Having a Ball (7 page)

Stevie sat up, an idea coalescing in her head. "Which forum?"

"There's a message board attached to the Triphoppers website," said
Alice. "Someone on there was going to the ball." She smiled. "Actually, once she
mentioned it, a couple of other people wanted to go as well. I couldn't afford it, of
course. Besides, Mum and Dad would
never
have let me stay out all night
like that."

Stevie knew a lot about Triphoppers. They had burst into the scene a few
years back when they appeared on a TV talent show. They had been in the charts
ever since. But more than that, Stevie's sister in law, Jane, was Ashby, the lead
singer's, ex-girlfriend. Even though she and Ashby were no longer on speaking
terms, Jane still kept in touch with the other band members. Especially the
drummer, Pete. Stevie had met Pete at Jane and Marsh's wedding. She remembered
him as being kind and down to earth, not at all like a popstar. She'd talked to him at
length and even told him about her aspirations of being an event organiser.

"This buzz," said Stevie, carefully, her mind still thinking through the
possibilities. "How does it start?"

Alice shrugged. "Dunno. I guess someone posts a message about it. You
know, like 'I'm really excited about going to see Coldplay' or something and people
get talking about it."

"Could you mention this ball on there?"

Alice pulled a face. "Well, it's not really the sort of thing people are
into...you know. Charity balls. I mean, it's not as if someone famous was coming or
anything."

"What if..." Stevie closed her eyes, an idea becoming more solid as she
spoke. "What if I could persuade someone famous to come? Say, someone from
Triphoppers."

Alice sat up, eyes shining. "Do you
know
someone from
Triphoppers. It's not Ashby is it? Do you know Ashby?" She dropped her magazine.
"He's
so
gorgeous. He's just...incredible."

"No," said Stevie quickly. "I don't know Ashby. I'm just thinking there
might be a way to get someone from the band to come."

"Really?" said Alice. "That would be so cool! How are you going to do
that?"

"I'm not sure yet." Stevie frowned and pinched the bridge of her nose.
"I'm working on it."

Of course, getting in touch with Pete would mean contacting Jane. Which
would mean making peace with Marsh. She wasn't sure she was up to that just
yet.

***

It was Sunday and Stevie was at the house in Oxford again. She was
standing in Evelyn's office, watching her rummaging around amongst the piles of
paper on her desk.

Despite her increasing familiarity with the house, this was the first time
Stevie had been in the office. It was a little room holding a desk, a phone/fax, a
computer and several precarious looking stacks of paper. The room had once had a
fireplace and still had a mantelpiece that now sheepishly framed the computer. On
it were several photographs. The biggest was of a man, greying at the temples. He
was shading his eyes and laughing into the sun. Stevie stepped closer to study it. He
must have been Evelyn's husband. Next to it was a smaller photo of Evelyn, her late
husband and her two sons. The resemblance between Tom and his father was
unmistakeable.

"That's my Frank," said Evelyn, coming to stand next to her. The normal
sparkle in her eyes dimmed a little. A small sigh escaped her.

Stevie recognised it. She felt something similar whenever she looked at
the photo of herself, Marsh and her parents. "You must miss him."

"Every day." She sighed again. "This house..." She waved a hand to
indicate the rooms and corridors. "It was his dream to rescue it and turn it into a
place where people lived and moved again. He said it had seen too much to be
allowed to live in its own echoes." She walked slowly back to her desk. "The boys
think I should sell up and move to a small flat and maybe write text books, but...I
don't know. Working on the house, I can almost imagine he's still here, you know.
Working on a different room. Sometimes I feel I can almost hear him. I can't listen
to Any Questions anymore. I keep thinking I'll hear him explode and shout at the
radio." She smiled. "He did that. Every time. He used to get so cross." She stopped
and looked out of the window, blinking.

Stevie felt tears threaten. "I...know what it's like."

Evelyn turned blue eyes toward her. "You do?" She gave Stevie a glance
up and down. A glance that said "What can someone as young as you know about
loss?"

