored beads rattled as Lucille shook her head.
“I was an idiot. This bloke heard me singing one night at the Pineapple. He said I had talent and persuaded me that what I needed was a demo tape to send to people in the business. For two hundred pounds he said he’d produce it for me in his recording studio.” She paused, embarrassed. “He was very flattering and I was daft enough to believe him…even when the recording studio turned out to be a broom closet under the stairs in his house. Of course, when he sent me the tapes a week later, I realized it was a scam. The backing track was out of sync with the vocals, the acoustics were diabolical, and the tapes were so warped and distorted, you could barely tell it was me. Of course, when I went around to his house he called me a lying bitch and slammed the door in my face.”
“Bastard!” yelped Suzy, outraged. “You should have gone to the police.”
“I’d paid him in cash. There was no way of proving the tapes had been made by him. Anyway, I felt quite stupid enough already.” Lucille’s smile was crooked. “It didn’t do a huge amount for my confidence. I thought if I had been any good, he wouldn’t have buggered up the tapes in the first place.”
“So why did you keep them?” said Celeste.
Lucille shrugged. “It’s hard to throw away something you’ve paid two hundred pounds for.”
Celeste, who had that afternoon thrown away a three hundred pound Voyage cardigan that had gone droopy around the neckline, said, “OK, but I don’t understand why you just gave up. Why didn’t you try again, find a better recording studio run by people who know what they’re doing?”
And charge thousands of pounds rather than a measly couple of hundred, thought Lucille. She had sold her television, worked extra barmaiding shifts, and lived on boiled rice for a fortnight in order to scrape together that “measly” amount of money.
“I don’t know,” she told Celeste. “I suppose I just couldn’t be bothered.”
“Are you going to eat any more of that?” Maeve was gesturing toward Suzy’s plate. “Or shall I bring in the pudding?”
Suzy barely noticed her plate being whisked away. Lucille hadn’t confided in her about this before.
“Jaz has a recording studio,” she announced.
Jaz briefly closed his eyes.
“He does,” Suzy went on brightly, giving Lucille a huge nudge when she didn’t react. “Down in the basement. Just sitting there doing nothing…imagine that!”
Thanks a lot, Suzy, thought Jaz.
“Would you have any of that extra-wide Scotch tape?” Lucille asked Maeve, who was now collecting up the rest of the plates. “I need something to cover Suzy’s extra-wide mouth.”
“Oh, don’t get all uptight on me now,” Suzy complained. “You need a recording studio and Jaz has one—it’s the answer to a prayer! The least he could do is let you borrow it.”
“Raspberry pavlova and sticky toffee pudding,” Maeve announced as she left the dining room. “So if you’ve belts to unfasten, unfasten them now.”
“Go on,” Suzy urged Jaz. “Don’t be mean!”
“I’m so sorry about this,” said Lucille. “You see now why I tried to keep it quiet.”
Jaz smiled. Just about. “It’s not your fault.”
“It’s not my fault either,” Suzy exclaimed. “I did keep quiet about it! If you want to blame someone”—she gestured indignantly across the table—“blame Celeste.”
Jaz picked up his tumbler of iced mineral water. What a dinner party this was turning out to be. And what a position Suzy was putting him in.
He didn’t want to be the bad guy, regarded as cold hearted and mean. But he hadn’t so much as set foot in his recording studio since coming out of rehab.
Just the thought of taking down the key and unlocking the door made him feel as if he needed a drink.
Chapter 24
Could there possibly be anything nicer in the world than a Heath bar?
Alone in the office, Suzy lovingly peeled off the wrapper and admired the dappled chocolate covering. Then she bit into it, her teeth sinking through the toffee, her head twisting from side to side in order to bite off that first heavenly mouthful…oh, and they were sooo much better straight from the fridge…
“Ahem.”
Suzy’s eyes snapped open, and she spun around guiltily. Damn, she’d been so carried away she hadn’t even heard the door open and close behind her.
And, double damn, it had to be Leo Fitzallan.
“Mmff…shorry…mergh…”
“Bitten off more than you can chew?” inquired Leo with a slight smile.
Suzy’s mouth was full—OK, overfull—and the toffee was welding itself to her teeth like quick-setting cement. Waving her hand apologetically, praying the melted chocolate wasn’t about to spill out and dribble attractively down her chin, she chewed and swallowed, chewed and swallowed, threw the rest of the Heath bar onto her desk and chewed and swallowed again.
