SUSANNE MCCARTHY - Practised Deceiver

‘Mummie, I have to be in London. If I wasn’t working, you wouldn’t be able to go to your tennis club at all.’

‘I hardly call that working,’ Audrey responded dismissively. ‘Just having your picture taken. If you ask me... Ah, there’s Oliver!’ she exclaimed, instantly alert to the sound of a car turning on to the drive. ‘Dear boy—he promised to try to come home for the weekend, and he always keeps his promises.’

Alysha smiled wryly to herself as her mother jumped to her feet and bustled out into the hall to welcome her younger brother. Oliver had always been the apple of Audrey’s eye—he could do no wrong. Considering how spoilt he had been as a child, it was really quite remarkable that he had grown up into such a very pleasant, good-natured young man.

He came into the hall, grinning as usual, his slightly wayward dark hair flopping about his ears, and accepted his mother’s hug with tolerant amusement. ‘Hi, Mums—hi, Sis. I’ve brought Nige home for the weekend—is that OK?’ He waved a vague hand in the general direction of a lanky, fair-haired young man who had followed him up the steps, and was now hovering bashfully behind him.

Mrs Fordham-Jones frowned at this casual introduction. ‘Oh, dear—I wish you’d warned me you were planning to bring a guest,’ she protested. ‘I would have asked Mrs Potter to get the spare room ready.’

‘Oh, there’s no need to fuss,’ Oliver declared dismissively. ‘Nige can sleep on the floor in my room—he’s brought a sleeping-bag along.’

‘I hope it isn’t inconvenient, Mrs Fordham-Jones?’ the lad put in diffidently. ‘I told Ollie we should have rung first.’

‘Not at all,’ Audrey insisted, stepping adroitly into her practised role of social hostess. ‘Do come in, Nigel. Would you like a cup of tea? I’m sure you must be freezing, driving all the way from London in that dreadful old car of Oliver’s. I can’t think why he insists on keeping it, instead of getting a new one, but then I suppose those old bangers are all the thing with you young people nowadays, aren’t they?’

Oliver exchanged a brief glance of sardonic humour with Alysha. They both knew why he kept the ancient Morris Minor he had bought for a song—because a student grant wouldn’t run to the money for a new one, and he was reluctant to accept any more handouts than he had to from his sister.

‘Alysha, do be a dear and put the kettle on,’ Mrs Fordham-Jones requested sweetly. ‘I’m afraid it’s my housekeeper’s day off today,’ she added to Nigel, leading the way through to the drawing-room, ‘so we’re having to muddle through by ourselves. But I think there’s still some of Cook’s cherry-cake, if you’d like to try it? I don’t care what people say, you really can’t beat home-made.’

The poor young man had stood transfixed by Alysha from the moment he had stepped through the door, and now he was blushing a deep shade of scarlet at the thought of this goddess being despatched to make him a cup of tea. She took pity on him, smiling with friendly warmth.

‘Good afternoon, Nigel,’ she greeted him. ‘Why don’t you go and sit down, and I’ll bring the tea through in a minute?’

‘Oh... Yes... Thank you...’ he choked out inarticulately. ‘I... Thank you.’

Alysha slipped off to the kitchen, where a moment later her brother joined her. ‘How’s it going, then?’ he enquired, giving her shoulders an affectionate squeeze. ‘Sorry we were late—the old jalopy started over-heating on the A40, and we had to keep stopping and letting her cool down. Has she been driving you batty?’ He nodded his head in the general direction of the sitting-room.

She laughed softly, shaking her head. ‘No more than usual. She can’t help it—it’s been very difficult for her these past few years.’

Ollie snorted in derision. ‘All that housekeeper and cook stuff—you’d think she’d realise she doesn’t fool anyone for a minute. Is that the “home-made” cake?’ he added teasingly as Alysha peeled off the shop-wrapper and put the cake on a plate.

‘Uh-huh. Does your friend take milk and sugar?’

‘Yup—two sugars.’ He chuckled richly to himself. ‘Poor old Nige—he’s been absolutely dying to meet you, you know—all the chaps are. You’ve been voted the official pin-up of first year med.’

‘How flattering!’ she observed drily. ‘How’s the course going? Are you enjoying it?’

‘It’s great!’ His eyes, the same amber-brown as her own, lit up. ‘Very hard work, but I expected that.’ The smile was replaced just as swiftly by a frown. ‘The only thing is, I feel bad about taking an allowance from you. Now I’ve left school, I should be helping you out, not making it more difficult for you.’

‘You’re not making it difficult,’ she insisted firmly, shifting him aside so that she could reach the drawer that held the cake-knife. ‘Besides, this is the reason I wanted you to stay on at school and take your A-levels. If you packed it in now, it would all have been wasted. Anyway, if it makes you feel better, you can look on it as a loan. When you’re a world-famous surgeon you can pay me back.’

‘That’s a promise,’ he asserted, snatching a crumb from the plate as she sliced the cake and getting his hand slapped away for his pains. ‘Shouldn’t that be on one of those doily things?’

‘Oh, yes—I forgot. Get one out for me, Ollie—I think she keeps them in the second drawer.’

‘What do you think of her latest kick?’ he enquired as he went to do as she had asked.

‘The tennis?’ She laughed. ‘Well, as she says, it’s good for her, and it gets her out of the house. I don’t like to let her sit around moping.’

‘Well, she could have found something a little cheaper to take up,’ he remarked caustically. ‘The membership fees alone for a swanky club like that must cost a fortune, let alone hiring the courts, and taking lessons. And she just expects you to fork out the cash to pay for it all. It’s not fair.’

Alysha smiled wryly. ‘Oh, I don’t mind. Besides, money’s not going to be so tight any more. I’ve...just been offered a big contract by one of the top cosmetic houses. It should pay pretty well.’

‘Really? That’s great!’ Her brother beamed in genuine delight.

She shrugged her slim shoulders. ‘Oh, well... It’s no big deal,’ she murmured diffidently. ‘It’s only modelling, after all. Although there’s going to be a bit of television work in it, too.’

Ollie’s mouth pulled a grim line. ‘This isn’t really what you wanted out of life, is it, Sis?’ he queried with gentle sympathy. ‘Modelling, I mean. Look, when I’m finished med school, why don’t you go back and finish your veterinary degree? It wouldn’t be too late.’

She shook her head, laughing it off. ‘I’m afraid it would. My brain’s turned to mush through lack of use these past couple of years—I don’t think I’d ever be able to go back to the sort of studying I’d need to do to be a vet. Anyway, I’m not so sure I’d want to now. I think I’d like to try something different—maybe even get into television. This contract could be my big chance.’

‘Does the Mater know about it?’ he enquired with a quirky grin. ‘I wouldn’t tell her if I were you—if she thinks there’s going to be more money around, she’ll only go out and spend it.’

‘I mentioned it to her.’ Alysha smiled in sardonic humour. ‘I’m afraid she wasn’t nearly so impressed as she was by your first two weeks as a budding doctor.’

He snorted. ‘That’s only because she wants to be able to say “my son, the doctor”. The fact that it’s your job that’s making it possible tends to escape her. But it doesn’t escape me,’ he added, his voice low and sincere. ‘I really do appreciate it, Sis. I don’t think you really know how much.’