Good at Games (31 page)

“OK, it's safe,” said Harry.

“Phew. That was close.”

Emerging from beneath the bedclothes with her white blond hair ruffled, Celeste playfully kissed her way up his good arm. “What was Lucille doing back here anyway? I could only hear bits.”

“She's quit her jobs and gone,” said Harry. “She told Leo the music thing wasn't for her after all; she realized she couldn't go through with it. Basically, she's leaving because of Suzy.”

“So Jaz could be back.” Celeste yawned and stretched her skinny arms. “I suppose we should get up.”

But she didn't move.

It occurred to Harry that Suzy could appear at any moment, but he didn't move either. Instead, tilting Celeste's face so she was gazing into his eyes, he realized how drastically his feelings toward her had altered during the course of the last three weeks.

To begin with, it had been lust, pure and simple. Lust combined with the challenge of discovering just how far you could take things with fractured ribs, a broken arm, and a broken leg.

Actually, it had been incredibly erotic, Harry had discovered. Like being handcuffed to a four-poster and seduced, incapable of putting up any resistance.

But then, basically, it had been fun. Nothing more, nothing less.

The fact that their feelings toward each other had deepened so rapidly had taken them both by surprise.

“I love you,” he told Celeste now, and she smiled and stroked his shoulder.

“You say it as if you actually mean it.”

“That's because I do mean it.”

“Jaz sounds so bored when he says it.” Celeste rolled her eyes. “Like when someone comes up to him in the street and tells him they're his greatest fan, Jaz says, ‘That's fantastic, thanks a lot.' I've heard him say it a thousand times, and all he's really thinking is, ‘How fast can I get away from this person?'”

“I'm not thinking that about you,” said Harry. “If anything, I'm thinking it about Suzy.”

There, he'd said it, admitted the truth at last. Suzy, let's face it, had turned out to be something of a disappointment, what with her ludicrous six-weeks-before-sex rule and punishing work schedule.

Harry, accustomed to being pursued by gorgeous females who couldn't wait to get him into bed, had been initially intrigued by Suzy's modus operandi, but it hadn't taken long for the novelty to wear off. In all honesty, he would have dumped her by now if it weren't for the deal with
Hi!
magazine.

“How about you?” He kissed Celeste's smooth forehead. “How are you and Jaz getting on, really?”

It was Harry's question, not the answer, that brought a lump to Celeste's throat. The fact that he was interested enough to ask. That was the brilliant thing about Harry, she had discovered. He actually bothered to listen to you, and he really did care how you felt. Harry gave you his undivided attention too—unlike Jaz, who these days always seemed to be thinking of something else.

Celeste wondered how Suzy would react if she were to walk into the bedroom right now and catch them together. Ha, that'd teach her to be so smug!

“Me and Jaz? Up until you came along, I honestly thought we were fine.” As she spoke, a tear ran down Celeste's cheek and plopped onto Harry's chest. “But we aren't fine at all. I've been so bored, without even realizing it. God, there's so much more to life than just being with someone because they've got tons of money.”

“Don't cry.” Harry hugged her, unbearably touched. “There's no need to cry.”

“I'm not upset. I'm happy.” Celeste sniffed. “Now that I've found you…someone who actually listens to me… Oh, Harry,” she blurted out. “I'd much rather be with a policeman who loves me than with a rock star who doesn't give a damn.”

This was serious, Harry realized. Crikey, this was something neither of them had expected to happen.

And, somehow, it needed to be sorted out.

Preferably, before they were found out.

Closing his eyes, Harry thought hard.

Before this went any further, he had some important phone calls to make.

* * *

Maeve wasn't having much luck following what was going on in
EastEnders
; she could hardly make out a word above the din in the kitchen.

“You can't fool me.” Suzy pointed an accusing finger across the kitchen table at Jaz, who was busy stirring a cup of black coffee to death. “You did something to make this happen. Either did something or said something. Yesterday Lucille couldn't have been happier. Then she went up to London with you and
bam
, everything changes and Lucille disappears off the face of the earth. I'm telling you, if you were horrible to her or said something vile about her singing—”

“I didn't, OK?” Jaz's dark eyes flashed. “I wasn't expecting this to happen either. Anyway, you said Lucille called you. What did she have to say about it?”

“Just some garbage about realizing she wasn't cut out for the music scene. Which is utter twaddle and makes no sense, because music is her whole life, we
all
know that.”

“Maybe she decided she didn't want to get involved because of the drinking and drugs.” Jaz made it sound plausible. “Dixon Wright was in the office knocking back the Bushmills and boasting about how many lines of coke he'd done the night before.”

“Shhh.” Maeve was washing up at the sink, her attention riveted on the portable TV. “They slept together last night and they think no one else knows about it. Hah!” she exclaimed happily, scrubbing away at an oven dish. “Little do they know their secret's about to come out!”

