Читать книгу The Bedroom Assignment - Sophie Weston - Страница 6

‘THERE’S more to relationships than sex, Zo,’ announced her best friend with energy. ‘You’ve got to be a bit more flexible.’

In the act of filling the kettle, Zoe Brown looked up and stared in disbelief. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she said. ‘Where did that come from?’

Suze had rushed into the old-fashioned kitchen like a whirlwind, casting her briefcase to one side and her shopping bags to the other. She had not even sat down before she launched her bombshell. Now she perched on the settle against the wall with a small, complacent smile.

‘I don’t know what it is that Simon’s done…’ She paused expectantly.

Zoe cast her eyes to heaven. ‘Is there anything you don’t think is your business? What did you do? Stake out my house? Tap my phone?’

Suze grinned. But she was not to be deflected. ‘Don’t be coy. I don’t have to spy on you to know what you’re up to. We have no secrets.’

If only you knew, Suze.

Zoe found she had over-filled the kettle. She emptied some water out, and then switched the thing on before turning back to her friend.

‘I knew something was wrong,’ Suze announced loftily. Then added, with a slight diminution of ineffability, ‘Besides, Simon called me.’

Well, that figured, thought Zoe. Suze had introduced her and Simon Frobisher in the first place. Simon was a member of Suze’s Young Business Network. It was natural that he should confide in her when his fledgling romance with Zoe hit the buffers.

‘Have you two had a row?’

‘Not really,’ said Zoe uncomfortably. ‘We talked, but—’

Suze sighed theatrically. ‘You talked!’ she echoed. ‘And another one bites the dust! I don’t believe you.’

Zoe looked away. ‘Is he very upset?’ she said with compunction.

Suze pursed her lips. ‘Confused is probably a better word,’ she pronounced.

‘I’m sorry about that.’

‘It’s understandable. He’s a scarce commodity and he knows it. Single, straight, solvent. And a business that’s going to make him a millionaire in the next five years. From his point of view, it’s a seller’s market.’

Zoe felt slightly better. ‘You mean he isn’t breaking his heart?’

In contrast to Zoe, who was barefoot in dusty cut-offs and a torn tee shirt, Suze was dressed in a business suit. But she kicked her legs against the settle like the five-year-old she had been when they’d first met at kindergarten.

‘No, but he’s scratching his head. He muttered something about sex…’ Again Suze left an inviting pause.

‘Did he?’ Zoe’s tone was discouraging.

‘Aw, come on, Zo. Give.’

‘Have a coffee,’ said Zoe firmly.

She made instant coffee in two thick china mugs and padded across the kitchen with them. Suze took hers, but she frowned with irritation.

‘I mean, you can’t keep going through men like they grow on trees.’ Her voice was full of righteous indignation. ‘Quite apart from anything else, it’s not fair to the rest of us.’

Zoe gave a hollow laugh. ‘Is that right?’

Suze did not notice it was hollow. ‘And it’s beastly inconvenient. I never know who you’re going to bring to a party.’

Zoe pushed back her untidy brown curls and hitched herself up onto the corner of the cluttered table. ‘Well, if that’s all you’re worried about—’

‘Or if you’re going to bring anyone at all. And what he will be like if you do.’

‘I’ll make sure to send you the next one’s resumé,’ Zoe said dryly.

Suze Manoir grinned. ‘Or you could just stick to the same man for more than a couple of dates,’ she suggested. ‘That would be a first.’

Oh, Lord, thought Zoe. Aloud she said, ‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Oh, you,’ said Suze, exasperated. ‘Okay. I’ll mind my own business. What do we need to do to get this house sorted?’

‘Just about everything,’ said Zoe wryly. ‘Starting with rewiring and moving on up.’

The kitchen of the Brown family house was big and untidy. Just at the moment about a third of it looked beautiful. A wild green arrangement of leafy summer branches and ferns hid the peeling paintwork round the fireplace and the stains on the old pine table. Zoe had set out dishes of roast beef, and the Thai chicken and vegetable salads that she had prepared yesterday, all covered in plastic wrap. She had even set little groups of solid candles, ready for lighting, on the fireplace and one corner of the table.

But that was the far end of the kitchen. The other two thirds, where they were sitting, looked like a shipwreck. A pretty shabby shipwreck at that, thought Zoe ruefully.