"My parents died when I was thirteen." She'd said it so many times before
that it no longer stung. What stung were the times when she forgot it and expected
them to be waiting for her when she got home. Or when she opened her birthday
cards and felt the lack of the one that was no longer there. "I still miss them. Even
after all these years."

Evelyn looked away. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

There was a moment of silence. Evelyn sniffed. "Oh dear me." She
brushed a tear away with her palm. "Excuse me a second. If the doorbell rings, will
you answer it? It'll be Tom. He usually comes to visit on a Sunday." With that, she
scuttled out of the door.

Stevie stared after her. She hadn't meant to upset Evelyn. On the other
hand, she knew it hadn't been her fault. Evelyn clearly missed her husband. She
turned back to the mantelpiece and the photo of Tom. He hadn't made a very good
impression on her the last time they met. He'd come across as arrogant and
opinionated and he clearly didn't like her. On the other hand, he came to see his
mother regularly and mowed the lawn for her. A man who did that couldn't be all
bad, could he?

The doorbell rang. Should she answer the door? What if it wasn't Tom? It
could be anyone. The bell rang again. She peered hopefully down the corridor. No
sign of Evelyn.

The bell rang a third time, a little longer than before. The person outside
was clearly getting impatient. Hesitantly Stevie trudged to the front, opened the
door a crack and peered out.

It was Tom. Dressed in jeans and Rugby shirt, he looked casual and,
frankly, gorgeous. "About time," he said. "I was starting to get..." He peered into the
gap between the door and the frame. "Oh," he said. "It's you."

Stevie opened the door and let him in. "Nice to see you too, Tom."

"Where's my mother? And Alice?"

"Busy and out, respectively." Stevie caught a whiff of aftershave as he
brushed past. Despite her dislike of Tom, she couldn't resist a quick glance at his
behind as he strode past. Nice.

"Uhuh." He paused in the hallway, as though trying to decide what to
do.

Stevie frowned. She didn't particularly want to be friends with Tom, even
without his attitude, he was distractingly attractive and she knew that sort of thing
only interfered with a good working relationship, but if she was to get this ball to
turn some sort of a profit, she was going to need his help.

"Tom, wait a moment." She joined him. Her shadow fell across him as she
got in the way of the light coming from the windows above the staircase. "I know
you don't like me. I'm not sure why." She paused to see if he would reply to the
implied question.

His eyes came up to her face briefly, then looked away. "It's
complicated."

What kind of an answer was that? Stevie shrugged. "Fine. I know you
think I'm too young and inexperienced to do this job, but your mum hired me. You
know as well as I do that I'm being paid well below the going rate, so I'm not trying
to rip her off." She took a step closer to him. He took a small step back. He was still
glaring at the floor.

"But, if I'm going to be helping with this ball, it would be really nice if we
could at least be civil to each other."

Finally, he looked up. The corners of his mouth twitched. He thought she
was funny? What a patronising git! Stevie swallowed her anger and offered him a
hand. "So, friends?"

"OK." Tom shook her hand. His grip was firm and warm.

Evelyn came hurrying down the stairs. "Hello darling!"

"Hello Mother." He kissed her on the cheek.

"Come and have a cuppa. We're just going to discuss things about the
ball."

Tom pulled a face, then glanced at Stevie and said, "Okay. Fine. Anything
to help." He followed them meekly into the library.

The main thing Stevie needed from Tom, was help with the garden. She
told him so.

He stared at her, frowning. "The garden?"

"Yes. It's in desperate need of attention. The flower bushes need
trimming, the herb garden needs sorting out. It's the sort of thing that would only
take a few days to do, but it makes sense to sort out who's going to do it." She
looked expectantly at him.

"Me? I'm sorry Stevie, but I work. I can come and do bits for you on a
Sunday, but that's as far as my commitment goes."

"What about Saturdays?" She hadn't meant to ask that question out loud.
She had been wondering what he did with himself outside of work, and the words
just came out.

