by Jill Mansell
“It’s bloody miles to your place,” Adam grumbled as they crossed Pembroke Road.
“Stop moaning. Have I ever thrown a bad party?”
He gave her a clumsy hug.
“You’re a doll, you know that?”
A what?
“I know,” said Suzy, nodding vigorously.
“You seeing anyone at the moment?”
They were taking a shortcut along Vyvyan Terrace. Behind them, Lucille and the rest of Adam’s staff were still singing, twirling and salsaing on and off the edge of the pavement like a team of Gene Kelly clones doing “Singin’ in the Rain.”
Well, quite like a team of Gene Kelly clones. So long as you didn’t look too closely and kept your fingers stuffed in your ears.
“…at the moment?”
Suzy realized she hadn’t been paying attention. “Sorry, what?”
Grinning, Adam repeated slowly and clearly, “Are you seeing anyone at the moment?”
“No.” Absolutely definitely not.
“Great! Would you like to go out with me?”
“No thanks,” said Suzy.
For a second he looked disappointed. “Sure?”
“Sure.”
“OK.” Adam shrugged and lowered his mouth to her ear. “But I can stay tonight, can’t I? Nothing meaningful, just for the sex.”
“Look, it’s really kind of you to offer,” said Suzy, “but it’s still no thanks.”
“That’s too bad.” He draped a friendly arm over her shoulder and whispered, “Lucille’s pretty gorgeous too, isn’t she?”
Suzy hid a smile.
“Oh yes.”
“Would she like to have sex with me tonight, d’you think?”
“Probably not, no.”
Adam heaved a sigh. “This is hopeless. At least promise me you’ve got loads to drink at your place.”
“Don’t worry.” Suzy’s tone was reassuring. “We’ve got the lot.”
“Because I will be needing to drown my sorrows.” Adam swayed and looked mournful.
Suzy, giving his arm a consoling pat, said, “I think they’ve already drowned.”
* * *
At last they reached Sian Hill. Ahead of them, lit up against the inky night sky like a Las Vegas casino, the Suspension Bridge stretched across the cavernous Avon Gorge.
Better still, they were almost home. As she fumbled in her bag for the door keys, Suzy wondered if her feet would ever recover. Her seven-denier stockings certainly wouldn’t; they were in shreds.
“Who’s that?” said Lucille suddenly.
Suzy looked up.
“What?”
“There’s someone outside the house. Sitting on the front steps.”
Harry. It had to be Harry, the birthday boy himself!
Come to grovel, Suzy thought with satisfaction. Come to grovel and apologize and beg me to forgive him.
Aloud she said happily, “This should be good.”
“Be nice to him,” pleaded Lucille. “It is his birthday, after all.”
“Not anymore it isn’t.” Suzy glanced at her watch; half past midnight. She tucked her arm through Adam’s, leaning against him as they made their way up the hill. This was definitely going to be fun.
“Hang on,” said Lucille, stopping dead and pointing across the road. “Isn’t that Leo’s car?”
It was. And Leo, having spotted them, was climbing out of it. As the figure on the doorstep simultaneously rose to his feet and began to trot toward them, Suzy realized that it wasn’t Harry at all. This was a middle-aged man she’d never seen before in her life.
“Suzy Curtis? Are you Suzy Curtis?”
A jolt of fear shot through Suzy. She shuddered, her fingers tightening helplessly around Adam’s elbow.
What’s going on?
Moving at speed, Leo reached her first. “Where have you been?” he demanded brusquely. “Your phone’s switched off.”
Feeling numb, Suzy pointed at the house. “I left it at home. Oh God, where’s Harry? What’s happened to him?”
“Suzy Curtis? Mike Platt from the Evening Post. You’re Harry Fitzallan’s girlfriend?”
Behind her, Lucille gasped. Feeling sick, Suzy yelled, “Yes! Yes! Just tell me what’s going on!”
“He’s in Frenchay Hospital.” Leo’s voice was clipped. “It’s pretty bad, but he’s conscious. Fractured skull, broken leg and arm, a few broken ribs, cuts and bruises. The doctors say he’ll recover, but it’s a miracle he’s still alive.”
