Читать книгу The Bedroom Assignment - Sophie Weston - Страница 8

JAY CHRISTOPHER drove into the tree-lined street at half past midnight. The party house was not difficult to identify. Someone had tied balloons all along the iron railings and it blazed with lights.

He inserted the Jaguar into the tightest possible parking place with one smooth movement and switched off the engine. For a moment he sat there in the friendly dark, savouring the solitude. It had been a heavy week in every way.

‘People!’ he said aloud, with fierce self-mockery. ‘Doncha just love them?’

He looked at the balloon-fringed house with reluctance bordering on dislike. But this was work, he reminded himself. He could deal with people when it was work.

He flicked open the slim briefcase on the passenger seat and found the big white envelope he was looking for. Then he flung the briefcase on the floor, out of sight of any potential car breaker. There was no point in bothering with a jacket. The night was too warm and he didn’t think Suze Manoir’s friends would welcome a fellow in a City suit. Anyway, he had already left his tie at Carla’s.

At the thought of Carla his slim dark brows locked together. She had not contributed to the emotional horrors of this week. But he knew that she was not happy. It would have to end soon, Jay thought. It could not go on, not if he was making her unhappy. No matter how bravely she denied it.

He shook his head. It was so easy to know when women were getting in too deep. They stopped asking questions in case they couldn’t deal with the answers.

Take tonight, for example. He had said, without thinking, that he was going to have to drive through a part of London he did not know. That he was going to a party. Carla could so easily have asked, Whose party? Where? Could she come, too…? But she hadn’t. Jay even knew why. In case he wouldn’t take her. In case the party-giver was her successor.

So she had just sat opposite him in the restaurant and smiled and asked intelligent questions about his business and looked forward to seeing him on Sunday. And all the time there had been that terrible fear at the back of her eyes. And her voice had been calm and even. And she hadn’t asked questions.

Yes, he was definitely going to have to end it. She was too nice a woman to do anything else. He could not let her start to hope that there might be any future for them. It would be completely false. He had made that plain when they started. Carla had said she understood that. But women had that habit of forgetting the rules when they fell in love.

Especially when they fell in love with men who did not understand love.

I might not understand love, thought Jay. But I’ve seen the harm it does. Oh, Carla, why can’t you settle for honest sex and friendship?

But he knew she would not. His heart twisted with pity for her. Yet even as he winced at the thought of her distress he could not wait to get away. It suffocated him, all this terrible, exhausting emotion. It made him want to go out on the moors and run and run and run until he couldn’t think, could barely breathe—and still keep on running.

Well, at least there would be no emotion at Suze Manoir’s party. Jay laughed aloud at the thought. He got out of the car, stuffed the envelope under his arm and crossed the street.

It took him time to get into the house. Once in, though, it was relatively easy to find Suze. He tracked her down to a room with rotating disco lights and loud seventies music. She was dancing energetically to Abba, but as soon as he arrived she dropped her partner’s hand and rushed across to him.

‘Jay! You got here.’

‘I even got in,’ he said dryly. ‘Who on earth have you got on the door? Murder Incorporated?’

‘Oh that’s Harry Brown and his friends. He’s Zoe’s brother.’

‘Zoe?’

‘She lives here. It’s half her party.’

‘Well, she certainly gives a great bouncer service,’ he said. ‘The guys out there have a technique that makes your average killer shark look like Miss Hospitality.’

‘She’s very efficient,’ said Suze demurely. ‘In fact—well, never mind. Have you got my contract?’

‘Have you got my research assistant?’ he countered.

‘Maybe.’

She was looking naughty, he thought. Or it could be a trick of the whirling light.

He said, ‘This isn’t a game, Susan. I’ve got a major speech to give at the Communications Conference in Venice next month. And there isn’t a single note or reference to build on.’

‘Come and let me find you a drink,’ Suze said soothingly. ‘And you can tell me how you let it get away from you.’

‘Something soft. I’m driving,’ he said absently. ‘It happened because I delegated, and the wretched girl hasn’t done a thing.’

Suze opened the fridge. ‘Juice or water?’

‘Water, please.’

He wandered round the kitchen. The lighting was better than in the drawing room disco, but it was still clearly a room decked out for a party. There were candles and trailing greenery everywhere, and someone had sprayed ‘Sixteen Again’ on the mirror in gold paint.

