Good at Games

by Jill Mansell

  “I’m not related to Lucille,” Merle told her with a smile. “I was a good friend of your mother’s.”

  Suzy blinked. She definitely hadn’t been expecting this. “My mother’s?”

  “That’s right. Blanche.”

  Chapter 50

  Calmly, Merle nodded at Suzy. “This was many years ago, of course. We lived across the street from each other. Well, I suppose I should say I lived across the street from William and Lucille, but Blanche and I became close all the same.”

  Oh, good grief, thought Suzy, startled. I really hope you’re not going to tell me you were my mother’s lesbian lover.

  “We had no secrets from each other,” Merle went on. “She confided in me, and I confided in her. I was involved with a married man at the time, so between the pair of us we had plenty to talk about. And we didn’t judge each other, which made a nice change.”

  Suzy blinked. Heavens, she was almost afraid to ask. “So…who were you having an affair with?”

  Not my father, please.

  “Oh, no one you’d have heard of. Just one of the professors at the university.” With a rueful smile, Merle said, “I’m afraid I was a bit of a scarlet woman in my day. Anyway, to bring matters up to date, I’ve been living in Switzerland for the past five years. I only moved back here a couple of weeks ago. So when I saw the story in the papers last week about Harry Fitzallan I was interested, because of course I’d known his family too, living as they did next door to William and Lucille.” She paused. “You can imagine my amazement when I realized that the article I was reading was all about Harry breaking off his engagement to you.”

  Suzy’s nose was pink with cold. Every lungful of air she sucked in came out again as a puffball of condensation. Knowing she was being ridiculous, but too proud to let it pass, she said, “Actually, I was the one who broke off the engagement.”

  Merle looked as if she was trying hard not to smile.

  Indignantly, Suzy insisted, “It’s true.”

  “Don’t worry, I believe you. Harry always did have an eye for publicity.” As they turned right and began to head up the hill toward the bridge, Merle said, “When he was eight, he found my cat. It had gone missing, and I was terrified it might have been run over. I gave Harry a five-pound reward, and he persuaded some guy from the Bristol Journal to come around and take his photo. It wasn’t until a week later that his brother Leo turned up on my doorstep to return the fiver. Apparently, he’d found out that Harry was the one who’d kidnapped my cat in the first place and hidden it in his dad’s garage. Do you know Leo?” Merle said suddenly. “Harry’s elder brother?”

  “Oh yes.” Suzy, breathing deeply, was glad of the ice cold air on her cheeks. “I know Leo.”

  “Anyway, I was intrigued, naturally. And even more so when I saw one particular photograph in the paper. It was taken on the night of Harry’s accident,” Merle explained. “You were arriving at the hospital to see him for the first time, no shoes on, looking pretty distraught…”

  “I remember that night.” Suzy spoke with feeling. As if she could ever forget.

  “And there, turning up at the hospital with you, was Lucille. I recognized her at once and realized the two of you had found each other.” Merle glanced across at Suzy and smiled sadly. “The first thing I did was call Blanche’s number—I couldn’t wait to tell her how thrilled I was that it had all turned out so well. Of course, that was when I found out she’d recently died. The girl who answered the phone told me.”

  Girl. She meant Gabriella, Suzy realized.

  “It was a heart attack. In her sleep.”

  “Poor Lucille. She must have been devastated. Of course,” Merle added hastily, “you both must.”

  Suzy, changing the subject, said, “Leo Fitzallan bought the house. That was his fiancée you spoke to on the phone.”

  “Really? She told me that if I wanted to contact any of Blanche’s children, to call you at Curtis and Co. But I needed to speak to you face-to-face. I’d love to see Lucille as well, if she’s around.”

  They had reached the knoll leading up to the bridge. The grass, stiff with frost, crunched beneath Suzy’s deeply impractical Kurt Geiger high heels. Pushing her hair back from her face with frozen fingers, she said, “Lucille isn’t around at the moment. She’s…gone away.”

  Merle looked surprised. “Do you not get on?”

