by Jill Mansell
And what was so terrible about that?
See, Leo? I can play that game too, thought Harry, his smile triumphant. I’m no longer second-best.
Returning from the linen closet with her arms full of clean towels, Celeste pulled the damp one from around Harry’s shoulders and let it drop carelessly to the floor. With a sensuous rhythm and her tongue held playfully between her teeth, she began to rub his hair dry with a fresh towel.
“OK?” stage-whispered Celeste. “Not too hard?”
“You’re a wicked girl,” Harry told her with a grin.
“There, all done. You can have a blow-dry in a minute. Now, Leo.” All innocence, Celeste turned around to face him. “What would you like?” She paused. “Tea? Coffee? A proper drink?”
“Thanks.” Leo glanced briefly at his watch. “But I have to get back to work.” To Harry, he added, “I just dropped by to see how you were.”
“Oh, bearing up,” said Harry with a broad wink. “Making the best of things.”
Behind him, trailing a finger lightly down his bare back, Celeste murmured, “I’ll second that.”
* * *
The reason Rory was having such trouble concentrating in the office was that all he could think about was his upcoming weekend in Wales with Fee. As Friday had drawn nearer, his powers of rational thought had begun to crumble like cake. At home, like a prisoner counting down the days to his release, he had a calendar with larger and larger crosses on it in red felt pen. In the square marked Friday, October 11, he’d written YES! and circled it wildly about fifteen times in anticipation.
Needless to say, it was the kind of calendar entry you’d die rather than let anyone else see, but since Rory lived alone and couldn’t remember the last time he’d invited someone into his home, his embarrassing secret was safe.
And now it was Friday, October 11—after what seemed like months, it had finally arrived—and he was so wound up with excitement he could barely speak.
Lucky it’s a relaxation weekend we’re going on, thought Rory. Crikey, hope it works.
“I’m all packed and ready to go,” Fee told him cheerfully when he arrived at the office after lunch.
Rory stowed his weekend cases beside the filing cabinets. He could have left them in the trunk of the car but hadn’t been able to resist bringing them in so that every now and again he could glance over at them and experience that ziiing of excitement in the pit of his stomach.
Just three more hours before they could leave. He would change, in the back room, out of his business suit and into a suitably casual Aran sweater and dark green corduroys. They would stop off at Fee’s apartment to pick up her cases. Then, by five thirty they’d be off, across the Severn Bridge and into Wales, all the while chatting easily to each other in the car. Oh yes, the flow of conversation would be effortless, and just to make sure of this Rory had already prepared a list of suitable topics.
And by six thirty, he thought with a surge of joy, we’ll be driving through the glorious Brecon Beacons, exclaiming over the scenery, following the snaking path of the River Wye…
“Hope you’ve packed your long johns,” Suzy announced, coming off the phone and eyeing first the cases then the steel-gray clouds outside. “It’s not a four-star hotel you’re staying in, you know. From what Fee’s been telling us, the place sounds more like Colditz.”
I don’t care, I don’t care. As long as we’re together, that’s all that matters, thought Rory rebelliously. In fact, the colder the better. Then maybe I’ll be able to help to keep her warm…
“Now you’re sure you’ll be able to manage without us,” he said aloud, sounding concerned but not meaning it for a millisecond. Like it or not, they’d just have to manage.
“Oh, we’ll struggle through somehow.” Suzy smiled to herself because Rory didn’t even realize that for the past fortnight, she’d been running the business practically single-handed. “And Donna’s back tomorrow. We’ll cope.”
Rory wasn’t bothered about the temperature of the hotel, but the prospect of Colditz-style food was off-putting. Never mind, they could eat out, he’d take Fee somewhere exquisite and romantic… Was Franco Taruschio’s famous Walnut Tree restaurant anywhere near Snowdonia?
“Blimey, look who’s here,” Suzy marveled as the door swung open and Jaz came in. “The Creature from the Blacked-Out Basement! What are you doing out in daylight—are you sure all this fresh air won’t make your skin shrivel up and drop off?”
