by Jill Mansell
‘She could take over my job.’ Izzy was laughing now. ‘And I’ll take control of her cheque book. Poor old Gina, I do feel sorry for her, but there are times when I wish I could just shake some sense into that head of hers. For God’s sake, how many weeks is it since she even smiled?’
‘She’s unhappy,’ chided Sam. ‘Haven’t you ever been unhappy?’
The next moment, Izzy shrieked. ‘Damn right I have! In fact, I’m unhappy at this very moment. Sam, how could you?’ she protested, her voice rising in anguish. ‘That last slice of pizza was mine!’
‘Right, we’re going to get you sorted out,’ Izzy announced a couple of days later, steering Gina out on to the patio for what, hopefully, would be a productive woman-to-woman talk and waving a bottle of Chardonnay for emphasis.
‘It’s only eleven-thirty,’ Gina protested, gazing in horror at the wine.
‘Ah, but the clocks go forward tonight.’ Izzy winked, then continued with great firmness. ‘Besides, it’s necessary. I want you to be totally honest and I want you to relax. If this fails,’ she added cheerfully, ‘we resort to Pentothal.’
‘I know what you’re going to tell me,’ said Gina with a trace of defiance. This was like being fifteen all over again.
‘I’m not going to tell you anything,’ Izzy replied, pouring the wine, then kicking off her shoes and making herself comfortable on the wooden bench. ‘For one thing, I’m hardly in a position to lecture. For another, your problems aren’t - strictly speaking - any of my business.’
‘Then why have you dragged me out here?’ Gina demanded.
‘Drink your wine before it evaporates,’ replied Izzy sternly, knowing from experience that Gina was capable of nursing the same glass for hours. ‘The thing is, I’d like to help, so I wondered if there was anything I could do?’
Feeling awkward and thinking that if she hadn’t overheard Izzy’s conversation with Sam she would have been touched by her concern, Gina shrugged and said, ‘I don’t think so.’
It was like pulling teeth. Waiting until Gina had taken a decent slug of wine, Izzy tried again. ‘Look, I really do want to help. What would you like most in the world?’
Startled by the abruptness of the question, Gina’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I’d like the last two months to have never happened.’
‘But they have,’ said Izzy relentlessly. ‘So, taking that into consideration, what else would you like most in the world?’
This wasn’t fair. Gina, fumbling for a handkerchief, mumbled, ‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, would it be nice to feel a bit more confident and start getting out and making some new friends?’
‘Don’t tell me.’ Gina’s mouth narrowed. ‘I should get myself a job.’
‘I’m not telling you to do anything,’ Izzy reminded her, although it was a struggle not to. Then, struck by an idea, she said, ‘Shall I tell you what I’d do, if I were you?’
Anything was better than enduring this inquisition. Gina nodded.
‘I’d want to make sure my husband had really left me for good,’ said Izzy, sitting back and improvising rapidly. ‘I’d want to see him with his new girlfriend, so that at least I could stop wondering about her. It wouldn’t be easy, but it would be worth it, because then I’d know it was over and I could get on with the rest of my life. And yes, I would get myself a job of some kind, even though I’d be scared to death because I hadn’t been out to work for so many years that I’d think I’d make an idiot of myself . . . oh, please -’ She broke off, realizing that Gina was crying harder than ever. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve gone too far. Look, I’ll stop. I won’t say another word, but please don’t cry any more.’
‘No, no,’ wailed Gina, her handkerchief by this time soaked through. ‘You’re absolutely right,’ she sniffed. ‘That’s exactly what I do want to do!’
‘We should have phoned,’ Gina said fearfully as Izzy reversed the Golf into a parking space beneath Andrew’s apartment building. Her courage was failing her now that they were actually here.
‘No way,’ said Izzy briskly, switching off the ignition and cutting Cliff Richard off in mid-flow. ‘This time, you’re going to have the upper hand. Here you are, dressed up to the nines.’ She gestured with approval at Gina’s svelte silk dress, the silver jewellery and the perfectly made-up face. ‘And there they will be, all unsuspecting and unprepared. It’s going to be the most brilliant fun,’ she concluded with determination, praying that she wasn’t making a hideous mistake.
