The Honeymoon Prize Page 7

  ‘Not unless you count being ordered to do all the washing up and Hoover the living room every five minutes,’ said Freya with a sour glance in Max’s direction.

  Amused, Kate looked from one to the other. ‘You obviously know each other very well,’ she commented.

  ‘Too well,’ said Max dourly, handing Freya a glass of wine.

  ‘Max is just like the brother I never had,’ she told Kate, leaning forward with a deceptive air of candour. ‘You know, the kind that will support you through your adolescence by sneering and criticising and generally undermining your confidence at every opportunity.’

  ‘As you can see, Freya is prone to wild flights of fantasy,’ said Max nastily.

  Freya shot him a look. ‘I rest my case,’ she said to Kate.

  There was an unpleasant silence.

  ‘Max says that you’ve been staying here while he was away in Mbanazere.’ Kate changed the subject tactfully. ‘I gather that you’ve been looking after the flat for him.’

  It sounded as if Max had been at pains to explain her presence in his flat, Freya thought darkly. Why did he have to explain anything to Kate?

  Was Kate his girlfriend? It was hard to tell. They were sitting next to each other, not touching, but somehow very comfortable together. Freya could see that Kate would be just Max’s type, attractive, intelligent, not frivolous or superficial, and she looked down into her wine, inexplicably depressed. She should have gone out and left them to it, instead of sitting here playing gooseberry.

  ‘What do you do, Freya?’

  ‘I work for a newspaper,’ she said, bracing herself for Kate’s recoil. She didn’t look like someone who would have much time for the media. ‘The Examiner.’

  But Kate was looking interested. ‘Oh, you’re a journalist?’

  If Max hadn’t been there, she might have been able to get away with it, but as it was, the phrase ‘just a secretary’ was hovering fatally on her lips. ‘I work on the foreign news desk,’ she said instead. It sounded marginally more interesting, anyway. ‘I’m a sort of liaison between the reporters and the news editor,’ she added grandly, omitting to mention that the liaison consisted largely of answering the phone and fielding calls.

  ‘It must be quite exciting,’ said Kate.

  Freya thought of the days spent opening post and binning press releases by the bucketful. Sometimes she got to go up to Accounts and chase up missing expenses, or on red letter days a complete nutter would turn up at Reception and she would have to listen to some weird conspiracy theory that made the X-Files seem boringly prosaic.

  ‘Oh, yes, very exciting,’ she said.

  Kate turned to Max. ‘Have you asked Freya if she’s got any good contacts? We’re desperate for more funds,’ she explained to Freya. ‘I’m trying to generate some publicity to raise our profile and appeal for substantial backing, but it’s hard. I keep sending out press releases, but nothing’s happening.’

  ‘That’s because newspapers aren’t interested in successful small-scale projects,’ said Max. ‘A paper like the Examiner only wants stories about celebrities or a scandal that they can hype to death so that they can sell more advertising.’

  ‘Still, Freya must know some journalists,’ said Kate mildly.

  ‘She knows one very well indeed, don’t you, Freya?’ Max practically bit out the words.

  Freya ignored him and addressed herself exclusively to Kate. ‘As it happens, I know someone who’s going out to East Africa soon. He might be interested in what you’re doing. He does some articles for us, but his main job is correspondent for a US cable network, so he might be able to get you some really good coverage.’

  ‘We don’t need coverage,’ said Max irritably. ‘We need an understanding of the issues involved and a change of attitude towards development.’

  ‘How can people understand if they don’t have the information?’ retorted Freya, forgetting that she was supposed to be ignoring him. ‘The fact is that you have to get your message across, and you need the media to do that. They’re the ones with the power, and there’s no point in pretending that’s not true.’

  ‘Yes, well, I don’t see your boyfriend contributing very much to the debate,’ said Max snidely. ‘The only development he’s interested in is his own career.’

  ‘What’s his name, Freya?’ interposed Kate quickly before it could turn into a full blown argument.

  ‘Dan Freer.’ Freya was still glaring at Max.

  ‘You’re going out with Dan Freer?’ Kate was flatteringly impressed. ‘I’m sure I saw him on television when I was in the States. Isn’t he incredibly good-looking?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Freya, warming to her. ‘What do you think, Max?’