Jaz's intestines squirmed like a nest of snakes before he realized Maeve was talking about
EastEnders
.

Sometimes he could have sworn the woman was a witch.

“There's more to it than that,” Suzy insisted, piling sugar into her own coffee. “Lucille's not stupid, she already knows music people do coke. I still think you said something to upset her.”

Wishing she'd shut up and stop going on and on about it, Jaz shrugged. “Fine, think what you like.”

“Just ignore her,” said Celeste, who had been listening from the kitchen doorway. “She's just doing what she always does.”

“Look,” said Suzy, “this is between me and Jaz.”

“And you're telling him it's all his fault that Lucille's disappeared. But it isn't, is it?” Celeste smiled sweetly at Suzy. “Harry told me all about it. He was there this morning when Lucille called you. He heard every word. She said you both needed a break, a breathing space to sort yourselves out and come to terms with the whole Blanche thing. Meaning
you
need to sort yourself out and get over the Blanche thing. So you see?” Celeste turned to Jaz. “It really isn't anything to do with you. It's all Suzy's fault and she's just trying to shift the blame onto someone else, as usual.” She swung back to Suzy, enjoying every moment of this. “Because you never can admit you've done anything wrong, can you?”

Oh, and by the way, I'm having the most amazing sex with your precious fiancé.

Massively tempting though it was, Celeste didn't add this last bit.

“Dum de da de da, Dee data,” went the
EastEnders
theme tune as the closing credits began to roll.

“Ah, there'll be fireworks, mark my words,” chuckled Maeve, “when the rest of the square gets to hear about this.”

* * *

Douglas Hepworth, Blanche Curtis's lawyer, had every sympathy for Lucille. He couldn't imagine how hard it must have been for her, materializing out of nowhere and having to deal with Blanche's children. He wasn't a bit surprised to hear that sharing an apartment with flamboyant, extrovert, superconfident Suzy Curtis hadn't worked out.

“Completion of the sale is scheduled for the twenty-second,” he told Lucille.

Today was the eighteenth.

“Tuesday.” Lucille worked it out on her fingers. “So how soon could I get my share of the money?”

“If you like, you can have a check on Tuesday afternoon.”

Poor girl, she was clearly desperate.

“I would like.” Lucille nodded and managed a brief smile. “Very much. Thank you, Mr. Hepworth.”

And beautiful. Stunning, even, with those liquid brown eyes, dazzling white teeth, and astonishing legs.

“No problem. And please, call me Douglas.”

* * *

If Julia said “I told you so” one more time, Suzy knew she would have to slap her.

Hard.

“Well, what did I tell you?” Julia raised her eyebrows in that Maggie Smith way of hers—only higher class, of course—and tilted her head pityingly in Suzy's direction. “It was bound to happen. All she was ever interested in was the money.”

Almost. As good as.
But, luckily for Julia, not quite the same words.

Suzy's fingers still itched with longing. Next to her, Rory sensed what she was dying to do and shook his head.

“Do you know where she's staying?” Suzy asked Douglas Hepworth. Desperate for information, she pleaded, “Can you give me an address?”

“I'm sorry,” Douglas replied untruthfully. “All I did was write out the check.”

“She got what she came for,” Julia said with a tight little smile of satisfaction, “and that was it. I shouldn't think we'll hear from her again.”

Oh
no, thought Suzy,
and it's all my fault. I did this, I drove Lucille away, and all because I was jealous.

I didn't mean to do it, honestly.

“I told you so,” said Julia. “OUCH!”

Wincing and closing his eyes, Douglas decided that Lucille was best out of it. She deserved better than this.

The sale of Sheldrake House had safely gone through. There was no longer any reason to put off the dreaded deed.

The next morning, feeling horribly guilty, Suzy put it off for a few more hours by volunteering to take Harry along for his three o'clock appointment at Frenchay Hospital to have his casts removed.

He was greeted like the all-conquering hero, of course. As far as the besotted nursing staff were concerned, Harry's absence had merely made their collective hearts grow fonder. In their eyes he still had that dazzling star quality—even if his left leg, minus its cast, was now noticeably paler and weedier-looking than his right.

“That's what five weeks of lying around doing nothing does for you,” teased the big blond physical therapist, giving his calf a hearty slap.

“Lying back and thinking of England.” Harry winked at her.

“Exactly. Reduces the muscle bulk.” The physical therapist grinned at Suzy. “Don't worry; I've got a million exercises here to get him back up to speed. Then it'll be your turn to lie there shouting instructions.”

Suzy laughed, playing along with the charade. If the physical therapist was unattached, maybe
she'd
like to throw Harry onto the nearest bed and put him through his sexual paces.