Marcy, when she opened the door, was certainly unsuspecting. Her own auburn hair was tangled, her unflattering baggy sweater and tracksuit bottoms looked as if they’d been slept in and her face was pale.
‘Yes?’ she said, hanging on to the door handle and regarding the two women with disinterest. Behind her, a television blared.
Whatever Gina had imagined during those endless tortured nights, it wasn’t this.
‘We’ve come to see Andrew,’ said Izzy helpfully, when it became apparent that Gina was too stunned to say anything at all.
‘Oh, he isn’t in.’The woman, who had a sleepy, cultured voice, sounded relieved, as if his absence solved the problem.
‘Are you expecting him back’ - Izzy allowed herself a tiny pause - ‘shortly?’
‘He’s just popped out to the supermarket.’ Unexpectedly, Marcy smiled. ‘He shouldn’t be long.’
In all the years she had been married to him, Andrew hadn’t so much as registered the existence of such objects. Astounded by the thought that he was at this moment actually in one, and almost laughing out loud at the absurdity of the idea, Gina recovered her nerve.
‘In that case,’ she said, so smoothly that even Izzy gazed at her in admiration, ‘perhaps we could come in and wait. I’m Gina Lawrence, Andrew’s wife. And this is my friend, Izzy Van Asch.’
The flat was an absolute tip. Small and low-ceilinged to begin with, the suffocating central heating and incredible amount of clutter strewn around the room rendered it positively claustrophobic. Gina was cheered still further by the terrible sight. Marcy’s lack of response to her introduction had been disappointing - she had geared herself up for high drama and received only a mildly surprised ‘Oh, well then, of course you must come in,’ in return - but other than that she could have hugged Izzy for bringing her here. This was all so much less terrifying than she had imagined, and meeting Marcy had filled her with such sudden, wild optimism, that she knew she couldn’t fail. Baby or no baby, Andrew was bound to come back to her sooner or later. This plump, slow-moving, slovenly creature was no threat to her marriage after all . . .
‘Tea,’ announced Marcy, returning from the kitchen with two unmatched mugs, a soup spoon with which to fish out the teabags and a king-size bag of prawn-cocktail-flavoured crisps. ‘Well, I must say this is all very civilised.’ With a sigh of relief, she collapsed into a chair. Then, her grey eyes swivelling between her two guests, she gestured vaguely at the mugs of tea and smiled once more. ‘I’m so glad you felt able to visit us. Problems with exes and in-laws are so unnecessary, I’ve always thought . . . please Gina, do help yourself to the crisps . . .’
Andrew’s reaction, when he arrived back at the flat fifteen minutes later, was far more gratifying. Grinding to a halt in the doorway, bulging carrier bags dangling from both hands, he stared at his estranged wife and said, ‘Jesus.’
Izzy opened her mouth, ready to leap into the breach once more, but Gina was too fast for her.
‘Andrew,’ she acknowledged gracefully, crossing one slim leg over the other and smoothing the silk dress over her knees with a composed, almost regal gesture. ‘How pleasant to see you again, after all this time. I’m afraid we’ve called unannounced, but I didn’t feel such an important matter could be properly discussed over the telephone. I hope you don’t mind us coming here to your . . .’ The word ‘love-nest’ hung unspoken in the air between them. Izzy held her breath. ‘. . . home,’ continued Gina, the merest hint of a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. ‘But we re
ally do need to discuss the details of our divorce.’
‘That was terrific!’ exclaimed Izzy as they made their way back to the car. Bursting with pride, she said, ‘You were terrific. Really, I’m so impressed. And did you see the look on his face when you started talking about the divorce . . . !’
‘Yes,’ said Gina, so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she could barely concentrate on what Izzy was saying.