‘How old is your friend?’ Jay asked, recoiling.

Suze poured water into a big wine glass for him.

‘Twenty-three. But she says everyone should be sixteen at a party.’

‘Original!’

Suze laughed and gave him the glass.

‘She’s not as daft as she sounds. She has her reasons. Now, let me have a look at that contract.’

He gave her the envelope.

‘It’s a long shot, I know. If you can’t help, then I’ll call the bigger agencies on Monday.’

Suze was running her eyes down the job description. ‘Hmm? You know the other agencies aren’t as creative as I am.’

‘No, but they have more people on their books.’

She looked up. ‘You don’t want more, Jay. You want the right one. And I may just have her for you.’

He was intrigued. ‘May just? That doesn’t sound like you.’

Suze grinned. ‘Well, she’s thinking about it. I need you to help me convince her.’

Jay sighed. ‘And how do I do that?’

‘Do I need to tell the great PR guru?’ mocked Suze. ‘Charm her. Challenge her.’ She added kindly, ‘You can do it!’

There was a pregnant silence. ‘The bigger agencies are so much easier,’ said Jay plaintively.

She laughed aloud. ‘But not nearly so much fun. Now, listen, we’ll need to do a double act…’

Zoe had been going upstairs when she heard the altercation at the front door. She had turned, intending to go and see if she needed to intervene. Harry and his friends could sometimes take their bouncer duties a bit too seriously, she knew.

So she had been halfway down the stairs when she saw him.

He was wearing dark trousers of some sort, and a wonderful shirt in sunset colours. Silk, she was sure. You would not have got that purity of colour in any other material. Zoe could not afford silk, but that did not stop her dreaming over it in the shops. She knew the way the material moved on the body, catching the light in a thousand different ways. As the man had stood there, arguing with Harry and his suspicious mates, she’d been almost dazzled by that sheen, that hint of gold, those little wasp stings of tangerine and apricot and purple among the principal colour.

What sort of man came to a suburban party in flame-coloured silk?

And then she’d looked at his face.

And stopped dead. Her heart had seemed to contract in her breast.

He hadn’t been looking at her. He had not even seen her. If he had, he wouldn’t have known her. But somehow—she knew him. She always had. Though she did not know his name.

She knew the face, though. The proud carriage of the head, like a Mogul Prince. The deep, deep eyes. The sculpted ascetic mouth, with its eloquent self-discipline and its alluring hint of passion suppressed. The energy. The fire. Banked now, certainly, but fire nonetheless. Oh, yes, she knew that face all right.

Zoe had retreated a step, backing round the corner into the shadows. She’d felt cold and very serious, as if she had just come face to face with her future.

Oh, wow! That’s all I need.

It was ridiculous, of course. Nobody believed in love at first sight. It was an adolescent fantasy. A myth.

A myth like the twenty-three-year-old virgin? said a voice in her head ironically.

Well, all right, maybe it wasn’t exactly a myth. Maybe it was pheromones. Maybe it was the party. They had a habit of lowering your inhibitions, parties! It was not important, anyway. It was not a feeling you could rely on.

It still gave you a hell of shock, thought Zoe ruefully. She felt as if she had walked into a wall.

Who on earth was he?

You don’t want to know, said that voice in her head. There was a distinct warning note in it.

And it was right. Of course it was right. If she had to come face to face with the man she’d probably be as tongue-tied as a new teen with a pop idol whose poster she had had on her wall for years. That was about the level of substance to her feelings.

She did not want to have to deal with fantasies she should have outgrown ten years ago, Zoe told herself. She wanted to have a good time. That was what tonight was all about. Forget her money worries! Forget her non-existent career and her life on hold! Dance and have fun!

She would dance and have fun if it killed her, she resolved grimly.

So she had resumed her journey to her bathroom. And before she’d come downstairs again, she’d splashed water on her face so vigorously that she’d had to rebuild her makeup from scratch.

Suze took Jay back to the drawing room. Now that he’d had time to adjust, he saw it ran the depth of the house, from the street to the garden. At the far end the French windows were open to the night air. He moved towards them gratefully, picking up the rhythm of the dance as he went. Beside him Suze gyrated, a lot less rhythmically.

‘She’ll be here somewhere. When last seen she was listening to a man in a checked shirt talk about megabytes.’

