Good at Games (25 page)

Glancing through the glass into the recording area itself, Lucille saw a stool and a mike stand with a set of headphones dangling from it.

“Is that where you sing, in there?”

“Only when there's someone else to press the buttons out here.” Jaz flashed her a broad grin. “How about it, then. Ready to give it a go?”

In a daze, Lucille said, “OK,” and he led her through to the sound booth. The next thing she knew, Jaz was moving the stool out of the way—“you'll sound better if you stand”—placing the headphones over her ears and carefully angling the mike in front of her mouth.

He retrieved a sheet of hastily scrawled lyrics from his pocket and handed them to her.

“I can't believe you did all this for me,” Lucille whispered to herself when Jaz had left the room and was sitting back at the mixing desk.

Immediately, through the headphones, she heard him say with some amusement, “Me neither.”

Eek, who thought black girls couldn't blush?

“OK, deep breath now,” instructed Jaz, fingers poised above the console. “Are you ready?”

The mixture of excitement and nerves was too much for Lucille. “No. Stop.”

Shaking her head, she pulled an apologetic face at him through the glass. The beads in her hair rattled as she tried to disentangle herself from the headphones.

“What's the problem?” Jaz was looking alarmed.

Damn
, thought Lucille, mortified because things like this never happened in the movies.

“I'm really sorry,” she told him, “but first I have to pee.”

An hour later, listening enraptured to the latest recording of her own voice superimposed on a computer-generated orchestral arrangement, Lucille murmured, “I feel as if I'm dreaming.”

“So do I,” said Celeste, from the doorway.

Until that moment Lucille hadn't even realized her right knee, tucked up on the seat of the chair, had been resting against Jaz's left forearm. As they sat hunched together side by side over the console, oblivious to everything but the music, she had been absently tapping a plastic Evian bottle on her denim-clad thigh. Now, as Lucille spun around in shock, the Evian flew out of her hand, drenching the front of Jaz's black T-shirt.

“Jesus!” gasped Jaz, because swimming in a heated pool was one thing, but the Evian was straight from the fridge.

“Sorry,” Lucille squeaked.

“I think she thought you needed cooling down,” observed Celeste. Transferring her attention from Jaz to Lucille she said, “So what's going on? Have you been pestering him to give you the guided tour of his studio? Is that why he came down here the other night?”

Feeling guilty and not even knowing why, Lucille shook her head. “No, nothing like that. I
wouldn't
pester anyone—”

“She didn't,” Jaz cut in. “I've written a song. I wanted to hear Lucille singing it.”

“You're mad.” Celeste sounded resigned rather than jealous. “You'll start drinking again.”

“I'm not going to,” said Jaz. “Here, come listen to what we've done so far.” He patted his knee. “For the first time in almost four years, I've actually achieved something. This is
better
than drinking.”

Celeste stayed where she was in the doorway.

“I must go,” said Lucille.

“No, you mustn't.” Jaz stretched out a hand to keep her there.

“I'm not being polite. I mean I really do need to go.” Lucille, who had lost all track of time, showed him her watch. “See? Seven thirty. And I have to pick Baxter up from the restaurant at eight.”

“But we're on a roll.” Jaz was still buzzing with ideas. “We
can't
stop now.”

“There speaks the alcoholic,” Celeste murmured. “That's Jaz's trouble. Once he starts he never
can
stop.”

Lucille didn't want to stop either, but what could she do? “Baxter needs his run.”

“I don't want to lose this.” Jaz knew from experience that when inspiration struck, you needed to stick with it for as long as it took. Or, at the very least, until you finished your second bottle of Jack Daniel's and passed out on the floor unconscious. But since that wasn't likely to happen with Evian, he said, “We'll get someone else to take Baxter out.”

Oh great, Leo was going to just love this.

“Like who?” said Lucille.

“Celeste could do it.”

“Celeste jolly well couldn't,” Celeste retaliated at once. “You must be joking! I've been shopping all afternoon, my feet are killing me, and anyway, why should I?”

