Part 31 (2/2)

'Me?' Elise asks.

You heard. 'Or can't you remember I realize some time has pa.s.sed.'

'No, I remember,' she sounds distant. 'I was out here, as a matter of fact.'

'Doing what?' And with whom...

Silence.

'Elise?'

'Look, I've got to go,' she bl.u.s.ters. 'But I need to ask you something about Elliot you know how private he is, always playing his cards so close to his chest ...'

Not the Elliot I knew. My Elliot was always an open book, an open heart. What has she done to him?

'The thing is ...' she sounds s.h.i.+fty.

'Yes?'

'Honey, I'm home!' Joel bursts in, looking gleeful. 'Ready for breakfast?'

'Who's that?' Elise snaps.

'Joel, say h.e.l.lo to Elise ...' I don't know what I'm thinking but I hand over the phone.

'Hey! How's it going? You discovered the meaning of life yet?'

A pause while Elise talks.

'So no hot tutors to give you a bit of hands-on healing?'

I hear a faint squeak of outrage down the phone.

'Oh yeah, that's right. I met him last night, he seems a cool guy.'

Back to m.u.f.fled vocals. I lean closer something about not realizing that Lara had any long-lost friends in California.

'She doesn't. We just met yesterday. It was the red sequins that did it for me!'

Again a pause.

'What can I say? She's a true one-off. A very attractive one-off ...' He eyes me lasciviously.

'Is it okay if we talk tomorrow?' I ask Elise, grabbing the phone back.

'Just tell Elliot he's the most wonderful, kind...'

I hold the receiver away from my ear. Tell me something I don't know. For a moment there thought she was having doubts. She probably just wants advice on what to get him for a wedding present. I sigh heavily and replace the receiver. Why can't she just vanish? Forget all these gurus and psychics, what I need is a good old-fas.h.i.+oned magician.

Chapter 24.

'Where'd the snow go?' I gasp as Joel swoops back the curtains to reveal a happy suns.h.i.+ny day nothing but perky green scenery for miles.

'You like?' Joel grins, sensing my surge of joy at being granted the perfect spring day.

'Oh yes!' I say, skipping out on to the balcony. 'You know, if I didn't have such a disgusting hangover, I'd be feeling all revitalized and zingy about now.'

'Fresh air! It'll get you every time!' Joel notes, reaching for my hand. 'Come on, let's get stage two of the Woo Elliot campaign under way.'

'Oh you can forget that!' I grumble, following him across the room. 'Last night he gave me his blessing to get it on with you!'

'That's just his defense mechanism kicking in,' Joel shrugs, ushering me out the door. 'But still, it's good to know.'

I turn back to see if he means what I think he means and he greets me with a wink.

Hmm. Maybe tonight is the night after all...

The Ahwahnee hotel breakfast easily makes it into my Top 10 Alternatives to Cheerios: poached eggs with spicy vegetable hash and a sneaky side of raisin brioche washed down with a keg of cranberry juice, all served in a trestle-beamed banquet hall creaking with wrought iron chandeliers. Most dramatic. Yet even this can't pip my all-time number one breakfast the five of us Beau-Belles hung-way-over at The Grand Hotel in Brighton gorging on bacon and eggs and a fifteen-story stack of toast. The night before we'd been to a summer ball that coincided with Zo's birthday so we'd decided to go all-out with full Buccaneers-style ballgowns and treat ourselves to a suite three in the bed (me, Sasha, Helen), Elliot on the sofa and Zo in the bath. Her idea.

The next morning over two hours and at least ten cups of tea we dissected who kissed who, who vomited, who flashed, who cried, who hid the band's cymbals, etc. (And wondered what on earth people who behave themselves of an evening have to talk about the next day.) Not that any of the middle-aged Americans at the tables around us seem to be having a problem with producing lively banter. Maybe it's because the breakfast hours at the Ahwahnee are so civilized no 9am cut-off here. I'd definitely have extended the breakfast hours at the B&B if I was in charge. Who wants to get up early on holiday, especially in a clubber's paradise like Brighton? I'd serve the full monty till noon. And happily deliver fry-ups to the bedroom instead of a paltry croissant in a basket.

'Where's your mind at?' Joel tickles my chin.

'Breakfast in bed,' I tell him.

'You only had to ask!'

I smile and roll my eyes. 'Are you done?'

Joel takes a last slurp of his cafe latte then helps me and my b.u.mper belly to my feet.

'That was so good,' I sigh, then lean close. 'Did you get the stash, man?'

Joel gives his rucksack a pat.

Despite warnings about keeping all food in sealed canisters, we set off from the dining room wafting chocolate chip m.u.f.fins from beneath the leather-trimmed canvas. (As much as I initially admonished him, I too am secretly hoping to attract a bear.) 'Now. Elliot's imagination will have been running riot overnight,' Joel begins as we head towards the lobby. 'You'll want to play on that when you see him.'

'Do you think he'll presume that we, you know?' I furrow my brow.

'Well, it would have been slightly more convincing if you hadn't pa.s.sed out before he left but nevertheless, alone with a man of my dastardly charms ...'

'I didn't stand a chance!'

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