Love-40 (17 page)

Any man, he thought, would be flattered to have this sort of attention from a girl like Amanda. Any man would be excited by the touch of her hand, by that smile clearly intended for him alone.

So why the hell did he keep looking at her and wishing she were someone else – someone with a vivid cloud of dark-red hair, velvet brown eyes and a lop-sided smile? Why did he so much want her to be Estelle?

Chapter 12

Suzi switched off the alarm before it had the chance to wake Michael. He was sleeping on his side, facing her, snoring very softly, his wispy fair hair not quite covering the bald patch on the centre of his scalp.

Despite her throbbing head, Suzi smiled. It was a fact that irritated Michael beyond belief; no point telling him that baldness could signify virility. Michael and every other man she knew would laugh in her face.

She crept out of bed, pulled on the blue fleecy robe that was a little worse for wear and showed how much she liked snuggling up to the dogs and cats first thing, and went into the bathroom. It was a shivery sort of morning – well, it would be at six-thirty, she reminded herself, putting tentative fingertips to the spot just above her left eyebrow where her hangover seemed to be centred.

Six-thirty … What a horrible thought. She had an hour before she was due to meet Josh Willis, which in itself was ridiculous since Suzi never needed an hour to get ready for anything. And besides, she hadn't definitely decided she would even go, had she? She could be getting up for a glass of water, she could have set the alarm for any number of reasons. Yes, well …

She pulled the robe in closer. How frustrating it was, she thought, not to have the option of saying to oneself, I'll have to go – I said I would. Because she hadn't. He had given her a clear choice; she could change her mind (if she'd made it up in the first place) even now, with no questions asked. But this degree of self-analysis so early in the morning was doing nothing for her hangover.

Suzi peered cautiously into the mirror above the wash-basin. Everything looked more or less intact. If it's raining, she told herself, I won't go. I'll creep back into bed next to the man who is supposed to be my lover, hold him close and forget car boot sales and Little John lookalikes. But if it was sunny …

She approached the blind with some trepidation. It was navy-blue and facing west, so you couldn't tell …

She yanked it up and blinked. The pain in her temple increased. But there was definite sunlight on the other side of the frosted glass and not a raindrop in sight. So she'd go.

She pulled open the shower curtain, narrowly missing the bottom shark blissfully swimming round in circles at the base of the mobile that hung, along with sea-horses and a copper unicorn, from the ceiling. What about Michael? She felt the familiar guilt. Was she off her head? And talking of heads, did she have time to wash her hair?

If Samson doesn't leap up when I come down the stairs, she thought, as she climbed gingerly into the shower – it was very early, so he was bound to still be asleep – she'd give it a miss.

She lathered her hair with shampoo almost without thinking, felt the hot pressured water rain on to her neck and shoulders. Lovely. Already feeling better, she reached for the conditioner. And if Michael woke up before she left – he was a heavy sleeper but she could switch the hairdryer on and that would increase the odds – then she wouldn't go.

Fairly virtuous … Suzi rinsed off the conditioner, feeling it, silky smooth as it floated from her scalp and slid down her back. Where was she going with all this? And why was she getting herself so worked up? It was nothing. Michael didn't seem to mind her going to a car boot sale on a Sunday – why should he? she reminded herself crossly – neither had he minded Liam turning up unannounced last night. Not that Liam ever did any announcing, she thought wryly, he didn't believe in giving her the option of saying no. And after they'd eaten, Michael had even washed up the supper things, so that she and Liam could have a heart to heart. Yes, Suzi thought, Michael's mood had definitely improved. That was good, wasn't it? Only … Why?

She tipped back her head, closed her eyes and felt her hangover drifting away from her. He'd sat there last night on her old sofa looking for all the world as if he was hugging some special secret close inside – instead of merely stroking the cat. But still, later, they hadn't made love. Oh, what should she do about Michael?

