Rumor Has It (36 page)

    'Because I felt sorry for the woman!'

    'And could you afford forty pounds?'

    'Not really.'

    'Exactly. So my bid was to get you off the hook.' Jack shook his head. 'You weren't supposed to keep going.'

    'Oh.' Realization dawned. 'Bum. I thought you just wanted to beat me.'

    'I did. But in a good way, because Max happened to mention on the phone that you're broke. I was trying to help you out.'

    'Right. Sorry.' And she'd ended up costing him two hundred pounds.

    'I can't believe you kept going up,' said Jack.

    'I didn't want you to win.'

    'Well, you owe me.' He tapped the back of her hand. 'In fact, you can do me a favor.'

    The possibilities were endless. Tilly eyed him warily. 'What kind of favor?'

    'Go out to lunch with the author.'

    'That's really kind of you. But I couldn't possibly.'

    'Why not?'

    'I don't want to! She wrote a book about English churchyards! I'd die of boredom.'

    'But I don't want to have lunch with her either,' said Jack.

    'Too bad. You bid for her and you won.'

    'But—'

    'It's your own fault. You can't back out now. Oh look, she's so thrilled. She's waving at you!'

    'Who's waving at him?' Back from the loo, Kaye prodded Jack out of her seat.

    'Marjorie. Over at the side of the stage.' Tilly nodded and they watched the elderly lady author gesticulating wildly and blowing ecstatic kisses at Jack.

    'You've pulled,' said Kaye.

    'Hmm, looks as if I'm going to get my money's worth.' He winked at them both. 'Better get back to my table before my date gets jealous.'

    Tilly couldn't help herself. 'And when you do go out to lunch with Mrs Churchyard, try not to get her pregnant.'

    'I'll do my best,' said Jack.

    The next lot was sold, then it was Kaye's turn. Dorothy gave her the most tremendous build-up, then invited her on to the stage and led the applause. A couple of tables away from Tilly, Mitchell Masters stuck his sausagey fingers into his mouth and gave an ear splitting wolf-whistle. This was promising. From the stage, Kaye shot him a grateful smile.

    Behind Tilly, a woman grumbled, 'Kaye who? I've never heard of her.' Which made Tilly itch to throw a coffee spoon at her head, but she controlled herself and just applauded extra loudly instead.

    Again Kaye hid her nervousness as the auctioneer launched into his spiel. Thankfully, there was no tumbleweed moment this time before bidding got started. Mitchell Masters kicked off pro ceedings, a couple of other people joined in, then at three hundred pounds Tilly heard Jack make his bid from the back of the room.

    'Four hundred!' cried Mitchell.

    Tilly relaxed. There, Kaye could stop worrying now. Four hundred pounds was a perfectly respectable amount; she wasn't going to be publicly humiliated and laughed off the stage.

    'Five? Do we have five hundred?
Yes
,' cried the auctioneer, pointing to the back of the room. 'Thank you, sir. We have five hundred pounds.'

    Blimey, Jack was giving it some, clearly intent on boosting Mitchell's bid.

    'Six,' bellowed Mitchell.

    'Seven at the back,' confirmed the auctioneer as people began to whoop with delight.

    'And she's worth every penny,' Dorothy chimed in.

    'Eight.' Mitchell paused then shook his head and yelled, 'No, dammit! Make it a thousand!'

    Tilly exhaled. You had to admire Jack's nerve. He had achieved what he'd set out to do. Now he could relax and—

    'Twelve hundred,' announced the auctioneer, pointing his gavel at Jack.

    'Fifteen hundred,' roared Mitchell.

'Eighteen,' countered the auctioneer.

    Blast it, what was Jack playing at? Up on the stage, Kaye was visibly stunned. Unable to contain herself, Tilly jumped up and peered over the heads of the applauding diners. She located Jack just as Mitchell said loudly, 'Two grand!'

    Jack spotted her looking at him. From the stage, the auction eer was saying, 'Gentleman at the back? Do I have two thousand two hundred?'

    Tilly gazed in disbelief at Jack. Jack shrugged in return, signal ing bafflement. Then she saw an elderly man standing behind him nod and raise a gnarled hand at the auctioneer. The man was in his eighties, clutching a can of beer, wearing a baggy grey cardigan and a pair of slippers. Oh God, no wonder Kaye was looking appalled. Who the hell was he? What if he were some drink-addled homeless guy who'd happened to wander in off the street?

