by Jill Mansell
‘I’m so ashamed.’
‘Blimey,’ said a man unloading a van. ‘What’s she got, syphilis?’
‘Get in the car,’ ordered Andrew, torn between irritation and sympathy. Once again the crushing weight of responsibility was bearing down on him. While he accepted that he was to blame for this entire sorry mess, he couldn’t help wondering why he should be the one with the wife who couldn’t handle it while other men seemed to escape scot-free.
‘Blimey.’ Katerina, spending the afternoon studying at home, unknowingly echoed the van driver when she answered the front door and saw Gina’s swollen, ravaged face.
‘I’m sorry.’ Andrew waved apologetically in the direction of the doorbell. ‘Gina couldn’t find her key.’
Katerina regarded him with interest. Gina in tears was nothing new - although she did look quite spectacularly dreadful - but as far as Katerina was aware she had left the house this morning in unusually high spirits, looking forward to her interview. From the look of her now, she could only assume that Gina hadn’t been offered the job. ‘That’s OK,’ she replied easily, wondering if this man was the owner of the dress shop. ‘But I’m intrigued. Who are you?’
It was a bizarre situation; for the moment Gina was quite forgotten. Having already deduced who Katerina was, Andrew could only return her unflinching gaze. She was wearing a faded honey-coloured sweatshirt and knee-length white leggings and her glossy brown hair hung straight to her shoulders. Her eyes were huge and light brown, her teeth very white. In her right hand she held a pen; in her left a marmalade sandwich.
‘Andrew Lawrence,’ he said and waited for her expression to change to one of disdain. Izzy’s dislike of him had been only too evident during their brief meeting the previous week.
Katerina, however, broke into a smile and gave him a look of such complicity that he knew at once she was on his side. The relief was overwhelming.
‘Right, of course you are.’ She stepped aside, enabling him to lead Gina towards the sitting room. Andrew found himself unable to tear his eyes from her rear view; those slim hips and long legs were almost hypnotizing in their simple elegance. She couldn’t possibly be more than eighteen.
‘Well, I’d better leave you to it.’ In the sitting room, text books littered the carpet. Within seconds Katerina had retrieved them and was standing in the doorway. When she had watched Andrew deposit his wife in one of the peach upholstered armchairs she said calmly, ‘Do you know who I am?’
He straightened, adjusting his tie and dropping Gina’s car keys on to the coffee table. He might not have contributed much towards the conversation in the restaurant, but he had at least listened. ‘You’re the clever one,’ he told her, his voice even, ‘who does the washing-up.’
‘Right.’ This time Katerina laughed. ‘Of course I am. And how clever of you to have guessed.’
Having planned to drop off Gina and leave immediately, he found himself phoning the office instead and telling them he wouldn’t be back that afternoon, which would fuel office gossip no end. And after thirty minutes of half-heartedly attempting to console his inconsolable wife, he was rewarded by the sound of footsteps descending the staircase. Snatching Gina’s teacup from her hands and murmuring something about a refill, he shot out of the room and slap into Katerina.
She was wearing a denim jacket and carried a vast canvas bag stuffed with books.
‘How’s it going?’
Andrew pulled a face. ‘Same as ever. Look, it’s about time I was leaving, but I’d like to talk to you . . . about Gina. Can I offer you a lift to wherever you’re going?’
She gave him another of those solemn mesmerizing looks. ‘I’m afraid not.’
‘Oh.’
‘It isn’t that I don’t appreciate the offer,’ she explained, breaking into a slow smile. He looked so dismayed, it was almost heartbreaking. She leaned closer and said in a stage whisper, ‘But you don’t have transport.’
‘Damn.’ At the same time, Andrew experienced a surge of relief, because the rejection wasn’t personal. Putting the memory of the lunch he couldn’t afford behind him, he said, ‘I’ll phone for a cab.’
Katerina’s smile widened as she hauled her heavy bag over her shoulder. ‘Why don’t we just walk to the tube station? Then we can talk on the way.’
I’m in the Victoria and Albert Museum and something very strange is happening to me, thought Katerina carefully, an hour later. She didn’t know how or why it was happening; it just was. And there was nothing, absolutely nothing on earth she could do to either stop or control it.
She didn’t even know what they were doing in the museum, for heaven’s sake; there had simply been too much to say and not enough time in which to say it, until Andrew had suggested they stop en route for a coffee and en route had somehow become the dear old V & A. Now, as they sat side by side in the ground-floor restaurant, surrounded on all sides by noisy, overweight Americans and tiny, chattering Japanese tourists, Katerina was aware only of the momentousness of a situation she didn’t even fully comprehend. On the outside she was still herself, twirling a strand of hair between two fingers as she discussed - in purely practical terms - Gina’s lack of confidence and what they could possibly do about it.
But on the inside she wasn’t herself at all. While her mouth was doing the talking, her stomach had tied itself up in a gigantic knot and the inside of her wrist, where Andrew had accidentally brushed against her, was still tingling, really tingling, as a result of that momentary physical contact.