Squeezing her favourite shower gel (olive and elderflower) on to a natural sponge, Suzi soaped herself generously. Last night had been – almost – like past times. They'd all had a bit too much to drink, Michael had got out his guitar and they'd sung a few of the old songs – Liam and Suzi joining in lustily, if not tunefully. They'd gone on until they ran out of lyrics, until Samson, Delilah and the two cats had all left the room in protest, until Liam had cried a couple of maudlin tears for an absent Estelle and until Suzi had remembered that maybe she
might
be getting up at six-thirty the next morning.

Liam was still sleeping it off downstairs and Suzi had managed just over four hours. She must, she thought now, want to go to this car boot sale pretty badly.

Ten minutes later, hairdryer in hand (it was selfish, she decided, to wake Michael purely on a whim) Suzi went downstairs to be greeted by a joyful Samson who clearly thought his luck had changed.

‘Sorry,' Suzi told him. ‘I'll feed you, but a walk's not on offer.'

As a precaution, she glanced back up the narrow stairs behind her and then back to Samson. ‘I've got a tall, red-headed stranger to meet,' she confided, kissing his neck. So that was it then, her options had decreased to one – she must be going to the boot sale after all. And why the heck was she still feeling bad about it?

*   *   *

Suzi glanced at her watch as she rounded the corner at Pride Square. The Square was deserted and even the swish-slap of her trainers on the pavement seemed to echo in the silence. But then, it would be silent at seven-thirty on a Sunday morning, she reminded herself. Most people had the sense to stay in bed.

After all that rushing around (what on earth had possessed her to wash her hair?) she'd still be five minutes late, she realised. She might even have missed him.

At this thought her step quickened and she consciously slowed again. She would not look as if she were hurrying, she would not look as if she were worried, she would look as if she were simply out for an early morning stroll, damn it. Besides, she could see now that he wasn't waiting outside.

As she got to the shop, she rubbed her cold hands together and wished she'd worn a warmer coat. Her denim jacket had seemed the right kind of casual note to play, but … she shivered, it was feeling pretty flimsy right now.

To pass the time, she walked a bit further along the pavement, glanced in at the window of The Bargain Basement, saw their garish
BECAUSE YOU'RE WORTH IT
sign, and looked quickly away again. Bargains or not, she'd like to bet Stan and Terry wouldn't be up at this unearthly hour on a Sunday morning.

She glanced up at the window of the flat above Secrets In The Attic. Would Estelle be up and about? Probably not, and her curtains were still drawn, but Suzi dodged into The Bargain Basement's doorway just in case. If Estelle were to see her, there would be far too much explaining to do.

Explaining that was beginning to seem rather pointless, since Josh still hadn't arrived. Suzi was just thinking that she might as well go back to the cottage, collect the dogs and have a proper morning walk along the river down to the harbour, when a battered white van rolled up beside her, the window was wound down in the old-fashioned way and a red head appeared at the driver's window.

‘I wouldn't stand there if I were you,' growled a familiar voice. ‘Stan might think you're planning to nick his stock. Or his brilliant line in marketing.' He laughed. ‘You might even get a bucket of water thrown over your head in the name of healthy competition.'

‘Sssh.' Glancing furtively up towards Estelle's window, Suzi came out of cover and ran round to the passenger side via the rear of the van. It was freckled with rust, splattered with dirt and someone had thrown a slice of cucumber that had stuck to the back window and was now decomposing nicely.

She climbed in and flashed him a quick smile, but to her irritation he didn't immediately drive away. ‘Why sssh?' he mocked. ‘Who lives up there? You and your husband?'

‘I'm not married.' Suzi fastened her seat belt to hide her embarrassment. ‘And my business partner lives up there if you must know.'

He raised his eyebrows into a question. He was wearing the flying jacket again today, and a pair of faded denim jeans.

‘Estelle Howard. We're joint owners,' she explained.

‘Ah.' He glanced in the rear view mirror, revved the engine but still didn't move off. ‘Now it all becomes clear. The same partner who doesn't want to sell the stock?'

Suzi nodded, wishing he'd just get on with it.

‘So don't tell me…' He grinned the cat's grin. ‘She doesn't want you to go to a car boot sale today, because she doesn't want you to buy any either?'

