Having a Ball (10 page)

"So," said Tom. "What have you been doing since the bad old days?"

"Since I was thirteen, you mean?" said Stevie. "School, uni. The
usual."

"Are you still living with Marsh?"

Stevie laughed. "God no! He's married now. I live by myself." Did she
imagine it, or did Tom's shoulders just relax a tiny bit.

"Marsh got married?" said Tom. "I didn't know that. I guess we aren't
really in touch after..."

"After I got stoned in your room?" Stevie grinned. She remembered it
well. People kept telling her that one of the great advantages of having an older
brother was the access to older boys. But when they were eight years older than
you, they treated you like you were an irritating insect. Besides, her brother was
Marsh and all his friends were... Well, a bit boring.

Tom had been different, even then. Even with the stupid hair and the
gangly limbs, there had been something cool about him. A sort of fire in him that
made him that little bit extra sexy. He hadn't bothered being super nice to her or
treated her like she was made of glass, like everyone else did after her parents died.
He had just acknowledged her existence and carried on treating her as though she
was just another normal person.

Thirteen years old and vulnerable, Stevie immediately developed a huge
crush on him. Marsh had guessed this, which went part way towards his
incandescent outburst when he found her stoned out of her mind and
semi-conscious in Tom's room.

Stevie risked another glance across at Tom. She had been right, even as a
teenager. He was sexy. Even more so now that he'd grown into his body.

"Has Marsh got over that yet?" said Tom.

"What? The getting stoned thing? Yeah. I think so. He gave me hell about
it at the time though." Stevie smiled to herself. "You should have heard him go on.
We had a spectacular row about it."

Tom nodded. "And then you both moved out of the student house."

"Yeah."

There was silence as they both followed their trains of thought. After a
while, the silence began to feel like it was settling in for a long wait.

Stevie cleared her throat. "What happened to him--the guy with the space
cake?"

"Jeremy the Spliff?" said Tom. "He's a surgeon now. Urology, I think."

Stevie contemplated the thought of spaced out Jeremy the Spliff being in
charge of opening up people's private parts and stitching them back together. The
thought was so horrifying it was almost funny. "Urology? I'd have thought you need
a steady hand for that sort of thing." She giggled.

Tom grinned. "Well, I wouldn't trust him anywhere near mine."

Stevie laughed. "Mind you, I bet he needs a smoke after looking at that
sort of thing all day."

They both started to laugh. Tom had a nice laugh, a deep chuckle that
somehow managed to warm Stevie up from the inside. The atmosphere inside the
car changed subtly. Tom turned the radio on. Stevie glanced at him as he hummed
along to the music. He seemed to be slowly uncoiling from the tightly wound state
he was normally in. Perhaps she had misjudged him. Perhaps he was just a nice guy
who was a bit stressed out.

Outside, the traffic slowed down, forcing Tom to decelerate. He scowled
and muttered under his breath. Okay, thought Stevie. Perhaps not then.

* * * *

Tom staggered in under yet another fragrant cardboard box. "That's the
last of it," he said, plonking it down on the long table at the centre of the kitchen.
"I'll just go lock the car and come back to help."

Priya had everyone organised from the minute the stuff arrived. She was
unloading packets and jars, reading out labels and descriptions to Alice, who cross
checked the list and sorted everything into piles.

The whole room smelled of cinnamon and coriander. It was making
Stevie hungry. She had already been allocated the task of peeling several bags of
onions that were going to be fed into the food processor. She decided to peel them
all first and chop them later, not wanting to have sore eyes for any longer than she
had to. She was sitting on one of the benches that lined the table with two piles of
onions and a bucket for the peelings lined up in front of her. She snapped on the
blue latex gloves that Priya insisted on everyone wearing.

Evelyn sat next to her, cheerfully peeling her way through several
hundred cloves of garlic.

When Tom returned, he was given some root ginger and told to get
chopping.

"As small as you can." Priya smiled and handed him a knife.

Tom dropped into a seat opposite Stevie and bent over his work.

