by Jill Mansell
“Wrong,” said Jaz. “You’ve run out of wine.”
“Bloody hell, this is all Harry’s fault. I’ll just die if he tells everyone he dumped me.” Jerking upright, sloshing ice cold wine down her front, Suzy exclaimed, “You could sort that out! The papers would listen to you if you issued a statement.”
“You aren’t serious.” Jaz shook his head in amused disbelief. “Me, issue a press release announcing that Harry didn’t dump Suzy, she dumped him first? Now that would be a really mature thing to do. Remind me again, how old are you? Thirteen?”
Suzy stuck her tongue out at him in mature fashion. “We’re going to be a laughingstock. You and me both. I don’t know how you can be so calm about it.”
Jaz shrugged. Suzy had gotten exactly what she wanted; she was just peeved about the way it had happened. As far as he was concerned, Lucille was all that mattered. Her abrupt disappearance far overshadowed Celeste’s departure.
But the one thing he knew he couldn’t do was tell Suzy how he felt about Lucille.
“I miss Lucille so much,” Suzy cried, making him jump. “Oh God, what am I going to do? My life’s a mess, your life’s a mess… Where did we go wrong?” Her robe was sliding off one shoulder and the belt had come loose. Her brown cleavage deepened as she reached forward to plonk her empty glass on the coffee table. Shaking back her tousled, almost-dry hair she wailed, “I never even slept with him! Do you know how long it’s been since I had sex with anyone?”
Jaz knew. “That French guy, the tennis player.”
“Didier.” Suzy nodded, remembering. “Didier the Bastard.”
At the time, back in June, theirs had been a whirlwind romance. It had taken Didier the Bastard no time at all to persuade Suzy to break her six-week rule. In Bristol for a pre-Wimbledon tennis tournament, he had possessed ravishing good looks, a body to die for, and the kind of French accent that had made Suzy go wobbly at the knees. They had spent a riotous week together. Didier had told her he was single. His friends at the tournament had assured her he was single. A fortnight later, watching him play at Wimbledon, Suzy had seen the camera zoom in on a stunning brunette and had heard the commentator say, “And there’s Didier’s lovely wife, Sandrine, mother of his three young children…”
Which rather explained why Didier hadn’t invited her up to Wimbledon to cheer him on from the friends-and-family box.
Suzy had been delighted when he’d crashed out of the tournament in the second round, beaten by a big, ugly German in straight sets.
“Nobody since then,” she announced despairingly. “In all that time, not one single solitary bit of sex. I mean, be fair, is that totally tragic or what?”
Jaz was laughing at her. “OK, why don’t you tell me who you’d like to have sex with? I’ll give them a call and let them know how desperate you are. You never know, one of them might take pity on you. We may be able to get you sorted out.”
Swinging her bare legs up onto the sofa, Suzy aimed a quick kick at his ribs. Expertly, Jaz caught hold of both ankles and rested her feet across his lap. Something about the way he gave her knees a reassuring pat started Suzy thinking…
“You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve fantasized about sleeping with you.”
Jaz’s mouth twitched. “Oh dear, you’re well gone, aren’t you? Are you sure you want to tell me this? Because I warn you now, I will tease you about it for the rest of your life.”
Suzy shook her head emphatically from side to side. “To annoy Celeste, stupid. I fantasized about sleeping with you just to annoy her.”
“And all the time you were fantasizing about it, she was busy sleeping with your fiancé,” Jaz concluded with a grin. “Neat twist.”
Suzy gazed at him, perilously tempted to blurt out everything. She longed to be able to tell someone about her feelings for Leo.
And Jaz was here, and he was listening, but she knew she mustn’t let herself do it.
For the first time in my life, thought Suzy, I’ve met someone who’s out of my league. Leo Fitzallan can do better than me. He can have anyone he likes. What’s more, he’s already got her.
Perfect, pretty, doll-like, super intelligent, super nice Gabriella.
Next to her, how can I possibly hope to compete?
“You’re miles away.” Jaz gave her ankles an affectionate tweak. “What are you thinking?”