Everyone laughed, except Jaz.
He turned to Fee with a look of compassion on his face.
“Oh God, what is it? What’s happened?” Fearfully, Fee clutched her throat.
“I’m sorry, darling. Now, it’s nothing horrific, but your mother’s had a bit of a fall and slipped a disk. Your father called just now. She’s in the hospital in Bournemouth, and he wants to know if you can get down there this evening.”
“No,” croaked Rory, aghast. “No.”
Chapter 38
Fee gazed over at Rory. He was as white as a sheet. Poor thing. Of course, it had only been six weeks since Blanche had died. Hearing that something had happened to her mother must have brought all those terrible memories flooding back.
“It’s all right.” Impulsively, she crossed the office and gave Rory a quick, fierce hug. “Really, it’s OK. She isn’t going to die. She’s had a fall, that’s all. A slipped disk.”
Poor Rory. She could feel him trembling all over. It occurred to Fee that if he was reacting this emotionally, Suzy might be upset too.
With a worried glance across at Suzy, she said, “How about you? Are you all right?”
Suzy looked amazed. “Of course I am! Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I said I’d come tell you,” said Jaz, “and you’d call him back. He’s at the hospital, at this number.” Taking a scrap of paper from his shirt pocket, he handed it to Fee, who picked up the phone.
Rory’s weekend was collapsing before his very eyes. It felt like his whole world. He listened to Fee’s conversation with her father. She sounded calm, practical, and completely in control as she assured him that yes, she could be in Bournemouth by six o’clock.
Nooo! Rory longed to yell. You don’t have to go right away, surely? It’s only a slipped disk. That’s not serious. Couldn’t you just leave it until Monday?
Please.
He didn’t say it, of course. The only noise to escape from his throat was a kind of strangled whinny. Thankfully, it was barely audible.
Although Suzy did raise an eyebrow and give him an odd look.
Fuck, thought Rory, who never ever swore, even to himself. Fuck, fuck, fuck…FUCK.
“You look like one of the undead,” Suzy cheerfully informed Jaz, while Fee was still on the phone. In fact, in his crumpled black shirt and trousers and with his dark, heavily shadowed eyes burning like coals in his pale face, Jaz gave the impression that he hadn’t eaten or slept for a week.
Then again, she had never seen him look happier or more alive.
Jaz grinned broadly at her. “It’s going so well. You wouldn’t believe it.”
Jaz could hardly believe it himself. Now that he’d started writing songs again, he was unable to stop. Ideas were spilling out of him like lemmings hurtling over the edge of a cliff. And most amazingly of all, he had Lucille there with him to put her own unique twist on the music. Writing songs might not be her forte—OK, it wasn’t her forte—but personalizing and interpreting them in ways Jaz had never even imagined was most definitely where her talents lay. Together, they were creating something so incredible it took his breath away.
“That’s great,” said Suzy, who didn’t pretend to understand the writing process but was pleased for him anyway. “I’m really glad.”
Great? Great? How could anything be great? Rory, jerkily polishing his glasses on his sleeve, was having trouble containing the lump in his th
roat. Disappointment swirled around him like dense fog. Much as he still longed for it to happen, he knew he had to face up to the fact that Fee was unlikely to put off visiting her hospitalized mother until after the weekend.
“OK, Dad, I’ll meet you at the ward. See you at six. Bye.” Fee put the phone down and shook her head. “Well, that’s me booked for the next month.”
The next month? Nooo!
Fee sighed. “Poor old Mum.”
Poor old me, thought Rory.
“Will she be in the hospital for long?” said Suzy.
“No, but she’ll need looking after when she gets out. And of course my father will need looking after in the meantime. He’s the really helpless one,” Fee added drily. “That’s where I’m really going to have my work cut out. I don’t think he could even make himself a cup of tea.”
Then it’s about time he bloody learned, Rory silently howled.