  ‘I can’t say that I’ve given the matter any thought,’ he said crushingly.

  Kate only laughed and gave him an affectionate push. ‘Jealous, Max?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ he said, only to spoil the effect by grinning and ruffling her hair.

  Freya watched the little by-play with an odd, sinking feeling. There was no doubt that they were very close, and why would Kate tease Max about being jealous if it wasn’t because of the idea that she could find Dan attractive?

  Draining her glass, she got abruptly to her feet. Two was company, and all that. ‘I’d better go,’ she said flatly. ‘Have a nice evening.’

  Max was reading the paper in the kitchen when Freya slunk along to make herself some tea the next morning. She had been hoping that he would be out, but not getting what she hoped for was par for the course at the moment, she reflected with a sigh.

  ‘Oh, you’re here.’ An odd expression flickered across Max’s face. ‘I thought you’d still be working through Cosmopolitan’s top hundred sex tips with lover boy.’

  Freya gritted her teeth. She was in no mood for any of Max’s snide comments this morning. She had set out so confidently yesterday, but it had turned into one of the more humiliating evenings of her life. No small achievement, Freya reflected bitterly. There seemed to be so many other humiliating nights to compare it with.

  Still, there was no denying that last night was well up there on the list of those she’d rather forget. Determined to let Dan sweep her off her feet and show Max that some men at least found her attractive, Freya had got to Cococabana shortly after nine—along with everybody else from the office, all there to celebrate Dan’s new posting. There was to be no intimate tête-à-tête, no seduction scene, not even a glimpse of black satin sheets. She was to be just one of the crowd.

  Freya had been mortified. Dressed up like a dog’s dinner, it must have been obvious how much effort she had gone to for Dan. Several other girls from the office had been suspiciously over-dressed too. He had probably perched on their desks, too, and lowered his voice, and made them think that they were the only ones he wanted to celebrate with.

  It had been worse for Freya though. She so rarely got dressed up that they had all seen that she had thought exactly the same. She’d seen the sidelong glances at her painted nails and exposed legs, the pitying looks being exchanged, and she’d wanted the trendily bare floorboards to open up and swallow her. She’d been convinced they could all see the condoms pulsating in her bag like an alarm: Look at us! Look at us! See just how wrong she could get it!

  When she remembered how smugly she had assured Max that she would be spending the night with Dan, Freya cringed inwardly. It wasn’t that Dan hadn’t been friendly, or charming. He’d run his hand down her spine and told her she looked great, but she’d seen him doing exactly the same thing to all the other girls there. There’d been no extra squeeze for her, no whispered assurance that the last dance, as it were, would be for her.

  The evening had been endless. Freya had spent it talking with forced animation to everyone except Dan in the forlorn hope of persuading them that getting together with him was the last thing on her mind.

  She’d toyed with the idea of claiming that she was only dressed up because she was going on to meet someone e
lse, but then she would have had to leave and where else could she have gone? She couldn’t have gone home to face Max and Kate. The door opened straight into the living area, so there would have been no chance of missing them if they’d been entwined on the sofa. There had been no way Freya was going to face that.

  It had been a huge relief to find the apartment in darkness when she’d finally judged that it was safe to go home. Freya had let herself in very quietly and tiptoed past Max’s closed door. Was he in there with Kate? All had been quiet, but that didn’t mean anything. They might just have fallen asleep in each other’s arms after an evening making wild, passionate love.

  The thought had been profoundly depressing. Freya had sighed and crept miserably into her own lonely bed.

  There was no sign of Kate this morning, though. Freya longed to know whether she had spent the night or not, but couldn’t think of a way to ask without sounding as if she cared one way or another. Filling the kettle, she switched it on and leant back against the sink while it boiled, hugging her towelling robe around her and studying Max’s face covertly for signs of a night of wild passion.

  He looked as imperturbable as ever, the strong brows drawn together over his nose and his mouth set in its usual stern line as he read the paper. The thought of what that mouth might have been doing last night made Freya shiver, and she straightened abruptly.