  “No… I mean yes, we do, like a house on fire, but she just needed a break.” From me, Suzy thought miserably. Because I’m such an idiot. I drove her away. And now I don’t know if she’ll ever want to come back.

  “A break?”

  “It was all my fault,” Suzy mumbled, bitterly ashamed.

  “Blanche was always so sure the two of you would get on marvelously.” Merle’s voice was gentle. “She must have been thrilled.”

  Oh Lord, more explanations. As they trudged on up toward St. Vincent’s Rocks and the Observatory, Suzy ran through the events of Blanche’s funeral, Lucille’s unexpected arrival, and the subsequent will reading.

  When she had finished, Merle nodded easily and said, “That’s exactly how Blanche guessed Julia would react. Oh now, will you look at that view? Can you imagine a more beautiful sight? Here, I brought something along for you and Lucille. And Julia too, if you think she’d be interested. Ah, the sun’s beginning to come out. Why don’t we sit down on that bench over there? I’ll admire the scenery, and you can have a quick look through these.”

  As she spoke, Merle removed a bundle of letters from her bag and handed them over to Suzy.

  “No red ribbon. Not love letters then,” Suzy joked, twanging the unromantic rubber band holding them together.

  “Actually, you’d be surprised,” said Merle, settling herself on the frosty wooden bench and pulling her coat more tightly around her. “They sound pretty much like love letters to me.”

  After the first few minutes, Suzy forgot Merle was there. Only when she sniffed loudly for the umpteenth time and a wad of tissues was surreptitiously pressed into her hand did she remember she wasn’t alone on the bench.

  Blanche’s familiar black scrawl covered page after page of cobalt-blue writing paper. The letter Suzy was currently reading had been written fifteen years ago. Snippets of sentences jumped out at her, heartbreaking in their intensity.

  Oh, Merle, I don’t know how I’m going to cope—I love all my children so much. When I look at darling Suzy, and then Lucille, how can I choose between them? If I tried to leave Ralph, I know he’d fight for custody—and win, of course. The thought of losing my beloved babies is unbearable. It would kill me to be without them. So here I am, stuck in eternal limbo… My children are my whole life, but what can I do?

  “Oh God,” Suzy whispered, the words swimming hopelessly before her eyes. “I never knew. I just never knew. I thought we were the ones making her unhappy.”

  “Not you,” said Merle. “Your father.”

  “But if she left him, she knew she’d lose us?”

  Merle nodded. “She was torn. It was agonizing for her. I thought I had troubles,” she added wryly, “but mine were nothing compared with Blanche’s.”

  “She could have told us the truth after Dad died.” Even as she said it, Suzy knew what the answer to this would be. She and Lucille had already worked it out.

  “Blanche knew it would destroy Julia.” Merle shrugged. “She was tempted to tell you but knew you’d never be able to keep it to yourself.”

  Suzy shook her head. “I wish she’d trusted me. Maybe I’m better with secrets than people think.”

  “Then again”—Merle’s tone was affectionate—“correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you the girl who jumped up in assembly one day and announced to the rest of the school that Father Christmas didn’t exist?”

  Suzy flushed and said indignantly, “That was when I was six!”

  “Ex
actly. And so was the rest of your class.” Merle, trying not to smile, said, “It’s called tarnishing your reputation in a major way. According to Blanche, you had many talents, but discretion was never your forte.”

  Suzy wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and heaved a gusty sigh.

  “This makes such a difference, you know. Reading these letters, talking to you about how Mum felt. Really, you have no idea how much better I feel now.”

  “Well, I’m awfully glad to hear it,” said Merle with a grin. “Because you look an absolute sight.”

  Suzy held up the bundle of letters. “Can I have these?”

  “Of course. I could never bear to throw them away. You’ll show them to Lucille, will you?”

  If I ever find her, thought Suzy.

  Aloud she said, “I’ll do my best.”

  * * *

  As they made their way back down Sion Hill, Merle said, “Well, you’re looking better now, I must say.”

  “You’ve cheered me up. The past few weeks have been pretty diabolical. You can’t imagine.” With a rueful smile, Suzy shoved her icy hands deep inside her coat pockets. “I used to think I was the girl with everything, but recently, I’ve managed to make a complete mess of my life.”

