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Blanche in Love - Chapter 3

With the kids tagging along, Lyndon edged into the kitchen and poured himself a coffee.  He liked properly-made fresh coffee in the mornings, but Suzy didn’t care what she drank.  She was never compos mentis first thing anyway.  She stood in the doorway watching him pour out the Blue Mountain and admiring his broad shoulders. 

      Her guilty secret was instant cappuccino with squirty cream and chocolate powder on the top - but only once they'd all gone out.  Lyndon she knew, would have a fit if he saw her drinking instant coffee, let alone if she actually tried to give him one first thing in the morning.  Give him a nescafé.

      "We're all right, aren't we?" she asked.

      "Any reason we shouldn't be, Hon?"

      She shook her head just as Ricky knocked the sugar bowl off the work surface with an Action Man. 

      “I suppose this is where I say 'Oh Sugar!' - where’s Petya?” said Lyndon, looking round as if she might be hiding under the sink or behind the banisters.

      “Her Panti’s in a twist," said Suzy.  "Says he’s going back to Bulgaria and of course she’s in shreds.  So I sent her round to sort him out.  She’ll be back later.  Don't worry about this, I'll clean it up.”

      Lyndon kissed her cheek.  “You shouldn’t let these people take advantage, Honey.”

      “She’s normally very reliable,” said Suzy.

      No sooner had he and the kids disappeared than the Grey Lizard phoned.  Deryck had been taken into hospital with a grumbling appendix so he was taking over for the time being and would Suzy please present herself at the office for a staff meeting.  Immediately.

      “No way!  Officially I'm not working at all this week.  I am only helping out as a favour...”

      Suzy stopped suddenly, surprised at herself.  She wasn’t normally that assertive.

      “Oh,” choked the Grey Lizard. “I see.  I’ll have to speak to Mr Cuepouri about this.  I’m not at all in agreement, personally.  You English...”

      “Well, you do that,” said Suzy, still amazed at her own nerve.  He'd be incandescent with fury; he hated everyone except other Flemish-speaking Belgians at the best of times, and certainly wouldn’t forgive her for refusing to attend his meeting.  She just have to hope Deryck got well soon.

      Raising her eyebrows at herself in the mirror, she shrugged and put the phone down - but of course it rang again immediately.  The usual morning rush of inter-au pair calls establishing who was meeting who to do what with which kids that afternoon.  Suzy fielded them all, but then the oven gloves reared their ugly heads.  

      “So marvellous, Mrs Lysle!” said Bella Dance enthusiastically down the phone.  “Just perfect!  How clever you are!  So talented!  The glitter whiskers are just marvellous!  I'm so sorry I wasn't in when you dropped them off.  I do hope you won’t mind..?”

      “Sorry?  Mind what?”

      “Well... you see we’ve been putting our heads together in the staff room and we’ve decided to combine the end of term tap show with the Nativity play.  What do you think?”

      “A tap dancing Nativity play?”

      “Yes, dear little Fatima is such a beautiful tapper, and pretty too, a perfect Mermaid Mary.”

      “A dancing mermaid?”

      “Well, a dancing Virgin Mermaid, actually...”

      “Excuse me?”

      “Oh yes, we're keeping the underwater theme, so we can still use the tapping prawns in the Yellow Submarine.  Not to replace the Three Kings, but the prawns can replace the sheep, you see?  We’ll just change the words to “We all live in a shed behind the Inn, Just near Bethlehem, Near the Sea of Galilee...”  The play will be set under water, you see?  So much more original for the children, don’t you think?  Marvellous!”

      Suzy stifled her giggles and put the phone down.  The woman was gloriously, beautifully mad.  Autumn sunlight slanted across her desk tinting her skin gold as she checked her work emails; a screed of spammy junk, a whole list of dusty jokes from Caroline, and a mouldy-looking email from the Grey Lizard which she deleted unread. 

      Finally, she logged onto Blanche’s hotmail account.  There hadn't been a reply all week and there wouldn't be now, but checking the address put off the evil moment when she'd have to start work. 

