by Jill Mansell
Highly illegal, of course. If the police caught her, she’d be ticketed for sure. But at least this way there was no escape for Lucille.
* * *
Suzy caught up with them in no time at all.
“Go away,” shouted Lucille as she pulled alongside them.
“I want to say sorry.”
“Well, I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to see you.”
“Please,” Suzy begged, “I feel terrible. At least listen to me.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“Give me one good reason why I should.”
“Because I’m an idiot.”
“Huh,” said Lucille, “I already knew that.”
She veered abruptly away from the car and Suzy slammed on the brakes. Clearly, different tactics were called for.
Bribery…blackmail…abduction…? Yep, they’d do.
Rummaging through the glove compartment, Suzy found the family-size bag of M&Ms she’d stashed away for emergencies, and tore the packet open. Pushing open the driver’s door, she rattled the bag of chips into her upturned palm. Fifty feet away, the Afghan hound’s ears pricked up.
“Here, boy. Over here. Yum, chips,” Suzy called out.
Lucille, who had only just let the dog off his leash, said firmly, “Carter, sit. Stay.”
Carter hesitated, hopelessly torn. He knew and liked Lucille, but she couldn’t seriously expect to compete with the prospect of chips. “Carter, come on, boy. See what I’ve got,” Suzy wheedled, rattling the chip bag seductively.
Carter looked like a girl caught in a downpour with her boring boyfriend, being offered a lift home by a charmer in a Ferrari. The next moment, he was bounding across the grass toward Suzy, with his pink tongue lolling and his plumy tail wagging like a metronome.
“No!” Lucille shouted, chasing after him.
Yesss, thought Suzy triumphantly, bundling him into the passenger seat and feeding him a big handful of chips.
By the time Lucille reached the car, Suzy had hit the central-locking buttons.
“You can’t do this,” she warned Suzy through the open driver’s window.
“Too late. Just have.”
Lucille’s hands were on her hips. Her face was expressionless. “I suppose you think you’re clever.”
“I do, quite,” said Suzy.
“This is kidnapping.”
“I know. Good, isn’t it?” Suzy risked a smile that wasn’t returned. “Oh please, Luce, I’ve got the dog. You have to listen to me now.”
“As far as I’m concerned,” Lucille said coldly, “you’ve already said more than enough.”
Realizing she couldn’t do this through a car window, Suzy unlocked the doors, leaped out, and promptly locked them again. The icy rain hit her in the face like a wet haddock.
“Right, here we go,” she announced. “I acted like a ten-year-old yesterday and I’m totally, totally ashamed of myself. Seeing all my mum’s stuff again had a horrible effect on me. I’m sorry I said what I did. I never meant any of it. And I couldn’t bear it if you moved out. I know we’re still a bit new to each other, but you’re my sister and I love you. And I’m really really really sorry I’m such an enormous idiot.”
“Well, you’re definitely one of those,” said Lucille. Shivering, she pushed her hands deep into the pockets of her unglamorous waterproof jacket.
“Blanche spent her life lying to us.” Suzy struggled to explain. “She didn’t lie to you. Yesterday when I was clearing out her things, I just felt…stupid, I suppose. Like one of those women who finds out her husband’s been having a torrid affair for the last twenty years.”
There was a long pause.
Finally, Lucille said, “I can understand that.” Slowly, she added, “But it wasn’t my fault.”
Encouraged by this, Suzy said eagerly, “I know, I know it wasn’t! I got myself into a state, that’s all. Honestly, I could have cut out my tongue when I realized how—”
“And I’m not after your ex-husband.”
“I know that too. I never for one minute thought you were,” cried Suzy, blinking the rain out of her eyes and realizing that she was wearing hopelessly inappropriate clothes. Her navy wool sweater was drenched and itching unbearably, and her jeans were sodden. She’d be more comfortable stripping down to her bra and panties, except Lucille thought she was quite mad enough already.
“Are you crying?” demanded Lucille.
“What? Me? Of course not!”
Suzy hastily wiped her face before Lucille could do a random testing for saltiness.