I don't care who does it, just so long as it's not me!

Having heard that he was in the physical therapist department, Doreen, the devoted receptionist, arrived to kiss Harry's feet. Well, not literally, but if he'd asked her to, she probably wouldn't have said no.

“Look at you,” Doreen cried delightedly, blushing as Harry gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Handsomer than ever and twice as charming. I hope you're taking special care of him, dear!”

“Oh yes.” Suzy nodded and summoned up yet another cheerful smile. “Extra special care.”

“Now, Harry, the committee in charge of organizing the hospital's Autumn Fair met last night.” Not interested in Suzy's polite rejoinders, Doreen was already rattling on. “And we voted unanimously that the person we'd most like to officially open the fair would be you!”

Harry looked suitably modest. “Wow. I'm flattered.”

Doreen said eagerly, “So you'll do it then? Oh, that's marvelous!”

“Well”—Harry frowned—“hang on a sec. How much would I get paid?”

The room abruptly fell silent, apart from Doreen's sharp intake of breath. Suzy couldn't bear to look.

“Joke,” said Harry, breaking into a grin. “Doreen, of course I'll open the Autumn Fair.” He took her pudgy hand and gave it a squeeze. “Seriously, it would be an honor.”

* * *

After another hour of intensive physical therapy, they headed home.

“Did you mean it about getting paid?” Suzy asked casually as she reversed the Rolls out of its parking space.

“Of course not. I'm doing it for nothing, aren't I?”

“Mmm.”

Harry's crutches had been reclaimed by the hospital. He had swapped them for a wooden walking stick to help him get around. As he examined the graffiti on the curved handle he said, “Although I think they could have offered
something
. I mean, if they were getting some professional cricketer in to do it, they'd have to pay them an appearance fee, wouldn't they? Bit of a cheapskate thing to do, if you ask me.”

Suzy smiled to herself, glad she'd asked. Now she didn't feel nearly so bad about screwing Harry out of his two-hundred-and-fifty-grand deal with
Hi!
magazine.

“Harry, I'm not going to marry you.”

“To be honest,” Harry went on, paying no attention, “I think Doreen's got some nerve too, giving me her home address so we'll know where to send the invitation to the wedding. I mean, she just assumed we'd be inviting her, and let's face it, why would we
want
to?”

Suzy stopped the car on Frenchay Park Road.

“There isn't going to be any wedding, Harry. I can't do it.”

He stared at her. “What?”

“I'm sorry.” Untrue, of course. But polite. “We can't carry on pretending it's going to happen, Harry. Be honest, it was only ever a publicity stunt.”

“That's not true.”

“It
is
true.”

“No.” Harry shook his head. “I loved you.”

Loved. Past tense. Well, that was an encouraging sign.

“We fancied each other,” Suzy corrected. “At the beginning, we fancied each other rotten. I admit that. But, Harry, it was never love.”

“And my brother was interested in you too,” Harry persisted. “But you were with me, not him.”

That had been his chief bargaining point, of course. The Leo factor. Harry had been so desperate to prove that he was on a par with his brother that she had agreed—out of the sheer goodness of her heart—to go along with it.

And I'm a real estate agent
, Suzy marveled.
I'm not supposed to be gullible.

Belatedly, her jaw dropped open. “Leo was…what?
Interested
in me?”

“Of course. Couldn't you tell?”

NO.

“Are you sure?” croaked Suzy, suddenly finding herself at a loss for air.

“Come on, of course he was interested. Still, don't be too flattered,” Harry drawled, spoiling it all. “It was only because you
were
with me. He'd never have noticed you otherwise.”

Ouch. So that was how it felt to be a young snail, brutally crushed by a size-thirteen boot.

“So that's it, is it?” Harry went on. “Us. All over. Kaput.”

To be honest, he was taking the news more calmly than Suzy had expected.

“I think so,” she said cautiously. “Don't you?”

Harry shrugged. “OK, if that's what you want. I don't know how the kids are going to feel about it.”

Mikey and Lauren.

“It's OK.” Reaching over for her bag, Suzy pulled out her Rich Bitch checkbook (yes, a present from Maeve) and quickly scribbled out a check for ten thousand pounds. At least thanks to her share of the house sale she hadn't had to use Jaz's money.

“I'll pass it on to their mother,” said Harry, folding the check and sliding it into his wallet. He didn't say thank you.

“We'll have to tell what's-'is-name from
Hi!
magazine. Terence DeVere,” Suzy remembered with a shudder.

“Don't worry about that. I'll speak to him. Actually, if you could drop me back at my place”—Harry checked his watch—“I'll give him a call from there and sort it all out this afternoon.”

Suzy was amazed. She hadn't imagined for a moment that this would be so easy. And to think she'd been dreading it for weeks!

