The Bedroom Assignment. Sophie Weston
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