      Bang.  There it was.  Blanche had an email.  Her pulse started racing.  From Agent B!  Laughter bubbling up in her throat, she opened the email and read it: “Yes, you guessed it.  Far too often I look around and realise that I’m the only person in this office who works through lunch.  The Europeans constantly disappear to nice restaurants but I never get further than the fifth floor canteen.  So it’s time I got wise and went native.  How about you?”

      She threw herself back in her chair and laughed out loud.  So whatever the game was, it was on.  Blanche had done it.  Très bien, she told herself in a heavy French accent, I have ze long beautiful scarlet nails but zey never break when I yam typing fast.

      “Moi non plus, I’m not native to Brussels either,” she tapped and clicked on send.  Was he there?  Her fingers quivering with excitement, she sat and stared at the screen.  And then suddenly a reply arrived.

      “Well, hello there!  So where are you from?  Belgium?  France?  And who are you?  Or are you a mystery woman?”

      "A mystery woman?  Who knows?" typed Suzy.  A spy with her dark hair cut into a beautiful bob would cross her legs, she thought, let one stiletto swing from her toes and bait the hook more invitingly.  She pouted and wished she had some blood-red lipstick.  Her fingers a blur, she typed:  "I yam French, but how do any of us know where we come from?  Perhaps we are all merely figments of ze imagination?  Merely characters in a book.”

      The phone started ringing and she growled at it.  Go away!  Zut!  She was too busy to mess around with ze telephone calls.

      “In which case we have nothing to lose because we don’t know each other," he replied more or less instantly.  "We have never met and perhaps we will never exchange phone numbers, addresses, dates of birth.  Perhaps we’ll always sign our emails B.  Blanche and Agent B.  Bed and Breakfast.  Does that sound good to you?"

      Blanche raised her eyebrows.  He was moving swiftly indeed!  So much ze better. 

      "So since we have nothing to lose, perhaps we could tell each other the truth,” he continued.

      “Ze virtual reality?”

      “I dare you,” he typed back and Blanche could imagine that beautiful man in the photo rubbing his chin impatiently, his long fingers twitching as he waited for her response.

      Suddenly Suzy lost it.  Who was Blanche anyway and what on earth was she doing flirting with her own husband by email? 

      “I don’t know,” she replied.  “What if I don’t have any inner reality?  What if I don’t know who I am or where I come from?” 

      “I'll tell the truth if you do,” he typed.

      “I don’t want to get recalled, but I want to experience this freedom and truth...” typed Suzy, trying desperately to get back into Blanche's skin.

      “You sound so American.  Are you sure you aren’t from the Pentagon?” typed Agent B.

      “If I dare to tell the truth, so must you,” typed Suzy quickly.  “Is it a pact?”

      “Yep, you’re on,” he replied.

      “Are you a spy?”  It was a question she'd been dying to ask for years.

      “If you want the truth, yes.  In a way.”

      Suzy's eyes widened into shiny little saucers.  She was married to a spy.  Oh my God!  What did he spy on?  Or more to the point, who?  Or was that just part of the game?  She rattled her fingers lightly across the keyboard as she wondered what to say.  Then she decided not to pursue it too obviously.  “I 'ave never been to America," she typed feeling more like Blanche again.  "I 'ave no allegiance to America.  Zey say I was born in Paris, but I do not remember the event myself so how do I know if it is true?  Mais voilà I dream in French, so I suppose that is my first language and I suppose I yam French.”

      “I was born in Neverland,” answered Agent B.  “One of the lost boys.”

      “So you live your life on the run from the crocodile?”

      “No, I grew up.”

      “Congratulations!”

      With a big grin on her face, she swung back on her chair and waited for his reply.  She stared at the screen.  Was he still there?  She hit the refresh button impatiently, but there was nothing.  Either he'd been called away or wasn't playing any more.  Or was the Hotmail website running slow?  She refreshed again.  Zut!  Still nothing.  But the little Outlook Express envelope in the corner of her screen was practically throbbing with urgency.  She sighed, and opened it.

      The Grey Lizard, fanned into fury by her defiance, had obviously not been idle.  He'd sent her no less than fifteen emails; the last one in 24-point screaming scarlet caps.  Her mouse hovered over delete, but then she shook her head and started reading through them.  Nothing unexpected.  Just pure hatred.  She deleted them all off her machine and switched back to the document she was supposed to be re-writing.