“Oh my God…” Shivering violently now, Suzy was dimly aware of Adam Pettifer draping his jacket around her shoulders. The rest of the group hovered uncertainly in the background, not knowing what to do. One of Suzy’s shoes fell out of the pocket of Adam’s jacket, onto the pavement. Leo bent and picked it up.
“He’s been asking for you.”
“What was it, a car accident?”
A muscle twitched in Leo’s jaw. “You could say that.”
The reporter from the Evening Post shoved Adam out of the way and thrust a small tape recorder under Suzy’s nose. “Harry Fitzallan is a hero, Suzy! He risked his own life to save two young children from a terrible death. How do you feel about that?”
“Come on,” Leo said curtly, “I’ll drive you to the hospital.” He glanced at Lucille. “You’d better come too.”
“He saved two children?” Stunned, Suzy said, “How? I mean, when? I mean, how…?”
“Just before eight this evening. He was on his way over to see you.”
“He could get the George Medal for this,” gabbled the reporter, his tape recorder outstretched as Leo ushered them both across the road. “Hey, Suzy, before you go, how are you feeling right now? You must be very proud!”
Chapter 18
“There’ll be plenty more of that at the hospital,” warned Leo as they drove away at speed. “The press has really latched on to this one. They’re already bidding for interviews.”
“Never mind that.” Next to him in the front seat, Suzy clamped her trembling, ice-cold hands between her knees. “Tell us what happened.”
“Well, as I said, Harry was on his way over to you. He stopped for gas at the station on Beaumont Road. There was a woman at the next pump with her two kids in the back of the car. A girl of six and her baby brother.” Having set the scene, Leo paused for a second. “Meanwhile, just around the corner—although Harry didn’t know it at the time—two teenagers were mugging an old woman. She was an easy enough target—they snatched her handbag and ran off—but a passerby saw them and gave chase. When they reached the gas station they saw he was catching up with them. Harry and the woman were paying for their gas by this time. Harry saw them try his car, but he’d taken his keys in with him. The woman, though, had left hers in the ignition. So they jumped into her car and started it up.”
Suzy gasped. “With the children still in the back.”
Leo nodded. “Exactly. Harry tore out of the shop. The woman was in hysterics. Harry tried to stop them by standing in front of the car, but they accelerated toward him. They were trying to run him over. He couldn’t jump out of the way—there wasn’t room. All he could do was throw himself onto the hood. He had to cling on to the windshield wipers. Harry yelled to them to stop, but they didn’t. They were laughing like hyenas, he said. Throwing the car from side to side, trying to force him off. And all the time he could hear the kids crying and screaming in the back.”
“He could have been killed,” Suzy whispered.
“Of course he could have been killed.” Leo’s tone was grim. “And you haven’t even heard the rest.”
Closing her eyes, Suzy said, “Go on.”
“They drove—at speed—down to the docks. God only knows how Harry managed to hang on for so long. Then they smashed through a fence at Baltic Wharf. The car
was heading straight for the river. Just before it went over the edge, the teenagers jumped out. Harry was still on the hood. The car tipped over as it went into the water and landed on top of him, breaking his leg, arm, and ribs and fracturing his skull.”
Hang on, something wasn’t right here, surely?
“No…you’ve lost me.” Suzy shook her head, puzzled. “So who got the children out of the car?” And why on earth, she wondered, had that reporter been burbling idiotically on about the George Medal? Not being funny or anything, but all Harry had really done here was leap onto the hood to avoid being run over. Of course, jumping in front of the car in the first place had been a brave thing to do, but heroic?
As if sensing her traitorous thoughts, Leo turned his head briefly and glanced at her. “Harry did.”
“But hang on, you said…”
“I know, but he still managed to get them out. God knows how,” said Leo. “Basically, I suppose, because there was no one else around to do the job. The two teenagers had run off. There were a few pensioners, apparently, who saw the whole thing, but they couldn’t help. And every second counted.”