She and her sister had slapped a coat of paint on the walls at Christmas, just to make it look more cheerful. But the whole house had a patched and mended air. Whereas Suze had shown an interior decorator round her central London pad for a television lifestyle programme, and the Manoir house was immaculately presented.

Suze followed her eyes. ‘Hey,’ she said gently, showing that in this area, at least, she was right that they had no secrets. ‘So it’s a bit battered. Don’t worry about it. That’s why we’re having the party here, after all.’

‘Good point,’ agreed Zoe. ‘Okay, let’s kick back and party.’

From the moment that they’d taken charge of their own birthday celebrations, Suze and Zoe had given a joint party at Zoe’s house. They chose a day in the summer, when hopefully people would be able to go out into the garden, and called it their Official Birthday. Suze said that the arrangement gave her more freedom than her parents’ house and more room than her own flat. But Zoe knew it was more than that.

Suze knew that, ever since Zoe’s father had left home, money had been dreadfully tight—and, even worse, that Zoe’s mother had withdrawn into the cocoon of her own world. The Official Birthday Party was Suze’s way of helping out without admitting it.

‘You’re a good friend,’ Zoe said with affection.

She went over to the big wipe-down board where the family left messages for each other. Today it had been wiped clear—no phone messages for Artemis, her twenty-year-old younger sister, currently out with boyfriend Ed, or notes about washing seventeen-year-old Harry’s rugby kit. Today it was covered by one orderly list in Zoe’s neat writing. More than half the items had already been ticked off.

‘You’re so efficient,’ said Suze with a sigh. She came up and stood at Zoe’s shoulder. ‘You’re really wasted here. You ought to be running a government, not this mad house.’

Zoe flung up a hand.

‘Oh, all right,’ said Suze, as she always did. ‘You know your own business best. Got a job for next week?’

Zoe pulled a face. ‘Just a couple of guided walks along the Thames. I’ll probably call the library department on Monday morning, see if they’ve got anyone sick.’

‘I wish you’d sign on with me again,’ Suze said wistfully. She ran her own very successful staff agency. ‘People are always asking for you.’

‘Maybe after the summer,’ said Zoe vaguely. She narrowed her eyes at the list. ‘Put up fairy lights in the apple tree. Glitter balls in the sitting room. Which do you want to do?’

‘Sounds like manual labour.’ Suze looked at her elegantly painted fingernails and shuddered. ‘We’ll do them together,’ she decreed.

They went out into the garden first. Zoe brought the ladder out of the shed and slung it over her shoulder to carry it up to the orchard.

‘High-ho, high-ho,’ sang Suze, following behind with a coil of outdoor fairy lights.

Zoe grinned over her shoulder. ‘I’m no dwarf.’

It was true. She was nearly as tall as her six-foot father, and certainly as striking, with her candid, wide-open brown eyes and mop of unruly chestnut curls.

‘No, but you’re certainly one of the workers of the world,’ said Suze, watching as Zoe lodged the ladder against the tree trunk in a workmanlike manner. ‘Now, if Simon were here he could do it. That’s what men are for.’

Zoe pushed a dusty brown curl behind her ear and measured the angle of the ladder. She adjusted it.

‘Well, Simon’s not coming,’ she said bracingly. ‘Get used to it. And hang onto the ladder. You don’t have to chip your nails. Just lean against it.’

She climbed nimbly up the ladder into the branches of the apple tree. The ladder wobbled. Suze collected herself and leaned against it, hard. It stopped wobbling.

Suze tilted her head to peer up at her friend. ‘What do you mean, Simon’s not coming?’ she demanded, outraged. ‘Tonight is going to be the North London party of the year. He can’t chicken out.’

Zoe set herself astride a gnarled branch and looked down. She had done this many times before and she was dressed for it: thigh-hugging cycling shorts, elderly tee shirt that didn’t matter if it got torn. She had added flexible surfing shoes before coming out of the house. They improved her grip on the gnarled branches of the apple tree. Her soft brown hair was coiled round in a rough bun and skewered into place so that it did not catch on a branch. She leaned forward cautiously, holding out a hand.

‘Pass me up the lights. He didn’t chicken out.’