She couldn’t tell him. Too humiliating for words. And it would give him something else to tease her about for the next fifty years.
Fifty years, thought Suzy. Good grief, and I might still be celibate.
“You have to say something. When I ask you a question, it’s your job to reply,” said Jaz. “It’s only polite.”
He was teasing her, idly stroking her knees as he spoke. Oh, how long had it been since she’d last had her knees stroked like that?
“We used to be good at it, didn’t we?” Suzy gave him a playful nudge, determined not to think about Leo anymore. “Sex, I mean. We always had great sex.” She paused. “So how about it? What do you think? Fancy a quickie?”
Jaz’s hand abruptly stopped in midstroke.
“Well?” Feeling reckless, Suzy smiled and shot him a complicit, what-the-hell look. “Just the one-off. No strings, obviously. Mindless sex, that’s all I’m suggesting.”
“So you can break your drought?” countered Jaz.
“Well, I wouldn’t have put it quite like that. But OK, yes. And,” she added enticingly, “it would be a lovely way for you to get back at Celeste.”
Not to mention Harry.
“A revenge fuck.” Jaz nodded. “But I don’t want to get back at Celeste. It’s over. She’s gone. End of story.”
Suzy couldn’t help noticing his lack of enthusiasm for the idea. To be honest, it bordered on the insulting.
“Am I too ugly?” she demanded. “Is that the problem? Do I physically repulse you?”
“Don’t be daft. If it’s that important to you, then fine, we’ll have sex,” said Jaz. He shrugged, then fixed her with his dark gaze. “But I’m telling you now, you need to think seriously about this. It has to be what you really really want.”
What I really want is to have sex with Leo, Suzy thought miserably, and I can’t, so I’m settling for Jaz instead because he’s an old friend and a good sport, and he’s here, we get on perfectly well together, and we both know we’d enjoy it.
And it might make me feel better.
If only I still fancied him. Except I don’t. Heaven only knows why, I just don’t. And I can’t make it happen…
“OK now?” Jaz was smiling, because he had always been able to read her mind with stunning accuracy, “Agreed? Better if it doesn’t happen?”
“God,” Suzy grumbled. “I really hate it when you’re right and I’m wrong.”
He broke into a grin and ruffled her tortoiseshell hair. “And I love it that you hate it. Otherwise, where’s the fun?”
“What I still don’t understand”—Suzy frowned—“is why I don’t fancy you anymore. I mean, the whole reason we broke up in the first place was your drinking. Now you don’t drink, you should be perfect! But the feelings just aren’t there. It’s mad.” She shrugged and shook her head helplessly. “Makes no sense at all. All those feelings…where did they go?”
“Look,” said Jaz, “I’d love to have a long, involved, philosophical argument with you about the nature of inner emotion. But, basically, you’re extremely drunk.”
Suzy screwed up her eyes, thinking what a gorgeous word philosophical was. If only she could say it.
“I am, aren’t I?” She beamed happily at Jaz. “You’re right again. Blimey, what a know-it-all.”
“We’re friends; that’s all that matters,” Jaz told her. “It’d be a real shame to spoil that.”
“Friends. Yes. You’re so, so, absolutely right.” Clumsily, Suzy leaned
over and gave him an affectionate kiss on the cheek. “And as a friend, the very least you can do is run down to the liquor store and buy me another bottle of wine.”
“You’re going to have quite enough of a hangover tomorrow as it is,” said Jaz. “As a true friend, I’m going to make you a pot of coffee instead.”
Chapter 49
At seven o’clock the following Wednesday, Suzy was working her way through a pile of paperwork when Martin called into the office on his way home, to drop off a set of keys.
“What a waste of time that was.” Sighing, he chucked the keys into a drawer, unwound the scarf from around his neck, and perched on the edge of Suzy’s desk.
He’d shown a married couple a stunning house in Harley Place, Suzy remembered. She looked up. “They didn’t like it?”
“Oh, they liked it all right. Just can’t afford it. Bloody tourists. What I need’s a drink. Join me?”