Jay bent his head to her. ‘Why?’ he said simply.

‘Zoe takes being a hostess seriously. She does ten minutes per no-hoper.’

Suze was twining herself round him sinuously as they walked. It would have been sexy if she hadn’t been scanning the room all the time and talking nineteen to the dozen. Jay smiled at her with affection. God bless Susan, who didn’t fancy the pants off him and wasn’t going to break her heart over him.

‘You’re a star,’ he said, taking her hand and dancing her powerfully through a little knot of wild arms and bouncing shoulders.

‘Love it when you butter me up,’ said Suze, unmoved by his touch.

They got to the windows.

‘Maybe she’s in the garden,’ said Jay, with a longing look at the tall shadows of trees and laurel hedges.

‘Maybe.’ But Suze was not looking outside. He felt her jump under his hand. ‘Ah, there she is.’ She raised her arm above her head and waved vigorously. ‘Zo! Over here!’

He looked into the shot darkness, with its shifting shadows of dancing bodies, and at first he saw nothing. Then the woman started to come towards them through the bopping crowd and he held his breath.

She was tall and graceful as a willow. As she got closer he saw she had a cloud of wild hair. He had no idea what colour. He could not tear his eyes away from her mouth. Her lips would have been voluptuous anyway, but she had painted them what looked like a dark purple. It was an aggressive colour, anyway. The whole image was aggressive. But he looked and looked, and saw vulnerability behind the image. More, there was a quivering sensitivity that their owner was trying hard to deny.

He found that he was not surprised she spent ten minutes with every no-hoper under her roof.

‘Gorgeous,’ he said, almost to himself.

Suze certainly didn’t hear.

The woman’s skin was milk-pale beneath an outrageously revealing black chiffon shirt. Under it, he could see a black bra in some shiny material. One thin strap was falling off her shoulder under the transparent sleeve. It was somehow more seductive than nakedness would have been. He felt as if he had been doused in ice water.

That graceful walk, that skin, that mouth…

Hell. Sixteen again, with a vengeance. Sixteen again, and hungry as a male animal for his conquest.

‘Down boy,’ said Jay grimly.

Suze had heard that, all right. ‘What?’ she said, startled.

‘That is your candidate for my research assistant?’ said Jay in disbelief.

‘My friend Zoe. Yes. So?’

‘Your friend?’ This got worse and worse.

‘Yes.’ Suze faced him. ‘And she really needs this job, too, though she may not want to admit it. So go carefully, right? You could be the answer to the maiden’s prayer.’

Jay groaned. ‘Have you even heard of political correctness?’ he said. He was racked by his baser instincts. The only possible solution was to laugh. ‘Maiden’s prayer, for heaven’s sake!’

‘I’m a traditionalist,’ said Suze, unmoved. She reached out an arm and hauled her friend between them. ‘Zoe, this is the man you’ve just got to meet.’

So what’s wrong with this one?

Zoe suppressed a sigh and smiled resolutely at the tall man standing next to her friend. As far as she could tell in the disco lighting he looked all right. Heck, he looked as tall as her prince from the hallway. But he had to have some mega problem or Suze would never have called her over. The party had got to the stage where you didn’t make introductions.

‘Hi,’ she yelled, trying to make herself hear above the dance beat and only half succeeding. She fluttered her fingers at him. ‘Zoe Brown.’

He did not seem to realise that that meant she had not caught his name. He looked bored. Dark as the devil, sleek as a seal just out of the water, and bored.

No-hopers didn’t usually look bored. They looked sulky or wary or too eager to please. And they couldn’t believe their luck when a babe like Zoe stopped by.

The tall dark man did not seem to notice that she was a babe. In fact he did not take his eyes off Suze. He looked as if he’d been sandbagged.

‘Hi.’ It sounded strangled.

Suze smiled and turned her shoulder on him. ‘Zoe, meet your fate.’

He looked startled.

Not nearly as startled as Zoe, though. As he bent his head she realised who he was. The deep, deep eyes. If they went somewhere where the light was normal that shirt would be flame-coloured. And silk. Definitely not a no-hoper.

And Suze said he was her fate?

‘What?’ she said, temporarily forgetting that they would not hear her. After all, she could not hear herself. She took hold of Suze’s arm and shook it hard to get her attention. ‘What—did—you—say?’ she mouthed with great care. Her eyes burned with indignation.

