Good at Games

by Jill Mansell

  Jaz was giving her one of his knowing, crooked smiles, as if they all knew the only thing she really cared about was a man’s looks. Which wasn’t true at all, Suzy thought crossly. Looks weren’t all-important; of course they weren’t.

  Just because she’d never been able to bring herself to actually go out with an ugly man…that didn’t necessarily mean she was shallow, did it?

  After all, you wouldn’t go out and deliberately buy an ugly sofa.

  Anyway, Leo wasn’t better looking than Harry. Harry was beautiful. You could never in a million years call Leo beautiful.

  “Actually, he’s pretty ugly,” Suzy lied. “Big, dark, mean, and terrifying.”

  “You mean he punched you?” Startled, Jaz nodded at her bruised nose.

  “No, he did not.”

  Over breakfast she related the events of the night before, culminating in her parting words to Harry.

  “So that’s it,” Suzy concluded. “I stormed into the house. He roared off in the police car.” She shrugged and forked up a mouthful of kedgeree. “Looks like it’s curtains for me and Harry.”

  “Well, if you ask me, it’s for the best,” Jaz said comfortably.

  “I didn’t ask you.” Suzy glared at him.

  He ignored this.

  “Put it this way. If you two had a fistfight, the chances are, you’d win.”

  “We aren’t going to have a fistfight. As of today, I’m officially single again.”

  “There’s always this Leo fellow,” said Maeve, pouring out more tea. “And he has plenty of money, from the sound of things. That’s not to be sneezed at.”

  Suzy had a vivid mental image of Leo holding out wads of twenty-pound notes while she sneezed all over them.

  “Maeve, shame on you,” Jaz chided. “Insinuating that Suzy would be interested in a man with money. Honestly, the very idea.”

  He started to laugh. Suzy didn’t even bother to reach across the table and stab him with her fork.

  She knew it wasn’t the money that attracted her to Leo Fitzallan.

  When she had realized that Harry was great but there was something missing, preventing him from being perfect, she hadn’t been able to put her finger on what it was.

  She had just wished he could be a bit more…something.

  Now, with a start, the answer came to her.

  She had wished he could be a bit more…like Leo.

  Eek.

  * * *

  “I’m sorry,” said Harry.

  He was sitting behind her desk, wearing a faded denim shirt and jeans, looking penitent and smelling gorgeous. When Suzy moved toward him he stood up and held out a bunch of creamy yellow stargazer lilies from the florist around the corner.

  Donna, clearly impressed, said, “He was waiting outside when I arrived to open up. Do you want me to put them in water for you?”

  Suzy took the stargazers and looked at Harry.

  “I wasn’t expecting to see you again.”

  “I know.” He looked ashamed. “I behaved like an idiot last night. Forgive me?”

  “Harry—”

  “Look, I’m on duty tonight, but we could have lunch,” he said eagerly, “couldn’t we? Tell me what time to pick you up, and I’ll take you somewhere nice. If you like, we could go to Le Gourmet.”

  Oh, terrific. Meeting the maître d’ again, that would go down well.

  “I have to work through lunch today.” This was true, at least. Suzy glanced down at her feet. Water was dripping from the stems of the flowers onto her shoes. “Harry, I don’t know…”

  “Please,” he broke in urgently, “I don’t want us to break up over this. I overreacted, that’s all. I’m never jealous as a rule. It was just seeing you there with Leo.”

  Donna diplomatically seized the dripping lilies. “Let me deal with these. There’s a vase in the back room.”

  “You have to understand,” said Harry, when Donna had disappeared. “Leo isn’t the easiest person in the world to have as a brother. He does what he likes, takes what he wants, and doesn’t give a damn about anyone else. He’s a ruthless bastard, you know. That charm thing is just a front with Leo. The moment he has what he’s after, he loses interest.”

  Suzy suppressed a shiver of…what? Excitement? Oh, help.

  “Harry, all I want to do is sell him a house.”

  “You might think that now.” His tone was bitter. “But you don’t know him like I do.”