“If you’re catching the train, I’ll give you a lift to the station,” said Jaz, feeling heroic. Battling through the Friday afternoon rush hour to Temple Meads would keep him out of the studio for at least another hour.
I could do that, thought Rory, sitting up suddenly. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing… In fact, he could offer to drive Fee all the way to Bournemouth!
“Don’t worry,” Fee told Jaz, “I’ll drive. I’m going to need my car down there anyway.”
Rory’s shoulders slumped once more.
“Ah, well, so much for our relaxation weekend.” Fee gave Rory an apologetic little smile. “Sorry about having to stand you up.”
“No problem.” Rory forced himself to sound casual. “No problem at all. Some other time, perhaps.”
At the tone of his voice, Fee’s eyes grew round with alarm. “But you can still go. You mustn’t miss out just because I have to. You’ll love it, I promise!”
I won’t, I promise!
“Please don’t cancel because of me,” Fee begged. “The people there are great. You’ll get on with them like a house on fire…and it’ll do you so much good…”
It won’t, thought Rory, because I won’t be there.
“OK, maybe I will,” he said, purely because she was looking so worried. The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel guilty.
But seriously, why would he be even remotely tempted to go alone? Without Fee there, what would be the point?
* * *
“I know what you’re doing,” Celeste announced. She turned to face Harry as he hobbled into the kitchen behind her.
“Oh yes?”
“Oh yes. And I know why you’re doing it too.”
Behind her, steam billowed from the spout of the kettle as it came to a boil.
“Waiting for a cup of tea?” guessed Harry. “Because I’m thirsty?”
“Flirting with me,” Celeste corrected him mildly. “Because you want to make Suzy jealous.”
Harry moved toward her, his crutches making rhythmic clunking noises against the tiled floor. He sounded like Long John Silver.
“Really? Is that what you think?”
Celeste’s nostrils twitched involuntarily. Heavens, his just-washed hair smelled gorgeous.
“Oh yes, that’s exactly what I think,” she murmured, her thin elbows resting on the countertop behind her. Her breasts, jutting forward, were clearly visible through the flimsy white cotton of her dress.
“Well, you’re wrong,” said Harry. “OK, maybe it started out that way, but not anymore.” He moved another step—clunk—closer. “So how about you? Why have you been flirting so outrageously with me? Just to pay Jaz back for abandoning you? Or…?” He paused, the corners of his mouth beginning to twitch.
“Or what?” breathed Celeste. Heavens, her heart was breaking into such a gallop.
“Or do you think you might be experiencing the same feelings as me?”
She smiled. Harry knew as well as she did exactly what had been taking place over the course of the last couple of weeks. And you had to give him his due; he’d handled it brilliantly, like a pro.
The timing was spot-on, Celeste decided with a little shiver of appreciation. At first, they had flirted with each other for the sheer hell of it, really just for something to do to pass the time.
Then, after the first few days, had come the temptation to take things further. And by not doing so, the flirtation had become all the more delicious.
By the middle of the second week, the sense of anticipation was almost unbearable; they had reached a state of barely controlled frenzy. Every look and smile and teasing remark was enough to set off another spasm of longing.
And now, just as Celeste had begun to wonder if she could stand another day—even another hour—of nothing happening, it finally had happened.
Harry had made his move.
Yesss!
God, this was going to be fantastic. She just knew it.
“Well?” teased Harry, still apparently waiting for an answer.
Ha, as if he didn’t already know!
Pushing herself away from the marble countertop, Celeste took a step forward. Lifting her face, she brushed her lips oh-so-lightly against the left-hand corner of his mouth.
Harry shuddered and sighed. What Celeste didn’t realize—and how ironic was this?—was that all this putting-off-the-moment business had been Suzy’s idea.
And Suzy, he had to admit, had been right. Exasperating, but right. Her six-week rule might be extreme—two weeks had been as far as Harry had been able to stretch to—but he certainly understood now why she did it.
He had never been so aroused in his life.