      “As with rabbits, agricultural rearing and the possibility of entry into the food chain prevents effective treatment on domestic live-stock reared for pleasure or sport,” she read out loud.  She switched screens and refreshed.  Still no reply from Agent B.  “Because some rabbits and horses are reared for meat, not many medicines are licensed for use on them,” she typed.  Poor Neddies, poor Bunnies, she thought... I wonder what I’d look like with dark hair?  Must practice my French accent.  He replied!  He replied!  Agent B!  Concentrate.  Bunnies are meat, get serious.  Stewed rabbit, horse steaks, he replied!  I've been emailing a spy!

      An hour later she was relieved to hear the front door open because it gave her an excuse to abandon all pretence of working and after a last quick look at her Hotmail account, go downstairs. 

      Petya had picked the kids up and brought them home for lunch, but her eyes were red and she positively reeked of Gauloises.  Luckily the kids were still too young to notice.  They’d had an extremely successful morning at the circus workshop and were clamouring to sign up for the Christmas classes.

      “Mommy, Mommy, I’m gonna be a clown with a big wed nose!” said Judy hoping from foot to foot.

      "Come and sit up," said Suzy steering her towards a kitchen chair.  "Lunch, Petya!"

      “I really need to practice, you know, Mom?  Can I buy a diabolo?  I’ll only use it in the garden,” said Ricky as Suzy doled bacon and cauliflower cheese out.  She nodded at him, handing plates round.  “Okay.  How much?  Where do you buy them?  Can you get one at the workshop?”

      “I think they’re like, um, probably not the cheapest ones, Mom.”

      “I don’t think that matters, darling.  If you’re really keen on it, why don’t you get one tomorrow?  I’ll pay for it when I pick you up, or do you want me to give you some money so you can pay for it yourself?”

      “You’d do that?”

      “Sure.  Why not?  Petya, eat up!  You’re a good boy.  You deserve it.”

      “And me!” shouted Judy.  “I wanna present too!”

      “Well, we’ll see, Little Bun.  You’re a very good girl too, but you can’t just have something every time I buy Ricky something.”

      “Mo-mmy!”

      “That’s enough, Judy."

   “Snot fair!” sulked Judy, kicking at the legs of her chair.

      “Nope.  Life isn’t,” said Suzy.  She winked at Ricky, who flushed with pleasure and winked back.

      “Petya!” she said brightly.

      “Yes, I listening.”

      “Cheer up.  You’re meeting Rosie and the girls this afternoon.  At Play World.”

      “Hooray!” said Judy flinging a spoonful of mashed potato across the table as her eyes lit up with excitement.  “Play World!”

      “Mom!” said Ricky.  “That’s for babies.”

      “Yes, but diabolos aren’t, are they?  Come on, Ricky, I’m busy this afternoon.  You can do something more grown up tomorrow.  Promise.”

      “Play World...” muttered Petya as if she were reciting a funeral service.  “So loffly for children.”

      “That’s it.  Chin up,” said Suzy.  “Best foot forward.  Just think about the party, Petya.  I promise, I’ll have a go at Hank for you.  But now... I gotta get this party organised.”

      Time disappeared in a whirl of orange spiders, ghostie lights, phone calls to the caterers, snatched sessions of sketching mermaids and fielding calls from the Grey Lizard jumbled up with a desperate search for a party frock that wasn’t too small, extra glasses, Kleenex sessions with Petya and one small puddle of sanity when Barbara offered to arrive early and help out. 

      And through it all Suzy hugged her precious new secret close to her heart; Blanche luvs Agent B.  It was easy for her to send emails without anyone commenting on it, but she was amazed at how many emails he managed to send in return.  During the day of course there was no mystery; he was obviously sitting in his office with a computer right in front of him.  But she sometimes even received emails in the evenings when Lyn was dozing on the sofa.  How on earth did he manage it? 

      She watched him like a hawk and if he disappeared into his study or nipped out for a newspaper from the internet café on the corner, within minutes she would race upstairs to check her emails - and she was almost never disappointed.