“Hundreds of pairs of shoes this girl's got”—Jaz turned to Lucille—“and she's yet to find a pair that don't hurt her feet.”

“It doesn't matter.” Lucille didn't fancy being responsible for a full-scale argument. “I'll be off.”

“What about Suzy?” Jaz said suddenly. “She might not mind.”

“She could certainly do with the exercise,” said Celeste. “A five-mile run would do her the world of good.”

Lucille looked worried. “What about Harry? He's not going to be thrilled.”

“I'm not asking him to do it,” said Jaz.

* * *

Suzy and Harry were eating crumpets, playing Boggle, and arguing over which video to watch later when the phone rang.

Clutching the receiver to her ear, Suzy realized she'd never been so delighted to hear from Jaz in her life.

Relief flooded her bloodstream, like biting into a longed for champagne truffle.

“Love to, no problem, I'm your man.” Vigorously, she nodded into the phone. “No, no, of
course
I don't mind, I'd be glad to help out, really I would… No, don't mention it. Tell Lucille not to worry… Oh yes, he's fine about it too! Eight o'clock, no problem. OK, byeee!”

Yes, yesss, hooray!

“Who was that?” Harry looked suspicious. “And what am I fine about too?”

“Jaz. He and Lucille are busy working on something in the studio—isn't that
great
?” Suzy beamed at him as she backed toward the bedroom. “So he wondered if I'd do Lucille a huge favor and take Baxter out for his run tonight. You know these artistic types; once they get started they can't bear to break the momentum—”

“Oh, come on, I don't believe I'm hearing this.” Harry's forehead creased in protest. “That's not
fair
. You only just got home, and now you're going out again, leaving me here all on my
own
?”

“Think of Baxter,” said Suzy. “How can I let him down?”

“He's not even your dog!”

“Maybe not, but Lucille's my sister. Anyway, it solves one problem, doesn't it?” Reaching for the videos in their rental shop cases, Suzy waggled them at him. “You wanted to watch James Bond; I wanted to see
Notting Hill
. Now we don't have to fight anymore,” she went on brightly. “You can watch yours in peace!”

“I wanted us to spend some time together.” Harry wasn't to be consoled. “Proper time together. How can we do that if you're never here?”

“I am here. I'm just popping out to do Lucille a favor.”

“But I've been stuck here on my own all day!”

* * *

In the bedroom, Suzy picked up the extension and dialed Jaz's number.

“Celeste? Hi, it's me. Look, could I have a quick word with Maeve?”

“She's gone out. It's her night off.”

“Oh, is it? Damn. I was going to ask her to pop around and keep Harry company for a couple of hours.”

OK, so he'd gotten a bit fed up with Maeve earlier, but she was better than nothing, surely.

“Maeve and the rest of her darts team have gone to see the Chippendales taking their clothes off at the Hippodrome,” Celeste informed her. “Poor Chippendales, that's all I can say.”

“Crikey. I thought she'd been banned from seeing their show after the last little accident with that blond one's jockstrap.”

“The whole darts team was banned. That's why they've gone in disguise. Anyway”—Celeste yawned audibly—“she isn't here.”

Celeste sounded fed up. Lucille and Jaz were closeted together in the recording studio downstairs. Wondering if she was inflicting a fate worse than death on Harry, but plowing on anyway, Suzy said, “I don't suppose you'd come over for a bit?”

“What? Why should I? What's in it for me?”

“Ummm, gosh, I don't know.” Suzy was already casting around in her mind for a suitable bribe. Celeste never did anything out of the goodness of her heart—probably because she didn't keep any
in
her heart.

“I like that scarf you bought the other week,” Celeste suggested helpfully. “The silk Georgina von Etzdorf one with the pink and mauve tassels.”

Not the three-year-old navy polyester one from Woolworths, sadly. Suzy had paid a fortune for her beloved von Etzdorf.

Honestly, if this was the going rate for babysitting, she was in the wrong business.

In my day
, thought Suzy,
it was a tenner for the evening and a handful of chocolate cookies.

* * *

Celeste arrived ten minutes later, as Suzy was preparing to leave. Grabbing Suzy's left hand, she held it up against hers.

