by Jill Mansell
It was so sweet of him to want to observe the proprieties, she thought with a rush of affection. Then, seeing the expression on his face, she tucked her arm through his and gave it a squeeze. ‘And there’s no need to be embarrassed. People will only guess, anyway, when they see us talking non-stop through dinner. Real married couples don’t do that - it’s written into their contracts.’
Andrew gave the receptionist an abashed smile and handed Katerina his pen. She signed her name with a flourish. ‘There! Who needs to travel incognito, anyway?’
I do, thought Andrew wryly. At least he would be settling the account in cash, even though he could barely afford it. Then again, he wasn’t going to run the risk of letting Marcy discover a giveaway Visa slip in his suit pocket . . .
‘Shall I ask the porter to take your luggage up to your room?’ said the receptionist, grinning at Katerina and wishing that even half her guests could be as honest.
‘That’s OK.’ Katerina winked. ‘I wouldn’t want him to hurt himself. It really is an incredibly heavy toothbrush, after all.’
She couldn’t help wondering whether her hunger pangs were psychological. Did she really want to eat or was she simply playing for time, putting off the moment when there would be just the three of them alone together: Andrew, herself and that great big double bed?
But no, although the devil-may-care bravado might be a front, she was happy to discover as the first course arrived at their table that the hunger was genuine.
‘So, where does your mother think you are tonight?’ said Andrew, as she demolished the last langoustine with her fingers. Having no appetite himself, he had left his own plate virtually untouched; watching Katerina enjoy her food was pleasure enough.
‘Staying with the love of my life.’ She grinned with her mouth full. ‘Simon, of course, although it’s not terribly likely that she’ll remember; apparently Mum played her demo tape to Doug this afternoon and he was impressed. By the time I got home from school there was an extremely noisy party going on, so I told them I couldn’t possibly study for my exams with that kind of distraction, and that I was going over to Simon’s house. They won’t miss me,’ she concluded airily. ‘As I was leaving, Sam’s girlfriend was teaching Gina to Charleston and Mum was doing her Bette Midler impression, using a courgette as a microphone. Benny and Jericho were playing the piano . . . rather badly, I must say . . . and Doug was pleading with them to do “Paddy McGinty’s Goat” . . .’
It all seemed highly unlikely; Andrew simply couldn’t envisage such goings-on in sedate Kingsley Grove. The Neighbourhood Watch must be bristling with disapproval.
‘We don’t have a piano,’ he said finally.
Katerina licked her buttery fingers. ‘You didn’t,’ she corrected him. ‘We do.’
He couldn’t imagine Gina dancing the Charleston, either, despite Katerina’s repeated assurances that - slowly but surely - she was loosening up. ‘Coming along nicely’, was how she described it, and although they had initially struck sparks off each other, their relationship had evidently mellowed in recent weeks. Katerina approved of the fact that Gina had finally ‘got off her bum’ and started working, while Gina, in turn, appreciated Katerina’s culinary abilities, as well as her aptitude for washing-up. Even more strangely, Katerina was quite open to discussion where Gina - his estranged wife - was concerned, whereas any mention of Marcy was met with instantaneous freezing out.
‘When do your exams start?’ he asked, more out of a desire to change the subject than anything else. As long as he had known Kat, she had been gearing herself up for A levels, but now she rarely even mentioned them.
The waiter arrived at that moment with their main course, delectably pink lamb cutlets for him and tournedos Rossini for Katerina. She shrugged and smiled. ‘Nine o’clock tomorrow morning.’
‘You’re joking!’
‘Don’t panic.’ She seized his hand, just as she had done on that first day in the Victoria and Albert Museum. ‘The only reason I didn’t tell you was because I didn’t want it to spoil our night. When you said you’d booked us into this hotel I was so happy. Nothing else matters, only us.’
For a split second, Andrew wondered whether knowing in advance would have been enough to make him cancel the night. Although he loved Katerina desperately, he was still achingly aware of the differences separating them, and he knew how important her exams were to her.
But no, he had to admit that he wouldn’t have done so. Their precious time together was even more important to him. And this night of all nights was to be the culmination of such long-awaited yearning . . .