      But sometimes he would be out of the house long enough to have sent Blanche the whole of War and Peace and there would be nothing.  Equally, sometimes when she was sure he couldn't have got within a mouse's whisker of a computer, she would find a nice long message lounging around her inbox. 

      "Mobiles are not secure," he typed.  "Anyone could be listening, anyone could eves-drop a conversation or read a texto..."

      "Je le sais!"

      "And I want to keep you all to myself."

      She found it extraordinary.  Lyndon had to be Agent B and yet she couldn't detect the slightest sign of it in his behaviour.  Lyndon went to work, came home, bathed Judy, played with Ricky, watched classic movies, listened to his jazz collection and if she ever passed him on the stairs or in the hall, kissed Suzy's cheek.  He was just as urbane and civilised as ever.  No agitation or excitement, no lipstick on his collar, no new habits or different working hours, nothing.  Perhaps once or twice a twinkling glint of amusement when he thought she wasn't looking, but that could easily be her imagination.

      They had snatched conversations as they rushed in and out of the house with the kids. 

      "How are you, Lyn?"

      "Fine, Hon.  Just waiting for something."

      "What are you waiting for?"

      "Oh, a life-affirming event or something similar.  How about you?"

      She could hardly admit that she was living for Agent B's next email.  "Oh I'm fine," she muttered and turned away so as to hide a huge grin that simply refused to be wiped off her gloriously happy face. 

      "You're not a mystery woman, then,” wrote Agent B.  “A philosopher, more likely.  As for our origins, well, you might be a character in a book, but I am certainly not because fictional characters live plots.  I live a routine.”

      “Until now?  Now when you start emailing ze unknown females, n’est pas?”

      “Very good!  Is this where the novel starts?"

      "Or did it begin several chapters ago when you placed your advert?”

      "Maybe even before that."

      “Bof.  Shrug.”

      “You can’t just email the word shrug!”

      “Ah, non?  You are the email police, then?”

      Still grinning, Suzy went off to Carrefour with her head full of witty replies.  For all he knew, she was Blanche.  For all she knew he could be anyone at all. 

      The traffic was terrible.  Everyone in Brussels seemed to be out buying pumpkins, and it took hours to get down the Avenue de Tervuren and even longer to get to Auderghem which meant that by the time Suzy managed to snatch a trolley from under the nose of an unsuspecting newcomer to Brussels - who obviously hadn’t realised that Carrefour trolleys are at a premium - she only had a few minutes left in which to do a grab and dash mission.

      But as she pushed through the tall doors into the mall, she couldn't resist the temptation to be Blanche while she did the shopping.  She splayed her sturdy, practical hands out on the trolley handle and imagined she was actually on the run.  Wanted in 25 countries. 

      Blanche... Blanche didn't care who was tracking her down.  She gazed at her beautifully manicured hands out on the handle of the trolley and admired the fresh new scarlet nail polish; she enjoyed the sensation of her elegantly-arched feet rising out of vertiginous black stilettos and the noise of her sharp heels clicking as she bestrode the shiny floor.  When Agent B finally met Blanche, oh how his eyes would widen with lust.

      Poised and elegant, she caressed her lips with the tip of her tongue and wafted past the security man into the rumbling belly of the commercial beast.  Naturally the security man almost fainted with lust at the sight of her.  Not that Blanche noticed.  She was too busy thinking about Agent B.  He had big strong hands with long powerful fingers.  Imagining them sliding over her hips, she swung her cute ass into the fruit and vegetables section.

      She caressed a small firm melon, ran her index finger over the carrots, and casually eyed up the other shoppers as she selected blushing pink grapes and a bunch of thrusting bananas.  With her chin tucked in, she shook her hair so that a glossy black wing caressed her mute, vulnerable mouth.

      Her pulse racing, Blanche gazed around the supermarket.  Her dark eyes were unfocussed, her lips swollen and her bosom heaving.  Every operative in Brussels city shopped in the Auderghem Carrefour.  In fact the place was absolutely teaming with international spies.