“No thanks.”
Martin said sympathetically, “How’s your day been?”
Suzy threw down her pen and stretched. “My day? Well, what can I tell you? My life is currently unbelievably awful, the papers are full of stories about how I’ve been dumped by Harry the Hero in favor of a walking, talking brainless little sex toy, my sister’s vanished off the face of the earth… Basically, my day has been shit.”
“You could definitely do with a drink.”
Suzy shook her head. “No, really. I’m not in the mood.”
Reaching for her hand, Martin pulled her upright. The next moment, he’d grabbed her black velvet coat and pushed her arms into it. Standing in front of her like a grown-up with a recalcitrant child, he began to fasten the buttons. “You’re miserable. I’m miserable. Maybe we could cheer each other up.”
Suzy, who never ever fastened the buttons on her coat—how sweet—smiled at his logic. “Then again, we could form a suicide pact. End it all, together in my car, with a pipe attached to the exhaust.”
“You must be joking.” Martin looked shocked. “I’ve seen the cassettes you keep in your car. There’s no way I’m going to die listening to New Kids on the Block.”
Suzy laughed and he gave her a hug.
“See?” said Martin. “Feeling better already. I mean it; you and I could be good together. We just need to give each other a chance.”
* * *
Viewed from the road outside, the glass-fronted office was lit up like a Christmas tree. Nothing was left to the imagination. Leo, who had been reading about Suzy’s humiliating situation and had decided to drop by to see how she was holding up, observed the goings-on in Curtis and Co. with a we-are-not-amused look on his face.
Next to him, in the front seat of the car, Baxter belatedly recognized Suzy and made a violent lunge for the door, scrabbling at the handle in his eagerness to rush over and give her a huge I-still-love-you welcome.
Leo barely noticed. He was watching with mounting horror as Martin Lord cupped Suzy’s face in his hands. Any second now and he’d be kissing her…
The number of the office was still stored on his cell phone. Rapidly, Leo pressed the appropriate buttons. At least he hoped they were the right buttons; it was hard to tell in the dark.
At last he heard the ringing tone. A moment later—yes!—the phone rang in the office across the road. He saw Suzy take a step backward and say something to Martin. Reaching behind her, she picked up the phone.
Leo knew this was the moment he should hang up, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Some inner compulsion made him wait to hear Suzy’s voice. They hadn’t spoken to each other for weeks.
“Hello? Curtis and Co.”
Baxter, his big hairy ears pricking up, let out a delighted woof !
Too late, Leo hung up.
Damn, what was the matter with him? He was behaving like a teenager.
* * *
“Gone,” said Suzy, with a frown.
“Who was it?” Not that Martin cared.
“No one.” Suzy shrugged. “A dog just barked, then the line went dead.”
Thanks a lot, dog, thought Martin, who had been about to make his big move. Somehow the opportunity—and Suzy—now appeared to have slipped out of reach.
Canine interruptus, just his luck.
“Hey, are we going to have that drink?” He grinned and spread his hands, attempting to recapture the moment, but it was too late. Suzy was already reaching for her car keys and looking distracted. “It’s OK,” Martin added eagerly. “I’ll drive.”
Suzy realized she was thinking of Leo. Probably because hearing that dog barking had reminded her of Baxter.
“Thanks, but I’ll pass. Maeve’s making one of her roasts, and Jaz has challenged us both to a game of Trivial Pursuit.”
“Now that’s what I call an action-packed social life. Sa-ad,” Martin jeered.
Outside, in the pitch-blackness, a car was pulling away up the street. Suzy, wrapping her thick silver and white scarf around her neck and heading for the door, decided that Martin wasn’t so sweet after all.
“Doesn’t sound sad to me,” she said lightly. “Night.”
* * *
“Fee called? Really? When? How is she? Did she say she’d call again?”
Donna, bemused, had only mentioned Fee’s phone call in passing. She hadn’t been expecting quite such an interrogation.
“Er, no. It was just a quick call to say hi, and that she hopes to be back in Bristol soon. She called five minutes ago.”
