“What? You mean that in addition to them not buying us and us losing all our credibility, we might have to pay them compensation as well? Oh, my God. How much is that going to be? We’ll be worse off than when we started. Oh, where the hell are you, Maddy?”
Pru looked uncomfortable. “You see? I know I shouldn’t have mentioned it. It’s only a possibility. Tom Drake knows you’re tiny. He almost certainly wouldn’t do it, unless—”
“Unless what?” Izzie shrieked.
“Well, unless he wanted to be vindictive—but there’s no reason why he should be. Look, can we stop talking about this? It’s only speculation, after all. What we really should be focusing on is damage limitation. It’ll be tricky, but I think we could get a big sympathy vote for Maddy here. You know, the single working mother thing. We have to make it look like a blip. In a way it might help to make the two of you look a bit more human—you know, warts and all.”
“What kind of warts did you have in mind?” Izzie asked cautiously.
“You know . . . something we could turn to our advantage. I mean, look at George Michael! And Liz Hurley didn’t go global until she got banged up by that disgusting man. Sometimes bad news is good news these days. It just depends on how you handle it.”
“If it’s a choice between coming out or getting pregnant again, I think we’d both opt for the comfortable shoes every time. But come on, Pru. Let’s face it. The whole PE story was based on a pretence. Without the myth, there is no PE. It’s over, and I think we’re just going to have to accept it.”
“Izzie, it’s not over till the PR lady sings. Let me have a crack at this. I’ve got a tame psychologist. He’ll deconstruct the picture and give it the right spin. Anyway, Courier readers are emphatically not your customer base. I don’t see this making a huge difference, to be perfectly frank. Let’s get proactive. I’ll handle the press—”
“Izzie!” called Lillian, who was manfully fielding the constant stream of phone calls. “It’s Jean Luc. He’s calling about your latest order. What should I tell him?”
At last! Someone who could talk sense. “I’ll take it. Hello, Jean Luc? Yeah, it’s me. Now listen carefully. We’ve got a problem . . .” Ten minutes later, Izzie replaced the phone with a sigh of relief. He was on his way over to England and had come up with the brilliantly simple idea that Izzie should get hold of Maddy’s home address book and contact all her friends to find out where she had gone. She phoned Colette to make sure she was there, but the number was engaged. Maybe Maddy was back or had contacted Colette. Izzie checked that the spare set of keys Maddy had given her was in her bag, then headed for the door, leaving Pru to help Lillian fend off the demands for comments and interviews. The soft popping of a flash and the click of a shutter, teamed with the sudden burst of light, sent her reeling back inside. “Izzie—just a quick quote—”
“Pruuuuu! Get down here quick. There’s a couple of photographers outside. I need you.”
Pru came clattering down the wooden stairs, smoothing her hair and checking her lipstick. “Let me at ’em!”
At the same moment, Izzie’s mobile rang. It was the secretary of St. Boniface’s, and she didn’t sound pleased. “Mrs. Stock, I think you’d better come and collect Jess and Charlie straight away. We’ve had a reporter trying to talk to them through the railings outside the playground, asking them what they had for supper last night and offering them money for a look inside their lunch boxes.”
She hung up, having made profuse apologies—although, come to think of it, it wasn’t actually her fault—when Marcus called. “I won’t be coming over to the barn for lunch after all. There’s a couple of blokes lurking in the bushes across the road—journalists, I reckon, and I don’t trust myself not to thump them if they ask me anything. I did manage to get the laundry in off the line, though. Didn’t want them getting snaps of your undies.”
She explained the problem at school, and Marcus let out a curse. “Bastards! How dare they go after our children. I’ll thump them anyway. Right! Change of plan. I’ll go and get the kids now and bring them back here. You’d better see what’s happening at Eagles. It won’t be any better.”
“No, don’t you go and fetch them. They’ll follow you. I’ll call Crispin. He’s out on a job today. If he can pick them up, I’ll phone the school and let them know.”