Suze’s naughty smile widened.

‘Nine to five for the next four weeks,’ she mouthed back.

‘What?’

Suze sighed visibly. She looked up at the ceiling. The rotating light balls, hired for the party, were making a great success of turning the Edwardian mouldings into a starship re-entry burst. She shrugged and waved them both to the French windows, with great traffic policeman gestures.

There were no speakers in the garden, at least. Between the incessant beat and the noise of the party it was not exactly silent, but at least you could hear what people were saying. Not that most people came out here to talk. There were several couples, dancing or lying on the grass, heads close, not talking.

Out in the dark, where no one could see, Zoe flinched. Performance Zoe took her to task. So what else is new? No point in minding. That’s what people do at parties.

She even did it herself sometimes. Only she just did it for the look of the thing. Then sidled out later, when she could. Not that anyone noticed her sidling out. If anyone were to suggest that popular Zoe Brown had never gone beyond a kiss in the dark, her friends would split their sides.

She did not want them splitting their sides tonight. Not in front of the Mogul Prince. Performance Zoe took control.

‘’Scuse me,’ said Zoe, shimmying past a couple gazing fixedly into each other’s eyes and shifting from foot to foot in a rhythm that was at least three tracks ago.

She made for the orchard terrace, pounding up the uneven York stone steps with the sure-footedness of long practice. The others followed.

Zoe turned, hands on her hips, ready for confrontation.

The smooth-as-a-seal man was already on to it, though. He had obviously decided to stop being bored. Suze was beginning to look alarmed.

Suze’s father was a judge. Nobody ever alarmed Suze.

The man said with dangerous quietness, ‘Want to explain, Susan?’

Well, it sounded dangerous to Zoe. In fact the hair came up on the back of her neck at the deep drawl.

‘Er…’ said Suze, floundering.

She never floundered, either. She was as quick on her feet as Zoe. In fact Zoe had learned her ‘Evasive Manoeuvres For When the Conversation Gets out of Hand’ from Suze in the first place. And Zoe was the best.

‘I’ve been conned, haven’t I?’ said the tall dark man in a level voice. ‘I want a professional job. And you think you can unload one of your ditzy friends.’ His eyes skimmed Zoe briefly. ‘No offence.’

‘Ditzy friend?’ she gasped.

Suze sent her an exasperated look before returning to her main opponent. ‘Chill out, Jay. I’m doing my best—’

‘I need someone to work,’ he said intensely. ‘Not a filing clerk in a micro skirt.’

‘Zoe can hack it.’ Suze waved a hand. ‘Zoe can do anything.’

The man swung round on Zoe and she swallowed hard. In the flickering light of the summer candles he looked about ten feet tall.

Ten feet tall and mad as a hornet was not the ideal prospective employer. Thank you, Suze.

She said furiously, ‘I never agreed—’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Nor did I. A research assistant able to work on her own initiative?’ he asked pleasantly, not taking his eyes off Zoe. ‘I don’t think so.’

Zoe stiffened. ‘I beg—your—pardon?’

‘I know what she can do,’ snapped Suze. ‘Zoe and I used to go to school together.’

His eyes were unreadable in the dark, but his whole stance said he didn’t believe a word of it.

‘Oh, yes? And when did St Bluestocking’s start turning out unskilled filing clerks?’

Zoe flinched all over again.

Plenty of people thought she was wasting her university education by doing temporary jobs in a variety of offices. Only last week her father had taken her out to lunch and tried to probe, delicately, when she was going to get a real job. But no one had actually told her to her face that she was unskilled. Or implied that she was a thing of no worth because of it.

She forgot the passionate mouth and the mogul silk. She decided he was all ten feet tall hornet man. And she hated him.

She said clearly, ‘I’m temping while I consider my options.’

It was true, too. Only—she had been considering her options for two years now and was no nearer finding a solution. She was not going to admit that to hornet man, though.

He looked her up and down. She could not see his face but she could feel the hard, swift appraisal. He took a couple of step towards her, lithe as a panther padding around its prey, assessing whether it was worth the effort of the chase or not.

Not that he could see much in the candlelit dark. Maybe her long, soft hair as it waved loosely about her shoulders in the night breeze. Or the glittery black see-through stuff of the shirt that left her shoulders visible and her slim midriff exposed. Enough to realise that she looked as cool as Suze, anyway.