  “OK, maybe not. But I still think you’re overreacting.” Suzy glanced at her watch. “Look, I really do have a ton of work to get through.”

  “I was eighteen,” Harry went on, ignoring her, “when I fell in love with Sophia. We were crazy about each other. I asked her to marry me. We got engaged. I’d never been so happy in my life.”

  He paused.

  A long, significant pause.

  “And?” Suzy felt obliged to ask, although it didn’t take Columbo to figure out the rest.

  “Leo was working in the city. Making a heap of money, driving a flashy car. He came home one weekend, met Sophia…and decided he wanted her.” Harry’s expression was grim. “That was on Friday night. By Sunday morning, it was mission accomplished. Sophia told me the engagement was off. She was in love—so she thought—with Leo.”

  Suzy felt sorry for him. It was a rotten thing to happen. But then again, these things did happen. All the time. You just had to put it down to experience, get on with your life, and not let it haunt you for the next goodness knows how many years.

  “But you got over her,” she said, to encourage him.

  “Oh, I got over her.” Harry looked up, his blue eyes bleak with pain. “Sophia was the one who couldn’t get over Leo, when he dumped her six months later.”

  Ooh, wicked Leo.

  “Why did he dump her?”

  “Who knows? Just got bored, I guess. As soon as the novelty wears off, he moves on to the next conquest. He’s never been able to resist a challenge.”

  “And Sophia was gutted.” Suzy wondered briefly if Harry had tried to get back together with her, and been given the cold shoulder. That would explain his enduring bitterness.

  “Sophia slashed her wrists,” said Harry.

  “Oh.”

  “Then she overdosed a couple of times. Spent the next three months in a psychiatric unit.”

  “Oh dear.”

  Inadequate, of course, but what else could she say?

  “When she came out, she got involved with a bad crowd. Within weeks she was hooked on heroin. She turned up on Leo’s doorstep one night, begging him to take her back.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Called the police.” Harry paused. “Sophia was arrested and held overnight in the cells. The next day they let her go. She caught the Tube to Leo’s apartment in Hampstead, posted a note under his door—he was at work at the time—then went back to her apartment and took heroin for the last time.”

  Aware that she was clutching at straws, Suzy said hopefully, “You mean she kicked the habit?”

  “No,” said Harry. “I mean she took a massive overdose and killed herself.”

  * * *

  As the door swung shut behind Harry, Donna emerged from the back room clutching the blue glass vase of stargazers.

  “I’ve arranged them and arranged them. Thought I’d better stay out of the way until he’d gone.”

  “Do I have to run through it again, or did you hear everything?”

  “Oh, I heard it. Every word.” Donna arched her Gothic eyebrows. “I even heard the sloppy kisses.”

  “They weren’t sloppy,” Suzy protested. “They were lovely.”

  “So anyway, you made up. Everything’s all right again. I must say, he is gorgeous.”

  This was high praise coming from Donna, who preferred her men lo
ng-haired and sporting Herman Munster makeup.

  “I know.” Suzy tried not to sound smug.

  “Mind you, I can understand why he doesn’t trust you with his brother. What were you doing with him last night anyway?”

  “Don’t wiggle your eyebrows at me like that. Nothing sleazy.” Suzy looked offended. “Just trying to sell him a house.”

  “And what’s he like, this big bad Leo?”

  The good thing about Donna was you could tell her anything. And, unlike Jaz, she didn’t retaliate with stuff you didn’t want to hear.

  “What can I say? Dangerous to know, clearly.” Suzy felt her heart begin to race again, and shrugged. “Tall, dark, rolling in it…and a complete and utter bastard.”

  “Oh dear,” said Donna with a grin. “Exactly your type.”

  * * *

  “Any luck with the Hallen guy last night?”

  Martin, dropping into the office at lunchtime, found Suzy eating a Heath bar and brushing her hair.

  She looked up at him. “Do you by any chance mean the Fitzallan guy?”

  “Oh. I thought Fitz was his first name.” He glanced at his cell phone. “Battery’s getting low. What about the place on Parry’s Lane—was he up for it?”