      Which was why Blanche swept seductive sideways looks under her lashes at total strangers in the aisles.  Especially male strangers.  Men.  Tall men.  Because they were practically always hostile spies.  Carrying loaded pistols.  Walking around fully armed and ready to shoot.  In fact, one of these men could be Agent B in disguise.  Maybe he was following her? 

      Suzy had already lost her shopping list but it didn't matter.  Agent Dubois could spot the tell-tale bulge of a shoulder-holster at twenty paces, and because she was not only superbly well-trained in all combat disciplines but was also permanently at peak mental and physical fitness, she could disarm an enemy operative in under 10 seconds.  If she had to.

      Suzy ripped a plastic bag off the roll with un-necessary violence.  Blanche and danger were old friends, she told herself, but fear was an unknown ghost.  In her short life, Blanche had faced the grim reaper and outwitted him a hundred times, laughing in his face, whirling his scythe to the floor, spitting poisoned wine at his feet, dodging bullets and snapping on the parachute at the last moment.

      Suzy struggled to prize the bag open and thrust the fruits of her choosing into the virgin cavity. 

      Blanche the Unbreakable, said her colleagues.  Blanche the Bionic.  But Blanche didn’t care what her colleagues said.  Off-duty, her numerous lovers knew her for a woman of quivering flesh and blood, burning passion and animal magnetism, right through to the shivering vibrant core of her orgasm.

      The bag broke; Suzy's peaches dropped straight through it and rolled away under the display units and the used and futile bag drifted out of her fingers like a crumpled sheet.

      Organism, she thought, shivering core of her organism.  Quite... 

      Today Blanche Dubois was off duty and - although naturally she had slipped a miniaturised digital revolver into the top of her black lace corset that morning - she wasn’t expecting trouble.  She was just shopping like any other career girl with maybe just a little part of her mind occupied by the imaginary image of the beautiful Agent B stripping off his shirt to reveal the taut flesh...

      Her beautiful lips parted as she pushed her trolley down the pet food aisle, her mouth drying at the sight of the choke chains and fierce metal dog collars.

      She resisted the distraction however and strolled on, casually selecting an expensive bottle of Moët Light for later, the glossy black leather of her well-cut pencil skirt sliding smoothly over the swell of her taut buttocks.

      Naturally spies always seduced their targets, thought Suzy.  Why should Monsieur Bond have all the fun?  As she rounded the corner by the automobile maintenance products, she tossed her beautifully cut hair off her face, eased her shoulders back and slid her best stiletto forward so that she arrived looking helplessly post-coital at the apéro snack section, leaving men all over the supermarket staring with undisguised lust at her perfect body.

      Suzy smiled to herself and completely unseeing, toshed random packets of fish fingers and frozen pizza into her trolley.

      Not that Blanche would become trapped by lust.  Oh no.  She was no fool.  She could be seduced by a man's body, bien sûr, but without surrendering more than her own body.  Certainly not her whole life.  Gazing at the shelves, she gave a small shrug.  Needless to say, she didn't eat snacks herself.  But sometimes she served them.  With martinis.  In her immaculate bachelor pad with shiny floors, white fur rugs, chrome, crystal, black-leather, and outsize scarlet blooms.

      She entertained a lot; politicians and government agents, film stars, Russian philosophers, powerful millionaires, and people from work like, you know, other spies.  So she had to keep her immaculate bachelor pad well-stocked with adult amuse-geules... glossy Japanese rice crackers, gourmet Asian puffs.  Absolutely not multi-packs of Smiths cheese-n-onion with the free cartoon cd offer.  Sophisticated snacks were her choice, and Bitters, Campari, expensive sherry, dry martini and London Gin.  Along with the Moët Light, of course.  The odd bottle of Schweppes herb and bamboo essence. 

      Certainly no pineapple crush with real pulp’n’bits in, or Tellie Tube choc-drink with the straws glued on the side.  Never.  No! 

      Having exhausted the possibilities of the crisps section, Blanche sashayed off to the freezers where the cold air condensed on her hot fragrant flesh, causing little crystal drops of water to roll slowly down her breasts and soak into her cleavage. 