And that, of course, was the trouble. She looked as cool and confident as any other girl here. More confident than most, maybe, especially when she was wearing these soft glove-leather trousers that hugged her slim hips and turned Suze green with envy.

She looked just fine. It was only inside that she knew she wasn’t. Wasn’t confident. Wasn’t fine. Wasn’t normal.

And wasn’t going to admit to any of it. Well, not in front of hornet man. She stuck her chin in the air and glared at him. And took a decision.

‘You can stop looking me up and down as if I’m livestock. You get my time nine to five, starting Monday morning,’ she told him crisply. ‘And that’s all your money buys you. Friday nights aren’t in the package.’

Suze drew in an audible breath.

He was taken aback. His head went back as if she had driven a foil straight at his chest.

Then he said dryly, ‘That sounds like St Bluestocking’s, all right.’

Zoe was still angry. ‘So apologise.’

Suze gave a soft whistle. But the man said slowly, ‘For what?’

‘For looking at me like that.’

‘Aren’t you being a bit over-sensitive?’ He was amused.

Amused! Zoe decided she wanted blood.

‘If I am, then you won’t want me to work for you, will you?’ she said with shining amiability.

‘I never said—’

She shook her head. ‘You know what over-sensitive people are like,’ she told him earnestly. ‘A real strain. Especially if management isn’t geared up to cope. So disruptive in a small office. Much better if we just call it quits now.’

And just see if Suze can get you someone else by Monday morning, you jerk.

She thought he would backtrack fast. But he didn’t. He looked at her for a long moment. In quite a different way this time.

Then he said, ‘What makes you think that the office is small?’

Zoe gave a rather good start of surprise. ‘Isn’t it?’ she asked, all artless confusion. ‘I just thought if they let someone like you hire the staff they wouldn’t be big enough to afford a proper human resources manager.’

Suze sucked on her teeth audibly.

But the man did not say anything for a moment. Then, ‘I—see. Yes, I can follow your reasoning there.’ His voice was tinged with unholy amusement.

For some reason Zoe suspected he had scored a point there, though she could not quite see what it was.

She said, ‘I really don’t think I should take the job if you’re not sure about my temperament…’

He laughed aloud. ‘I think you’ll cope.’

‘Oh, but I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable—’

‘Yes, you would,’ he interrupted. ‘And I don’t blame you, either.’

That disconcerted her. ‘Is that an apology?’ she said suspiciously.

‘I suppose it is.’ He sounded surprised at himself. He swung round on Suze, a silent spectator for once. ‘I apologise to both of you. I shouldn’t leap to conclusions. Sorry, Susan.’ He made her an odd, formal little bow, then looked at Zoe. ‘And sorry Ms Bluestocking, too. I’ll see you on Monday morning. No more snide remarks, Scout’s honour.’

‘Thank you,’ said Zoe. She meant to sound dignified, but even to her own ears it came out just plain sulky.

Suze sent her a quick, worried look. Hornet man did not notice.

‘That’s settled, then,’ he said cheerfully. ‘So now I’ll be on my way.’

Suze didn’t like that. ‘Going on to another party, Jay?’

He laughed. ‘Weekend in the country. And I’m not going to get there until after three in the morning at this rate. I’m not going to be popular.’

‘She’ll wait up for you,’ said Suze dryly.

But she did not say it very loudly, and Jay Whoever-he-was, running lightly down the steps and back among the partygoers, did not seem to hear.

Zoe let out a long, shaky breath and leaned against the trunk of the apple tree. Her legs felt as if they were made of cotton wool. Gently vibrating cotton wool.

‘Tell me it’s not true,’ she begged. ‘Tell me I haven’t just signed up with Captain Blood!’

Suze was watching the slim dark figure find his surefooted way down the terraces and disappear into the house. ‘Captain Blood?’ she echoed absently.

‘He looked me up and down as if I was in a corsair slave market.’

Suze jumped and re-engaged attention. ‘You watch too many old movies. Jay Christopher is no pirate.’

‘Then why does he prowl like one?’

Suze gave an incredulous laugh. ‘He doesn’t. You’re just saying that because you fancy him.’

Zoe jumped as if her friend had turned the garden hose on her. ‘You’ve got to be joking. Why would I fancy him?’

‘Everyone does,’ said Suze simply.