  “Hated it.” Suzy put down the half-eaten chocolate bar and reached for her own phone. “How did you get on?”

  Martin looked blank. “Get on with what?”

  “Dinner. Last night. To celebrate your wedding anniversary.”

  “Oh, that. It was OK.”

  OK? Such enthusiasm.

  “Romantic?” prompted Suzy.

  “Suze, get a grip.” He gave her a how-thick-are-you look. “I was with Nancy. She’s my wife.”

  Suzy gave up. She dialed Lucille’s number and listened to the phone ringing at the other end.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, it’s me. Are we still on for tonight?”

  “Oh…well, yes.” Lucille sounded pleased. “If you’re sure you want to.”

  “Of course I want to! We can get to know each other better. Bowling first,” said Suzy happily—she loved bowling—“then a couple of drinks, then on to a club. I’ll pick you up at seven o’clock.”

  Lucille hesitated. “You don’t have to. I can meet you there.”

  “Don’t be daft; let me give you a lift! I haven’t seen your apartment yet, have I?”

  “Look, it’s not exactly Kensington Palace. Don’t expect too much.” Lucille sounded awkward.

  “Are there bats flying around your living room?”

  “Er, no.”

  “In that case,” Suzy assured her cheerfully, “I can cope.”

  Chapter 12

  Emerging from the shower at six thirty, Suzy heard a knock on her front door.

  Celeste held out a shopping bag. “I brought these over for you. Maeve said she managed to get the blood out.”

  “Great, thanks.” Suzy took the bag.

  Celeste didn’t move. “Can I come in?”

  “Why?”

  “I’m sooo booored,” wailed Celeste, like a petulant six-year-old.

  “Oh God, come on then.” With a sigh, Suzy moved to one side. “But I’m going out in twenty minutes.”

  Brightening at once, Celeste said, “That’s all right. I can help you decide what to wear.”

  I’d rather die.

  “I already know what I’m wearing.”

  Celeste tilted her head prettily to one side. “Yes, but you don’t always choose the right thing, do you?”

  This was good, thought Suzy, coming from someone currently decked out in a sugar-pink baby-doll nightie, silver-flecked Barbie-size cardigan, and fuchsia-pink high heels with pompoms on the front. She made her way back through to the bedroom, where her black long-sleeved T-shirt and black jeans were laid out on the bed.

  “See?” said Celeste with an air of triumph. “That’s exactly what I mean. Dull, dull, dull.”

  “Why are you bored?” Ignoring her, Suzy took off her toweling robe and began to dress. “Where’s Jaz?”

  “AA.” Celeste pulled a face.

  “Shouldn’t you be going with him?”

  “God, I’m so fed up with AA meetings. They’re the most boring things in the world. Anyway, I don’t need them anymore.” Celeste threw herself onto the bed and watched Suzy ease herself into her jeans. “Have you ever thought of going on a diet?”

  “I thought about it once, but I wouldn’t want to end up like you.”

  Pulling the T-shirt over her head, Suzy smoothed it down over her hips and tucked it in. She regarded her reflection in the mirror with satisfaction. “Anyway, I’ve never had any complaints. Why don’t you go to the movies with Maeve if you’re bored?”

  “It’s her night out at the Jumping Prawn.” Petulantly, Celeste pleated the edge of a violet pillowcase.

  “She wouldn’t mind you tagging along.” Eyeing the baby doll nightie, Suzy said, “They enjoy a good laugh.”

  “What, and spend the evening being groped by a bunch of toothless geriatric Irishmen? No thanks.”

  “How about Fee?”

  “Evening class. Bloody archaeology. I ask you, how can she be interested in all that old stuff?”

  “Have a nice quiet evening in then,” said Suzy. Honestly, this was worse than trying to deal with a six-year-old. “Paint your nails, have a bath, watch a video.” Play with your dolls, make a necklace out of Cheerios, do some coloring.

  Celeste stuck out her bottom lip. “Don’t want to.”

  Bending over, Suzy began vigorously brushing her hair. “You know your trouble, don’t you?” She looked at Celeste, upside down. “You don’t have any friends.”

