by Anna Cheska
Estelle and Nick … He wasn’t sure he could face the sight of them – especially now that Nick seemed an OK sort of a bloke too. All right when he was a poncy git who knew nothing about the real world … Liam took a step back to see how far you had to go before the mark didn’t show. Jesus … He wanted to see her. But could he bear to see her – with another man?
Gloomily, Liam spat on a tissue and rubbed ineffectually at a stain on the collar of the black jacket. Bits of tissue clung stickily to the fabric. Damn it. Why should he bother? This would be an Erica Raddle shindig, and too select for his taste by far. He sighed. Dress suits, indeed …
Shit. Liam put the suit back in the wardrobe. It might be the highlight of the club’s year, but frankly he’d rather sink his sorrows alone, with a bottle of wine and a take-away. And as for Estelle … Well, what was the point in pining for what you knew you couldn’t have?
* * *
To go or not to go? Michael stared into Hester the goat’s pale, uncomprehending eyes. Suzi had invited him to the dance. But should he go? He wasn’t sure he felt part of Chestnut Grove Tennis Club any more. He liked it there – they all did. But when was the last time he’d even played?
Hester said nothing to sway him one way or the other, merely stared back at him, blinking, head drooping slightly as if she’d resume munching Suzi’s lawn just as soon as Michael’s back was turned.
Michael stroked her coarse white coat. He had forgiven her for the head-butt. She was a goat after all and she’d felt threatened. Maybe in some obscure way it had even been a sign of affection.
It would be easy to duck out of the dance, he realised. He had a gig at the Bear and Bottle tomorrow night. Suzi had suggested he come on later, and of course he could do that – traditionally the dance went on till the early hours. But what was the point?
Hester jerked at her rope in a less than understanding kind of a way.
‘Why am I doing it?’ Michael asked her. ‘Why won’t I give up?’ Why was he dragging on a relationship that was over, taking advantage of the fact that Suzi couldn’t bring herself to end it? And why was he talking to a goat?
‘For God’s sake look at me,’ Michael said to Hester.
At this, Hester, who had clearly had more than enough, bent her head and started chewing.
‘And I can’t even keep the goat’s bloody attention,’ Michael muttered.
* * *
I really don’t understand,’ Estelle said to Suzi, ‘why you had to be so rude to him.’ She looked over to where Suzi was standing by the shop window, looking desolate. ‘I thought you liked him.’
‘I do. I did. I do.’
Estelle sighed. ‘So if you like him –’
‘It’s not that simple.’
Suzi had on her stubborn face. Jaw clenched, mouth unsmiling and her arms folded in front of her. Just let anyone try to come close … Estelle touched her shoulder. ‘Michael?’ she asked.
Suzi spun round. ‘Why does everyone think it’s Michael?’ Her green eyes were fierce. Clearly, Estelle had touched more than her shoulder – she’d touched a nerve. ‘If you really want to know –’
‘Yes?’
‘If you really want to know…’ Suzi faltered.
‘Hmm?’ Estelle was losing patience.
‘I saw him in the pub with Stan and Terry.’ The words tumbled out. ‘I think he was involved in … all that nasty stuff that happened.’
‘Josh?’ Estelle blinked at her. ‘You’re joking.’
‘I wish I was.’
* * *
‘Y’know, Suzi,’ Estelle said later, looking up from the accounts book, ‘we’ve easily got enough to pay the rent this month.’
‘That’s good,’ Suzi said. She wanted to be pleased, but she felt like her face was stuck in a frown. Everything seemed to be spinning out of control. She wasn’t sure what she wanted, wasn’t sure about anything any more. She only knew that something was horribly wrong.
Thankfully, Estelle continued with enough enthusiasm for them both. ‘The jewellery’s going well. Really taking off. And if only we could shift some of this –’
She was interrupted by an unexpected sight in the doorway of the shop. Stan and Terry stood there, side by side.
So this is what it had come down to, Suzi thought. A double duel. Their hands hung loose by their belts. Any moment, and they’d go for their guns. Perhaps not, though, because it was hard to say which of them looked the most embarrassed, the most pissed off.
‘What the hell do you want?’ Suzi snapped. She was tired of not being confrontational. After what these two had done to them, she was itching for a fight.