I am the unluckiest man in the world, Rory decided. If I hadn’t been stuck in traffic on Queen’s Road, I could have taken that call.
Eagerly, he said, “Did she sound OK?”
Donna shrugged. “Fine. Asked how everyone was. I told her we were all fine. She wanted a word with Suzy, but I said she was out of the office.”
“Here she is now!” Rory exclaimed, leaping out of his chair as the familiar pillar-box red Rolls slid expertly into its allotted parking space outside the office.
“But Fee’s already hung up.” Donna gave him a worried look. That was the trouble with these people who worked too hard; all of a sudden they could flip and go completely bonkers. “Rory, would you like me to make you a nice cup of tea?” Preferably decaf.
An icy blast of air swirled around Donna as the door was pushed open and a middle-aged West Indian woman entered the office. Tall and stylish, she was thoroughly wrapped up against the bitter November cold. Glancing first at Rory, then at Donna, she said, “Ah, out of luck by the looks of things. I was hoping to have a word with Suzy Curtis…I believe she works here?”
“Actually, you’re in luck,” Donna told her. “Suzy’s just pulled up outside. Who shall I say—”
“Suzy!” Rory pounced as she came through the door. “Perfect timing! Fee called, wanting to speak to you. Now you can call her back!”
“My name’s Merle,” the woman told Donna, her voice low-pitched and melodic. “If she could just spare me five minutes, I’d be grateful.”
“Suzy, this is—”
“Suzy! Call her now.” Rory’s gray eyes behind his wire-rimmed glasses were bright with urgency.
“It’s OK.” Suzy took off her coat, wondering what had happened to make him so jumpy. “I’ll call her tonight.”
“Why not now?”
“Because there’s no hurry, and I’ll have more time later. And,” she continued patiently, “you’re the one who’s always whining on about irresponsible people making private calls on company time.”
With an air of desperation, Rory spread his arms wide and almost shouted, “Honestly, feel free, I don’t mind.”
“So sorry about this.” Donna rolled her heavily kohled eyes at Merle. “She’ll be with you in just a sec, I promise. Rory, don’t you have to be at that appraisal on Pitch and Pay Lane by two o’clock? Because if you keep the client waiting,
Slade and Matthews will be around there with their electronic tape measures quicker than you can say ‘lost sale.’”
“I’m going, I’m going,” Rory muttered. Suzy clearly had no intention of making the phone call now. Crikey, it wasn’t too much to ask, was it? Just to be in the same room while Suzy chatted to Fee on the phone?
“He’s in a funny mood about something.” Mystified, Suzy gazed after Rory as he stomped out of the office.
“Suzy, this lady would like to speak to you.”
“In private?” said Merle with an almost apologetic smile.
More mystery. Unless…Suzy caught her breath.
“Is this to do with Lucille?”
Calmly, Merle replied, “It concerns her, yes.”
The tiny back room where they made tea and coffee was cramped and chairless. At that moment the front door was flung open again and a bundled-up family of four burst in. Any form of privacy here was going to be in woefully short supply.
“Look, I know it’s freezing,” said Suzy, “but we’d be better off out of here. We could go for a walk, or”—much better idea—“there’s a coffee shop around the corner.”
“Let’s walk,” Merle said comfortably. “Clifton’s so beautiful. And it’s years since I last visited the bridge.”
Together they headed down Princess Victoria Street, toward the Avon Gorge Hotel. Suzy, fidgeting with the fringed ends of her silver-and-white angora scarf, shot surreptitious glances at Merle’s elegant legs as she strolled along, to see if they resembled Lucille’s.
Finally, unable to stand the suspense a moment longer, she blurted out, “Are you her aunt?”
Merle raised a plucked eyebrow. “Whose? Lucille’s?”
“She didn’t tell me she had an aunt, but I can’t think who else you might be. Was William Amory your brother?”
As she said it, Suzy realized the possibilities were endless. This woman, Merle, was, at a guess, in her midfifties. She could have been William Amory’s sister, or his cousin. Or even—blimey—his wife.