‘Can’t imagine why,’ Zoe muttered.

‘Get real, Zo. You saw the man. He’s lethal.’

‘He’s rude and arrogant.’

‘He can afford to be arrogant. You didn’t seem to clock it, but that was the man himself. Jay Christopher of Culp and Christopher Public Relations.’ There was a faint question mark in Suze’s voice.

Zoe pushed her hair back. ‘So?’

‘The Big Cheese. The one the financial reporters write the big profiles of.’

Zoe refused to be impressed. ‘You know me. I don’t read the financial pages.’

‘He hangs out in the sports section as well. To say nothing of the gossip columns. Olympic medallist. One of the long-distance races. You must remember him.’

But Zoe shook her head. ‘You know me. No competitive edge.’

Suze almost danced with frustration. ‘You must remember. No one rated him. And then he just came from nowhere and took the medal.’

A chord in Zoe’s memory started to vibrate very gently. She had a vague picture of an old television news bulletin—a tall, proud figure with remote eyes, in spite of his heaving chest and sweat soaked running gear.

Well, the eyes were right. Though that flame-coloured silk suggested that he had not broken out into a sweat in long while.

‘Maybe I do remember,’ she said.

‘He set up his public relations agency with Theodora Culp, the business journalist. Now it’s one of the best in London. Theodora’s gone back into television, of course, so Jay runs it single-handed.’ Suze laughed. ‘And you thought he was a human resources manager.’

‘I told him he was a bad human resources manager,’ Zoe reminded her. For some reason it felt like a small triumph. Because she had been fighting back, she supposed, not melting into a warm puddle of sub-teen lust at his feet. She would have died rather than admit it, but Suze was not the only one who fancied Jay Christopher.

‘He won’t care. Jay’s not mean. And he knows how good he is.’ Suze was thoughtful for a moment. ‘They say one of the big international advertising agencies is sniffing round Culp and Christopher at the moment. If Jay sells out he’ll be making himself some serious money.’

But if Zoe was unwillingly attracted to the tall man with the remote eyes, she did not give a hoot about serious money. She did not have to say so. Her expression said it all.

‘You’ve got to admire him,’ Suze urged. ‘He did it all on his own. His grandfather’s a brigadier, and terribly well connected. But Jay wouldn’t let him help out, even when the business was just two men and a dog to begin with. Jay would have every right to be insufferably pleased with himself. But he isn’t.’

‘No?’ Zoe was sceptical.

‘Well, not normally. You did seem to rub him up the wrong way.’

Zoe bristled. ‘It’s mutual.’

‘I could see that. Never seen a man wind you up so fast in my life. And plenty have tried. You’re always Miss I Can Cope.’

If only you knew.

But she didn’t say that. Why didn’t she say that? She wanted to get rid of this false image that her best friend had of her, didn’t she? So why the heck did she flick back her hair, strike an attitude and go into the performance Suze expected?

‘I still am. I got that man to apologise.’ She even sounded complacent.

Megabyte Man would say I need a hard drive diagnostic.

‘Yes. I suppose it’s all right.’ Suze sounded doubtful. ‘It will be fine,’ Performance Zoe said breezily. ‘I’ve worked for some stinkers in my time. Now I’ve broken his resistance Mr Successful will be a piece of cake.’

Suze just looked at her.

Zoe’s chin came up another ten degrees. ‘So?’ she challenged. ‘You don’t really think I can’t handle him? Do you? Me?’

Suze put her head on one side. ‘How long have we been friends?’

‘Nineteen years,’ said Zoe, literally.

‘Then believe me. You really, really can’t handle Jay Christopher.’

Performance Zoe snorted. She had a wide repertoire of dismissive noises.

‘I know you. I know Jay Christopher.’ Suze shook her head wisely. ‘Take my advice. You don’t want to go there.’

‘And why not?’

‘Don’t forget—I know all your ex-boyfriends, Zo.’

Even Performance Zoe was silenced.

Suze shook off her unaccustomed seriousness. ‘Come on. The night is young. We’ve got some serious partying to get in before dawn.’

She was not wrong. And Zoe was the life and soul of it. She danced with Megabyte Man, and Lauren’s boring accountant, and Alastair, whom she had made miserable five months ago, and who now had a brilliant French girlfriend. She danced on her own. She draped her arms over the shoulders of her sister Artemis and Suze and did an untidy high-kicking routine.

