Good at Games by Jill Mansell Page A

wasn’t bothered about the bathroom?” Rory was impressed; the Clarksons’ poky bathroom had put off a number of clients. “I thought she’d go for that second-floor apartment on Pembroke Road.”
    â€œShe was going to, but I told her that if she bought Pembroke Road, she’d be living above a family with three teenagers. She doesn’t need a massive bathroom, but she definitely wants peace and quiet.” Suzy beamed. “I said, OK, this one costs a few grand more, but think what you’ll save on earplugs and expensive psychiatric treatment. And she laughed and offered me a job as her receptionist.”
    â€œDr. Witherton?” Donna looked up from her computer. “Actually laughed? My friend Hazel works on one of her wards at Frenchay. According to her, Esme Witherton is seriously scary. Rumor has it, she hasn’t laughed since nineteen seventy-six.”
    â€œTuh, only because nobody’s told her any good jokes. She loved my one about Bill Clinton and the tea bags.” Rory looked horrified, and Suzy shrugged modestly. “I’m a genius, that’s all. So”—elaborately casual now—“any messages while I was out?”
    â€œThe agent from the Halifax wants you to call him back.” Donna consulted her notepad. “And the Ferrises want to see the house on Bell Barn Road this after—”
    â€œI meant nice messages,” protested Suzy. “ Interesting messages. Date-type messages from gorgeous men, preferably policemen. With bright blue eyes. Named Harry. Come on,” she wailed, “he must have called!”
    â€œUmmm, no. Although, hang on.” Suzy’s heart soared for a nanosecond. “The agent from the Halifax is named Barry.” Donna’s expression was innocent. “That’s nearly the same, isn’t it?”
    â€œNo, it is not. Barry Bagshaw has acne and BO and eyebrows like a murderer. He’s about as gorgeous as a bucket of sick, and he has a very tedious one-track mind.”
    â€œSex?” said Donna.
    â€œWorse. Structural subsidence.”
    â€œOh. So what makes you so sure this sexy policeman of yours is going to get in touch?”
    Suzy looked smug.
    â€œHe will. I know he will. He has to—he’s my next boyfriend.”
    Rory, who had an appointment with a desperate would-be vendor on Julian Road, picked up his briefcase and car keys and said drily, “Poor devil, he just doesn’t know it yet.”
    * * *
    By seven o’clock that evening Harry still hadn’t phoned.
    â€œI don’t understand it,” she told Fee, hurt. “He knows he likes me. How could he not like me? What’s the matter with him? Why doesn’t he just call me up and ask me out?”
    Fee had never gone back to banking. As a way of acknowledging all the hard work she’d put into the band, Jaz had insisted on continuing to support her financially while she did all the things she most wanted to do. And there were so many things Fee wanted to do, from charity work to part-time education, that she was always busy, making the most of her new life.
    Fee was off to one of her beloved evening classes—archaeology, by the look of the books she was stuffing into her burlap haversack.
    â€œMaybe he’s working.”
    â€œHe could still phone .”
    â€œWhy don’t you phone him?”
    â€œToo forward. I wouldn’t want him to think I was pushy.” Suzy frowned. “Besides, he didn’t give me his number.”
    â€œSlipping,” Fee observed, throwing her haversack over her shoulder. “So what are your plans for this evening?”
    â€œOh, I don’t know.” Suzy thought for a moment, then brightened. “Maybe I’ll give my new sister a call.”

Chapter 5
    â€œHi, Lucille? It’s me, Suzy! I wondered if you’d like to meet up tonight, maybe go out for something to eat, get to know