Right, so that was the children sorted. Colette’s mobile and the landline were still engaged, so Izzie sneaked out of the barn by the back door while Pru was holding court at the front, jumped in the car, and zoomed away before anyone noticed. Glancing in her mirror to check she wasn’t being followed, she felt a bit like James Bond. Too bad she didn’t have any gadgets to help in her mission. An automatic in-car mascara applicator would be a start, and how about a perfume dispenser built into the headrest—instead of choosing between diesel and petrol, you could choose between Clarins and Diptyque. She was musing on what else would come in handy as she drove through Ringford, but snapped to attention when she saw Pokey Sue (their new nickname for her) talking animatedly to a tall, rather interesting man who was emphatically not her husband and who gave the impression of hanging on her every word. “Way to go, Sue-eey. Once a Pokey, always a Pokey!” Izzie whooped to herself as she drove past, giving Sue a cheery wave.
Remembering Marcus’s warning, she slowed before the turning to Huntingford House and, sure enough, there were several cars parked on the verge, each containing two men. She turned in without indicating—well, there was no one else around—and was amused to see them all jump to attention as she sailed past. She tucked the car by the barns and made for the back door, opening it with the spare key.
“Colette!” she called. “It’s Izzie. Are you all right?”
A cupboard door creaked open, and Colette and Pasco emerged, Colette looking terrified, Pasco delighted. “Encore! Encore!” he chirped, keen to carry on with the game.
“Oh, Izzie, I thought it was one of them! They have been calling here all morning. I took the phone from the hook in the end. I don’t know what to say to them.”
Izzie hugged the frightened girl and tooted Pasco’s nose. “So you still haven’t heard anything from Maddy? Listen, can I take her address book and see if I can track her down? Do you know where it is? Oh thanks.”
“Izzie, I don’t know what to do about collecting the children. I know there are people in the garden. I don’t feel safe.”
“I think we all need to stick together for now, and I’ve already asked Crispin to pick the kids up from school. He’ll drop them back here with you—unless of course you want to come and stay with us?” Colette opted to wait at home for Maddy but promised to lock all the doors and ignore the phone.
Whatever Marcus had said to the journalists had worked. There was no one to be seen lurking outside when Izzie returned home. Crispin had dropped the kids off but hadn’t stayed. “He said he wanted to check that everyone at the barn was all right. He looked quite worried, actually,” said Marcus. “If this wasn’t so awful, it would be quite fun. Like that first time we stayed at your parents’ and I had to hide in the cupboard when your mother walked into your room.”
Izzie laughed, but turned quickly away. She didn’t want to get into nostalgia trips with Marcus, especially not about the days when they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. He was being brilliant, she couldn’t deny it, but this enforced proximity was not what she’d had planned. “I’m going to go through this address book now. Jean Luc suggested I should try all her friends to see if they know where she is.”
Marcus looked down and started laying the table for supper. Why had she mentioned him? It was deliberately spiteful, and now that she’d hurt him she wished she hadn’t. Was this going to turn into one of those awful “can’t live with him, can’t live without him” scenarios? She picked up her mobile and started at A.
By P she’d still had no success at all. Most of Maddy’s friends hadn’t even heard from her in the last six months, and the pretext she’d used on
them all—that Maddy had taken her contact lenses by mistake—sounded lame even to her. Marcus had organized the kids into a game of Twister—strictly indoors, they were still unsure if there were any lurking paparazzi—and supper was all cleared away.
Later, Marcus read to Charlie and Izzie gave up the hunt and went to tuck Jess in. She’d requested a “Mousey Brown” story, an invented saga that had been going on for years, and Izzie complied as far as she could. But her thoughts kept turning back to Maddy. She would have to call the police tonight. Once she’d phoned Ayesha Zafari, one of Maddy’s old friends from school, she’d have run out of road. “Mummyyyy! You’ve already done one where Mousey Brown gets stuck in a tuba. Make up a new one.”
Her pathetic efforts at invention were interrupted by Pru’s phone call. Not having kids herself, she was unaware of the problems that a seven thirty phone call causes, and went on at some length.