‘And how about that female he’s landed himself with. What a ditz. I thought he’d at least have gone for something with a bit of go about her . . . but you were so brilliant . . .’ Lost in admiration, she shook her dark head, then broke into a grin. ‘Don’t you feel a million times better now that you’ve faced them?’
‘Better than I’ve felt for months,’ agreed Gina happily. Stopping at the edge of the pavement and glancing up at Andrew’s rented apartment, she realised that now, at last, she was feeling alive again. Unable to stop herself, she reached out and clutched Izzy’s arm. ‘Better than I’ve ever felt in my life! Oh Izzy, I thought I’d lost him . . . it didn’t even occur to me that I could get him back. And it’s all thanks to you for making me come here . . .’
Izzy ground to a halt. Her heart plummeted. Somehow, somewhere along the line, she and Gina appeared to have got their wires very crossed indeed. ‘But you don’t want him back!’ she countered strongly. ‘He’s a liar and a cheat and you’re better off without him.You came here to prove all that to yourself . . . to lay the ghost . . .’
‘But now I’ve found out that I don’t need to,’ replied Gina, her eyes alight with joy. ‘And I can stop worrying, because it’s all going to be all right. He doesn’t love her, don’t you see? He will come back.’
‘Oh God,’ said Izzy with a groan. But Gina didn’t even notice; she was miles away.
‘He will come back,’ she repeated with dreamy conviction. ‘To me.’
Chapter 13
‘It’s all my fault,’ Izzy admitted gloomily as Sam gave her a lift to work that evening on his way to The Chelsea Steps. Peering into her hand mirror and putting the finishing touches to her lipstick, she said, ‘I’ve made an absolute pig’s ear of the whole thing. And all I was doing,’ she added with an impatient gesture, ‘was trying to help.’
‘I wondered why she was so much more cheerful,’ remarked Sam drily. Then, swinging the car into the outside lane to avoid a braking cab, he said, ‘But is that really so terrible?’
They had reached Trafalgar Square. Reminded by the sight of Nelson’s Column that she had a Cadbury’s Flake in her bag and immeasurably cheered by the thought, Izzy rummaged until she found it, then offered half to Sam. Even more happily, he shook his head, which meant a whole Flake to herself. ‘Gina’s like an addict with a fix after six weeks of cold turkey,’ she informed him, between mouthfuls. ‘It’s completely disastrous! Just think what she’ll be like when it wears off.’
Amused by her agony-auntish attitude, as well as by her ability to eat chocolate and apply mascara at the same time, he said, ‘Don’t you ever make mistakes?’
‘Oh zillions.’ Make-up completed, Izzy dropped the mascara back into her capacious bag and polished off the last of the Flake, licking her fingers with panache. ‘But that only makes me more of an expert at seeing where everyone else is going wrong. And the one thing I’d never do,’ she added as a careless afterthought, ‘would be to lust after a man who didn’t lust back. Now that is asking to be kicked in the teeth. That’s just stupid.’
Brennan’s Bar was still relatively empty when Ralph walked in. Izzy’s stomach did a quick backward somersault and for a millisecond she considered diving down behind the bar. Since she was in the process of giving a fat businessman his change, however, it wasn’t entirely practical.
Ralph, on the other hand, didn’t even flinch when he saw her. ‘Hallo, Izzy,’ he said evenly. A faint smile lifted the corners of his mouth. ‘Well, well. Of all the bars in all the world you had to be working in this one.’
He might be an actor, but the casual line didn’t fool her for a moment. With a grin, she said, ‘You knew I was here.’
‘Word gets around.’ Leaning against the bar, tanned and narrow-eyed, looking only slightly over the top in a beige trenchcoat worn open over a T-shirt and white jeans, Ralph surveyed her with practised thoroughness. Then he lit a Gauloise and Izzy realised that he was doing his Alain Delon bit, which meant that beneath the cool façade he must be nervous. ‘So, how are you?’
At least he wasn’t using a French accent. Stepping back and showing him her legs - and glad now that she’d worn her short, charcoal-grey lycra dress - she said simply, ‘Mended.’