Suze handed up a worn wooden wheel. A cable of fairy lights was coiled round it like New Age barbed wire. The wheel was on a central pivot, and Zoe hooked the ends into the sling she had tied around her body for the purpose.

‘Oh, don’t tell me,’ said Suze. ‘When you returned him to store you told him he was off the guest list tonight.’

Zoe took a moment to replace a long hairpin more securely. Her wild curls never stayed in place, no matter how ruthlessly she restrained them.

‘We both agreed we could do with a breathing space,’ she said defensively.

‘Oh, that’s what it was, was it? Honestly, you’re hopeless.’

Zoe clambered among leaves and twigs, uncoiling the lights. ‘It seemed best,’ she said in a muffled voice.

‘Okay, I know you only want men on a short lease,’ said Suze, unheeding. ‘But you could at least have held onto Simon until after our party. That’s only common sense.’

Zoe was startled into a grin. She paused and stuck her head through the leaves to look down at her friend. ‘Suze Manoir, you’re an exploiter of the defenceless,’ she said reprovingly. ‘I can’t use Simon like that. It’s not fair.’

Suze was unimpressed. ‘Who needs to be fair? We’ve got three disco balls to set up.’

‘We don’t need a man to do that. I can put them up. No problem.’

But Zoe hesitated. She sat back, letting the leaves close around her. The afternoon sun, where it struck through the lush leaves, was sensuously hot on her skin. It was a beautiful day. It would be a perfect evening for a party.

But just now, in the hot stillness, there was no party. Just her and Suze. And Suze was her best friend. She had to tell someone the truth. It was beginning to suffocate her. If she couldn’t tell Suze, who could she tell?

From her hiding place among the branches she began, ‘Suze, there’s something…’

But Suze did not hear. She was looking up, squinting against the sun, and laughing. ‘You are so practical. You were born to be an entrepreneur.’

Zoe gave up. It was easier. You couldn’t really bare your soul when one of you was sitting halfway up a tree and the other was on a pre-party high. She retreated among the foliage and carried on playing out the cable, placing the lights evenly along the very tips of branches.

And Suze did not even notice that Zoe had been on the point of sharing something. She was still contemplating the party.

‘Of course you can put them up. Is there anything you can’t do?’

Zoe parted the leaves again. They were greeny-gold and smelt wonderful, slightly damp and full of vegetable energy. She pushed them away from her face.

‘Haven’t found it yet.’

Suze shook her head. ‘I can never think why I’m the one with the business career and you’re still messing about temping.’

‘Hair,’ said Zoe calmly. ‘Curly brown hair just doesn’t go with a career. People don’t take curls seriously. Whereas you’ve looked like a tycoon since you were four.’

Suze was a wide-shouldered blonde, with a habit of haughty impatience and legs to die for.

Now she sniffed. ‘You could always get the hair straightened. Put in streaks, maybe.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Zoe, fixing lights fast.

‘I’m serious Zo. It’s two years since you left college. Don’t you think you ought to stop messing about?’

‘We’re not all natural-born businesswomen,’ said Zoe without rancour. ‘I get by.’

‘Sure, you get by. You earn your bread and you have a great life.’ Suze struck the ladder with her fist to emphasise her point. ‘But what about the future?’

Zoe looked down again at her, mildly surprised.

‘Don’t forget, I’m the one who still has a life,’ she teased gently. ‘When did you start to sound like your father?’

Suze gave a sharp sigh. ‘I know. I know,’ she said ruefully. ‘Being a financial success is not all joy. Have you finished?’

‘Yup. Now, if you can just stop shaking that ladder…’

‘Sorry,’ said Suze with a grin. ‘Concentrate, Manoir. Concentrate.’

Zoe secured the last light and climbed rapidly, hand over hand, down through the branches. Clutching the trunk, she felt around for the top of the ladder with her foot. Suze reached up and directed it onto the top step.

‘Thank you,’ said Zoe. She slid to the ground and unhooked the wheel, with its residual cable. ‘There we are. One tree dressed to welcome summer.’

‘You’re the business,’ said Suze, admiring.

Zoe retrieved the ladder from her and retracted the extension. She clicked it back into place and hiked the ladder under her arm, turning back to the house.

‘Who needs a man?’ she said lightly.