      At the very sight of Blanche leaning further into the chilly depths of the fish cabinet, her glorious orbs straining against the fragile lace of her lingerie, a man on the other side of the freezer lost consciousness and collapsed onto the supermarket floor, his senses overcome by her raw sexuality.  Blanche ignored him.  Men were always fainting at the sight of her throbbing flesh.  Even Agent B would probably have difficulty staying conscious. 

      She carelessly selected a few single portions of salmon and prawns in cream sauce for the days when she worked late, and then made her way to the fresh foods section where she bought small amounts of hare pâté with Poire Williams, black bread, white cheese, a selection of pre-washed mixed leaves, a handful of miniature vegetables, and of course, a bunch of outsize scarlet blooms. 

      The fresh stuff, Suzy told herself, was just in case Blanche decided not to go out to dinner one night, because you know, she gets taken out to expensive dinners almost every night.  She has absolutely no time for 10-kilo sacks of special mashing potatoes, or baked beans, or any kind of chocolate, and of course she doesn’t buy frozen pizzas or family packs of sausages.  She doesn't even know they exist. 

      At the checkout Blanche flicked her long nails through a glossy magazine as she waited in line, although of course she wasn’t actually reading it.  Oh no.  Her perfectly-trained ear was straining for the least scrap of conversation that might give her a clue, might put her on the track of... she didn't even want to think the name.  The Cocktail.  The Meltdown.  You know... The Big Heat.

      Behind the calm mask of her exquisite face, every nerve was alert as she studied the others in the queue.  At least one of them could turn out to be A Heater.  She was off-duty but an agent of her calibre was never entirely off-guard.  Out of habit, Blanche noted exactly who bought what, how much and how they paid, as well as the names on their loyalty cards.  She often found out names that way, and sometimes clues to shopping habits too.  People are so careless with their identities, she thought scornfully. 

      She paid in cash, as always.  Blanche disliked leaving a trail, even when she wasn’t working.  And that day in Carrefour, she confused the issue even further by deliberately dropping misleading bits of information.  In fact, she told the checkout girl that her daughter liked frozen pizza and that her son wouldn't drink pineapple juice unless it had bits in. 

      Now is that bizarre or what, thought Suzy.  I’ve imagined being someone else in order to escape being myself only to discover that when I am being her, she is impersonating me.

      She shoved her loyalty card and her change back into her purse and pushed the trolley past the central heating promotion stall and the cheap shoes shop towards the exit and then stopped suddenly, wondering whether she should buy a trench coat. And perhaps a petrol-blue beret.  The crowds milled aimlessly round the plastic mall, converging and parting like the leaves of a rose as she as stood stock still.  A new coat wasn't going nearly far enough.  A make-over.  What she needed was a make-over.  A whole new look...

      "Suze-Annah!  I've been trying to ring you!"

      It was Penelope, twittering about jodhpurs.  Flushing with irritation, Suzy made an excuse about timeframes and a dash for the sliding doors.  In the car park, she piled her shopping briskly into the back of the car, slammed her trolley into the park, retrieved her one euro piece and leapt smartly into the car making sure not to look around.  The last thing she wanted was to bump into anyone else and have to spend half an hour discussing frightful Mrs Frinton or Klaudia’s riding stable party - did she care whether or not Judy was jodding?

      All she wanted, and the mere thought made her tingle, was another email exchange.  As she queued to get out of the car park, the windscreen wipers periodically jerking into action, headlights flashing in all directions, laughter welled up in her throat.  She was undoubtedly off her head, completely barking, but she didn't give a toss.  If this was insanity, it was brilliant.  In the drizzle and the dark, the wet black road stretched out like an invitation and she felt more alive than she had for years.  As soon as she got home, she dashed to her computer.  "You know my name," she typed.  "So what's the B stand for?  What's your name?"

      She thought that might stump him but no, only an hour later his reply arrived.  "I had assumed that Blanche was an alias.  Is it not?"

      "What is name?"

      "What is a rose?  Let's just stick with Agent B."

      "Pourquoi?"

      "I wouldn't want to expose you to needless danger."

      "Bof," typed Suzy.  "Who cares?  No identities, no real names.  Where do you live?"