Suzy looked at Lucille, whose eyes were wide with shock. Since she appeared to have lost the ability to speak, Suzy carried on. “So Harry rescued both children? But how?”
“He managed to force open one of the doors, pulled the girl out, unclipped the baby from his child seat… The police arrived just as he reached the riverbank with both children in his arms. The moment they were taken off him, he collapsed. The ambulance crew couldn’t believe it when they arrived and examined him. According to the doctors, what Harry did was practically superhuman.” Leo paused for a moment. “So where were you tonight until half past twelve? And who was that guy you were draped over?”
“Nobody. Just a friend.” Caught off guard by the abrupt change of subject, Suzy felt herself going red. Defensively, she swiveled around, in need of support from Lucille. “He was just a friend, wasn’t he? They all were. Harry didn’t turn up, so we went out—and that’s all there is to it!”
“Harry didn’t turn up so you went out,” Leo echoed, like a disdainful judge addressing the court. Not quite beneath his breath, he murmured, “My, my, we are the loyal type.”
“Well, what was I supposed to think?” Nettled, Suzy’s voice began to rise. “Oh dear, Harry’s a bit late, he must be scrabbling around in the mud at the bottom of the river, pulling innocent children out of hijacked cars?”
“She tried to phone him,” Lucille put in, “loads of times.”
“Harry guessed it was you.” Leo glanced at Suzy as he pulled into the entrance of Frenchay Hospital. “He heard his phone ringing in his pocket. Unfortunately, he couldn’t answer it—he was busy hanging on to a pair of windshield wipers at the time.”
“OK, OK,” Suzy retaliated, flicking her hair crossly out of her eyes as he parked. “But I still didn’t go out and pick up another man for the night.”
“No, more like six or seven,” Leo drily observed. “And before we go in, you may want to take something off. Harry might have a fractured skull”—his gaze flickered over her—“but even he’s not going to believe that jacket belongs to you.”
Knowing there were photographers hanging around was making Suzy twitchy. She didn’t mean to be shallow and vain—after all, Harry was the one whose picture they were clamoring for—but it was hard to relax when you suspected you looked like something out of a disaster movie, the socialite rescued from the depths of the jungle after three weeks of eating other people’s legs, with her hair and makeup all over the place but her pearls intact.
Not that there was any chance of stopping to repair the damage, anyway, with Leo frog-marching her along echoey corridors like a prison guard. Suzy’s bare feet in their shredded stockings were making slapping noises on the unforgiving concrete floor—for heaven’s sake, she sounded like a seal in the zoo.
Hurrying to keep up, Suzy attempted to restore some kind of order to her falling-down hair. And—yes, hooray!—she had a lipstick in her teeny tiny handbag. Nudging Lucille, who was carrying the bag for her while she struggled with her hair, Suzy mouthed lipstick and mimed plastering it onto her lips.
Glancing over his shoulder, Leo drawled, “Just this once, try not to think only of yourself.”
Indignantly, Suzy said, “I just want to look my best for Harry.”
“Hmmm.” Clearly not fooled for a second—damn, she hated it when that happened—Leo turned right and said abruptly, “We’re here.”
Suzy stumbled to a halt behind him. It was definitely too late now to look her best. She settled for biting her lips, pinching her cheeks—ouch—and sucking in her stomach instead.
Oh, and putting on her stilettos…
“I’ll have my shoes now.” She held out her hands.
Leo raised his eyebrows. “Why are you looking at me?”
“Because you’ve got them,” said Suzy. She pointed to the pockets of his leather jacket. “I took off Adam’s jacket and you put it in the trunk of your car. And I said, ‘Shoes,’ and you said, ‘Right.’ Which I took to mean that you had the situation under control. That you would carry my shoes, seeing as my feet were too blistered for me to wear them.”
Having listened with apparent polite interest, Leo now shook his head.
“Sorry. Got our wires crossed here. I thought you wanted me to check that both shoes were in the trunk.”