Suze padded after her. ‘Okay. Okay. You don’t need a man to hang your party lights. What about the other stuff?’

And suddenly there it was again. Another ideal opening. Go for it Zoe. Tell your best friend the truth.

But she found herself prevaricating. ‘What other stuff?’

Suze made a wide gesture, embracing the whole world of romance. ‘Hanging together. Holidays. Giving each other breakfast in bed with the newspapers on Sunday morning.’

Zoe changed the ladder to her other side. It was quite unnecessary. The thing was not heavy. But it meant she didn’t have to answer.

Not that it mattered. When Suze was into one of her ‘Why You Ought to Live Like I Say’ homilies, she was impossible to deflect anyway.

‘I mean, with Simon you knew where you were. He’s practical, too.’ A thought struck her. ‘And we were relying on him to pick up the booze, weren’t we?’

‘It’s being delivered,’ said Zoe hastily.

‘I should have known you’d get it sorted.’ Suze shook her head. ‘What did he do, poor guy? Ask you to marry him?’

‘Marry him? Of course not. I’ve only known him a couple of months.’

‘Quite,’ said Suze dryly. ‘But men do seem to see you as settling down material. God knows why, with your record.’

The budding garden smelt of honey in the still afternoon sun. Zoe could not face spoiling it, after all. She would just have to wait for another opportunity.

She felt her coping mask twitch into place. The Zoe who could handle anything and make a joke of it, too. Privately she called it Performance Zoe.

‘It’s my cooking,’ she said lightly. ‘Ever since Gran taught me how to make bread and butter pudding I haven’t been able to get men out of my hair.’ She manoeuvred the ladder down a flight of four stone steps without difficulty and went to the battered garden shed. ‘Can you open the door, please?’

Suze did. But, ‘It’s more than bread and butter pudding,’ she said darkly.

Zoe disappeared inside. Various planks of the shed were rotting, and the tools were ancient, but it was painfully tidy. She hung the ladder on its allotted hook.

‘I doubt it,’ she said from the depths.

The house had been built on the side of a hill. As a result the garden was arranged into three wide terraces. The orchard was at the top, but this middle terrace was the largest, with a lawn and flowerbeds full of old cottage flowers. Bees buzzed among headily scented low-growing pinks. Suze flung herself down on the grass and stuffed her nose into a small grey plant with white flowers.

‘Heaven,’ she said dreamily. ‘I suppose you do all the garden as well? No, don’t answer that.’

Zoe emerged from the shed. ‘What?’

Suze rolled over on her back, heedless of grass stains and creases on her expensive navy skirt. She looked up at her friend lazily. ‘Come on, Zo. You know what a hot babe you are. Bread and butter pudding is just a bonus.’

Zoe sank down beside her and started plucking at the grass. ‘Thank you.’

‘It’s true,’ said Suze dispassionately. ‘Men drool and women weep. If you weren’t my best friend I’d have put out a contract on you by now.’

Zoe picked a daisy out of the lawn and threw it at her. ‘No, you wouldn’t.’

‘I might. If you got your claws into one of my men.’

There was something in Suze’s voice that startled Zoe. She stopped pulling at grass stalks and looked at her friend, shocked. ‘I would never do that.’

‘You wouldn’t have to,’ said Suze dispassionately. ‘It must be pheromones or something. All you have to do is turn up somewhere on your own and—wham!’

‘Wham?’ Even Performance Zoe blinked at that. ‘Get real, Suze.’

Suze sat up and linked her arms round her knees. ‘It’s real enough. Men—some men, anyway—take one look at you and go weak at the knees.’

‘Hey, I’m not that special. I’m not even beautiful.’

‘I know you’re not,’ her friend said candidly. ‘But there’s something about you.’

‘Pu-lease—’ said Zoe. She tried to joke but she was unnerved all the same.

‘There is,’ Suze insisted. ‘I’ve seen it, again and again.’ She rested her chin on her clasped knees, thoughtful. ‘At first I thought it was because you didn’t try as hard as the rest of us. I mean, your clothes were okay, but you always looked as if you’d scrambled into them at the last moment before going out. I said that to David once.’

David was Suze’s boyfriend before last. Zoe had wondered several times whether Suze was as completely over him as she claimed to be. Now her voice changed and Zoe was certain.