‘We’ll have to leave here by seven-thirty,’ he warned her. The rush-hour traffic from rural Berkshire into central London was diabolical.
‘In that case,’ said Katerina, her eyes shining and her hand trembling slightly as she raised her glass to his, ‘we’d better have a very early night.’
But had there ever been a more nerve-wracking exam than the one she was about to face? In the bedroom, Andrew waited for her. Katerina, gazing at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, reminded herself that as long as a couple truly loved one another, nothing else mattered. She didn’t understand why she should be feeling this way. If making love was so natural and . . . wonderful, why did she feel as if she were about to be sick?
She was being stupid, she thought briskly, reaching for her toothbrush and running the cold tap full pelt. What a wimp; seventeen years old and behaving like a child. Since there was absolutely no need to be scared, she wouldn’t be. Nothing was going to be allowed to spoil the most momentous night of her life . . .
Much later, when Andrew had fallen asleep, Katerina rolled on to her side and gazed at the luminous blue figures of the digital clock beside the bed. One-thirty in the morning, she had done it and it had been OK. Nothing like in the movies, she thought with a wry smile, but then what was? OK was OK, it was at least better than she had been expecting, and it really hadn’t lasted long at all, which was an added bonus. She hadn’t stuck her big toe in Andrew’s ear, giggled at the wrong moment or got herself hopelessly entangled in one of those terrifying positions described in that book of which Izzy had made so much fun.
She hadn’t made an idiot of herself, and for that she could only be grateful. Ecstasy might - and hopefully would - feature at a later date, but in the mean time it was something she could quite happily live without. At least she hadn’t lost her pride.
‘Darling,’ murmured Andrew, his arm sliding around her slender waist. As he pulled Katerina towards him, he realised that he was becoming aroused once more. ‘Are you too tired . . .?’
He was kissing her neck. Wriggling away, terrified he’d forget, she reached under the pillows and drew the small, flat box out from its hiding place.
‘This is the last one,’ she said, feeling ridiculously like her old schoolteacher doling out coloured felt pens.
‘Wrong.’ Andrew, who had set the alarm clock for six-thirty, smiled into the darkness. ‘There are always three in a packet.’
‘Wrong,’ replied Katerina, secretly relieved. ‘I filled one up with water earlier, and swung it about a bit. Just to make sure they really worked.’
Simon was hovering at the school gates when Andrew’s car screeched to a halt at five past nine and Katerina, still wearing last night’s little black dress, leapt barefoot out of the passenger door.
‘Jesus, Kat! Are you out of your mind?’ His voice betrayed his agitation and anger. How she could take such stupid risks was beyond him.
Unable to look at the driver of the car, he averted his eyes as Katerina leaned through the open window and gave Andrew a hasty goodbye kiss.
‘No need to panic,’ she said briskly, detaching his clammy hand from her arm as Andrew’s car disappeared and Simon attempted to drag her through the gates. ‘I’m here now, with seven minutes to spare. We’ve even got time for a quick coffee if we—’
‘What!’ Simon shouted, his blond hair practically standing on end. She
broke into a grin.
‘Just my little joke.’
‘You’re the joke.’ He glared at her. ‘I can’t believe what’s happened to you, Kat. Having an affair with a married man isn’t clever, it isn’t an intelligent thing to do . . . and you don’t even seem to realise the kind of risks you’re taking . . .’
Attempting to chivvy him out of his bad mood - which was something she’d never encountered before - Katerina smiled. ‘I may not be intelligent, but even I’ve heard of safe sex,’ she riposted. ‘Condoms rule, OK?’
But Simon’s eyebrows remained ferociously furrowed. ‘I’m not talking about those kind of risks.’
‘And you don’t have the experience to lecture me on any other kind,’ declared Katerina flatly as they climbed the steps leading to the main entrance of the school. ‘So don’t lecture me.’
Shaking his head, he said, ‘You’re making a fool of yourself.’
In reply, she gave him an icy stare. ‘And you’re becoming incredibly boring.’