It was like thinking you were terrified of flying, then finally going up in a plane and discovering it wasn't scary after all.

Restarting the engine, Suzy headed happily up Stoke Lane, passing the imposing castle on the left that had once been part of Stoke Park Hospital.

Phew, all over.

“Thanks,” she told Harry with a smile of relief.

“S'OK.” He shrugged easily. “It wasn't working; we both knew that. I'm not completely insensitive, you know.”

“No.” Suzy patted his knee. “Of course you aren't.”

Harry caught hold of her hand before she could pull it back. His fingers closed around the glittering Tiffany ring, and in one swift twist it was off.

Holding it up like a winning raffle ticket, he said cheerfully, “May as well have this back too.”

* * *

Having dropped Harry off at his house in North View, Suzy was frustrated to arrive home and discover that there was no one there to hear her momentous news.

No Lucille.

No Fee.

No anybody.

It was a terrible anticlimax.

Oh well, never mind. She could always go next door and tell Maeve and Jaz.

The next moment, as she was gazing out of the front window, Suzy saw Maeve hurrying down the street in her shiny purple raincoat.

Launching open the sash window, Suzy let out a piercing whistle.

“Oh, hello, love. Can't stop,” Maeve called up to her. “I'm on my way to bingo.”

Nothing, not a nuclear attack, not even a Chippendale in a G-string, could keep Maeve from her bingo.

Disappointed, Suzy yelled, “Is Jaz at home?”

“Gone to AA, love. Over at Winterbourne. Won't be back for hours.”

Bugger.

“How about Celeste?”

This was a severe case of scraping the barrel, but Suzy was bursting to tell someone.

“Haven't seen her all day. Gone shopping, I wouldn't wonder. Bye, love. Must dash.”

“Maeve, I did it! I've told Harry the wedding's off…”

Suzy's voice trailed away as Maeve disappeared around the corner, desperate not to miss so much as a single game.

* * *

At least Donna, in the office the next morning, had the decency to be enthralled. “Gosh, and I thought you two were so perfect for each other.”

Smugly, Suzy said, “That's because I'm such a great actress.”

“Shame, though. I was looking forward to a good party. And my mum's going to be gutted—she's boasted to everyone that my photo's going to be in
Hi!
Donna Hartley,” purred Donna in her best
Hi!
magazine voice, “having freely partaken of the exotic alcoholic beverages at the wedding reception, invites us into her lovely bathroom stall to share the moment when she throws up.”

“Hmmm.” Suzy tapped her pen thoughtfully against her teeth. “Harry was supposed to call them yesterday to let them know the wedding's off. He didn't come home last night. I hope he didn't forget.”

This wasn't quite what she meant; it was hardly something you
could
forget. But Suzy had begun to wonder if Harry might not put it off for a while, in the hope that she might change her mind.

So far, he had taken the news suspiciously well.

* * *

By lunchtime Suzy could stand it no longer. There was no answer at her apartment, or at Harry's. Going through her purse, she unearthed the gaudily embossed card Terence DeVere had pressed into her hand all those weeks ago at the hospital. Then she dialed his number.

While she waited for the phone to be answered, Suzy unwrapped the hot chicken and mushroom pasty she had picked up from the takeout place around the corner. She had just taken her first mouthful when Terence DeVere answered the phone.

“Suzy who? Oh,
Suzy
! Harry spoke to me yesterday, told me
everything
. Darling, I'm so sorry. How are you?”

Crikey. And to think she'd been expecting him to be annoyed about the deal falling through.

“Absolutely fine, couldn't be better,” she said brightly.

Now it was his turn to sound surprised.

“Really? Oh well, jolly good. I have to say, I thought you'd be upset about it, but these things happen, don't they? And I must say, it's a neat twist,” he confided happily. “You could almost call it a stroke of genius. Our readers'll love it!”

Puzzled, Suzy gazed down at the pasty in her hand.

“Neat twist?”

“Still getting married, just to a different girl.” Terence DeVere was chuckling away. “Classic.”

Suzy began to wonder if someone had slipped a hallucinogenic drug into her pasty. Chicken and magic mushroom, perhaps.

“You mean Harry?” she said doubtfully. “Harry's still getting married, but to another girl instead of me?”

What girl?

Oh, good grief
, thought Suzy, almost choking on her pasty.
Surely not.

Surely Harry wasn't marrying Lucille!

“Ummm, well, I assumed you knew.” Terence DeVere began to backpedal for all he was worth. “When I spoke to them yesterday, they—”

“Who?
Who's
he going to marry?”

“Ah…maybe this is a matter for you to sort out between yourselves… Suzy, I'm really sorry. There's a call coming through on my other line… Have to go. Bye now!”