      She clicked on send and dashed downstairs to cut carrot sticks for the kids but within half an hour she'd found another excuse to nip upstairs and his reply was already there.

      "Where do I live?  I'm hoping to move soon.  Meet me."

      Suzy laughed out loud and blushed.  He wanted a date!  Had he guessed Blanche's real identity?  If he hadn't, how would he react if she went to meet him?  Would that end this marvellous new game?  Just when everything was starting to heat up?  She frowned.  Surely he already knew who she was...

      "I'm working," she typed.  "Away.  V busy... away..."

      "I insist.  I want us to meet.  In the flesh.”

      "I'm out of town," she replied.  "On a job."

      "When are you back?" he demanded.

      And simultaneously she heard the front door slam, "Honey I'm home!" and there was Lyndon, thumping up the stairs.  Shaking all over, she switched pages, grabbed a bunch of papers and rustled them about busily.  How on earth had he managed that?

      "Are you in there, Hon?" he said coming into her study.  "Just wondered if you wanted a cup of tea?"

      "Sure," she said trying not to blush.

      "Or are you busy" he asked, looking steadily at the computer.

      "No not at all," she said, feeling herself going hot and pink, "Why?  Should I be?"  Her heart was going like an express train.

      "Oh... no reason," he said airily.  "What are you doing up here?"

      She looked at him.  Was he laughing at her?  He must know exactly what she was doing in there.  She went downstairs with him and tried hard to stay focused on real life, but the minute no-one was paying attention she slipped back upstairs.

      "No more chat.  I absolutely must meet you face to face.  I'll buy you lunch.  Just say when," read Agent B's email.

      The butterflies in Suzy's stomach turned cartwheels and then one of them broke a wing and she felt a sudden stabbing pain in her chest.  If she met him, he'd recognise her instantly and everything would be spoiled.  She shook her head.  It had been fun but this was going too far.  It was just plain silly now.  Things were getting out of hand.  It was only supposed to be a game and yet it was already more real to her than real life.  And what if Agent B wasn't Lyndon?  She wouldn't reply. 

      Wearing her cold sensible face, she deleted all the emails, closed the page and went downstairs.  Time to get on with real life.  Surely there must be something needing her attention?  Something her family needed her to organise, clean, mend or buy.

      Half term hurtled on like an express train but by dint of fierce concentration Suzy thought she'd just about stayed on board.  On Friday, grilling chicken, she heard the key in the front door and Ricky and Judy burst into the house, scattered their belongings all over the hall floor and flew into the kitchen.

      “Mommy, Mommy, I gotta prize!”

      “They gave everyone prizes, Jude.  They always do on the last day. 

      She shooed the pair of them upstairs to wash their hands and looked around for Petya.  Where was she?  She found her standing in the hall, leaning her back against the front door with black rivers of mascara raining down her cheeks. 

      “Come on,” said Suzy putting her arm round the skinny little frame.  “Come and sit down.”

      Petya allowed herself to be led into the kitchen, where she flopped down at the table like a cut tulip, sobbing so hard that black salt water started dripping through her fingers into foaming puddles on the antique wood.

      “I lo-loo-looo-lose my Panti!  He is gone!”

      “He’s only gone to Bulgaria, Petya.”

      “Yes, yes, but there we heff nothink.  Hiss femily vill make him stay and work.  Working, working, always working. Just money, money, money!  I heff no visa, he will nefer come back and I heff loose him!”

      “Oh dear.  Well, never mind.  Would you like an aspirin or something?  How about some ice cream?”

      Petya raised her tragic face and stared at her incredulously.

      “I know.  I’m sorry.  I don’t mean to be so useless, Petya.  I do feel for you.  I really do.  But we’ve got the Halloween party tomorrow afternoon, it’s going to be chaos here, and I need you.  I really need you to help me.  I can’t deal with the kids, the caterers, the magician, the furniture moving, the cleaning... I just can’t do it all on my own.  You can't die of a broken heart - honestly Petya it's not possible.  I swear!  Look, why don’t you take the car, and get yourself something nice for the party tomorrow...”

      Petya shrugged, looking as bleak as a January morning.

      “Okay, here’s some pocket money,” said Suzy dredging a fifty euro note out of her purse.  “Compensation.”