As Celeste kissed him again, her gaze fell upon the montage of photos stuck haphazardly to the bulletin board next to the kitchen door. There was Suzy, dressed up as a fairy at some debauched party last Christmas. And there she was again, tanned and tawny-haired in an emerald-green bikini, with one arm draped around Jaz’s neck and the other waving—heaven knows why—a gigantic pair of wellington boots.
Suzy and Lucille, screaming with laughter, together on the sofa.
Suzy in bed with a hangover, caught with her hair all over the place and baggy, morning-after eyes like Deputy Dawg.
Suzy, poured into a shimmering gold evening dress, caught on camera at some gala event or other, pinching the bottom of a well-known rugby player.
Suzy, Suzy, bloody Suzy, thought Celeste. She always had to be the center of attention, didn’t she? Nothing was ever allowed to happen unless it involved Suzy.
“What are you thinking?” Harry murmured against her neck.
“Honestly?” Celeste caught her breath as he trailed his warm tongue along the delicate line of her collarbone.
“Mmm, honestly.”
“OK. I’m here, kissing Suzy Curtis’s fiancé.” She grinned and raised a playful eyebrow. “Don’t you think that’s pretty cool?”
Harry frowned.
“Is that the only reason you’re doing it?”
“Of course not. I’d feel this way about you whomever you were engaged to. But you have to admit,” Celeste told him with a provocative nudge of her hips. “It’s an added bonus.”
Chapter 39
Now that she knew the sale of Sheldrake House was definitely going through, Suzy had to arrange to have it cleared of her mother’s possessions. The contracts had been signed, and the closing would take place toward the end of October.
Leo, who planned to have the garden landscaped and was keen to make a start before the temperature plummeted still further and the ground froze solid, had already asked Suzy for permission to allow the firm of landscape gardeners access to the garden on Sunday. Since this was her only free day, Suzy decided she may as well turn up too, and start sorting through everything. All the unwanted furniture would go to auction. Most of the smaller stuff she could donate to local thrift shop
s—and hope that Maeve wouldn’t buy it back. Then there were the thousands of books, the closets full of clothes, the miscellaneous contents of the attic, the garage, the store room…
Actually, Suzy realized, she could do with a bit of help.
Or even a lot.
Except Rory couldn’t give her a hand, because he was away on his relaxation weekend. Which, God knows, he certainly needed.
Julia didn’t sound thrilled to hear from Suzy.
“Why me?” she said irritably. “I thought you were in charge of selling the house?”
“They’re Mum’s things. I thought you’d want to help. There might be some stuff you’d like to keep.”
“There won’t be,” said Julia, who had already been through Blanche’s jewelry case like a one-woman plague of locusts. She’d also scooped up all the best paintings, claiming that money was irrelevant; she wanted them for their sentimental value. “Anyway, I’m busy on Sunday. We’re having a lunch party for sixteen.”
“OK,” said Suzy. “Never mind. I expect Lucille will be able to help.”
She heard a kind of reverse hissing sound as the air was sucked sharply in through Julia’s teeth.
“Not her! Oh no. I’m sorry. You can’t do that.”
“Blanche was her mother too.”
Julia snorted. “Maybe so, but Sheldrake House was never her home. No, no, Suzy, we grew up there. She didn’t. The thought of that Lucille person in our house, picking through our mother’s things like some kind of vulture… No, sorry, absolutely not. I’m afraid I just can’t allow it.”
* * *
Suzy was on her knees in the drawing room surrounded by woody-smelling tea chests and mountains of books when she heard familiar footsteps in the hall behind her.
“I saw your car in the drive,” said Leo, “and the front door was open. Making a start on the sorting out?”
“There’s loads to do.” Suzy puffed her hair out of her eyes and lifted a teetering pile of books into the nearest tea chest. A cloud of dust billowed up, making her sneeze. She wiped the sleeve of her orange sweatshirt across her forehead, leaving behind a dusty gray smear. After four backbreaking hours, she was still only on the second room.