Talk about a blatant lie. He’d done it on purpose, Suzy realized. To teach her some obscure sort of lesson. Deciding that Leo Fitzallan wasn’t nearly as nice as she’d once thought, she straightened her shoulders, thrust out her hand, and said, “Give me the car keys then, and I’ll go back and get them.”
This was a bluff, of course. Born of sheer bravado. Even on the cool concrete floor her feet felt as if they’d been dipped in chili sauce and set on fire. She would have cried, probably, if Leo had tossed her the keys.
Thankfully, Lucille came to the rescue.
“Stop it, both of you.” She shook her head in disbelief. “All this sniping about a pair of shoes—this is just ridiculous!”
“Tell that to Zsa Zsa Gabor here,” murmured Leo.
I can’t believe this is happening to me, Suzy marveled. The man’s a Rottweiler. How could I ever have liked him?
“Right,” said Lucille. “You two stay here and fight if that’s what you want to do. I’m going to see Harry.”
As they stood there, at the entrance to the ward Harry was in, a nurse slipped past them and pushed her way through the rubber doors. An antiseptic smell came rushing out at them, filling Suzy’s nostrils and triggering an ancient memory she preferred to forget.
Suzy glanced down at the faint scar running along the inside of her arm. When you were seven years old, sliding down the banisters at school was something you were dared to do. And she’d done it—except that the barked reprimand of the headmistress had made her lose her balance, and underneath the staircase had been a sharp-edged metal sculpture.
Falling onto the sharpest edge of all—just typical of her, as the headmistress had wearily pointed out—Suzy had sliced open her arm in spectacular fashion. Blood had sprayed everywhere and the headmistress had been forced to rush her to the hospital.
The pain had been excruciating, but that wasn’t what Suzy remembered now. All of a sudden she was seven again, having her arm stitched together in the emergency room and crying, crying endlessly for her mother.
She was even able to recall the sympathetic look on the doctor’s face as he had asked her where her mother was.
Suzy closed her eyes momentarily, remembering her half sobbed, half hiccupped reply.
“She’s gone a-away again. To Afri-ca-ca-ca.”
The next moment her eyes snapped open as a brisk female voice barked, “Now, now, gentlemen, no smoking in this hospital.”
The nur
se had pushed open the door to the waiting room. A great cloud of smoke billowed out, followed by a gaggle of sheepish-looking photographers and reporters.
“Well?” Lucille looked at Suzy. “Are you coming or not?”
It was all right for Lucille. She had shoes on and braided hair that was impossible to mess up.
Heroically, Suzy didn’t voice these thoughts aloud.
Instead, she said, “Of course.”
The rubber doors bounced shut behind them, and the photographers—recognizing Leo from earlier—swung into action. The nurse, who clearly moonlighted as a bouncer on her nights off, waded into the fray and extricated Suzy and Lucille.
“Ow!” yelped Suzy as a size-twelve brogue landed on her bare toes.
“Plenty of time for that later, gentlemen,” the nurse declared bossily. “These people are here to see Mr. Fitzallan, and I’m sure they’d appreciate it if you’d give them room to breathe.”
Actually, this took Suzy back a few years as well, to the time when Jaz had been at the height of his popularity. As his wife, she had become accustomed to the attentions of the paparazzi. Sometimes it had been fun and sometimes it had been a pain in the neck. Either way, she’d never left the house unprepared.
But being the wife of a rock star was one thing. Being the girlfriend of a policeman was quite another.
Anyway, this was neither the time nor the place. Anyone visiting an unlit hospital ward in the middle of the night would look like an idiot in dark glasses.
Suzy smiled, ignored the cameras, and said nothing while the nurse ushered them along the corridor and into a side ward.
“He’s exhausted,” the nurse warned them. “Ten minutes and no more.”
Chapter 19
Harry, lying in bed hooked up to a cacophony of drips and machines making beeping noises, opened his eyes.
“Suzy. You’re here. And Lucille.”
The nurse discreetly withdrew. Leo moved over to the far wall and leaned against it, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket, his expression unreadable.
