The Bedroom Assignment. Sophie Weston
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