‘We’ve come to buy your stock,’ Stan said, not looking at her.
‘What?’
‘The furniture.’ He waved a hand. ‘We want to buy the whole blinking lot.’
Not exactly what she’d been expecting … Suzi stared at him. Was he winding her up?
‘Everything?’ Estelle asked.
‘Everything.’
‘Well, you can stuff it,’ Suzi said hotly. ‘If you think we’d sell anything to you –’
‘Hang on a sec.’ Estelle interrupted her. ‘All our stock?’
‘Yep.’ Terry looked dispiritedly around the shop, at the wash-stand, the grandfather clock et al. He looked profoundly depressed.
‘But not the jewellery,’ Estelle said.
‘Not the jewellery.’
‘No way!’ Suzi glared at Estelle. Where was her pride?
‘How much?’ asked Estelle.
‘Three grand.’ Stan pulled out a wad of notes.
‘What?’ Suzi was gobsmacked. She watched him counting out the money.
‘Fifty, one, one fifty, two…’
‘Four grand,’ said Estelle.
‘What?’ Suzi stared at her. Had she gone mad? Had they all gone mad? And how come her vocabulary had suddenly become so limited?
Estelle narrowed her eyes. She looked, Suzi thought, suitably scary. ‘Or no deal,’ she said. Not so much Western duel as Mafia entanglement.
Did they all know something she didn’t? Suzi continued to look from one to the other of them in bewilderment.
‘You drive a hard bargain.’ Stan glanced towards Terry. ‘Bloody Jules had better come in on this, right?’
‘Right,’ Terry agreed.
‘Is it real?’ Suzi said, staring at the pile of cash. She’d never seen so much money before.
Estelle picked up the notes, held the first few up to the light. ‘It had better be,’ she said.
‘We’ll have the stuff picked up in the morning,’ said Terry as they left the shop.
‘The whole damn lot!’ Estelle chucked the notes in the air. ‘We can pay off the landlord, Suze. We’ll even have some left to buy some more jewellery.’
Suzi was glad she was pleased. Hell, she was pleased. Only, ‘Why?’ she asked. And something else was bothering her. Something Stan had said earlier.
‘I’m not sure.’ Estelle became thoughtful. She bundled the notes together again. ‘But I think I’m beginning to get an idea. And d’you know, Suzi, I really think we can turn things around.’
* * *
As they stood there, bemused but undeniably relieved, a little old lady trotted into the shop. She beamed at them. ‘Lovely day.’
‘Super!’ Estelle re-focused and realised it was Mrs Barnaby, whose mood seemed to have vastly improved since her last visit. Estelle tried to calm her excitement, forced herself to be attentive, shovelled the money into the top drawer of the desk. ‘Did you enjoy the roadshow?’ she asked.
‘Oh, yes, my dear.’ She winked at Suzi. ‘That lovely young man. So helpful, so kind.’
Suzi grunted, Estelle could guess what she was thinking … Lovely young man? She knows nothing. And even Estelle had to admit that Josh was hardly young – even by Mrs Barnaby’s standards.
‘I’ve got a few words I’d like to say to him,’ the old lady chortled.
‘Haven’t we all.’ Su
zi folded her arms tighter still across her chest. More stressed than a nun in a porn shop, Estelle thought.
‘You’ve just missed him.’ Estelle did a double-take as Mrs Barnaby opened her bag and drew out some pearl ear-rings identical to the ones she’d valued some weeks ago. ‘But I thought…’ She frowned as these were joined by a diamond and garnet necklace and an amethyst ring. ‘Surely these are the pieces you sold to The Bargain Basement?’
Mrs Barnaby merely fluffed up her grey perm, gave them a knowing look and let them come to their own conclusions.
Suzi came towards the counter and together they fingered the jewellery. ‘Aren’t they?’ Estelle asked again.
‘They are indeed,’ Mrs Barnaby said at last. ‘They returned them to me. And some of the furniture too.’
‘Returned them?’ Estelle looked at Suzi and Suzi looked out of the open doorway towards the shop next door. What exactly was going on? Estelle had her suspicions but –
‘Got my money back and everything.’ She nodded serenely. ‘But I hope you don’t mind, my dears. You see, I’ve decided to keep everything for now and put that little table I brought to your roadshow into auction instead.’