    'Two thousand two hundred!'

    'Two five,' bellowed Mitchell, who clearly hated to be outdone.

    'Three thousand pounds!'

    'Four!'

    'Five thousand!' roared the auctioneer. 'We have five thousand pounds at the back of the room!'

    'Oh, sod it.' Mitchell shook his head, heaved a sigh, and knocked back the contents of his refilled brandy glass. 'I give up. I'm out.'

    And that was it. Ancient cardigan man had won. Everyone in the room cheered and applauded wildly, and Tilly expected the victor to make his way on to the stage to be introduced to Kaye.

    Instead, following a brief exchange with one of the organizers, he slid out through the double doors and disappeared. The organizer came to the front and spoke to Kaye and Dorothy. Moments later, Kaye rejoined Tilly at their table.

    'Oh my God!' Tilly topped up both their glasses. 'Who was he? Was he just mucking around? Where's he
gone
?'

'OK, the woman who owns this hotel? He's her dad.'

    'He's ancient! Oh well, at least you know he won't make a pass at you.' Tilly had a horrible thought. 'At least you hope he won't.'

    'He's not the one I'll be going out with. He was just bidding on behalf of someone else.'

    'Seriously? Who?'

    Kaye was still trembling and hyperventilating from the ordeal. 'Someone who couldn't be here tonight.'

    'No!' Tilly was stunned. 'Max bid five thousand pounds?'

    'Someone who couldn't be here tonight because he lives in New York. His name's Price,' said Kaye. 'Parker Price.'

    Hang on. That name rang a distant bell. Price… Price…

    'Oh my God!' Tilly jerked upright and slopped wine down her front. 'The stalker!'

    Numbly, Kaye nodded. 'I know.'

    'Who is he?' Jack had reappeared with his guest in tow. It was Monica, her sparkly turquoise eye shadow exactly matching her Mae West-style Spandex dress.

    'The chap who's been sending her stuff.' Tilly shook her head at Kaye. 'Well, he can't expect you to fly over to New York to have dinner with him. That's just stupid.'

    'He doesn't. He'll come over here. We just have to fix a date.'

    'But… but he's your stalker! He could be deranged! No, no.' Vigorously, Tilly shook her head. 'You can't meet him.'

    'I have to. He's paid all that money. I still can't believe he found out about this thing here tonight… it's just so bizarre…'

    'It was advertised on the Internet, wasn't it?' Ever-practical Monica in her throaty, sexy voice said, 'He'll have had your name on Google Alert, love. They can track your every move.'

    Jack frowned. 'Did you write and thank him for that painting he sent you?'

    'Of course I did. I was really polite and grateful. But I swear I didn't encourage him.' Kaye twisted her fingers in agitation. 'I never imagined for a second that he'd go and do something like this.'

    'Don't take this the wrong way, love. But you want to be careful,' said Monica. 'He's paying five grand to go out with you. If you ask me, that means he's got to be some kind of maniac.'

IT WAS NOW ELEVEN fifteen and Lou couldn't sleep. Everyone had been sent up to their rooms at ten thirty, but the adults had stayed downstairs in the bar. Making up her mind, she crept out of bed so as not to wake Nesh, quickly pulled on a T-shirt and jeans and quietly let herself out of the room.

    The bar downstairs was still busy, but she couldn't see Max any where. Or Mr Lewis. Only Miss Endell and Mrs Trent were still there, sitting at a small table being chatted up by a couple of middle aged Frenchmen. Which was totally gross for a start. Miss Endell looked as if she was enjoying herself while Mrs Trent was clutching her orange juice tightly to her chest. Wondering if her father and Mr Lewis might have gone out to another bar, Lou hovered in the doorway for a few seconds then made her way over to the table.

    '…Gosh no, they're not our husbands, heaven forbid!' Sophie Trent's mother sounded scandalized at the very idea. 'We're just here on a school trip. I'm a parent helper! The one with the glasses is
gay
!'

    'And I'm not married to the other one. Yet.' Giggling and clearly having sunk a fair few glasses of wine, Miss Endell winked— yeurch, actually
winked—at the Frenchmen. 'But I'm working o
n it! He's got a girlfriend at the moment, but I reckon I can see her off, no problem!'

    Which was hilarious and
so
not going to happen, seeing as Mr Lewis's girlfriend Claudine was way prettier than Miss Endell.