As she peeled onion after onion, her attention wandered. Her gaze drifted
towards Tom's hands as he peeled and chopped. She couldn't help noticing that his
hands gave the occasional tremor, making him pause in his work so that he didn't
chop off a finger. Odd.

She looked up at his face. He was frowning, concentrating on what he was
doing, so didn't notice her scrutiny. His eyes looked pinched and had dark shadows
under them. His mouth was turned down at the corners. A general aura of
unhappiness hung around him. How had she not noticed it before? She had spent
the whole car journey trying not to stare at his profile and, admittedly, being rather
distracted by his legs. Now that she had paid attention to his face, it was obvious
something was wrong.

She looked round to see if anyone else had noticed. Evelyn was talking
about the seminar she had to give later in the week and seemed to be oblivious to
any change in her son. Alice was too busy helping Priya to pay much attention to
her uncle. So it seemed that only Stevie had noticed. She glanced at his hands again.
Yes, there was a definite tremor. Not all the time, but often enough.

Suddenly Tom's hands stopped moving.

Stevie looked up to find him staring at her.

"What?" he whispered.

"Are you okay?" Stevie whispered back. She glanced at his hands
again.

He clenched them into fists. "Yes thanks."

"You look tired."

She must have spoken louder than she intended because Evelyn said.
"What's that? Oh, I say, she is right, darling. You look shocking. Are you
alright?"

Tom gave Stevie a glare that said
See what you've done now
. "Yes,
I'm fine. I've just not been sleeping very well lately. That's all."

"You work too hard, darling. You should ease up a bit. Maybe take a few
days off. I mean, when was the last time you had a whole weekend off? Including
the Saturday?"

"Mum--"

"It's not good for you to work six days a week like that. Not for so long at
a stretch anyway. Honestly, if I didn't drag you down here on the odd Sunday, you'd
work the whole seven days."

Evelyn reached for another head of garlic. "I used to have the same
problem with your father. Once that man started on something, it was nigh on
impossible to get him to take a break."

Her focus shifted back to the present. "He suffered from terrible
headaches you know. They disappeared completely once he retired though, which
just goes to show."

Tom's brow had furrowed even further. He removed his blue gloves and
rested his fingers against his temples. "Mum?" When Evelyn didn't appear to hear
him, he practically shouted, "Mother?"

"Yes?" Evelyn raised her head. "There's no need to shout darling, I'm just
here."

"Mum." Tom sighed. "I am taking a few days off. A whole two weeks in
fact. Okay?"

"Oh, you never mentioned." Evelyn turned her attention to her cloves of
garlic again. "What are you going to do with all that time? Not go skiing I hope. Not
after what happened to poor Olivia. How is she, by the way? Is she back at
work?"

Tom sighed again. "Yes."

"Terribly dangerous, skiing," Evelyn continued, without looking up from
her work. "So, what are you doing in those two weeks?"

Stevie's gaze swung back to Tom, who looked uncomfortable.

"Um... Week after next, I've got a couple of things to do in London. Next
week, I'm just going to chill out. In the flat."

Evelyn finally looked up. "In that little flat, for a whole week? You'll go
mad with boredom. Tell you what, why don't you come and help us out with the
ball. There's an awful lot that needs to be done in the garden. You could get that
sorted out faster than any of us could."

Everyone looked at Tom. He scowled at his pile of ginger.

"Evelyn, that wouldn't be very relaxing, would it?" Priya spoke mildly. "I
know my daughters' idea of relaxing is sitting in front of a Rom com and eating
popcorn."

Alice chuckled in agreement.

"It'll be a complete change of scene," said Evelyn. "That's what holidays
are all about." She gave her son a radiant smile. "What about it Tom? It would be a
great help."

She turned to Stevie. "Wouldn't it, Stevie?"

Stevie jumped, surprised to be included in the conversation. She felt sorry
for Tom. It was clear that he wasn't going to get out of staying and helping with the
ball. She was sure he didn't want to. He probably had plans with that Vienna
woman. On the other hand, the garden did need a lot of work and it would solve a
range of problems if Tom were to sort it out. Besides, thought a small, less
professional part of her, it would mean more opportunities to see Tom with his
shirt off. She nodded and gave Tom an apologetic smile.