‘Of course we don’t mind,’ Estelle murmured, her brain working overtime.
‘Why would they do that?’ Suzi said what they were both thinking.
Mrs Barnaby leaned forwards. ‘That young man,’ she said.
‘Young man?’ But Estelle was beginning to understand even more.
‘That lovely young man.’
‘Josh?’ Suzi and Estelle spoke together.
‘Mr Willis. That was his name, wasn’t it?’
They nodded.
‘I thought it was him.’ Mrs Barnaby tucked her jewellery back into her bag. ‘Excuse my language, but when they said it…’
‘It?’
‘All this is because of that bloody Willis.’ Mrs Barnaby enunciated the words slowly but clearly and with great relish. She nodded, satisfied. ‘That was what the fat man said.’
‘When he brought your jewellery back?’ Estelle confirmed.
‘Exactly.’ She closed her bag with a click. ‘I’m not a clever woman,’ she said. ‘But I think one can assume that Mr Willis had a hand in it.’
‘I think one can,’ Estelle murmured. So that’s what Josh had been doing with Stan and Terry in the pub. Sorting it for Mrs Barnaby. Sorting it for them too. She looked at Suzi but Suzi was miles away, fists clenching and unclenching as if she were about to lose it completely.
‘The other common denominator,’ Suzi said.
‘What?’
‘Jules Wilson – the landlord. He’s the other common denominator. Did you hear what Stan said earlier?’
Estelle frowned, trying to remember. Yes, he had been mentioned, come to think of it. And yes, now she knew what Suzi was gabbling on about. If anyone knew how broke they were it was Jules Wilson – he’d heard enough sob stories as to why they couldn’t pay their rent. And it rather sounded as if he was more than just a landlord to Stan and Terry … Good grief. The final piece slotted into place.
Suzi grabbed Josh’s business card that was still sitting on the counter, and shoved it in the pocket of her jeans. She was looking pretty forceful.
‘Suzi?’
‘Gotta go.’ And she strode out of the door.
Mrs Barnaby smiled at Estelle, as though quite aware of what was going on. ‘They’re opening a bric-à-brac shop called Cheap and Cheerful,’ she said. ‘In Brighton, I believe.’
‘Good.’ Estelle felt the warm flood of relief. For the first time in ages she was calm. ‘I’m glad they’re not staying in Pridehaven. This town’s not big enough for the both of us.’ She tried a nervous laugh. It was OK. It was going to be OK. She had no doubts left in her mind. And the furniture? He must have sorted that too – a payment to compensate for those scare tactics and all that harassment. There was more to that man, she realised, than met the eye. Did Suzi realise it too?
Mrs Barnaby was at the door. ‘But by all accounts that nice Mr Willis contacted the police as well,’ she said darkly. ‘So, I don’t know about Brighton. They might not be going quite as far as they think…’
Chapter 24
He might be an OK sort of a bloke, Liam thought grudgingly, as he and his second partner of the afternoon – Amanda – met up with their opponents – Nick Rossi and Estelle. (Liam couldn’t believe it when the names came out of the baseball cap. But in the American tournament, any partnership was possible.) So yes, Nick Rossi was OK, but he was also a prat. For starters, he was wearing wrap-around mirrored blue sunglasses with full tennis whites, though the sun had disappeared behind a cloud half an hour ago, and on top of that, he was now poncing about with the Ralgex spray.
‘Problem?’ Estelle asked him.
‘A touch of tendonitis.’
Liam turned away to hide his impatience. Tendonitis … Jesus wept. He bounced a ball against his racket. Estelle, of course, looked great. He sneaked another glance at her. She had this way of throwing things on carelessly – as though she hadn’t really made an effort at all – achieving an individual, casual look that he loved. This afternoon she was wearing a figure-hugging white tennis dress, but with crimson shorts just visible underneath (though Liam hardly dared look) and she had tied a crimson and blue strip of silk jauntily around her head to keep the mass of auburn hair out of her eyes.
‘Maybe you should strap it up,’ she said now to her partner.
Amanda looked at her tiny gold watch and then – like daggers – at Estelle. ‘We don’t have all day,’ she snapped. ‘Perhaps you should let us go through on default.’