‘And David said, “Yes, exactly.” That soft, rumpled look gave a man the feeling that you’d only got out of bed a few minutes ago. And that it wouldn’t take too much persuasion to get you back in again.’

Zoe sat bolt upright, forgetting all about Suze’s possible broken heart. ‘He didn’t,’ she said, True Zoe taking over momentarily and genuinely appalled.

‘Yup.’

‘But that’s—so untrue.’

‘But effective,’ said Suze dryly.

Zoe’s nails gouged into the grass. ‘It’s crazy. I—’

Suze stopped hugging her knees.

‘Why did you really heave Simon?’ she said quietly. ‘The truth, now.’

And that was the trouble, thought Zoe, scrabbling at a dandelion with real venom. Oh, she could tell Suze the truth, all right. It would only take one sentence. He wanted to go to bed with me and I bottled out. Only Suze would not believe her. And Zoe had no one to blame for that but herself.

There was this big fable among their friends: Zoe Brown the femme fatale, and the men who never lasted. Only no one knew it was a fable. Not even Suze. And Suze thought she knew everything there was to know about Zoe Brown. She very nearly did, too. Just not—

They had always told each other their secrets, from the time their mothers had walked them to kindergarten together. Suze was still telling. It was only Zoe who held back. And Suze had no idea.

Of course Zoe did not lie. Well, not exactly. She had never stood up and actually told a falsehood about any of the men she had been out with. Only people made assumptions—the men themselves did nothing to deny them—and before she knew where she was the myth of Zoe the Butterfly Lover was born. Even her brother and sister thought she changed boyfriends so often because she got bored.

Whereas the truth—

Well, it could not go on. She had sworn it at New Year, looking in the mirror in Suze’s bedroom, the only stone cold sober person in the house. She had laughed and kissed poor, bewildered Alastair at miserable midnight. The smile had been plastered on her face so hard that she’d felt it would crack.

That had been when she said to herself, No more. Everyone had been talking about their shiny new resolutions. Well, that was hers. Tell Suze first. Then the rest of the world. The truth. Then she could wave goodbye to Performance Zoe for ever. And get on with the rest of her life.

Hello world, I’m a virgin.

Only she never seemed to find the opportunity. The trouble was that there was such a huge difference between what she was and what everyone—all her friends, even her brother and sister—thought she was. Even a nice man like David thought she could be persuaded to get back into bed—back into bed—without too much difficulty. And then, just today, here was her best friend telling her ‘there’s more to relationships than sex’.

Some of it was her own fault, Zoe knew. New Year was six months ago. There must have been chances to tell Suze. She had just run away from them. And, most damning of all, she had just unloaded her third escort of the year.

She said slowly, ‘Okay. The truth it is. Simon’s a great guy. It wasn’t anything he did—’

Suze laughed wickedly. ‘Okay. What was it that he didn’t do?’ And she leered with mock lasciviousness.

At once Zoe was wincing internally. But outside she was laughing back.

‘Nothing to complain about. He made all the right moves. It wasn’t him, honestly. It was me.’

‘You don’t have to tell me that. It’s always you.’ Suze pursed her lips. ‘A complete split personality, that’s what you are.’

‘What?’ said Zoe, arrested.

‘If you ask me, you don’t know what you want. You unload a swinger like Alastair because he doesn’t want to play house with your barmy family. Then you hitch up with Simon who’s so domestic he comes with a matching Labrador. And he can’t keep you interested, either.’

Zoe shifted. ‘It isn’t quite like that.’

Suze was too intrigued by her own analysis to take any notice of Zoe’s uncomfortable murmur.

‘Don’t you see a pattern? You only want what you haven’t got at the moment.’

Zoe’s heart sank. ‘Suze, listen to me—’ she began urgently.

But there was ring from the little telephone clipped to Suze’s belt. She pressed a button and raised her eyebrows at the number displayed.

‘Jay Christopher? What does he want?’ She pressed another button and put the thing to her ear. ‘Hi, Jay. What can I do for you?’

Zoe looked away across the garden. She could have kicked herself. Another ideal opportunity wasted. Again.

What is wrong with me? thought Zoe, despairing.

Meanwhile Suze had gone into crisp business mode. She even stood up to talk, prowling around the lawn as if she were patrolling her office. She snapped out questions like an interrogator, but most of the time she listened attentively.

