The House on Willow Street

The effects of the vodka were telling her she needed another drink and something carb-laden for dinner.

‘Table for one,’ she said to the girl behind the desk, ignoring the man on duty. For all her outward sexuality, Suki Richardson had spent a lot of her life being wary of men.

At her table, she put on her glasses, took out a novel, a notepad and her pen – men were less likely to bother women when they had a pen and notebook – and set about trying to think her way out of trouble.

Through pasta starter, a steak so bloody that a good vet could have brought it back to life, and the hideous yet delicious concoction that was chocolate and banana caramel pie, she did her best to plan an escape clause.

She could throw herself on the mercy of Suarez: Don’t write about me, I was so young, I didn’t know what I was doing. I can tell you everything else about the Richardsons …

No, unlikely to work. She’d read his Jackie Kennedy book, his Nancy Reagan book and the Bush series. He’d have too many insiders telling him everything there was to know about Suki Power. And if she spilled on the Richardsons, they’d find out and her name would be mud.

Meet him and tell him the truth … ? Well, some of it. God forbid that she should tell the whole truth. Only Tess knew …

Tess. In that instant, Suki realized that all the damage limitation in the world wouldn’t fix it if Suarez got to Tess.

Not that her sister would say anything. Loyal to the end, that was Tess. No, Tess wouldn’t talk. But she was an innocent. If someone like Suarez turned up in Avalon, he’d ferret out the truth all right.

Suki’s lovely dinner began to churn inside her. There was nothing for it: she’d have to go home. Back to Avalon.

Not yet, though.

She didn’t have the money, and Mick was so down about the band having nowhere to play that she couldn’t go off and leave him, much as she wanted to escape sometimes. His sadness sapped her energy, made the house feel full of misery and apathy.

No, she’d phone Tess and talk to her. Tess would understand. They might be like chalk and cheese, but they were on the same wavelength.

She’d talk to her sister, figure out what this damn Suarez guy knew, and then take it from there. She couldn’t cope with her life going into freefall again. She simply couldn’t.

Chapter Three (#ulink_69b1f0f5-dc95-52f4-842a-827a0e31c01e)

She shouldn’t have come. Why had she come?

In the ballroom of a small, pretty castle outside Kildare, Mara Wilson stood behind a pillar and wondered if it wasn’t too late to sneak off. To pretend a migraine. Sudden onset of shellfish poisoning. A suppurating leg sore that could be fatal …

‘Mara, sweetheart! You came!’

Jack’s mother grabbed her in a hug and Mara knew the moment to escape the love of her life’s wedding was lost.

Resplendent in mother-of-the-groom cerise pink with what looked like half a flamingo’s plumage pinned on to her head, Jack’s mother, Sissy, was half crying, half laughing as she heaped affection on Mara.

‘It’s been so long since we saw you and we miss you. Oh, remember the fun we had, that Christmas. You’re fabulous to come today, one in a million – that’s what I told Jack: Mara is one in a million.’

Unfortunately, Mara thought, smiling back grittily, Jack Taylor had decided that he didn’t want to marry one in a million. He’d chosen someone else. Tawhnee, of the long, long legs, long black hair and olive skin that looked fabulous in virginal white. Mara had stayed discreetly at the back of the church for the ceremony, on the inner pew so she wouldn’t be in the bridal couple’s eyeline when they made their triumphant walk down the aisle. But even from inside, with a woman in a cartwheel of a hat outside her, she’d still been able to see her rival and the man Mara had loved.

Jack looked like … well, Jack. Handsome, louche, a man’s man with a naughty smile on his face and his fair hair chopped to show off the clean jaw. And Tawhnee resembled a model from a bridal catalogue. Gleaming café au lait skin, courtesy of her Brazilian mother, long black hair and a smile on her beautiful face. She was the perfect bride and as Mara stared at her she finally realized it was over: Jack had married Tawhnee. Tall, elegant Tawhnee, as opposed to short, curvy Mara. He’d never be with Mara again. It was all too late.

When Tawhnee had arrived in Kearney Property Partners straight out of college, she’d been assigned to Mara.

‘I can’t hand her over to any of the men,’ Jack had confided to Mara at breakfast one day when she’d stayed over at his place and they were having coffee and toast before rushing to the office.

‘Why not?’ Mara had demanded.

‘She’s too good looking. And young, very young,’ Jack had added quickly when Mara had poked him with one of her bare feet. ‘She’s just a kid, right? Twenty-three or -four. I need a woman to take care of her. I need lovely you to do it.’

‘Lovely me?’ Mara got off her seat and slid on to Jack’s lap.

He liked her body on his, her curves nestled against his hardness.

They’d woken at six and made lazy, sleepy love. She felt adored and sensual, like a cat bathed in the sun after a hot day. Jack didn’t invite her to stay over often and never mid-week, so it was a real treat.

‘Yes, lovely you,’ Jack said, and kissed her on the lips.

‘I’ll take care of her,’ Mara said, visualizing an innocent young graduate who’d gaze up to her new mentor. In fact, Mara had had to look up to Tawhnee, who was at least five nine in her bare feet. She was an object of sin in a dress and during the five days Mara mentored her, not a single man – from client to colleague – could set eyes on Tawhnee without their jaw dropping open.

‘It’s sex appeal, that’s what it is. Raw bloody sex appeal,’ Mara told Cici, her flatmate.

‘So? You’re not the Hunchback of Notre Dame yourself,’ snapped back Cici. ‘She’s nothing but a kid.’

‘You are not getting the picture,’ Mara said. ‘This girl is Playboy fabulous. I have no idea why she wants to work for us. She could earn a fortune if she headed to a go-go bar.’

‘She might want to make money from her mind,’ Cici pointed out loftily. ‘You’re labelling her. I was reading a thing on the Web about how beautiful women aren’t taken seriously and other women are jealous of them.’ Cici loved the Internet and had to be hauled away from her laptop late at night to get some zeds.

‘True. I’m being a cow,’ Mara said, sighing. ‘I’ll try harder.’

She didn’t have to. Tawhnee was suddenly and mysteriously whisked away to work with Jack.

He was director of operations. It was unusual for such a lowly trainee to be working with Jack, but as he said himself: ‘She needs to get to grips with this side of the business. What film should we go to see tonight? You pick. We’ve gone to loads of films I’ve picked. It’s your choice.’

In retrospect, she’d been very trusting. All the ‘let’s go and see a film’ and ‘shall we have dinner out’ had kept her fears at bay. Her boyfriend was being ultra-attentive, therefore there was no way he could be lusting after Tawhnee, even if every other man in the office was.

Like, hello!

And then it was too late.

Mara was under her desk, trying to find her favourite purple pen when two of the guys came into the office after an auction.

‘Lucky bastard,’ said one. ‘I wouldn’t mind doing the tango with Tawhnee.’

‘Yeah, Jack’s always had a way with the girls. I thought Mara had settled him down, but a leopard—’

‘—doesn’t change his spots,’ agreed the other one.

‘And she’s hot. An über babe.’

‘Mara’s lovely and she’s great fun but not—’

‘Yeah, not in Tawhnee’s league. Who is, right? Don’t get me wrong, Mara’s cute and she can look sexy, it has to be said, but she wears all those mad old clothes and she is short. Basically, compared to Tawhnee, she’s …’

‘Yeah, ordinary. While, Tawhnee, phew! She’s so hot, she’s on fire.’