‘No, of course not. I mean, she does. We're always looking to buy new stock. It's just that…' Why did he have to make things sound so complicated? And why weren't they moving? ‘Shall we go?' She flicked him a challenging look. ‘Or were you planning to stay here all day?'

*   *   *

Estelle was flitting around Secrets In The Attic moving furniture, creating space for her jewellery display. She'd placed an ad in the local paper,
DON'T LEAVE IT TUCKED AWAY IN A DRAWER
, and had organised some cheap leaflets on the same theme to shove in letter-boxes. With some difficulty she eased the grandfather clock further into the corner until the pendulum gonged in protest. Sure, the ad had meant taking a leaf from Stan and Terry's advertising campaign, she knew that. It was their style, but clearly their style worked, so what the hell.

She brushed the dust from her hands on to her parrot-green and yellow baggies and folded her arms as she surveyed the shop floor. She'd already bought some of the jewellery outright. Other pieces – because, as Suzi kept reminding her, funds were low – she'd taken on a sale or return commission basis.

Moving over to the safe, she pressed the combination and pulled out the box of jewellery. Not a bad stash so far. She sifted through it. She'd avoided obviously antique-y items like pocket watches that might have value but little use in today's market. Instead, she'd concentrated on wearability.

She picked up a clasp and admired the smoothness of the pale ivory. Because this jewellery was to be worn. She held the clasp up to the collar of the old silk shirt she was wearing over a green vest top. Nice.

She would display it, Estelle decided, on black velveteen. And maybe include a children's section – little girls loved long beads that swished and rattled as they walked, and it would give them something to look at and try on while their mothers concentrated on what
they
wanted for a change. She had a feeling that this could turn things around for Secrets. And let's face it, it had to.

The phone rang and she answered it. ‘Car?' She frowned. ‘My car isn't for sale.' Weird. That was the third call today. What was going on? Why would anyone imagine her darling Mini Mayfair was for sale?

Lurking at the bottom of the box, she found a couple of jewelled hatpins. Victorian probably, she thought, examining one of them under her microscope. More women were wearing hats these days and antique hatpins would be a popular accessory, she was sure.

She began checking pins and clasps, sorting out those pieces that needed work other than cleaning and polishing. She had a clear vision of a shop that specialised in beautiful jewellery – old and new. Estelle smiled slowly. With a section for each decade perhaps, right up to the present day.

Drawing out a narrow box, she opened it carefully. Inside were Shelagh Rossi's pearls, creamy and perfect, cool to the touch, tiny at both ends, building gradually to one gorgeous globe in the centre. And there was more to come …

Estelle felt a little guilty at being the recipient of Shelagh's jewellery, especially since Nick had told her about the money problems his mother was experiencing, and her utter refusal to consider selling or even opening up the house on the hill to the public, as he'd suggested. Nick, it seemed, was ploughing the majority of the money he earned as a business consultant into the place. ‘But I often wonder,' he had told her, ‘if it's even worth saving.'

What
was
worth saving? Estelle looked around the shop. This place was for starters. And it wasn't too late. It meant so much – her chance to achieve something on her own, her bid for independence, her bolt-hole – for that was what it had become. And she'd do her damnedest to save it.

But Liam … well, their relationship was now clearly beyond saving. The fact that he'd been sitting with Amanda at the end of the under-9s tournament, her hand on his arm – Amanda's little gesture of possession – had told Estelle everything that she needed to know. Everything in fact that she'd known already, she reminded herself, since she'd seen them together outside his place. Liam and Amanda Lake were now a couple. So much then, for his high and mighty principles. He was seeing someone who had never had to work for a thing in her entire life.

Estelle picked up the ring she'd bought last week from a little old lady whose eyes had filled with tears as she'd handed it over.

‘Are you sure you want to let it go?' Estelle had asked her, for this was the part of her job that she hated. As with Shelagh Rossi, too often the reason that people sold their jewellery was because they needed to. They needed the money for more basic necessities – heating, food, shelter. Memories had to go …