He glowered at her.

"Excellent. That's settled then," said Evelyn cheerfully. "You can have one
of the upstairs rooms. Best save the good rooms until the night of the ball. We
might have a few guests staying overnight."

She gasped as though struck by an idea. "Come to think of it, Stevie, why
don't you stay here too? It's silly to have you bussing to and fro when there are
perfectly good rooms you can use here. You can have the old flower room? It's
pretty self-contained, so you'll have lots of privacy."

Stevie felt at a loss for words. It was knackering, catching the bus in every
day. Staying over in such a beautiful place would be beyond wonderful. But it
seemed a little above her professional role to be accepted as a houseguest. "Oh, I
couldn't possibly accept--"

Evelyn waved her objections away. "Don't be silly. It would be a pleasure.
Besides, we'll be paying for all those bus rides, so we may as well save the money.
And it'll be so much easier for you to get things done when you can get hold of any
of us whenever you want to."

The small part of her that was wired to her libido pointed out that would
mean seeing Tom every day. What a fantastic accompaniment to one's morning
Weetabix. She told herself to stop it.

There was a lot of truth in what Evelyn had said. It would make sense for
her to stay. Evelyn was clearly waiting for a response. "If you're sure. That would be
lovely. Thank you."

"That's settled then," said Evelyn. "Tom can give you a lift back to London
tonight and bring you back here tomorrow."

Stevie glanced at Tom, and saw him draw a rebellious breath.

"Actually," he said, "I've got plans in Oxford for tonight. I'm meeting
Vienna for a drink at the Randolph."

There was a small silence. Stevie's mind filled in the implication that he'd
either be leaving Oxford very late, or staying over in Vienna's hotel room.

"I'm fine on the bus," said Stevie. "Honestly."

* * * *

From: Louise Edwards

To: Stevie Winfield

How are you getting
on with the Blackwood do? Everything under
control?

##

From: Stevie Winfield

To: Louise Edwards

Fine.
Thanks.

* * * *

Stevie didn't recognise the number on her phone, but she answered it
anyway.

"Is that Stevie Winfield?" a woman said.

"Yes. Who am I speaking to?"

"My name's Sharon of MST publicity. I'm phoning regarding a message
you sent to Pete Gosling, about a charity ball."

Her heart picked up speed. If she could get some sort of celebrity
endorsement, even if it was just Pete, without the rest of the band, she could shift
some of those tickets that were cluttering up Evelyn's desk. "Yes. How can I
help?"

"I was after more information, really. How high profile is this
event?"

"The charity itself is international, but the profile of the event is fairly
select. It caters for the tasteful end of the charity ball circuit. The venue is a
beautiful stately home in the outskirts of Oxford and the ball will be attended by a
high brow mix of Oxford literati." Stevie rattled off the statement that she'd been
preparing for just this eventuality. She hoped it sounded competent and not to
forced. She also hoped that Evelyn would forgive her for calling the house a stately
home, although it certainly would have fit in with the National Trust.

"Okay." The woman sounded like she was writing it all down.

"We thought that Pete might find such an event would fit in well with his
new image of being a lyrical poet and an altogether more grown up celebrity figure.
I know he turned down a stint in
I'm a Celebrity
because he wasn't that
desperate, so this might be just the sort of thing he wants his name associated with
it."

"Right." Another pause. "And what sort of press coverage are you likely to
get?"

"Well, we're in discussions with a number of publications at the
moment," Stevie crossed her fingers and hoped she wouldn't be struck down by
lightning for lying.

"So you have no actual press coverage arranged at the moment?" The
note of disdain in her voice was unmissable. Stevie sensed the opportunity slipping
away.

"Actually," she said quickly. "We do have at least one press person
coming." She took a deep breath. "
Cause Celeb
."

"Ah." The quickening of interest was palpable. "Is that a reporter only? Or
a photographer as well?"