“You are.”
“Don’t be daft. I never cry. You’re crying.” She pointed an accusing finger at Lucille.
Lucille managed a wobbly half smile.
“No I’m not. Do you really love me?”
Unable to speak, Suzy pressed her lips together and nodded.
“So was that one of those sister-sister arguments you warned me about?”
“Kind of. It’s one of those sister-sister arguments you get when one of the sisters is a total crazy.”
“That’s you,” Lucille double-checked. “Not me.”
“Oh yes. Definitely me.”
Suzy gave her a hug, and Lucille hugged her back.
“If anyone’s watching us now”—Suzy’s voice was muffled—“they’re going to think we’re barking mad.”
“Never mind them. I think we’re barking mad.” Lucille smiled and wiped her eyes again. For someone who insisted she wasn’t crying, she certainly wiped her eyes a lot.
“Coming home?”
“I still have a dog to exercise. He’s hardly lifted a paw so far.” Lucille glanced ruefully over her shoulder at Carter, his long, aristocratic nose pressed against the window of the Rolls as if he was supposed to be there. “Anyway, you still have a fiancé to apologize to.”
“What?”
“Harry, remember? You told him last night you weren’t going to marry him. Just after you suggested I might like to sleep with him.”
Oh Lord.
Suzy made up her mind. It was definitely time to come clean.
* * *
Jaz was laughing so much he almost fell off his chair.
Waiting patiently for him to finish—and heroically resisting the impulse to stab him with her fork—Suzy said, “It’s not funny, you know.”
“Oh, it is, it is.” Tears of laughter were actually rolling down Jaz’s face. Waving his hand at Maeve he gasped, “Quick, give me some of those paper towels.”
“It isn’t funny.” Lucille tried to make Jaz understand. “Poor Harry, he’s going to be devastated when Suzy tells him. He really loves her.”
“He’ll get over it.” Jaz’s shoulders began to shake again. “Which is more than I will! I mean, who’d have thought it? Suzy Curtis, scared of nothing and no one, somehow manages to get herself accidentally engaged and can’t think of a way of backing out of it because she doesn’t want to hurt this bloke’s feelings…oh, this is priceless!”
Suzy put down her fork, just to be on the safe side.
“That’s the trouble, though, don’t you see? It isn’t priceless,” she explained. “We’re talking about a deal worth two hundred and fifty thousand pounds.”
“Oh well, marry him then,” Jaz mocked. “Then you’ll be able to put Occupation: Gold Digger on your passport.”
“Idiot!” wailed Suzy. “I don’t want the money!”
“It’s complicated,” said Lucille, who knew only too well about Harry’s feelings of second-bestness where Leo was concerned.
Maeve, holding up a huge bowl of kedgeree, announced, “Can’t concentrate on an empty stomach.”
Harry might not know it, but this was set to be one of the more memorable days of his life. Suzy, the one about to make it m
emorable, was ashamed to discover she was ravenous. Somehow, losing her appetite seemed the least she could do to make up for inflicting so much misery.
“Anyway,” Suzy went on, when everyone around Jaz’s kitchen table had their plates full, “it isn’t just the Leo thing. If the Hi! deal doesn’t happen, those two children won’t get their trip to Disneyland.”
“Give me strength!” Jaz rolled his eyes in disbelief. “So that’s why you can’t bring yourself to call off the wedding? How much were they expecting out of it?”
“Ten grand.”
“Mad.” Shaking his head, Jaz pushed back his chair and left the kitchen. “Completely mad.”
“So now you know,” said Suzy, to Lucille and Maeve. “If you ever need to confide in a man, pick someone really sympathetic and understanding. Like Donald Trump.”
Jaz was back in less than a minute. He put the check down on the kitchen table next to Suzy’s plate of kedgeree. It was made out to her, for ten thousand pounds.
“There. Does that solve your problem?”
Lucille knew it was rude to stare, but she couldn’t help it. As far as Jaz was concerned, ten thousand pounds was nothing. Loose change, practically.