    'Ahem.' Spotting Lou, Mrs Trent coughed and said loudly, 'Hello, Louisa, you should be upstairs asleep.'

    Lou kept a straight face. Ha, how embarrassing for Miss Endell was this?

    'Sorry, I wanted to talk to my dad. I thought he'd be in here with you.'

    Miss Endell fumbled to do up the button that had mysteriously come unfastened on her shirt.

    'He went upstairs… ooh, about twenty minutes ago. With Mr Lewis,' said Mrs Trent. 'They were both tired. I expect your father's fast asleep by now. As should you be, my girl.'

    As should you be. Seriously, only Mrs Trent could come out with a sentence like that. And she was wagging a finger at her as if she was six.

    'OK, I'll go up.' Lou thanked her lucky stars she wasn't Mrs Trent's daughter.

    'Straight to bed now.' Wine might be spilling out of Miss Endell's tilted glass, but she was enunciating with care. 'Straight to sleep. See you in the morning.'

    'Yes, miss.' Except I won't have a stonking hangover, Lou thought gleefully, and you will.

    Anyway, of course her dad wouldn't be asleep. It was only half past eleven and he never went to bed before midnight. Heading back upstairs, Lou reached the third floor and made her way along the silent, thickly carpeted corridor. She counted the doors on the left. Room 303, that was Mr Lewis's. Next was 305, Miss Endell's. Then 307, lucky enough to be occupied by Mrs Trent. Finally she came to 309, her dad's room.

    Lou knocked on the door. She had to see him.

    No reply. Surely he hadn't fallen asleep so early? She tried knock ing again. 'Dad? It's me.'

    Finally, the door opened. Max said, 'Hi, sweetie, what's up? Everything all right?'

    'Fine, thanks.' Lou followed him into the bedroom. Her dad finished brushing his teeth in the bathroom then came back through. He'd been reading in bed. She picked up the battered paperback and said, 'This any good?'

    'A damn sight better than sitting downstairs in the bar with Fenella and Josie.' He shuddered as he climbed back under the covers. 'I had to get out of there.'

    'I know, I just saw them. Miss Endell's getting trolleyed and chatting up Frenchmen. But that's not why I'm here.' Lou bounced onto the bed on her knees.

    'Ouch! Don't tell me, you're here to shatter all the bones in my foot.'

    'Wimp. Eddie caught up with me on the stairs as we were coming up to bed.'

    Max eyed her carefully. 'And?'

    'He gave me a little shove in the back. Just like old times. So I swung round to give him an earful and push him down the stairs, but he dodged out of the way.'

    'That little shit,' seethed Max.

    'Hang on, and then he said, "Hey, give me a break, I was only going to say something." So I said, "What, twerp-head?" And he looked at me as if he was really offended, and said, "I just wanted to tell you that I've been talking to your old man. Quite a lot, actually. You know what? Your dad's pretty cool."'

    Max adjusted his spectacles. 'He said that?'

    'He really did.' Breaking into a grin, Lou lunged forward and gave him a hug. 'Honestly, you have no idea. It's like P Diddy saying he loves… God, I don't know, Dot Cotton!'

    'Oh great. So now you're comparing me with a chain-smoking, raddled old bat.'

    'You know what I mean. I couldn't believe I was hearing it. He said you were a good laugh too.'

'Damn cheek. I
am
a good laugh.'

'Anyway, he likes you.'

'That's because I'm very likeable,' said Max.

    'Hmm. The funny thing is, he seems to think you're best friends with all sorts of famous people.'

    'Cal Cavanagh. Jamie and Tandy.' Her father shrugged modestly.

    Lou raised an eyebrow. 'Not to mention Johnny Depp.'

    He tweaked a strand of her hair. 'Probably best not to mention Johnny Depp then.'

    'Dad! You
lied
. That's naughty!'

    'Hey, so what?' Flashing his unrepentant smile, Max said, 'How's he ever going to find out? If the kid's shallow enough to be impressed by something like that, I'm shallow enough to say it.'

The coach rumbled back up the driveway of Harleston Hall at ten o'clock on Sunday night. Forty exhausted but happy children piled off to be met by their parents. In the darkness, everyone milled around waiting for their cases to be unloaded. Max, helping to lift them out of the luggage compartments, found his own and passed it to Lou.