"I work on Saturdays." He gave her a withering glare.

"What? Through choice?" Stevie couldn't believe anyone would do
that.

Tom shrugged. "What can I say? Married to my job."

Stevie recovered her composure. Professional. She had to be professional.
"I'm sure we can manage with just Sundays. We can all pitch in."

Tom didn't look pleased at the suggestion, but he sighed and agreed, in
very bad grace, Stevie thought.

"Brilliant." She gave him her most radiant smile, it usually mellowed
people. He looked away.

Grumpy bugger.

* * * *

To: Tom Blackwood

From: Olivia Gornall

Tom. Do you
fancy a game of squash this eve? Stress relief. How'd it go showing the
house to the lovely Vienna?
J

##

From: Tom Blackwood

To: Olivia Gornall

Vienna hasn't
been yet. I'm busy trying to stay out of the party planner's way. She
keeps giving me things to do.

##

From: Olivia Gornall

To:
Tom Blackwood
Sounds like
a right battleaxe.

##

From: Tom Blackwood

To: Olivia Gornall

>
That's the trouble, she's not a battleaxe. She's only 22 and
very attractive in a young and nubile sort of way. Trouble is, she
doesn't seem to realise this. Today, she gave me a lecture on how it
would be easier to get through the project if I was civil to her. She was
standing in the light, wearing a thin cotton shirt and, with the sun
shining behind her, I could see right through it. It was all I could do not
to stare at her tits.
Of course, she thought I was just being rude and
avoiding eye contact.

##

From: Olivia Gornall

To: Tom
Blackwood
So, ask her out
then.
Of course, you'd have to let the lovely Vienna down
gently.

##

From: Tom Blackwood

To: Olivia Gornall

I keep telling you.
Vienna and I aren't an item. We just have a friendly arrangement, that's
all. Friends with benefits, if you like.
I can't ask Stevie out. There's a
bit of history there from a long time ago.

##

From: Olivia Gornall

To: Tom
Blackwood
History ? Ugh.
She's 22.

##

From: Tom Blackwood

To: Olivia Gornall

For heaven's
sake. Wash your filthy mind out!
It's not that sort of
history.
Gotta go. Vienna's here.

* * * *

Stevie and Alice were walking around the garden, making a list of jobs
that needed to be done. It had once been beautiful, but had been left to itself for too
long. The only things that had been cared for were the lawn and the gazebo,
although closer inspection revealed that the benches inside the wooden structure
were in need of attention. Stevie's planner's mind was whirring away, listing all the
things that had to be done. Beyond the lawn was what would have a been rose
garden and around the corner, the remains of an herb garden. Stevie stopped and
breathed in the smell of rosemary and thyme. It was salvageable. It just needed
work.

She was scribbling notes when there was a peal of feminine laughter.
Both she and Alice looked up to where Tom was standing in the veranda outside
the conservatory, talking to a woman with sleek blonde hair.

"Who's that?" Stevie whispered.

"That's Vienna. She's Uncle Tom's booty call."

"His what?"

"Booty call. You know, dial-a-shag. They used to go out. Now they just
meet up every so often for a shag."

Stevie stared at Alice in disbelief. "Really?" She looked back. Tom and the
woman were coming down the metal steps into the garden. Vienna was wearing
tight black jeans, a figure hugging white t-shirt and stilettos. Her hair was a perfect
curtain of palest blonde. Her makeup was immaculate. Everything about her
screamed "city girl".

As she watched, one of Vienna's heels got caught in the grillwork. Tom
knelt down and gently freed it. Vienna laid a hand on his shoulder. The gesture was
somehow intimate. Tom took her hand and helped her down the last couple of
steps.

Yes. They're definitely sleeping together.
For some reason, that
irritated her.

"She's half Scandinavian," Alice whispered.

That would explain the hair. She didn't even need to bleach it for it to
look like that. Cow. Stevie lowered her head and focused at her clipboard. She was
here to do a job. Not ogle the boss's son. "We'd best carry on with the list."