Rumor Has It (35 page)

    Eddie said defensively, 'It's brilliant.'

    'The sequel's even better,' said Max.

    'Well,
really
,' Fenella huffed.

    'They're fourteen years old,' Max told her. 'Kids these days watch this stuff.'

    'My Sophie doesn't! I don't let her! We only watch educational programs on TV.'

    Which could go some way towards explaining why prim, cosseted little Sophie always seemed to be hovering miserably on the sidelines watching the rest of the children having fun. Heroically, Max didn't say this aloud. Instead, turning back to Eddie and Baz, he said, 'How about Bruce Lee? Ever seen any of his films?'

    'Yeah! Bruce Lee, brilliant!' Eddie struck a pose and began to yowl like a cat.

    'I've got all of them on DVD. In fact,
Enter the Dragon
may have to go into my all-time top three.'

    'Three's not going to be enough.' Tom shook his head. 'We haven't even started on James Bond yet.'

    'James Bond's all right.' Max intercepted Eddie's grimace. 'But I prefer
Shrek
.'

    '
Shrek is
cool.' Vigorously nodding in agreement, Eddie said, 'Uh, sir? You know you know footballers? Well, do you know any, like, famous film stars as well?'

    Max glanced across the table at Tom. There it was again, that complicit flicker of connection. He thought for a moment then shrugged. 'I suppose maybe one or two.'

'OOOH, I NEED A wee, I'm
scared
.' Kaye was bleating with fear as they pulled up in the taxi outside the hotel.

    Tilly didn't blame her. If she was the one being auctioned off for charity she'd be petrified. But, since this was what friends were for, she said consolingly, 'It'll be great, everyone'll be bidding for you. Dorothy won't let them
not
bid.'

    'Yeah, right.' Kaye remained unconvinced. 'It's going to be embarrassing. God, why couldn't I be Beyoncé or Helen Mirren or someone men drool over?'

    'Hey, relax. We're just going to have fun.' Bundling her out of the cab, Tilly said, 'And it's all in a good cause, isn't it? Even if you only raise fifty quid for the charity, that's still fifty quid more than they'd have had without you.'

    Kaye let out a wail of anguish. 'Fifty quid!'

    'OK, that was just an example. You'll get loads more than that, you know you will.'

    'But that's the thing, I
don't
know. Oh God, at this rate I'm going to be bidding for myself.'

    Inside the hotel, the buzzy atmosphere embraced them. Vaguely familiar faces from the ball were dotted around. Tilly spotted Dorothy and Harold, and carted Kaye over to them. Having greeted her effusively, they then dragged Kaye off—looking like a baby seal about to be clubbed to death—to meet and greet potential bidders.

    Poor Kaye.

'She'll be all right,' said a voice behind her.

    Tilly's heart did a dolphin leap in her chest. Turning, she stopped feeling sorry for Kaye and felt sorry for herself instead. She'd known Jack would be here tonight, had been bracing herself for the moment when she'd see him again, and he'd still managed to catch her off guard.

    Jack was in the business of breaking hearts. He was damaged, scarred by grief, and incapable of giving himself fully to anyone. Irresistible he might be, but she'd made her decision. She was going to resist him because it was the only way. The irony of the situation didn't escape her; never having been able to bring herself to reject anyone once she'd gone off them, she had been forced to reject Jack, who'd meant more to her than any man before.

    Still, that was self-preservation for you. It might hurt like hell, but it was undoubtedly the right thing to do. Jack Lucas wasn't someone you could trust, he was anti-commitment, he was trouble in every way you could think of.

    And if you needed any more evidence of that, well, just look at Amy.

    If he could wear a bell around his neck, that would be a big help too.

    And now he was waiting for her to say something. Damn, what was it they'd been talking about? Oh yes, Kaye.

    'She's terrified,' said Tilly.

    'Watch her.' Moving to her side, Jack nodded over as Dorothy Summerskill began introducing Kaye to a boisterous group of men. 'She'll click into actress mode any second now. Ha, there, see it?'