As the sky began to lighten only the long-distance party animals were still there.

‘Come on,’ said Zoe, finding a fast song about a rodeo cowboy. ‘Line-dance.’

They lined up and went into the rapid routine that they had worked out last Christmas. Amid raucous insults and much giggling, they managed to keep up for a bit. But in the end too many of them went right while the others went left. Finally Harry did a sideways jump into Suze and the whole line staggered. The music raced away from them. They ended up in heap on the floor, laughing.

‘Great party,’ said the stragglers, tumbling out into the grey morning.

By morning, though, there were only six people left in the shabby kitchen. Hermann, who was Suze’s current favourite, sat on the corner of the scrubbed pine table, plucking at a guitar and singing softly. He was waiting for Suze to take him home to bed and everyone knew it.

Zoe’s younger sister, Artemis, clutched her boyfriend sleepily round the waist as he systematically loaded empty bottles into a cardboard box. From time to time Ed put an absent hand behind his back and patted her hip encouragingly.

Suze and Zoe had bagged up all the food remains in three black sacks and were now loading the dishwasher with the last of the glasses.

This was after Suze had taken Harry on one side and briefed him tersely about his sister’s imminent employment prospects.

‘She really needs this job,’ she ended fiercely.

Harry might be only seventeen but he was a realist. He nodded slowly.

‘Yup. And not just for the money. She needs to do something for herself. And something to stop Mum thinking she only has to call and Zoe will be there. Okay, Suze. Leave it to me.’

Thereafter Harry wandered among the debris, theoretically helping. In practice he was eating any food that he decided there was no room in the fridge for.

‘You’ll be sick,’ said Zoe, matter-of-factly.

Harry grinned. ‘I’m seventeen. My digestion is at peak performance.’

‘It was our best party ever,’ said Suze with satisfaction. ‘Did you get to see Jay, Hermann? Hermann was at college with Jay,’ she explained to Zoe. ‘That’s how I got a nibble at the Culp and Christopher account in the first place.’

‘I saw him.’ Suze’s boyfriend executed a rippling final chord and put the guitar away. ‘Nice of him to come.’

‘Why shouldn’t he?’ demanded Suze, bridling.

Hermann was peaceful. ‘He’s running with the great and the good these days. Not a lot of time for simple socialising.’

Zoe sniffed. She was not surprised, somehow. The Mogul Prince had that look of a man who could hardly bring himself to bother with other people.

‘Don’t scare Zoe,’ Suze warned. ‘She’s going to work for him on Monday.’

‘I’m not scared. I was not intending to make friends with the man,’ Zoe said crisply.

Artemis’s Ed laughed. ‘You can’t scare Zoe. One flash of those big brown eyes and men just roll over with their paws in the air—don’t they Zo?’

Artemis rubbed her cheek against Ed’s bent back. ‘Are you going to be long, lover? I’m wiped.’

Zoe was irritated. ‘Like Suze was telling me earlier, there’s more to human relationships than sex, Edward.’

There was burst of ribald laughter from the other five.

‘That’s a good one, coming from you, sis,’ said Artemis fondly. ‘The last of the femmes fatales.’

For once Performance Zoe did not flip into action automatically. Maybe because she was tired.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she snapped.

She seized a damp cloth and worked vigorously at the stains on the table where Ed’s wine bottles had stood.

Artemis unwound herself from Ed’s hips. ‘Oh, come on, Zo. You know it’s true. Your men hardly ever get beyond the fourth date. And I know that they call you and call you because I take the messages. So if it’s not them getting bored, what is it? Picky, picky Princess Zoe, that’s what.’

Zoe bit her lip. If they knew the truth they wouldn’t laugh like this. On the other hand she had worked quite hard so that they wouldn’t know the truth.

And Ed’s next remark proved how right she had been to do so.

‘Hey, don’t worry, babe,’ he said, straightening with the box of bottles in his arms. ‘I think it’s cool.’ He flourished the box at Zoe in a sort of elephantine salute. ‘My friend the heartbreaker. Ta-da.’

‘Could solve your career problems,’ suggested Suze. ‘See if MI5 has an opening for Olga the Beautiful Spy.’

Zoe threw the cloth at her.

And everyone laughed. Just as they always did.