“Just comparing diamonds,” Celeste bragged. “Ooh, look at that, almost as big as mine!”

Suzy resisted the urge to clank her on the nose with it.

“Now let's compare brains,” she told Celeste. “Oh dear, what a shame, not
nearly
as big as mine!”

“Sorry, did you say brains, or backsides?” Celeste said chirpily as they reached the sitting room.

Death by strangulation with a Georgina von Etzdorf tasseled scarf. OK, so it was still technically murder, but an elegant lady judge with exquisite taste would be lenient, Suzy was almost sure.

“I'll be back by ten,” she told Harry.

Harry, stretched out on the sofa with the game of Boggle lying abandoned on the coffee table beside him, grinned up at Celeste.

“Are you my babysitter?”

“Tuh!” Celeste sniffed dismissively. “Only because I'm bored.”

* * *

Feeling very MI5, Suzy spied on Leo from the dark sanctuary of her car.

She had pulled up on yellow lines across the road from the Alpha Bar. The frontage was all glass, floor-to-ceiling windows, hiding nothing and giving the bar area the appearance of a stage.

To begin with, Suzy had simply sat and admired the glamorous look of the place, all lit up and buzzing with life like the most marvelous party. Then, spotting Leo, her heart had broken into a bit of a canter.

Well, why not? He was wearing his dark blue suit and looking his absolute best as he moved among the guests, doing what he clearly did best, which was meeting and greeting the clientele and persuading them that in coming to the Alpha Bar tonight they had made indisputably the right choice.

It was brilliant, being able to watch him without being watched in return. Heavens, he had a stunning profile…not to mention a pretty darn luscious body, Suzy couldn't help noticing as he made his way through the crowd. She tapped her fingers against the steering wheel and hummed along with the music in an attempt to distract her attention…

“Kisses for me. Save all your kisses for me,” Brotherhood of Man sang jauntily, on her treasured Eurovision compilation tape.

Except he
isn't, Suzy thought crossly.
He's doling them out to all and sundry, and he probably doesn't even
know
these girls.

Still, they weren't the kind of kisses that actually meant anything; just an introductory peck on the cheek type of thing. And it wasn't as if Leo had a lot of choice in the matter, Suzy was forced to acknowledge; these shameless females were lining up, practically
hurling
their cheeks in the direction of his mouth, jostling for his attention like groupies…

Which, of course, only made him appear
more
attractive.

It occurred to Suzy that—in comparison—she was going to look a bit of a ninny. She hadn't realized that the Alpha Bar was going to be quite this smart.

Oh well, can't be helped.
With a careless shrug, she switched off the tape just as “Making Your Mind Up” (her absolute favorite Buck's Fizz track) was about to start.
Besides, I'd look even more of a twit jogging across the Downs with Baxter in a Prada skirt and six-inch heels.

Me in the high heels, that is, not Baxter.

Baxter wouldn't wear high heels, because he was a boy.

As she crossed the road, Suzy kept her gaze fixed on Leo and had a silent bet with herself that he'd be great at Boggle.

If she'd still been crazy about Harry, this evening's experience would have come as a crushing blow. Five games played, and the longest word Harry had been able to muster had been
plate
. Suzy's heart had sunk. They simply weren't Boggle compatible. And, like size, it mattered. Oh yes, it mattered a lot. Let's face it, if a man couldn't give you a run for your money in the Boggle department, how could you even
hope
to build a life together?

It simply wasn't possible.

No Boggle, no future. That was all there was to it.

In fact, from now on maybe she should carry a travel-size version around with her at all times—then whenever she met a new man, she could produce it with a flourish and challenge him to a quick game. That way, she could weed out no-hopers on the spot.

Tap-tap.
Suzy's knuckles rapped against the plate-glass window, startling half a dozen unamused-looking women and attracting Leo's attention.

Suzy gestured to her legs, then pointed to the door. Grasping the situation in an instant, Leo nodded.

Oh no, he wouldn't have to struggle with Boggle
, thought Suzy.
He'd definitely have the knack.