As long as she continued to talk, however - and discussing his marital problems in a detached, adult manner was astonishingly easy - she was able to study Andrew Lawrence in detail. And while he wasn’t as startlingly good-looking as some men . . . Sam, for example . . . there was something about his shadowed grey eyes, thin cheeks and floppy, light brown hair that was somehow infinitely more attractive. He looked careworn, exuding an air of fighting against the odds to make the best of what he had to put up with, and when he actually smiled his features were transformed; his whole face lit up and the years melted away.
‘I shouldn’t really be telling you all this,’ he said eventually, stirring milky coffee which had long since gone cold. ‘It isn’t your problem, after all.’
‘But it’s so awful!’ exclaimed Katerina, her eyes on the verge of filling with uncharacteristic tears. ‘And so unfair . . . God, we have no idea! Mum did say that—’
‘Yes?’ Andrew prompted gently. ‘What did Mum say?’
Incapable of lying to him, fixing him with those huge brown eyes, she murmured, ‘Well, she mentioned in passing that Marcy was a bit of a ditz.’
He acknowledged the words with a thoughtful nod, then smiled because at least he was here, with Katerina Van Asch. Life, it seemed, had its compensations. He just wondered how he was going to cope with the particular compensation facing him at this minute. The urge to touch her once more . . . accidentally, of course . . . was almost overwhelming.
‘It’s all my fault; I’ve been a complete idiot,’ he admitted. ‘I was married, I thought I’d fallen in love with another woman . . . and by the time I realised I hadn’t, it was too late.’
‘You shouldn’t blame yourself,’ said Katerina indignantly. ‘Getting pregnant was her own stupid fault. Plenty of other men would have just dumped her.’
The restaurant was rapidly emptying; it was almost six o’clock and cleaners were pushing mops around. Aware of their baleful stares, and of the fact that time was running out, Andrew was unable to stop himself. Taking Katerina’s hand and giving it a brief squeeze, he smiled. ‘Thank you. I wish I’d met you six months ago.’ Even better, he thought, he wished he were twenty years younger and still single.
But Katerina, knowing only that Andrew Lawrence had already changed her life and throwing seventeen years of caution to the wind, reached for the hand he had withdrawn and held it between her own. She was trembling slightly, her stomach had long since disappeared and she had never been happier
in her life.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she heard herself saying, as if from a great distance. ‘You’ve met me now.’
Chapter 15
Determined not to be too obvious or too eager, but at the same time nerve-wrackingly aware that single men like Sam were in constant danger of being snapped up by less patient women than herself, Izzy maintained a decorous distance when he eventually moved out of the house and into his new apartment and, in a state of intense and delicious anticipation, managed to hold out for almost an entire week.
Waking up the following Saturday afternoon, however, and realizing that now was the perfect time to see Sam and put her brilliant plan into long-awaited action, the anticipation became at once almost unbearable. It was sunny. It was warm. She was - boasting apart - looking great. And best of all, Izzy discovered when she eventually got up and moseyed into her daughter’s empty bedroom, Katerina had decided against wearing her new pink denim skirt. If that wasn’t fate, she thought happily as she slung it over one arm and headed towards the bathroom, she didn’t know what was.
Gina was downstairs, disconsolately watching an old black-and-white film on the television.
‘Going somewhere nice?’ she asked, when Izzy appeared in a pale pink denim skirt worn with a minuscule white vest and clinched at the waist with a twisted charcoal-and-pink fringed scarf. Navy-blue eyeshadow and more mascara than usual conspired to make her eyes look enormous and she was even wearing pink lipstick. Stupid question, thought Gina miserably. Of course she was going somewhere nice.
Recognizing the note of desperation in her voice and realizing that Gina was likely to ask if she could come along too, Izzy replied briskly, ‘Audition,’ then smiled to herself, deciding that in a way, that was exactly what it was. And a mutual one at that.
‘Oh.’ Losing interest, Gina returned her attention to the film which was bound to make her cry. ‘Kat asked me to tell you that she’s gone over to Simon’s house, by the way. She won’t be back until late.’
Snap, thought Izzy cheerfully, scooping Katerina’s alligator earrings out of the bowl on the mantelpiece and fastening them into her ears. Aloud, she said, ‘Hooray for A levels,’ because Katerina hated it when she borrowed her earrings. Then, tipping her head to one side as she examined her reflection in the mirror, she added, ‘Although if you ask me, there’s more to these disappearing acts of hers than meets the eye.’
‘What on earth do you mean?’ Gina, who had watched a nightmarish programme about teenage junkies the night before, thought immediately of drugs. God, that was all she needed . . .
‘Kat and Simon,’ explained Izzy patiently. ‘They can’t possibly spend this much time together simply revising. Haven’t you noticed how different she’s been these past few weeks? Physics and chemistry haven’t done that to her,’ she concluded with satisfaction, fluffing up her hair and adjusting the straps of her top to reveal a fraction more cleavage. ‘I know, I can hardly believe it myself, but it seems that my brilliant, backward daughter has finally discovered what little boys are made of. Bless her little heart, she’s in lurve!’