  Celeste sighed. “They all got jealous when I started seeing Jaz.” She rolled over onto her front and looked hopefully at Suzy. “So where are you off to?”

  “Bowling.”

  “Who with?”

  “Lucille.”

  “Can I come with you?”

  “No.”

  Standing up, Suzy flipped her hair back. She crossed to the dressing table and got vigorous with the bronzing powder.

  “Oh, please.”

  “No.”

  “Go on,” cried Celeste, “let me come with you. I’m so bored I could die! Anyway,” she added persuasively, “Lucille would love to meet me.”

  When Celeste got going, there was no stopping her. Freshly bronzed, Suzy leaned closer to the mirror and spun the top off her mascara.

  “No.”

  “Suze, don’t be mean. I love bowling! Please say yes, please please please…”

  “Oh, for God’s sake.” Suzy sighed. “All right then.” She chucked the tube of mascara back into her makeup case and selected a lipstick. “You can come with us.” She looked sternly at Celeste’s jubilant reflection in the mirror. “But not dressed like that.”

  * * *

  Celeste, in the passenger seat of the Rolls, had her bare feet stuck up on the walnut dashboard. Having changed into a sherbet-yellow microskirt and a sawn-off Little Miss Mischief top—clearly her version of dressing down—she was now busy repainting her toenails. The smell of the polish clashed violently with her perfume. Buzzing down both windows, Suzy glanced first at Celeste’s toes, then at the rectangular Chanel bottle clamped between her knees.

  “That’s my nail polish,” Suzy said.

  “I know.” Brush poised, Celeste sat back to admire her handiwork. She wiggled her Day-Glo pink toes happily. “I saw it on your dressing table. Pretty, isn’t it?”

  “I only bought it yesterday!”

  Suzy was indignant. Borrowing things without asking was something of a specialty of Celeste’s.

  “Hey, relax. I’m not stealing it from you. I’ve finished now, anyway.” Celeste screwed the top back on the bottle and
rolled her eyes. “Honestly, all this fuss over a bit of nail polish.”

  Suzy slowed down as they reached the top end of Gloucester Road, where Bishopston bordered Horfield. She peered at the house numbers, squinting her eyes against the glare of the evening sun.

  “That’s the one. With the brown door,” Suzy announced at last.

  “Yuck.” Celeste wrinkled her nose. “It looks horrible.”

  “Lucille’s got the attic apartment.”

  “Even horribler.”

  “Yes, well. It would be nice if you didn’t tell her that.”

  Suzy parked the car a short distance up the road and they made their way back to the house. There was a scruffy, overgrown front garden and the wooden gate was hanging off its hinges. She rang the bell for the top-floor apartment and stuck her hands in the pockets of her jeans.

  After what seemed like ages, Lucille opened the door.

  “Good grief.” Suzy’s mouth fell open. “What’s going on? What happened to you?”

  Lucille had been crying. Her eyes were red and there were mascara stains on her cheeks. Her white T-shirt was marked all over with big grubby handprints and badly torn at the neck.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t come b-bowling.” Her voice was low and unsteady. “Something’s…come up.”

  “Who did this?” Suzy pointed to her T-shirt, aghast.

  “My landlord.”

  “Jesus! Where is he? In your apartment?”

  Lucille, her knuckles white as she clutched the peeling door frame, shook her head. She indicated a closed door in the dingy hall behind her.

  “He’s in there. Ummm…unconscious.”

  Celeste let out a yelp.

  “Did you shoot him?”

  “No.”

  “Stab him? With a kitchen knife?” Celeste’s eyes widened. “Through the heart?”

  Despite everything, Lucille managed a weak smile.

  “No. Nothing like that. He’s just drunk. Out for the count and snoring like a train. Look, I’m fine, really. I’m sorry about the bowling, but I’ll call you tomorrow—”

  “You will not,” declared Suzy, pushing the front door open. “Look at the state of you! You can’t stay here.”

  Lucille sighed and let them in. “I know that.”