‘So that’s more than a filing clerk,’ she was saying when Zoe tuned in again. ‘You need someone who can handle research. And work on their own initiative. And you want them by Monday. You don’t ask much, do you?’

The telephone said something flattering.

Suze laughed, undeceived. ‘And you know that nobody else would even think of trying. Okay, Jay, I’ll do what I can. But I need the paperwork tonight and I’m not in the office. If you’re serious about this, you’ll have to drop it off here.’ She spelled out Zoe’s address.

The telephone said something else.

‘Am I an online map service?’ asked Suze sweetly. ‘Look in the A to Z. The good news is it doesn’t matter how late you get here. We’re having a party.’

It was all the reminder that Zoe needed. She jumped to her feet. ‘Time to get on,’ she mouthed at Suze, and ran down the last set of steps to the patio and into the kitchen, command centre of Operation Party.

She began to attack the remaining two thirds of the big refectory table with energy.

Eventually Suze finished her phone call and followed. ‘Interesting,’ she said. She stood in the doorway, sucking her teeth. ‘Er—Zo? About your jobs next week…’

‘What?’ said Zoe, scrubbing hard.

‘I know you don’t want to sign on with me permanently. But—what about a one-off? Two weeks, maybe four. A really stimulating job, too. Lots of initiative required, and you get to use your brain, too.’

Zoe knew her best friend well. Suze had not got to be a twenty-four-year-old phenomenon by focusing on the disadvantages of the employers who used her agency. ‘What’s wrong with it?’

‘Nothing. Honest. It’s a brilliant job.’

‘Then why haven’t you already got someone on your books who can do it?’

Suze sighed. ‘I have. Well, a couple. But they’ve already got jobs for next week. And this is not a job that just anyone can do. They have to have that little bit extra.’ She came and stood beside Zoe, nudging her companionably. ‘Well, a lot extra, actually. You’d have been my first choice anyway.’

‘You’re wheedling,’ said Zoe dispassionately. ‘You always wheedle when there’s something wrong. ‘Fess up. What’s the downside?’

‘Well, it’s in the West End,’ admitted Suze.

‘Uh-oh. You mean I’d have to leave the house before Harry goes to school.’ She shook her head. ‘No way. His exams are coming up.’

‘If I can persuade them to let you arrive later? Say ten-thirty? That would mean you missed the rush hour on the tube as well.’ Suze slipped an arm round her. ‘Oh, come on, Zo. You know you need the money. And it’d be fun. We could have lunch together.’

Zoe hesitated. It was true; they needed the money. The plumbing had more leaks than she was able to keep up with, and a damp patch that she kept trying not to think about had appeared in the top bedroom ceiling. To have enough in her bank account to be able to call a plumber and hang the consequences sounded like heaven.

‘If I could leave the house after I’ve seen Harry off…’ she mused aloud.

‘You’re a sweetheart,’ said Suze. She put on rubber gloves and took the scouring pad away from Zoe. ‘I’ll finish that.’

‘I didn’t say I would do it,’ Zoe said hurriedly. ‘I’ll think about it. That’s all.’

‘You’re a mate,’ said Suze. ‘That’s all I ask. Thanks.’

Zoe did a rapid assessment of the contents of the fridge and shifted food around to make room for bottles of white wine.

Suze considered her thoughtfully. ‘It is okay, me asking this guy tonight?’

Zoe was surprised. ‘It’s half your party. You ask anyone you want.’

‘He’s a client, but he’s cool,’ Suze assured her. ‘In fact he’s gorgeous.’

Zoe shrugged. ‘Even if he isn’t I can live with it. Lauren’s bringing Boring Accountant Man, after all.’

They both groaned.

Suze said delicately, ‘Speaking of cool—is your mum coming?’

The big house was theoretically the Brown family home. But Zoe’s mother had lived a sort of semi-detached existence from her three children ever since her husband left. These days the house ran like a shared tenancy between four adults. And if anyone cooked family meals or did a major shop for the house it was Zoe, not Deborah Brown.

Zoe said without any delicacy at all, ‘Not a chance. Any sign of a party and she heads for the hills.’