‘There are crocodiles in your ears,’ observed Sam, who had been in the shower when the doorbell rang. The fact that he was wearing only an olive-green towel slung around his hips made Izzy unaccountably nervous, which was ridiculous. If she got her way later on this evening, she reminded herself, he would be wearing rather less than a bath towel, after all.
‘There are hares on your chest,’ she countered; a feeble joke even by her own terrible standards.
He winked. ‘Ah, but I didn’t borrow them from Katerina without asking her first.’
‘How do you know I didn’t ask her?’
‘If you had,’ he said with a grin, ‘she would have said no.’
Izzy almost bit her lower lip but all that would achieve was unattractive lipstick-stained teeth, so she settled instead for an expression of penitence. ‘Are you going to call the police?’
‘Not if you’ve brought champagne,’ he said, glancing at the bulky carrier bag clasped to her chest.
‘Single men are famous for keeping their fridges stocked with champagne,’ she replied, making her way through to the kitchen. ‘And very little else. I’ve brought something much more useful. Food.’
‘You mean you’re going to cook something?’ Sam looked alarmed. ‘To eat?’
‘Don’t panic, I went to the Italian delicatessen,’ she said soothingly. ‘All we have to do is unwrap it.’
He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was definitely something different about Izzy. Over a leisurely late lunch of smoked salmon, marinated mushrooms, salads, French bread and Camembert, the effortless conversation continued as ever . . . business at The Chelsea Steps, Katerina’s budding love life, Gina’s third unsuccessful interview . . . but there was something else, too. Two small glasses of champagne hadn’t had this much of an effect on her; Izzy was definitely hiding something.
‘Never mind Katerina and Simon,’ he said at last, eyeing her with suspicion. ‘What’s been happening with you? Are you in love?’
Izzy popped a black grape into her mouth and smiled. ‘Me? Whoever would I be in love with?’
‘I don’t know. Somebody wildly unsuitable, no doubt.’ Recalling the medallion man he had met at the pub the other week, Sam experienced a twinge of irritation. He was surprised to find how much he minded. ‘You have terrible taste in men, you know.’
She shook her head vigorously. ‘I don’t.’
‘Yes, you do.’
How sweet, thought Izzy, in raptures. And how ironic. Twirling a tendril of hair between her fingers, she fixed Sam with an innocent gaze. ‘Are we having our first quarrel?’
‘Possibly.’ God, she was infuriating. ‘Why, is that the reason you came over here?’
‘Not at all. It’s just that I’m right and you’re wrong and I love it when that happens.’
As far as Sam was aware, it never had happened. Izzy had a positive talent for mistakes, she got everything wrong. ‘So, who is he?’ he said, attempting to sound as if it didn’t matter to him anyway.
Izzy, enjoying herself enormously, began to dismantle the last bunch of grapes. ‘Well, I don’t know whether I’m actually in love, but there’s definitely a bit of lust involved. He’s wildly attractive.’
‘Oh, top-priority stuff,’ Sam retaliated. ‘Don’t tell me, he wears white, patent-leather shoes, too.’
‘There’s no need to make fun of me,’ she said, deadpan. ‘Looks are important. Would you go out with a dog?’
Realizing that he was in danger of losing this particular argument, he said, ‘So, is it fairly serious between you and this . . . man?’
The bait had been well and truly taken, Izzy appreciated happily. Her mission accomplished - for now, at least - she drained her glass and pushed back her chair. With a careless shrug, she said, ‘Who knows what will happen? It may turn out like that. Whichever, it’ll certainly be fun finding out.’
As she reached for her bag, Sam said, ‘Are you working tonight?’
Izzy pulled a face. ‘Yes. And you?’
He nodded.
‘Right. Well, I’m off.’ Tossing her bag over her shoulder, she gave him a dazzling smile. ‘Have a nice night then, Sam. And enjoy yourself. I’m certainly going to!’
It was just after midnight when Sam caught a glimpse of Izzy through the crowd at the edge of the dance floor. She had her back to him and he was unable to see who she was with, and for a few seconds he hesitated at the bar, unsure whether he actually wanted to meet this new man of hers. Having felt uncharacteristically edgy all evening he didn’t altogether trust himself not to say something he shouldn’t.
But Izzy, at that moment turning and spotting him, smiled and waved and made her way over. Looking dazzling in an iridescent petrol-blue dress he hadn’t seen before and with her hair piled up in a glossy, disorganised topknot, she gave him a quick kiss.
‘Sam, I love this place! I’ve just
bumped into Robbie Williams . . . !’
‘As long as you didn’t sing to him,’ replied Sam evenly. If it meant furthering her career, Izzy wouldn’t think twice about pulling such a stunt. Glancing over her shoulder, he said, ‘So where’s Mr Universe?’
‘Who?’
‘The white-shoed wonder. You didn’t bring him along, or has he collapsed under the weight of his jewellery?’
Izzy smiled and leaned against the bar. ‘Ah, maybe he’s here. Maybe I’m just playing it cool like they tell you to in all the magazines.’
‘You mean he isn’t here,’ said Sam with some relief. ‘Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.’
‘I don’t want a drink.’ She shook her head at the approaching barman, paused for a second, then said slowly, ‘I want to dance. With you.’