  ‘Dan and I have a real relationship,’ she lied loftily in response to his jeering comment. There was no way she was telling Max what had happened last night, especially when his love life was unfairly going so much better than her own. ‘It’s based on more than just sex.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’ sneered Max, turning a page. ‘What is it based on, then? His ego?’

  The truth was that it was based on no more than her own sad fantasies, but Freya had no intention of giving Max the opportunity to say ‘I told you so’.

  She put up her chin. ‘On love,’ she said, because it was the only thing she could think of on the spur of the moment.

  ‘Love?’ he echoed witheringly. ‘Hah!’

  ‘What would you know about it?’ said Freya furiously.

  ‘More than you if you think Dan Freer won’t forget you the moment he gets on that plane to Usutu.’

  ‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong. He’s invited me out to stay with him.’

  Which was true. Sort of. Dan had been in an expansive mood, insisting that she—and everybody else in the bar—look him up if ever they were in Mbanazere. ‘The beaches are supposed to be great,’ he had said. That could be construed as an invitation, couldn’t it?

  Max snorted and went back to his paper. ‘Well you’d better get out there quick,’ he commented. ‘There’s a very small expat community in Usutu, and I know at least three single women there who will have their sights on him from the moment he steps off the plane.’

  ‘Maybe I trust Dan,’ said Freya, pushing her hair defiantly behind her ears.

  He looked up at that and his light eyes seemed to bore into her. ‘Then you’re a fool,’ he said.

  ‘Not that I needed him to tell me that,’ Freya sighed to Lucy when they met up for a cappuccino later that morning. She had already filled Lucy in on the whole sorry saga of the night before. ‘I felt a complete moron as it was.’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about what Max thinks,’ said his loving sister. ‘You know what a stuffed shirt he is. He probably doesn’t approve of you having sex before marriage.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s his problem,’ said Freya. ‘He’s got a very cool girlfriend.’

  Lucy sat up straight, instantly alert. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Her name’s Kate.’ She tried to sound casual. ‘She’s a civil engineer.’

  ‘Sounds a bit grim,’ said Lucy with a grimace. ‘I must ask Mum if she knows her. Max was living with some woman when they went out to visit him in Tanzania a couple of years ago. I wonder if it’s her? Mum said she was really nice, and I know she hoped they’d get married, but we haven’t heard much about her recently.’

  ‘That was probably Kate.’ A strange, dull weight settled in Freya’s stomach. She hadn’t realised they had such a serious long-term relationship. ‘She said she had been in Tanzania.’

  ‘I hope not,’ said Lucy glumly. ‘I’d be intimidated by a clever sister-in-law. I always rather hoped Max would choose someone like you.’

  Freya forced a smile. ‘Someone stupid, in fact?’

  ‘No.’ Her friend rolled her eyes. ‘You know perfectly well I didn’t mean that. I just think it would be good for Max to have someone who would lighten him up and bring him down a peg or two when he gets too autocratic. You know what he’s like.’

  A series of pictures of Max flickered through Freya’s mind, like pack of cards being riffled. Max looking down his nose as she and Lucy giggled as schoolgirls. Max reading the paper, his face stern and serious, looking up with the light, compelling eyes that made her heart stumble every time. Max sitting on the sofa after Lucy’s wedding, his bow tie dangling around his neck and his collar loosened, talking about Africa. Max kissing her throat, smiling against her skin.

  Max walking out of the door and leaving her alone.

  She stirred her coffee, looking down into the swirling froth. ‘He seems very happy with Kate,’ she made herself say.

  ‘Oh, well, if he loves her, I suppose I’ll have to have her as a sister-in-law,’ said Lucy, resigned. ‘Anyway, forget about Max. What are we going to do about you and Dan?’

  ‘There isn’t any me and Dan,’ said Freya gloomily.

  There was never any her and anyone, she thought, depressed. Lucy had Steve, Pel had Marco, even Max had Kate, but she was always on her own. Just Freya.

  Lucy clicked her tongue disapprovingly. ‘You give up too easily,’ she said. ‘OK, so he didn’t sweep you off your feet last night, but I bet it wasn’t as bad as you think. Did you see him get off with anyone else?’

  ‘No,’ Freya admitted.

  ‘There you are, then. He was probably just being polite. I mean, if he’d invited everyone else along, he couldn’t just ignore them and monopolise you.’