“Well, at least I’ve found a halfway decent hotel in this godforsaken place. Yes, I know you invited me to stay, but no one, repeat no one, sees me without eye makeup, and since you don’t offer en-suite facilities, I can’t run the risk. Now brace yourself. I think this is going to get worse before it gets better. I was accosted by some hunky reporter in Ringford this afternoon. He was asking anyone and everyone if they knew anything about you, and I fear he may have had a few takers. Don’t get the paper tomorrow. I’ll get it and come round to your place. Are you keeping the children off school tomorrow?”
“No, I think we’ll risk it and hope it’s all blown over. I can’t bear to give in to some state of siege. Can’t think of anything worse, frankly.”
“I think you should stay out of the frame though.”
“But we need provisions. The cupboard is bare, Jean Luc’s on his way here tonight and if Maddy still hasn’t turned up, Colette’s bringing the kids back after school tomorrow.”
Pru got efficient. “I’ll bring supplies with me, since you’ve got a houseful. What do children eat? Same as humans?”
“Probably not the same as you, Pru. Erm, pasta, ketchup, sausages—not fancy ones, mind, cheese—not Stilton, mild cheddar—apples, milk, Coco Pops, bananas. I think we can manage otherwise—oh, and loo paper, there’s an exponential relationship between the number of kids and how much you get through.”
Pru made a gagging noise. “Please, too much information. I’ll be round first thing, then I’d better go and hold the fort at the barn with Lillian.”
Izzie finished settling Jess and looked in on Charlie. Marcus had fallen asleep next to him mid-story, and was snoring softly. She poured a large glass of cold white wine, then sat in the kitchen on her own. She still hadn’t quite grasped the fact that they were going to be broke again. In her mind, she’d already spent the money Tessutini would have paid them. This was like waking up from a wonderful dream—and she didn’t like it! She heard a soft tap on the window and jerked her head up to see Jean Luc’s face.
She let him in, and he enfolded her in a warm hug. He smelled a bit travel worn, and looked exhausted but as gorgeous as ever. “What a mess!” he commiserated. “Your English newspapers are the worst in the world. Has she made contact yet?”
“No, nothing at all. I just don’t know what to do.”
Jean Luc stretched and rubbed his eyes. “Well, the most important thing is to pour me a drink.” He produced a bottle of wine from his holdall. “After that, I’ll have some ideas, but until then I’m no good.”
They were soon sitting comfortably across the kitchen table from each other, both nursing their wine and eating Bombay mix she’d bought specially when she knew he was coming over, a weakness he’d divulged shamefacedly on a previous visit.
“Thanks for coming over so quickly. She will need people she loves around her when she gets back.” She glanced at him, wondering if he’d pick up the hint, but he was still staring into the ruby depths of his glass. She pushed a bit harder. “I think she blames herself for what’s happened, but it could just have easily been me. She’s so hard on herself. Without Simon around, she thinks she has to take care of everything, but it’s too much for her. She won’t admit she needs anyone though.”
Jean Luc shrugged in resignation. “She wasn’t always like that. First there was Peter to look after her, then Simon with his stupid braces and his big City salary.” Izzie was shocked by his hostility. He’d never even mentioned Simon’s name before. He went on, “I think she’s different now. She never had to provide for herself before, but she’s proved she can. But she’s so proud. And she’s been hurt. She won’t let anyone get close again, I don’t think.”
Izzie hesitated, then took the plunge. “Jean Luc, how long have you been in love with her?”
He looked up suddenly in surprise, then smiled in rueful admiration. “Mon Dieu. I thought I’d done a good job of hiding it.”
“Not good enough, I’m afraid. I knew there was something that day in France. It wasn’t just you doing the decent thing, was it? Then at the party, I saw you watching her. The look on your face gave it away.”
He stood up and went over to the window, staring out into the darkness. “Izzie, I’ll say it again. In France I could so easily have made love with you. I wanted you so much. But her bloody face is always in my mind, fucking up all my relationships.” He laughed mirthlessly. “My wife couldn’t stand it and she was right. It’s always been Maddy. Always.”