Heavens, how must that feel?
“I don’t want this.” Suzy heaved a sigh of frustration. She hated it when Jaz did his flamboyant I’m-so-rich bit.
“You don’t want those kids to miss out,” Jaz told her reasonably. “Why can’t I help?”
“Because it’s not your problem! Look, I’ll make sure the kids don’t miss out.”
Jaz knew perfectly well that Suzy wasn’t one of life’s natural scrimpers and savers—she spent money as flamboyantly as she dressed.
“Fine,” he said easily. “Do you actually have ten grand lying about?”
“She’s ten grand pairs of high-heeled shoes scattered around her bedroom,” chuckled Maeve. “And some grand designer outfits hanging up in that closet of hers, that’s for sure.”
“Ha-ha.” Suzy groaned. Honestly, for someone who not so long ago had been swooning over Harry in dramatic fashion, Maeve was taking all this with remarkable calmness.
“She has seven hundred and thirty pounds in her bank account,” Maeve supplied helpfully. “And a few odd pence. I saw this month’s statement in the fruit bowl when I popped over the other day to take Harry a thermos of soup.”
“Ah,” said Jaz, “but has she been shopping since then? Come to think of it, didn’t I spot a couple of Donna Karan shopping bags, on Saturday, in the backseat of her car?”
“OK, OK, I’ll borrow it.” Suzy sighed, picking up the check. Folding it in two, she slid it into the pocket of her lime-green shirt. “Leo closes on Sheldrake House next week. As soon as the money comes through, I’ll be able to pay you back.”
“Oh God, I hope—”
“What?” Suzy said as Lucille stopped abruptly and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh God you hope what?”
Lucille vigorously shook her head. “No, it’s all right. I’m sure that wouldn’t happen.”
“Aaargh!” wailed Suzy, belatedly realizing what she meant. “You think the sale might fall through! That’s it, isn’t it? You think Harry might be so furious with me that he’ll persuade Leo to pull out?”
“Well, something like that.” Lucille pulled a face. “Actually, more along the lines of Leo being so furious he decides to pull out. After all,” she ventured cautiously, “you and Leo don’t exactly have the smoothest of friendships, do you?”
Bugger bugger bugger. The collapse of a sale was one of Suzy’s least favorite things anyway. When the property in question was her own mother’s house it just made it worse. She couldn’t face starting up the whole grindingly slow process again.
“Don’t look at me,” said Jaz, signaling despair. “You got yourself into this mess. It’s nobody’s fault but your own.”
“The only reason any of this happened in the first place,” Suzy protested, “is because I’m such a kind, good-hearted, and generally lovely person. If I was horrible and mean and didn’t care whose feelings I hurt, everything would be fine and I wouldn’t be in this mess now.”
Jaz gave her a who-are-you-trying-to-kid look. “If you’d been honest in the first place, you wouldn’t be in this mess now.”
“Oh, come on. You know that’s not true! I’m not a dishonest person,” Suzy wailed.
He narrowed his dark eyes and grinned lazily at her across the table. “So what are you going to do?”
She didn’t hesitate for a moment. “Complete the sale of the house first. Then tell Harry it’s over.”
Jaz drummed his fingers on the tabletop and murmured triumphantly, “Ha.”
Remembering the I-win-you-lose gesture of old, Suzy reached across and whacked him on the knuckles, hard, with the back of her fork.
“Ow!”
She broke into a smile. “And that’s the other reason I divorced you.”
Chapter 43
The headquarters of the Kessler Music Company was a square, Victorian redbrick building in Islington, north London.
“This is amazing,” breathed Lucille, craning out of the cab window to look at the glittering KMC logo above the front entrance.
“Amazing for you, embarrassing for me.” Jaz took out his wallet to pay the driver. “I’m about to meet a load of people I haven’t seen for three and a half years. And I’ve never been here sober. I’m not going to recognize anyone.”
“As long as you recognize Jerry Kessler,” said Lucille.
He grinned. “Jerry who?”