No way, thought Liam, remembering what he’d said to Nick after the under-15s tournament. ‘We’ll wait,’ he declared.
He surveyed the courts around them, everyone playing mixed doubles. Beryl and Simon were on the adjacent court playing one of Nick’s clones from the under-15s tournament, who was partnering Diana. As he watched, the sun emerged from behind a cloud. It was an idyllic scene, the players framed by the view beyond, more people clustered in the conservatory and on the clubhouse patio in front of the honey-stoned building, drinking Deirdre’s home-made lemonade or Pimms, eating strawberries, ginger snaps and pavlova. The buzz of conversation filled the air, the thwack of ball on racket could be heard from all directions at once, mixed with the crisper smack of the balls on the hard courts. Laughter, sunshine, tennis. He’d hate to lose all this. And the season wasn’t even over, Liam reminded himself.
Nick strapped up his elbow – with some help from Estelle, though Liam tried not to watch – and proceeded to do enough stretching exercises to satisfy a ballet dancer.
Liam and Amanda began warming up, though in truth Liam was warm already from his last match with a girl called Sarah, whose huge blue-veined thighs sprouting from under her white tennis skirt soon alerted him to the fact that she would be unable to run for the ball. He’d ended up taking most of her shots as well as his own. But they had lost and so now he was playing with a winning female – Amanda – because that was the way the tournament operated. Nick, on the other hand, was a winning male, and so he had been put with Estelle, who had suffered defeat in the previous round with Timmy Rogers, acknowledged to be the weakest of the men. The winning players were those with the most wins on their belt at the end; it was at least, Liam thought, a tournament that could be called fair.
Meanwhile, Nick was swinging his arm in preparation for his serve, wincing as he did so. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have played last night,’ he said to Estelle, but loud enough for Liam, who was close to the net, to hear.
Wimp, thought Liam. He’d give him Ralgex spray …
* * *
This was supposed to be fun, Estelle thought, dodging instinctively as Amanda slammed another forehand volley her way. It was turning into a sweltering day and she wiped the sweat from her brow with her wrist band.
‘Sorry!’ Amanda called.
Like hell she was. She’d he
ard of going for the body, but most players varied their shots and tried not to injure their opponent. Estelle tossed a stray ball to Nick, who was serving, making the most of his dodgy elbow (tennis elbow?) for the benefit of Amanda, she was sure. Unlike the weather, the atmosphere was distinctly frosty between them, and as for Amanda’s attitude to Estelle … She’d be lucky to get off the court alive.
Liam sank Nick’s next serve into the net. Estelle noted Amanda’s pout of irritation and smiled to herself. The girl liked to win. Liam was not going to be flavour of the month if he carried on like this.
‘Who are you bringing to the dance tonight?’ she asked Nick as they sent the balls up the other end of the court for Liam’s service game.
‘Mother.’ He sounded a little embarrassed. ‘She’s got it into her head to come, so I thought…’ He glanced across at the immaculate Amanda. ‘Why not?’
‘You care about Amanda, don’t you?’ Estelle knew it was probably the wrong moment to bring the subject up, but what the heck. Liam and Amanda were involved in some sort of tactical discussion (at least she supposed it was that) at the far end of the court – what a pair, Amanda in a pure white tennis dress, Liam in a T-shirt that declared that GANDALF RULED OK with a picture of the wizard underneath, and red and white seaside shorts patterned with ice cream cornets and images of Punch and Judy. Heavens. She remembered those shorts and she was sure Liam had sworn never to wear them again after that holiday in Penzance …
‘Is it that obvious?’ Nick looked so desolate – at least what she could see of him that wasn’t covered up by the blue wrap-around mirrored shades looked desolate – that she put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
‘Ready?’ Liam yelled.
Estelle jumped. ‘Hang on.’ She got into position to receive.
Liam – who was by now sweating heavily – hit a wild serve that didn’t even make the tram lines.
The next one was in, but weak, and Estelle swept her forehand across court. Amanda – still looking cool as ice – intercepted it, whacking it back at her with considerable force, but Estelle managed to swerve to one side and hook it back, determined to give as good as she got, and not to die in the process.