At the door, Leo greeted her with a broad smile.

“I say, terrific disguise. I almost didn't recognize you with your Nikes on.”

If the truth be known, Suzy's Nike sneakers had had trouble recognizing Suzy when she'd unearthed them from the back of the closet. Having been cajoled by Fee into taking part in a charity half marathon last year, she had rushed out and bought the sneakers, plus the rest of the outfit, in a fit of…well, idiocy, to be honest. Three days of halfhearted training had been more than enough to bring Suzy to her senses and persuade her that running really wasn't her thing. Writing out a huge check in lieu of participation, she had spent the afternoon of the race cheering Fee across the finish line instead.

With a sigh of relief, Suzy had flung the sneakers into her closet, where they had resided peacefully ever since.

No wonder they'd blinked and looked a bit dazed this evening when they'd found themselves being abruptly hauled back out.

Running?
Us?

“Lucille's busy, so I said I'd take Baxter out for his run.”

Why did Leo seem to find this so extraordinarily amusing?

“I see.” His mouth twitched at the corners as he glanced over Suzy's shoulder at the Rolls, riskily parked on double yellows. “You do know, don't you, that driving slowly with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on Baxter's leash through the window doesn't actually count?”

Suzy blinked. This hadn't occurred to her, but it certainly sounded like an excellent idea.

“Don't worry, you can trust me. This may astonish you, but I do know how to jog.”

I just prefer not to make a habit of it, thanks very much. Once every twenty or thirty years, that's plenty for me.

“Did you have to borrow this stuff from Lucille?” Leo was busy admiring the lime-green and silver striped tracksuit top and matching Lycra cycling shorts.

“No, it's all mine.” Suzy knew she looked great; modesty aside, she'd never had any complaints about her legs. “What can I tell you,” she added with a mischievous smile, “I'm full of surprises.”

Leo raised an eyebrow. For a moment she thought he was about to pass some acerbic remark. But it didn't happen; he'd clearly thought better of it. She was, after all, dog walker du jour. Leo couldn't afford to offend her and risk having her flounce off in a huff. Baxter wouldn't be too thrilled if he missed out on his run.

Picking up a phone on the reception desk, Leo asked someone to open the office door upstairs. Seconds later Baxter came bounding down the staircase toward them with his leash in his mouth and the sturdy metal chain clattering against the polished floor.

He looked and sounded like a desperate-to-escape prisoner hampered by leg irons. His tail, whipping around like a helicopter blade, whipped faster still when he spotted Suzy. With a whimper of joy he dropped the leash—a bit dribbly with saliva—on her feet.

“He likes you,” said Leo.

Honestly, no need to sound
quite
so surprised.

“He's got taste.” Suzy crouched down and greeted Baxter with equal enthusiasm—but much less saliva.

“Lucille takes him for a three-mile run in the evenings,” Leo announced.

“Really? I thought I'd take him for a kebab.” Suzy beamed up at him. “Just for a change.”

“How's Harry?”

Useless at Boggle.
“Fine.”

“So you'll be back around nine thirty?”

“Unless I get carried away,” said Suzy. “You never know, I might start running and not be able to stop.”

“I'd better phone John O'Groats and warn them,” Leo replied gravely. “Just in case.”

* * *

It took no time at all for Suzy to remember the number one reason she'd given up jogging. Thankfully, the Downs were both dark and deserted, so there was no one around to see how completely idiotic she looked.

Polystyrene, Suzy decided as she jogged along Ladies Mile with Baxter bouncing joyfully at her heels. If you wanted to transport something fragile, you packed it up in polystyrene to stop it getting jiggled about and damaged en route.

What some genius needed to do was invent a polystyrene bra, or a breast shield or something, which would encase and totally immobilize the bosoms of women who would love to run but just couldn't stand the pain.

But seeing as it hadn't been invented yet, Suzy was forced to jog with her hands crossed in front of her chest to provide the polystyrene-bra effect.

She was getting some funny looks from Baxter, but that was OK—he wouldn't tell Leo.