      A large wobbly tear washed yet more mascara down Petya’s skinny face.

      “Call it a Halloween present then,” said Suzy quickly.  “Please, Petie, pretty please!  You have to pull yourself together!  A little outing will do you good.  Look, here take a hundred.”

      After a long pause, Petya nodded and wiped her eyes with her finger.

      “Why’s Petie cwying?” asked Judy, coming back into the kitchen at that moment.  “Is she ill, Mommy?”

      “She just had something in her eye,” said Suzy.

      “Your face is all black, Petie.”

      Ricky went and stood mutely beside Petya and she gave him a watery smile.

      “I heff a bee in my eye,” she said.  “I go for a walk now.”

      “I should clean up, first!” said Suzy making circular motions at her face.  Petya nodded and Suzy got on with lunch.  The caterers were due the next morning and would need to take over the entire kitchen, so she had to make sure it was clean and tidy, and she had to move the furniture around in the dining room so as to make a space for Marvo to do his stuff... and of course, she had to put the kids’ decorations up. 

      Then the phone rang.

      “Hello, mother.  How are you?”

      “Terrifically good actually.  Just got back from Somerset.”

      “How’s Julia?”

      “Fine, fine.  They’ve gone back to France now of course.  The twins have got braces.  Hideous.  But I didn’t ring up about them.  It’s about Christmas.  Are you sure I won’t be in the way?”

      “Of course...”

      “Because Julia and Leo are going skiing.”

      “But we're expecting you to come to us for Christmas.”

      “Darling!  How sweet of you!” she exclaimed and Suzy shook her head down the line.  Tucking the phone under her ear, and murmuring yes and no at appropriate intervals, she left the kids eating stewed apricots, and climbed wearily upstairs.  She’d have to work out something really clever if Mary the Virgin Mermaid was going to be able to tap dance.

      “That would be nice,” continued mother.  “So long since I’ve seen you all.  And how is Judith?  And Richard?  And Lindsay?”

      “Lyndon.”  She flipped a sketch pad open and started doodling fish tails.

      “Everyone fine, are they? 

      “Do you know, mother, I’d really like to ring you back later.”  She ripped the top sheet off the pad and hurled it into the bin.  A tap dancing mermaid!  Bloody hell.  She wondered viciously if the infant in the crib was also going to be wearing tap shoes.

      “Yes, darling, well that brings me on to one tiny quick little comment I wanted to make before I ring off, if I may?”

      “What is it?”  Perhaps they were king prawns not three kings.  Bringing gifts of salt, vinegar and ketchup. Lobsters, king prawns, tapping tutti-fruttis, whatever kind of sea-life they were, she ought to get cracking on them.  She doodled a king with dolphin flippers and a bottle of ketchup in one hand, scribbled over it, and started sketching mermaid tails again.

      “Well dear, I don’t agree with interfering in-laws, and I don’t think it’s anybody’s business but your own, but I have been noticing that you and Lyndsey don’t seem to talk much any more.”

      “Bu...”

      “Caroline was saying the same thing.  She noticed it when she came to see you last month.”

      “Bu...”

      “So I just thought, woman to woman, have you thought about sex toys?  Naughty underwear, darling.  Handcuffs and so forth.  Now don’t be embarrassed, darling.  We’re all liberated women nowadays...”

      “Mothe...”

      “Your father and I...”

      “Way too much information!”

      “That could be your problem, darling.  I’m so sorry to say it, but have you ever considered that you might be just a tad old fashioned?  Prudish?”

      “Thanks,” said Suzy desperately.  “I’ll er... talk to Lyn about it.”

      “But he might prefer to be surprised.  I could send you a pair of handcuffs if you like...”

      “No, don’t worry, mother...” She broke off, stifling hysterical giggles.

      “You see, all that sniggering.  It’s just not sexy, darling.”

      By the time she finally put the phone down on her mother, she was not just giggling, she was sitting on the floor with tears of hysteria pouring down her face.

      “Pull yourself together!” she told herself sternly.  “Think party.  Think Penelope.  Think Penelope’s snotty nose inspecting your house!”