Hanging back for a few seconds, Lucille watched Jaz push his way through the revolving doors and be greeted like a returning hero. If he couldn’t remember the names of the girls behind the reception desk, he gave no sign of it as they rushed out to hug and kiss him and exclaim over how great it was to see him again.
“And still alive,” Jaz joked. “Who’d have thought it?”
“You’re looking fantastic,” one of the receptionists declared, giving him an appreciative once-over.
“Not as fantastic as you,” confided Jaz. “Your hair’s great. And you’ve lost weight.”
The receptionist hadn’t, but this only made her happier. If Jaz thought she looked slimmer, that was all that mattered. God, he was so nice.
“Sally’s away this week,” she gushed. “She’s going to be so sorry she missed you!”
Sally?
“How is Sally?” Jaz said warmly. “Give her my love.”
“Well done,” murmured Lucille as they were whizzed in the elevator up to the fourth floor. “Who was Sally?”
“God knows.” Jaz winked at her. “Probably another long lost ex-wife.”
* * *
Jerry Kessler reveled in his oddity value. His business brain was Sabatier-sharp, his feel for music instinctive. Over the last fifteen years he had turned KMC into a multibillion-pound business and had signed up some of the coolest bands around. Yet with his ruddy cheeks, shaggy hair, and baggy corduroy trousers he looked more like a jolly farmer than the owner of an ultra-successful record label.
Lucille couldn’t believe she was actually here, in his football-stadium-size office, shaking the hand of Mr. KMC himself.
“So you’re the one who managed to get Jaz back into that studio of his. Good woman.” Jerry Kessler gave her a brisk smile of approval “OK, let’s hear this tape.”
“It’s on DAT.” Jaz handed over the tiny, high-quality digital audio tape. “But of course we’d rerecord. I want full orchestral backing on the title song.”
“Always so modest, so unassuming.” Jerry grinned at him. “Speaking of which, how’s Suzy?”
“Trust me, you don’t want to hear. Chaos, as ever. Now, honest verdict,” said Jaz as the tape slotted into the machine on Jerry’s desk.
“Trust me,” Jerr
y mimicked. “If this stuff you’ve written is crap, I’ll tell you. No point wasting your time or mine.”
Superstitiously, Lucille had persuaded herself that if she dressed up for this meeting, nothing would come of it. In order to fool the jinx, therefore, she had worn a faded gray sweatshirt and a pair of ancient black combats. In fact, compared with Jerry Kessler in his battered check shirt and mud-splattered boots, she looked positively chic.
“Sit down, make yourselves comfortable.” He waved them over to a huge bottle-green suede sofa.
“I’m fine, thanks.” Lucille couldn’t bear to sit. She was far too on edge. She thought Jaz’s new songs were amazing, but Jerry’s opinion was the one that counted.
Jaz, who until now had seemed ultra-relaxed, shoved his suddenly trembling hands into the back pockets of his jeans and said, “I’d rather stand too.”
Jerry switched on the tape, and the opening bars of “Miracle” filled the room.
The next moment Lucille’s voice, like melted chocolate, spilled out of the speakers.
I need to let you know
I can’t let you go
You leave me with no alternative…
She could no longer tell whether it was any good, Lucille realized. Still, at least this time, the tape wasn’t warped, and she didn’t sound as if she’d been locked in a closet.
* * *
At six o’clock Jerry Kessler’s personal chauffeur dropped them back at Paddington.
“I don’t think I need the train,” Lucille announced. “If I flapped my arms a bit, I could probably just float home.”
Even the train station, busy and grimy and tasting of oil and dust, couldn’t dampen her spirits. Jerry had loved—truly loved—the new songs. He had loved her voice. He had postponed a meeting and taken them to lunch at San Lorenzo. Then, back at KMC headquarters, he had called Dixon Wright, the director of A&R, into his office to hear the tape. Somehow an orchestra, a recording studio, and a top production team had been booked for tomorrow morning. Mind-boggling amounts of money had been discussed.
“You’re back,” Jerry had declared, clapping Jaz on the shoulder like a farmer patting a prize heifer.