His intensity took her breath away. How ironic. She remembered that far-off drunken night, Maddy posturing with a cigarette and laughing cruelly, “It’s you, Charlie, it’s always been you.” Poor, poor Jean Luc. Had Maddy any idea at all? She hoped not for his sake.
Suddenly he turned back and leaned over the table imploringly. “Izzie, there will never be anyone else in my life who comes close to her. I will love her always, but please don’t tell her. I couldn’t bear her rejection. This way I can still see her. Please, promise me?”
They heard floorboards creaking as Marcus levered himself out of Charlie’s bed and headed downstairs. His eyes screwed up against the light, he stood in the doorway, staring in puzzlement from one to the other. Izzie got up from her chair, squeezed Jean Luc’s arm reassuringly, and nodded. Then she took a glass of wine over to her husband and smoothed his sleep-rumpled hair tenderly. “Darling, try this Cahors Jean Luc has brought over. It’s delicious. Come and sit down and join us. I’ll make up the bed in the spare room.”
Suddenly, her mobile beeped a message, then a moment later, Jean Luc’s joined in. They exchanged startled glances and pressed the read buttons.
When Maddy woke at last the house was silent. They’d clearly left for school. She tried hard to open one eye and focus on the clock. Ten fifteen. She rolled over onto her back and groaned. She could have slept for another week. Perhaps she was getting old, but jet lag had never got to her like this before. Gingerly sitting up and swinging her legs off the bed, she began to focus her mind on the past twenty-four hours.
The children had been thrilled at her return the previous night, and at being allowed to stay up late enough to greet her. They seemed happy enough with the paltry offerings she’d managed to cobble together at the airport shops. Judging by the look on her face, Colette wasn’t as convinced that a baseball hat quite made up for putting up with the kids and a horde of paparazzi for a couple of days, but she’d have to make it up to her later. She hadn’t bargained on Crispin and Lillian being there too, but she thanked them profusely for their moral support, kept her explanations to the minimum, and waved them off into the night in Lillian’s little car.
Once she’d packed the children off to bed, she’d turned her mobile back on. As expected there were several messages from Izzie demanding to know her whereabouts, each more desperate than the last. One too from Jean Luc, not so panicky, of course, but no less concerned. She’d replied to them both by text saying she was okay, and she’d be in touch. But the best news, the most joyous news of all, a voice mail from Geoff, which must have come sometime late yesterd
ay afternoon. He’d had confirmation from Tessutini that the contract had been signed and finalized, but could she call him regarding the photo in the paper? She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at this. Had Tom seen the pictures? She didn’t imagine for one minute that he hadn’t. But who could say whether he’d signed before they’d landed on his desk?
She pulled back the curtains and looked out at the wet, windswept garden. Twenty-four hours ago she’d been zipping though a warm, sunny Manhattan, disgusted at herself and frantic with worry that the whole deal had been blown. A few hours before that? Well, perhaps that’s why she was so tired. She was very out of practice after all. Now here she was, a rich woman. Richer than she could have imagined—though by the skin of her teeth. And with nothing to do with herself.
First she had to put Izzie’s mind at rest, and she wanted to do it face-to-face. She turned toward the bathroom. Time for a shower. The best fun would be putting on her favorite old clothes that hadn’t seen the light of day for months, and she was going to pile on the slap too.
Feeling rather odd and unused to tight trousers and kitten heels, she jumped in the car and headed off toward Hoxley. It felt like a million years since she’d been down this way, or at least now she felt like a different person. Despite herself, she felt a wave of lust as she remembered Sunday night, and quickly buried it. That kind of thought wouldn’t do at all.
She pulled into Izzie’s driveway, and almost careered into the back of a Range Rover. Oh my God, it was Jean Luc. She thought the call had come from France. What was he doing here? Leaving her car jammed in the gateway, she squeezed past the bushes, soaking her back on the wet leaves in the process, and headed for the door. She had barely put her hand on the doorknob when it was ripped open by Izzie, who threw herself into Maddy’s arms.
Goodbye, Jimmy Choo Page 37