    And he was right. Kaye had pressed the switch and metaphori cally lit up. To the casual onlooker she was confident, dazzling, completely at ease as she laughed and chatted and effortlessly won over a group of complete strangers.

    'Neat trick,' Tilly marveled. 'And inside, she's jelly.'

'It's called putting on a front.'

    Tilly swallowed. What did he think she was doing right now? She summoned a breezy smile. 'Don't tell me you're here on your own tonight.'

    Jack shook his head. 'My partner's been held up. She'll be along later. See the big guy with the white hair?' He indicated the men clustered around Kaye. 'That's Mitchell Masters. He owns half the nightclubs this side of London. Seriously loaded.'

    Maybe, but he still had a Santa-sized stomach. Without think ing, Tilly said jokily, 'He looks a bit pregnant.'

    
Oops.

    'Don't worry.' Jack sounded amused. 'I'm sure he isn't.'

    He took a swallow of his drink, seemingly unconcerned by her faux pas. Did he think she hadn't heard the news? Oh help, now she'd started she couldn't stop. Tilly blurted out, 'So, what's hap pening with Amy, then?'

    Jack surveyed her steadily. 'Now I hear she
is
pregnant.'

    'And have you talked to her?'

    He shrugged. 'No.'

    'But you could be the father!' Baffled by his not-my-problem at titude, Tilly's voice inadvertently rose. 'She's twelve weeks pregnant! That's when you slept with her. What if she's having your baby?'

    A passing couple turned to look at them. Jack murmured, 'Sure you don't want a megaphone?'

    Oh God, she was turning into a shrew. With an effort Tilly con trolled herself. 'But she could be. Doesn't that even bother you?'

    Jack certainly didn't look bothered. 'I hear she slept with a couple of other guys too. I doubt the baby's mine.'

    How could he
be
like this?

    'You mean you used contraception so you think you're out of the frame? Nothing's one hundred percent effective,' said Tilly. 'Except castration.'

He looked amused. 'Ouch.'

    'It's not
funny
,' she protested. 'What'll you do if it does turn out to be yours? Will you marry Amy?'

    Jack tilted an eyebrow. 'I think we can safely say no to that question.'

    'Will you live with her?'

    He shook his head.

    Did he not realize how upsetting she found his attitude? If she'd been the one in Amy's position, he'd be rejecting
her
now. In des peration, Tilly said, 'Will you even
see
the baby?'

    Jack raised his hands. 'Do you seriously think I'm that much of a bastard? Because I'm really not. OK, I'll make you a promise. If it turns out that I'm the father, I will absolutely see the baby and support it financially. Scout's honor.'

    As if that was all that mattered. Still upset, Tilly said, 'Money isn't everything.'

    Jack grinned. 'If you asked Kaye that question right now, I think you'd find she might disagree.'

The main business of the evening got started after dinner. It was a jolly, unstuffy affair, accompanied by much cajoling, blackmail, and laughter. The first, smaller items up for auction were an eclec tic bunch—dinner for six at an Indian restaurant, a signed football shirt, a hand-knitted sweater featuring the cartoon character of your choice.

    'Come on, Mitchell, show us what you're made of!' Dorothy Summerskill, up on the stage with the auctioneer, was in full flow.

    Mitchell Masters obediently sat back and stuck his hand in the air, bidding two hundred pounds and securing the item in question. When he discovered he'd just acquired a month's membership of a health and fitness club, he let out a shout of dismay and had to knock back a double brandy to get over the terrible shock.

    But meanness clearly wasn't one of his faults. Minutes later, he was off again, bidding generously for salsa lessons.

    'And you could do with them too,' Dorothy heckled from the stage. 'Don't forget, we've all witnessed your so-called dancing skills.'

    'The cheek of it, woman. I'll have you know my hokey-pokey's second to none.'

    'Oh God,' Kaye whispered to Tilly when he won the salsa lessons. 'Can't he stop spending his money now? He won't have any left for me.'

    The next few lots were auctioned. Kaye grew more and more jittery. Tilly had just popped an after-dinner mint into her mouth when Jack appeared at their table.

    'How are you doing?' He rested a hand on Kaye's bare shoulder, causing Tilly's skin to tingle as she envisaged how it felt.