Oh dear, not very glamorous.
“Sorry,” said Leo. “I obviously interrupted a special private moment.”
And swallowed again.
Hooray, didn’t even dribble!
“There.” Suzy executed a quick curtsy. “All gone. Now, how can I help you?”
He was wearing Givenchy aftershave—none of your Tommy Hilfigers or Calvin Kleins for Leo Fitzallan, thank you very much—and an expensively cut dark suit. Suzy wondered if he had chosen the bottle-green shirt and blue and amber tie himself, or whether Gabriella had picked them out for him.
Probably Gabriella. A man who drove a gray Volvo would never be that adventurous. And the dark blue in the tie exactly matched his eyes.
Definitely Gabriella.
“I thought maybe we should call a truce,” said Leo. “How does that sound to you?”
Blimey, Suzy thought, like a miracle. Quick, give the man a bottle of water and see if he can turn it into Chardonnay.
Aloud she said, “So what’s brought this on?”
“My brother’s happy with you. By Christmas you and I’ll be related. The last thing I want is a family feud. Easier all around if we bury the hatchet now,” Leo said easily. “Put the bickering behind us. What d’you say?”
He was even more attractive, Suzy realized, when he was in a good mood. During the last few days all he’d seemed to do was scowl, sneer, and generally radiate disapproval, which was sexy enough in its own way, of course, but it really was amazing the difference a few laughter lines could make.
“I agree.” Her mouth curled up at the corners. “That’s it then. From now on, we’re going to be completely lovely to each other. And I’ll just have to find someone else to bicker with.”
“So long as it isn’t Harry,” said Leo.
“Harry isn’t the bickering kind.” Suzy smiled sunnily at him and perched on the edge of her desk. “This feels quite weird, actually. I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do now. If this were Friends we’d be giving each other a group hug.”
For a split second something indefinable flickered in Leo’s eyes. The next moment it had gone. He pushed his fingers through his ultra-straight dark hair, heaved a sigh and shrugged as if searching for inspiration.
“Now I’m here, I suppose I could always buy a house.”
“Great idea. You could buy a couple!” Going along with the joke Suzy reached behind her on the desk; grabbed a handful of sales details and waggled them at him. “Here, go mad…buy six!”
“No thanks, just the one,” said Leo. “Sheldrake House.”
Stunned, Suzy realized he was serious. “My mothe
r’s house? You mean…you really want it?”
“Well,” said Leo, “I’m prepared to make an offer.”
“How much?”
He shook his head thoughtfully, playing the part of the shrewd businessman.
“Let’s see, the asking price is four eighty. What would you be prepared to accept?”
Quick as a flash, Suzy said, “Four fifty.”
“OK. That’s what I’ll offer.”
Suzy jumped down from her desk. She stuck out her right hand and said joyfully, “Done.”
As they were shaking hands on the deal, Donna swung back through the door with the pint of milk she had popped out to get. When she saw Suzy and Leo, she stopped dead in her tracks and said, “Oops.”
“Donna,” said Suzy, “we’re shaking hands, not making out. This is Leo, Harry’s brother.” A huge grin spread unstoppably over her face. “And he’s going to be buying Sheldrake House.”
“Great,” said Donna, “but you’d better have a look at the back of your skirt.”
Suzy twisted around, peering over her shoulder. When she saw what Donna had been pointing out to her she wailed, “Oh no!”
Her beautiful, beautiful sunflower-yellow skirt…
Donna said helpfully, “It looks like you sat on some dog poo.”
It did indeed.
“My Heath bar.” Suzy groaned. Turning, she saw the melted chocolate and toffee remains on the edge of her desk. Mournfully, she added, “Just as things were going so well.”
“You’ll have to go home and change,” said Donna.
“Typical. Just when my car’s in for service.” Suzy sighed. “I don’t have a coat with me. It’s a busy Saturday afternoon in Clifton. And I now have to walk home with people pointing and laughing at me behind my back because they think I’ve just sat in some dog poo. Well, this is going to be great. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to it. In fact, I may—”
“My car’s just across the road,” said Leo. “Would you like me to give you a lift?”
“Yes, I would. Thank you,” Suzy told him gravely. “I thought you’d never ask. And if you could just bring the car over to this side of the road, that would be great.”