  ‘I suppose not,’ said Freya, not entirely convinced.

  ‘I saw him at your party, and he was definitely interested,’ Lucy went on. ‘And he invited you out to supper the next day. You’ve just got to give him the opportunity to get you on your own.’

  Eyes narrowed, she considered the possibilities. ‘You know, the more I think of it, the more I think this idea of Pel’s is the way to go. Dan can’t concentrate on you at the moment. He’s got too much else to think about, what with leaving his apartment and moving overseas and starting a new job. You’ve got to get yourself out to Africa where there won’t be so many distractions.’

  ‘He’ll probably be snapped up by those women Max was telling me about,’ said Freya, determinedly pessimistic.

  ‘Oh, Max!’ Lucy snapped her fingers dismissively. ‘What does he know? You’ll be more than a match for any desperate expat. They’ll be all burnt and wrinkly after all that sun. Dan won’t like that.’

  ‘I’ll be wrinkly before I save enough for a flight,’ sighed Freya. ‘I looked up fares on the Internet, and it’s incredibly expensive. Mbanazere hasn’t got much of a tourist industry yet, so there are no charters, and not even any direct flights. You have to go via Nairobi.

  ‘There’s no way I can afford it at the moment, especially when I’m spending a fortune on the National Lottery every week. Do you know, not a single one of my numbers has come up yet! You ought to win something for that,’ she grumbled. ‘I’m sure the chances are as remote as getting all six.’

  ‘I’m sure I saw a magazine somewhere advertising holidays to be won,’ said Lucy, ignoring Freya’s speculations about the statistical likelihood of winning the Lottery. ‘Where was that?’

  She frowned and drained her coffee. ‘Come on,’ she said, reaching for her bag. ‘Let’s go and have a look.’

  Ever in favour of instant action, she dra
gged Freya, still protesting that she hadn’t finished her cappuccino, off to the newsagent, where they stood scanning the array of magazines on offer. The one Lucy remembered turned out to be running a competition to win city breaks, although oddly enough, none in downtown Usutu.

  Flicking through the others, they discovered chances to win a lawnmower, a cooker, a scooter and a year’s worth of mortgage payments, none of which were of any use to Freya until she got her act together and managed to buy a flat. ‘A scooter might be cool, though,’ she said.

  ‘What about this?’ Lucy picked up a magazine with a simpering bride on the cover. “‘Win a honeymoon, anywhere, any time”,’ she read, and looked excitedly at Freya. ‘This could be just what you want!’

  ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t a honeymoon something usually taken by two people who have just got married?’

  ‘I bet they don’t check if you’re really married or not,’ said Lucy.

  ‘Maybe not, but they might wonder why I only want a single ticket and a single bed.’ Freya sighed. ‘God, it sounds like a metaphor for my life at the moment!’

  ‘You don’t have to tell them that. You just take both tickets and then if anyone asks you just tell them the wedding fell through at the last minute. Anyway,’ Lucy went on, ‘it won’t be explaining the lack of groom that will be the problem. It’ll be much more difficult convincing them that you want to spend your honeymoon in Mbanazere. It never sounds exactly romantic, does it?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Freya without thinking. ‘The hot wind soughing through the palm trees, the smell of cloves and coconut, sleeping in a big wooden bed under a mosquito net…’ She trailed off as she realised that Lucy was looking at her strangely.

  ‘Where did all that come from?’

  From Max. Freya’s eyes slid away from her friend’s. ‘Dan must have been telling me about it,’ she improvised.

  ‘Well, you certainly convinced me, so you can convince Dream Wedding,’ said Lucy, thrusting the magazine into her hands. ‘Off you go and buy it!’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  FURTIVELY holding the magazine against her chest, Freya joined the queue for the till. She felt ridiculously conspicuous. Any second now the bridal police would leap out from behind the racks and demand to see an engagement ring before she was allowed to buy it. There would be a smug bride, complete with veil and tiara, who would whip the magazine out of her hands and place it firmly back on the shelves. Sorry, she would say, you’ve got no business looking at brides’ magazines. You’re not engaged, or even likely to be. Now, get back to Cosmopolitan and Marie Claire where you belong!