  Merle looked amused. “No new man lined up to take Harry’s place?”

  “Nope.”

  “What, no one? Sparky girl like you? Come on now, there must be some gorgeous fellow you’ve got your eye on.”

  “No,” said Suzy, shaking her head and thinking, If only you knew.

  But as much as she liked Merle, there was no way she could bring herself to tell her that the only man currently capable of making her heart beat like a Salvation Army drum was Leo Fitzallan.

  Because Leo wasn’t the least bit interested in her. And, in all honesty, why would he want to be? He was already taken, thanks very much. About to marry Gabriella, the girl who—let’s face it—really did have everything.

  Including—damn, damn and blast—Leo.

  Chapter 51

  Suzy paid a visit to the Alpha Bar the next day, between appointments. Leo, on the phone when she was shown into his office, looked startled to see her. Baxter, who had been sprawled, half asleep under the desk, let out a yelp of welcome and scrambled to his feet. Whining with delight, he buried his head lovingly between her hands and wagged his tail so hard he almost lost his balance on the polished oak floor.

  Now this is what I call a coincidence—woof woof. We were only parked outside your office the other night! Did you recognize my bark on the phone when he called you to stop you from making out with that other fellow? Did you realize that was me?

  “What are you saying, hey? What’s this all about?” cooed Suzy, delighted by the welcoming volley of barks.

  Leo sent up a private prayer of thanks that she couldn’t decipher what Baxter—the blabbermouth—was evidently busy telling her.

  “He’s wondering if you’d like to take him for a five-mile run. No, Baxter, she wouldn’t, so leave it, OK?”

  “Oh, darling, I’m busy. Otherwise, of course I would.” Regretfully, Suzy sat down and unwound her scarf. Smiling across at Leo—who for a completely mad moment had thought she was calling him darling—she went on, “It’s just a short visit, but I was passing by, and I wanted to let you know I’m feeling a lot better. After the episode with the box buried in your garden,” Suzy explained, because Leo was looking mystified. “When I blubbered like a baby all over you.”

  Leo nodded briefly. As if he could ever forget. “Well, I’m glad.”

  “I met Merle Denison.”

  “Merle? Good grief. How is she?”

  Suzy ran through the events of the previous astonishing day. She told Leo all about the letters and managed not to cry once.

  “So you see? All those years of feeling unloved were for nothing. A big waste of time. Poor Mum—can you imagine how she must have felt? God, when I think what she had to go through.”

  “So everything’s sorted out now,” said Leo.

  “Except Lucille’s disappeared.”

  At the mention of Lucille’s name, Baxter let out another series of yelps.

  That’s the one! Lucille! Where the buggering hell has she gotten to, anyway? Calls herself a dog walker and I haven’t seen her for weeks.

  “I know, darling. You miss her, don’t you? I do too.” Suzy gave his hairy ears a sympathetic rub. Sadly, she confided, “She’s gone away and left us and it’s all my fault. And it’s just killing me not being able to say sorry.”

  Leo wished she’d fondle his ears like that.

  He coughed, dismissing the rogue thought, and said, “Actually, I do know where Lucille is.”

  “You’re kidding!” Suzy’s green-gold eyes widened in astonishment. “Really? Oh God, this is so brilliant,” she squealed, “I can go and see her and grovel on my knees until she forgives me! I’ll go this afternoon, the moment I finish work! Is she here in Bristol?”

  “Um, not quite.” Leo was doing his level best not to smile. “She’s staying in a little place called Grand Baie.”

  “Grand Bay? Is that in Newcastle? Close to Whitley Bay?”

  Good grief, thought Suzy, what on earth made Lucille trek all the way up there?

  “Not quite,” said Leo. “Actually, it’s in Mauritius.”

  * * *

  “Bloody Mauritius!” Suzy exclaimed, seizing the brochure she had picked up from the travel agent that afternoon and spreading it open on the kitchen table. “Can you believe it?”

  “It’s where her family is from,” Jaz pointed out reasonably. “It looks nice.”

