The Bedroom Assignment. Sophie Weston
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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.’
CHAPTER TWO
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