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The Bedroom Assignment
Sophie Weston


Everyone thought she was a party girlZoe Brown seemed the ultimate city girl. Her friends thought she was a "hot babe," keeping men–and jobs–on a short lease. Zoe didn't dare reveal that she wasn't a vamp–she was a virgin!But had she finally met Mr. Right?Zoe was stunned to find herself confessing her Big Secret to her new boss. Playboy millionaire Jay Christopher was a man used to seeing a problem, and fixing it! How on earth was he going to fix Zoe…?









“I’ve got this big secret.”


Zoe spread her hands eloquently as she continued, struggling to explain. “Everybody thinks I’m a raver. It’s like I’m cheating. All the time.”

Jay shook his head, still bewildered. “Cheating how?”

“Living a lie,” she said impatiently.

“Ah. I think I begin to see.” He swirled the coffee in his mug.

“No man’s ever hurt me. No one’s ever let me down. I just—never got around to sex.”

Never got around to it? Jay found he was speechless.


Dear Reader,

We’re constantly striving to bring you the best romance fiction by the most exciting authors…and in Harlequin Romance® we’re especially keen to feature fresh, sparkling, emotionally exhilarating novels! Modern love stories to suit your every mood—poignant, deeply moving stories; lively upbeat romances with sparks flying; or sophisticated, edgy novels with a cosmopolitan flavor.

All our authors are special, and we hope you continue to enjoy each month’s new selection of Harlequin Romance novels. This month we’re delighted to feature another novel with extra fizz! Sophie Weston has an exuberant, compelling writing style and she loves to create strong characters all women can identify with. In The Bedroom Assignment she takes us on an emotional roller coaster with a young woman facing a very private dilemma!

We hope you enjoy this book by Sophie Weston—it’s fresh, flirty and feel-good!—and look out for future sparkling stories in Harlequin Romance. If you’d like to share your thoughts and comments with us, do please write to:

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Happy reading!

The Editors




The Bedroom Assignment

Sophie Weston












www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE (#uc9dbf3bb-3951-5e20-9469-06ada1a83f13)

CHAPTER TWO (#ubc246adc-ea3e-5970-b52a-3431a5d88038)

CHAPTER THREE (#uda12c1e0-e284-5f9c-be97-e9e13c4ecb72)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE


‘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.’




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 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.




CHAPTER THREE


JAY let himself out of the kitchen door, as he always did for his morning run. The old manor house felt asleep. He did some stretches, looking at the way the early-morning sun turned the Cotswold stone to the colour of warm butter. He smiled. His grandfather’s house smiled back at him.

He stopped stretching and started off on the familiar route, his trainers picking up damp from the dew-wet grass.

Across the kitchen garden. Through the iron gate in the wall and into the woods. Along the grassy track that followed the stream back up the hill. It was easy, this first part of the course, a gentle slope and an even surface to run on. He found his pace and let his thoughts wander.

It had been an easy journey last night. The roads had been nearly empty. He had been in bed just after two. That was not so different from the hours he kept in London. Lethal if he were in serious training, of course. Only he wasn’t. It was a long time since he had competed, except in the boardroom.

A long time since I have had to try at anything.

Except he had had to try last night. Suze had been right. He had been surprised to find that the girl with the voluptuous mouth was so hostile to working for him.

No, he corrected himself, she was hostile to working for Culp and Christopher. She did not know him. At least, he hoped it was Culp and Christopher.

Anyway, he had followed Suze’s advice. He had challenged her. And before she knew where she was, she was promising to turn up on Monday morning and make him eat his words. That had made him feel as if he had won a victory.

Careful, he told himself wryly. You don’t want a resurgence of the old male animal. Not at work. Not after last time.

But the thought of Zoe Brown making him eat his words set his feet pounding faster all the same.




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