All Bets Are On by Charlotte Phillips Page A

some glittery ribbon and she had a pink flower painted on one cheek. She turned and led the way down the path. ‘The costume adds to the fun of it, according to Tilly. And I’m all for being professional—even though I’m only doing her a favour I want to take it seriously. This is her own business, after all. She’s built it up from scratch.’
    He followed her, wondering in what universe being professional equated to wearing fancy dress. He felt as if he were in some surreal dream.
    The path opened up into a huge garden behind the house, bathed in warm September sunshine. A close-cropped green lawn lined with beautifully manicured beds ran the length of it with trees offering shade at the end. Nestled in the corner was a painted wooden children’s playhouse with a ladder. Pink and white bunting was draped along the hedges and between trees, fluttering lightly in the breeze. Double French doors at the back of the house opened onto a broad stone-flagged terrace. No sign of any other people. Alice led the way to the bottom of the garden where there was a cloth-covered trestle table and a couple of chairs, and began unpacking items from an enormous box.
    ‘What exactly is Tilly’s business?’ he said, more on edge by the second.
    When he’d seen the ‘PARTY’ sign he’d imagined waiting staff or maybe outside catering. Whoever owned the house was obviously minted and having a garden party. That would have been fine. He could hand round drinks and nibbles for an hour without any problem. Then with Alice indebted to him he could take her on for a lazy lunch somewhere—there were some gorgeous places in Wimbledon Village—and from there if he played his cards right the bet could be won before dark.
    Alice shrugged.
    ‘Party entertainment, I guess you’d call it. Face-painting, party games, that kind of thing. She does children’s birthdays or family parties where they get her in to occupy the kids while the adults mingle.’ She laid out a row of coloured paints on the trestle table. ‘Trouble is, she double-booked herself.’
    She spoke with the disapproving air of someone whose life was so organised they never double-booked anything. Ever.
    ‘She’s finishing off at another party and she’ll be here in an hour or so to take over. We just need to hold the fort for the first bit of it, as the kids arrive.’
    She stood to one side and indicated the chair.
    ‘Sit down, then, while I do your face.’
    He stared at her in disbelief.
    ‘Are you insane? I do not want my face painted.’
    She totally ignored him.
    ‘I’m not as good as Tilly, but I sometimes help her out and she gave me a crash course last year. I’m good enough to keep things ticking over until she gets here, but I could do with a warm up. Now, what would you like?’
    She began counting off on her fingers.
    ‘Puppy, monkey, tiger...’
    ‘None of the above.’
    He couldn’t believe she was actually suggesting this.
    She made an exasperated noise and plastered her hands on her net-skirted hips.
    ‘You know, I really didn’t take you for someone who doesn’t have a sense of humour.’
    ‘It isn’t about having a sense of humour. It’s just that when I do a party I like to be the one mingling with the grown-ups with a glass in my hand. I don’t do family parties, I don’t do fancy dress and I especially don’t do kids. It’s that simple.’
    Gnawing his own arm off felt preferable right now to entertaining a gang of children. He’d more than done his stint of that in the past.
    The bright smile faded, the expression on her face not disappointed exactly, more resigned. As if this was exactly what she’d expected of him.
    ‘Fine,’ she said, trying to feign nonchalance. ‘You can always bail. Just back out. I’ll manage on my own.’
    And from the tone in her voice he knew with a flash of clarity exactly what this was.
    A test.
    Her response to yesterday’s discovery that the boating-lake date had been a little less than