“So, Baxter, what d'you think of Gabriella?” Suzy panted. This was the great thing about dogs; they couldn't blab. “She can't really be that nice, can she? There must be something about her I can hate.”

In reply, Baxter found a stick lying in the long grass. Picking it up, keen for Suzy to throw it for him, he jostled her legs and managed to scrape the sharp end painfully across the back of her knee.

“Ouch!” yelped Suzy, taking the stick and hurling it as far as she could. “You see, I've gotten myself into a bit of a mess here. I've stopped liking Harry, for a start.”

In the pitch-blackness, Baxter was having trouble finding his stick. She could hear him snuffling around in search of it, crashing through the undergrowth. Every now and again she glimpsed a swish of his tail.

Talking her problem through with Baxter didn't seem weird at all, Suzy discovered. It actually felt quite soothing, quite therapeutic.

Keeping to the road, raising her voice so he could hear her, she went on loudly, “The thing is, Leo's the one I really like. I didn't mean it to happen, but it has. And the way I feel about him is completely different from the way I used to feel about Harry. In fact, I've never felt like this about
anyone
before.”

Panting with exultation, Baxter raced through the grass toward her. With the stick dangling rakishly from one side of his mouth, he looked like Groucho Marx chomping on a cigar.

Suzy retrieved it and flung it once more into the ink-dark sky.

“Actually, it's quite scary,” she yelled after him. “He thinks I'm dreadful. A disgrace. Certainly not good enough to marry his precious brother. And I don't even
want
to marry Harry. Oh God, Baxter, what am I going to do?” Suzy's voice rose to a wail. “How can I stop feeling this way about Leo Fitzallan? I keep fantasizing about him, you know. All the time! I wonder what he looks like with all his clothes off. What if I'm falling in love with him, for heaven's sake? How can I stop myself falling in love with someone who doesn't love me back?”

“Screw him!” yelled a male voice from the depths of the bushes, and Suzy felt her heart leap into her throat. Whinnying with terror, stumbling backward in shock, for a deranged moment she wondered if Baxter was able to speak after all.

Then again, maybe not. The next second, as if he'd been fired from a cannon, a startled Baxter shot out from the bushes and all but threw himself into Suzy's arms.

Oh marvelous. Well done, Baxter.
Such
a brave dog.

At the same time, gales of raucous laughter were shaking the bushes from which Baxter had exploded. A second male voice shouted out, “Yeah, give the guy a road test. He might be useless!”

A very flamboyant male voice, Suzy registered.

“One quick go, could be all you need to get him out of your system,” rejoined the first voice. Also decidedly flamboyant.

“He might have a dick the size of a peanut.”

“Might be a speed merchant,” the second chimed in. “All over before you've even started. God, I
hate
it when that happens.”

“Might be gay. What did you say his name was, Leo Fitzsomething? Hmmm, can't say it rings any bells, but if you like, I could ask around.”

More cackles of laughter from the depths of the bushes. The gay couple clearly found this hugely amusing.

At least the darkness was all-encompassing. Suzy, glad they couldn't see how furiously she was blushing, was gladder still that they couldn't see her face.

OK, so she'd been
heard
saying something hugely embarrassing, but at least they couldn't identify her. She was anonymous.

Relax, thought Suzy, the flat of her hand pressed hard against her breastbone as she tried to persuade her frantically thudding heart to slow down. Good grief, how could jogging possibly be healthy when it led to stuff like this happening to you?

A car, looming up behind her, caught her in its headlights. Instinctively, she raised one arm, shielding her face from the hecklers in the hedge.

Next—and rather cleverly, Suzy felt—she announced in a clear voice, “Come on, Buster. Time we were off.”

“
Aha!
” the first voice crowed in triumph. “Hear that? She's scared we'll recognize her—a minute ago she was calling the dog Baxter!”

“Kill,” Suzy muttered under her breath. “Kill him, Baxter. Go on,
please
.”

But Baxter was far too busy whimpering and pressing his big hairy body against her legs to be any kind of a hero. Nudging the bunch of keys in Suzy's hand, all he wanted to do was get back to the sanctuary of the car.