  “The jewel in the Indian Ocean, it says here! Emerald-green water…and Grand Baie is known as the Mauritian Cote d’Azur… Ha! So much for me thinking it was next door to Newcastle. I’ve never been to Mauritius,” Suzy said indignantly. She looked over at Jaz. “Have you ever been to Mauritius?”

  “Who knows?” Jaz shrugged; in his alcohol-sodden past he had visited plenty of places he had no memory whatsoever of visiting. “Maeve? Have I ever been to Mauritius?”

  “No.” Maeve’s tone was consoling. “You’re thinking of Tasmania.”

  “Right.” Jaz broke into a grin. “Of course. Silly me.”

  “It’s so unfair,” Suzy wailed, bursting with frustration. “When Leo said he knew where Lucille was, I thought, Brilliant, I’ll go straight there. If she’d been in Newcastle I’d have driven up to Newcastle,” she fretted. “But Mauritius…I mean, for God’s sake, what’s Lucille thinking about? She could hardly get any farther away than that! And I can’t take any time off work… Dammit, all I’ve got is her address. There isn’t even a phone number…”

  “Write to her.” Maeve was ever practical. “Make photocopies of all those letters your mother wrote to Merle and send them off to Lucille with a nice letter from you.”

  “They’ll take ages to get there,” Suzy grumbled. “Anyway, it’s not the same.”

  “Maybe not.” Maeve shrugged. “But it’s a start.”

  “Oh, this is horrible!” Suzy banged her fist on the kitchen table. “I can’t wait that long. I want Lucille to forgive me now.”

  “Stop whining.” Jaz sighed. “You sound like a spoiled brat.”

  “Veruca Salt,” Maeve said helpfully.

  Suzy stared at her. “What?”

  “The spoiled brat in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. That’s her name. Veruca Salt,” Maeve declared happily. “You sound just like her.”

  Suzy tossed back her hair. “Oh, thanks a lot.”

  Jaz was enjoying himself immensely.

  “Sometimes,” he reminded Suzy, just to annoy her, “you have to sit back and be patient. Let things happen at their own pace.”

  “Ouch!” Maeve let out a bellow of pain.

  “Sorry, sorry.” Suzy sighed. “I was tr
ying to kick Jaz.”

  * * *

  The fringed ends of Lucille’s turquoise cotton sarong flapped in the warm breeze as she made her way along the beach. There were new beads in her hair, pink and lilac and silver ones that glittered in the sunlight and danced around her shoulders with every step she took. Reaching the water, she unfastened the sarong and let it fall onto the sand, stepping away from it and carrying on, without pausing, into the emerald-green sea.

  Her golden-brown body was flawless. She was wearing a pale blue bikini. Within seconds she was swimming, heading for the diving raft moored a hundred or so feet out in the middle of the bay.

  Jaz retreated behind his dark glasses once more and took a swig of iced mineral water from the bottle in his hand. Reaching Grand Baie last night, he had checked into one of the five-star hotels overlooking the ocean and had been tempted to go searching for Lucille right away.

  But it had been midnight, and the flight from Heathrow had lasted twelve hours. Absolutely exhausted, and aware that he might not be looking his best, Jaz had reluctantly changed his mind and crashed in his room instead.

  This morning, following a long cool shower and a change into clean clothes, he had set out with butterflies in his stomach and a terrifying amount of hope in his heart to track Lucille down at the address she had given Leo.

  She was out, he discovered, when he arrived at the tiny rented room above a souvenir shop in one of the village’s dusty backstreets. The white-haired Mauritian woman who ran the shop told him he’d missed Lucille by ten minutes but to try the beach.

  So he had.

  And he’d found her, spotted her almost at once. Although, as yet, she hadn’t seen him.

  It was hot, up in the mideighties already, and Jaz was still dehydrated from the flight.

  Not to mention nervous. He had, after all, set himself up here in pretty spectacular fashion. Let’s face it—it could go horribly wrong.

  He really hoped not, but it might. That was the trouble with women; you never knew what the hell they were likely to do next.