    'I may look calm from the waist up. But under this table I'm digging an escape tunnel.'

    He gave her shoulder a consoling squeeze. 'Max just called from France. He's told me to bid for you if no one else does.'

    Kaye said gloomily, 'Better than nothing, I suppose.'

    'Hey, you'll be fine. I'd have done it anyway. Jesus, what was
that
?'

    The loud CRAACK was Tilly's after-dinner mint breaking in half as she bit down on it. 'Nothing, just my mint. Did your guest turn up?'

    'Oh yes, she's here. Why, were you worried about me?' Amused, Jack said, 'Did you think I might have been stood up?'

    Tilly turned away, kicking herself for having asked. Even more annoyingly, when Jack returned to his own table at the very back of the room, she discovered it was impossible to see who this evening's companion was. Unless she clambered on to a chair and peered over everyone's heads, and he'd be bound to spot her doing that.

    'Oh God, please don't let this happen to me,' squeaked Kaye as, up on the stage, the auctioneer struggled to get a starting bid for lunch with a local author. The poor author, blinking like an owl in her droopy purple dress, was looking petrified.

    'Come along, ladies and gentlemen, this is your chance to meet a real live author in the flesh! Marjorie's written a wonderful book about old English churchyards! She'll even throw in a signed copy! Now then, who'll offer me thirty pounds?'

    Clearly unable to bear another moment of the woman's agony, Kaye yelled out, 'Me!'

    Tilly's mouth was dry. Thirty pounds, that was just too tragic. It looked like a pity bid. If nobody else joined in, the poor woman would feel totally humiliated.

    'We have a bid of thirty pounds.' The auctioneer looked relieved but still not happy. 'Do I hear forty?'

    Oh hell. Tilly stuck her hand in the air. The look of abject relief and gratitude on Marjorie's face was worth it.

'HERE WE GO,' CROWED the auctioneer. 'Well done to the lady at the front in pink. Great start. Now, do I hear fifty?'

    'Yep.' A male voice at the back of the room. Possibly belonging to Jack.

    'Excellent! Sixty?'

    Tilly found herself nodding rapidly. For some reason she couldn't begin to explain, it suddenly seemed vital to win something away from Jack, who made such a point of always getting whatever he wanted.

    'Sixty I have. Seventy?'

    'Yes.' It was definitely Jack; all the little hairs on the back of her arms had gone up in recognition.

    'Eighty?'

    
'Yes!'

    'Ninety?' The auctioneer was on a roll now.

    Pause. Jack drawled, 'Yep.'

    'One
hundred
.' Triumphantly the auctioneer turned his atten tion back to Tilly. 'Do I hear one hundred pounds?'

    Tilly began to hyperventilate; one hundred pounds was actually a lot of money, especially when it was your own. Her heart might be hell bent on beating Jack, but her head was having a complete panic attack. What was she thinking of?

    Nothing that made any sense, that was for sure. Having abso lutely intended to shake her head and concede defeat, she found herself nodding it instead.

    'One hundred pounds,' the auctioneer bellowed in triumph. 'Excellent!'

    Oh, for crying out loud, what had she done? This was ridiculous. She really couldn't afford that much. If Jack didn't make another bid, she was going to have to write out a check that would actually send her overdrawn—

    'Two hundred pounds.' Jack's voice carried all the way from the back of the room, his exasperation plain for all to hear.

    
Oh, thank God for that
. Tilly felt like a landed fish miraculously unhooked and set free. She shook her head at the auctioneer, took a gulp of wine and exhaled with relief. If Jack needed to win that badly, he was welcome to it.

    There were no further bids. With Marjorie by this time practi cally weeping with relief, the auctioneer tapped his gavel and moved on to Lot 15.

    'Oh God, it's me after this.' Pushing back her chair, Kaye said, 'I need another wee.'

    As soon as she'd left, Jack appeared and slid on to the empty chair. 'Thanks a lot.'

    'What?' Indignantly Tilly said, 'You won it, didn't you? You got what you wanted.'

    'I was trying to help you out. Why did you bid?'