They were both silent, remembering. Philip Brown had walked out during Zoe’s sixteenth birthday party. All the neighbours knew it. Suze’s mother had been there with hot meals and a shoulder to lean on until Deborah had finally repelled her. Zoe and her siblings had been grateful for the hot meals, though. They’d stayed grateful until Zoe had taken charge and made sure that the house ran properly again.

‘Shame.’ Suze had gone through school envying Zoe her anti-authoritarian mother. She still had a lot of time for Deborah, though she thought the woman’s withdrawal into her own world was hard on Zoe. ‘She’s still on Planet Potty, then?’

‘Yes,’ said Zoe briefly.

The doorbell rang. It was the drink for the party. Zoe and Suze helped carry in the cases. There was wine and bottled water and vodka and mixers and beer. And then four dozen wine glasses in their divided cardboard boxes.

‘Sign here,’ said the friendly delivery man. ‘Glasses back clean by Monday. You pay for breakages. Have a good one!’

After that they were too busy for more confidences. Zoe did not know whether she was frustrated or relieved. Either way, it didn’t matter.

‘Help,’ Zoe said as she and Suze formed themselves into a production line to unpack glasses. ‘In less than three hours the house will be full of people expecting to be fed and entertained. So far only the garden is ready for them.’

But she and Suze worked well together. They were both practical and unflappable, and they had done this before. The food was set out, the drawing room disco was operational, and a bedroom full of the valuable and fragile was locked, with half an hour to spare.

Zoe showered and washed her hair quickly. She dried it fast, watching it spring into its corkscrew curls with resignation. ‘Oh, well, there’s nothing I can do about it. Curls are my curse.’

‘Some curse.’ Suze had extracted the tiniest possible slip of a dress from her briefcase. She climbed into it, then occupied Zoe’s dressing table. She was peering in the mirror, outlining her eyelids carefully.

Zoe pinned her hair carelessly on top of her head and began to scrabble in her wardrobe.

‘Why do I always forget how much effort it takes to organise a big party?’ said Suze between clenched teeth.

‘Because we’re good at it.’ Zoe debated between a white crop top and a black net shirt that was perfectly plain except that you could see through it. She opted for advice. ‘Which do you think?’

Suze put her eye make up on hold for moment, swivelled round and considered gravely.

‘Not white,’ she decided. ‘No tan yet.’

Zoe nodded, flung the white top back in the wardrobe and dug black satin underwear out of a drawer. Having decided, she dressed quickly, teaming the chiffon top with deep purple leather trousers, soft and clingy as gloves. Leaving Suze at the dressing table, she went into her en suite shower room and attacked the still damp curls with a comb. Soon they were falling into turbulent waves of gold and brown and chestnut, and even a hint of auburn.

She came out. ‘What do you think?’

Suze had finished her eyes. She turned. ‘Very Pre-Raphaelite,’ she approved.

‘Not as if I’ve just got out of bed?’

‘Of course not.’

‘So men aren’t going to think I’m willing to jump right back if they ask nicely?’

Suze chuckled. ‘Well, you know men. They live in hope.’

Zoe clutched her temples in mock despair.

‘Never mind,’ Suze consoled her. ‘You can always dance with Boring Accountant Man. He doesn’t back women into bed. Lauren told me he’s holding out for a virgin.’

Her tone said it all, thought Zoe. He might just as well have been holding out for a tyrannosaurus rex as far as Suze was concerned.

‘Really?’ she said in a constrained voice.

‘I don’t know what Lauren sees in her weirdos. She must be on a mission to bring the twenty-first century to the unenlightened.’

Zoe bent and fluffed up her hair unnecessarily. ‘I suppose so.’ She sounded depressed.

Suze put an arm round her shoulders and hugged her quickly.

‘Don’t worry,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I know you’re the saviour of the world’s party outcasts, but Boring Accountant Man isn’t going to be looking in your direction. Never seen anyone less virginal in my life.’

Zoe gave a hollow laugh. ‘I’m glad about that.’

Suze chuckled. ‘I don’t believe there’s a twenty-three-year-old virgin left in the northern hemisphere.’

Zoe winced. Only Suze did not see it, and the mask clicked into place, as it always did, without fail.

But bright, deceptive, popular Performance Zoe said naughtily, ‘Definitely dead as a dodo.’