He nodded. ‘And how’s Kat?’
Ralph and Katerina had always got on so well together. An unlikely father figure, he had nevertheless formed a close and genuinely affectionate relationship with Kat, and their good-natured verbal sparring had been capable of keeping them happily occupied for hours. Experiencing a rush of belated gratitude, Izzy seized a bottle of Lanson and said, ‘Come on, my treat. It really is lovely to see you again.’
Happily, the bar remained quiet and she was able to catch up on all the gossip concerning their old friends.
‘And what about you?’ she asked finally. Knowing Ralph as she did; she was perfectly well aware that he was holding out on her.
He half-smiled, trying not to look too pleased with himself. ‘Oh, not too bad. This and that, you know.’
‘How can I know unless you tell me?’ she persisted, beginning to enjoy herself. Sam was still off-limits, after all, and if Ralph had finally decided to forgive her . . . well, she reasoned, he did have the most gorgeous eyes, and he could always make her laugh. Besides, when Sam had caught her with Kat’s sex manual, there had been more than a modicum of truth in her riposte that she was badly out of practice . . .
‘Well, as a matter of fact my agent rang me this afternoon,’ he admitted, breaking into a grin at last. ‘To tell me that I’ve landed the lead in a new TV drama series.’
Izzy’s shriek of delight startled even the seen-it-all-before stockbrokers sitting at a nearby table. ‘Ralph, that’s fantastic! My God, you must be so thrilled . . . tell me everything, every detail . . . quick, have another glass of champagne . . . you should be out celebrating!’ Leaning across the polished bar, she took his face in her hands and gave him a kiss. To her further delight, he didn’t show the least sign of resisting.
‘Maybe I wanted to celebrate with someone who’d really understand.’ Then, his eyes narrowing once more, he said, ‘Are you still seeing that other guy?’
‘Of course not!’
‘Anyone else?’
Not yet, thought Izzy, crossing her fingers beneath the bar. ‘Whoever in the world would want anything to do with a hopeless case like me?’ she said lightly. Then, since he continued to glare at her, she smiled and shook her head. ‘No. Nobody else.’
Ralph relaxed at last. ‘In that case, what time can you get away?’
‘Ah, there you are,’ said Sam, crossing to the bar and observing with amused interest the way Izzy jumped at the sound of his voice. Even more intriguing was the sudden rush of colour suffusing her cheeks, since as long as he’d known her she’d never blushed.
‘Sam . . . what on earth are you doing here?’ she demanded, far too quickly.
‘Such gratitude!’ He tut-tutted with mock reproval, then winked and pulled her purse from his jacket pocket. ‘I found it on the floor of the car. It must have fallen out of that disgraceful bag of yours while you were doing your make-up. Oh, and I phoned Kat in case you were panicking about it,’ he continued easily, apparently quite unaware of Ralph’s glowering presence beside him. ‘She said that if we were thinking of stopping off at the Chinese on our way home, could she please have lemon chicken with egg fried rice and double pineapple fritters.’
‘What did I say?’ protested Sam, as they made their way back to the house several hours later.
Izzy, with six boxes of Chinese foo
d balanced precariously on her lap, threw him a suspicious sideways glance, but his immaculate profile was giving nothing away.
‘You know exactly what you said,’ she told him, still undecided whether to laugh or empty the carton of prawn crackers over his head.
‘OK.’ He nodded, keeping his own amusement to himself. ‘But what did I say that was so wrong? That guy stormed out so fast I didn’t even get a chance to admire the medallions around his neck.’
‘He doesn’t wear medallions.’ Despite herself, Izzy smiled into the darkness. It had been she, two years ago, who had had to break the news to Ralph that real men didn’t wear necklaces. ‘And before you say anything else,’ she continued in severe tones, ‘you’re talking about the man I loved.’
But Sam was already acquainted with the saga of Izzy’s recent entanglements. ‘Don’t you mean one of the men you loved?’ he remarked, deadpan.