Zoe poured detergent, slammed the dishwasher shut, selected a program and switched it on. Everyone stood up with relief.

‘Thanks for the help with the clearing up, guys. I love you tonight, but I’ll really worship you tomorrow,’ Zoe said. ‘Hermann—take her home. She’s out on her feet.’

‘Little mother of all the world,’ teased Suze.

But Suze was drooping, and everyone knew it. Hermann packed his guitar away in its case and put his arm round her.

‘Lean on me, babe.’

Zoe looked away. Nobody noticed.

‘All of three doors down the street,’ scoffed Suze.

But she leaned into him gratefully and they wrapped their arms round each other. They were muzzy with sleep and low-grade lust. But they looked back to wave as they wandered off into the clear morning.

‘Goodbye,’ said Artemis and Ed, plodding off in the direction of his flat over the paper shop, leaning into each other and swinging their clasped hands. Artemis slept at Ed’s at the weekends. Well, more like all the time now.

Harry wandered off to his room with a video and a paper plate of garlic bread.

Zoe decided she was too alert to go to bed. She made herself some hot chocolate. Hot chocolate was Zoe’s long-term comfort drink. She had been brewing a lot of it lately.

She poured it into the heavy dragon-adorned mug her father had brought back from a trip. He had given it to her just before he’d told her he was moving out. It used to be a family joke: she got the things with dragons on them; Artemis had cats; Harry had crocodiles. No one had given Zoe anything with dragons on it since that day. She was glad.

She would have been quite glad if the dragon mug had been broken, but somehow it was too sturdy. Other mugs came into the house and got pushed off tables or dropped on the stone patio or trodden to dust when someone left them on the carpet after watching television. But solid old dragon just kept on going.

Seven years now. She had been sixteen then. That was why her parties always said, ‘Sixteen Again’. At sixteen she had turned into—what was it Suze called her? Little mother of all the world. Yes, that was it. At sixteen Zoe had turned into the household’s Responsible Adult. And she still was.

At least the thick dragons kept the drink warm. That was useful. The dawn had a chill to it.

Zoe went out onto the patio and sat down on the worn old bench. She held the mug under her chin, brooding.

Artemis was right when she said that Zoe never let a man take her out more than four times. Sometimes she did not let them take her out twice. They looked at her, saw her long legs and fashionably slim figure. They listened to her and heard a sharp tongue and a cool party girl with loads of friends. And nobody—nobody—saw that it was an act.

Responsible adult. Hot babe. Cool gal. The last virgin in the northern hemisphere.

‘What a mess,’ said Zoe wryly. She shivered, in spite of the hot drink between her hands.

Miss I Can Cope. That was what Suze had called her. She believed it, too. Zoe was not sure how. She knew that her family saw what they wanted to see. But how could her best friend be fooled?

Because you’re good at the performance.

Well, good enough. Up to a point. One day soon someone was going to find her out. She felt the chill touch her again. Maybe she had met him now.

She had so nearly given herself away tonight, with the way she had stared at the Mogul Prince. He had seen it, too. She knew he had. He had looked at her so hard that she’d thought he was going to be able to draw her. And his face had told her absolutely nothing.

Had he seen through her act? Had he?

No, she told herself. Of course he hadn’t. It had just been a trick of the disco ball lighting. And her own uneasy conscience, of course.

Heck, at one point it had even sounded as if he and Suze were play-acting. How was that for paranoia?

You’ve got to do something about that, she said to herself, as she had done so many times before. Stop performing. Tell someone.

But who? And how? And would they believe her, anyway?

The men in her life took their cue from her friends. And her friends knew that she was a sophisticated twenty-three-year-old with a cool life and a hot wardrobe. They even asked her advice about their love lives, for heaven’s sake. And Suze was forever asking her to look out for any social incompetents who turned up at her parties. Because Zoe knew all there was to know about men and the dating game. Didn’t she?

Not one of her friends would believe that twenty-year-old Artemis knew more about love than Zoe did. Heck, seventeen-year-old Harry probably knew more. And one day soon, if she did not tell them, she was going to trip up spectacularly over her half-lies and evasions.

Or she was going to get stuck in the performance. And she would be performing for the rest of her life. And not one soul would know her. Ever.

‘Aaaargh,’ she said aloud. And dashed the dragon mug on the weedy paved slabs.

It did not break.