Ahead of them at the end of the corridor was the examination room. Standing in the doorway, their physics teacher gestured frantically to them to hurry up and take their seats.
‘I’m trying to be your friend,’ said Simon in a low voice.
Katerina, feeling slightly ashamed of herself, squeezed his hand. ‘I know you are,’ she whispered back. ‘You’re just going about it the wrong way. Oh Simon, I haven’t revised for a week. I’m scared. Give me a kiss for luck?’
‘No,’ he said grimly, recalling the incident at the school gates. ‘You’ve had one of those already.’
Chapter 24
‘There was no need for you to come all the way down here,’ Gina protested, when Izzy arrived in the office. Breathless with the effort of hanging on to Jericho’s lead as he belted across roads without looking, Izzy collapsed in a heap on to the window-seat and drained a can of Perrier in one go.
‘I’m excited,’ she said, wiping her mouth and kicking off her sandals. Jericho promptly grabbed one and buried himself beneath Gina’s desk. ‘Go on, tell me again what they said on the phone.’
‘The people at MBT have listened to your tape,’ repeated Gina patiently. ‘They found it interesting. One of their A&R men will be coming to listen to you tonight at Platform One. His name is Joel McGill and he’ll introduce himself after the show.’
Izzy liked the sound of Joel McGill. It was a good name, a good omen, and she had been singing it in her head all the way from Kensington to Soho. She had also been able to picture him in her mind quite clearly; he would be tall and dark with gypsyish eyes, a gorgeous smile and positively no girlfriend. And he, in turn, would be dazzled, absolutely smitten, by Izzy Van Asch . . .
‘Gina,’ she said, breaking out of her reverie, ‘would you be an angel and lend me a hundred pounds?’
Gina looked startled. ‘You’re going to bribe him?’
‘A new dress,’ Izzy begged. ‘Oh please, I need something special.’
‘But Izzy, you possess an entire wardrobe of special somethings at home. There must be something among your collection you could wear.’ Gina, who hadn’t allowed herself a single new item of clothing for over a month, shuffled papers and looked disapproving. ‘Can’t Vivienne lend you the money?’
‘I tried her first,’ confessed Izzy with disarming honesty. ‘She was out.’
Less than two minutes after Izzy, Jericho and Gina’s one hundred pounds had collectively departed, the door swung open again. Gina sat up straight and gave the visitor her best receptionist’s smile.
‘Hi,’ said the visitor, smiling back at her in such a way that she almost looked over her shoulder to see if someone more interesting was lurking behind her. ‘You’re new. And so is this office.’ With only a slightly over-the-top double take, he paused to survey the pristine surroundings before returning his gaze to Gina. ‘I came to see Doug. Am I in the wrong building?’
She felt the colour rising in her cheeks. Unfortunately, it had a distressing habit of collecting in blotches around her neck, too. Goodness, he was handsome.
‘Right building,’ she said, almost as breathless as Izzy had been earlier, ‘but I’m afraid Doug’s out at the moment. Perhaps I can help you?’
‘I’m sure you can.’ Dropping into the chair opposite her, he pushed his fingers through his hair and gave Gina the benefit of his attention once more, with such perfect thoroughness that her knees, beneath the desk, became boneless.
‘I’m Gina Lawrence,’ she said, in order to break the silence which didn’t appear to bother her visitor in the least. ‘I’m . . . I’m Doug’s new assistant.’
He nodded, still smiling, then gestured around the office. ‘And you did all this?’
This time it was Gina’s turn to nod. Her neck, she realised, had gone completely numb.
‘Then you are a miracle worker. I can’t believe the difference you’ve made to the old place.’
Gina couldn’t believe the difference he was making to her. Since Andrew’s departure she had been physically incapable of reacting even faintly normally to the attentions of any man. Not that there had been a great deal of opportunity, but the odd friendly word or appreciative glance had left her icily unmoved. She was immune to the opposite sex.
But here, now, long-dormant hormones were unaccountably slithering back to life at a rate of knots . . .
‘I’m sorry, how rude of me,’ said the visitor, delving in his jacket pocket and pulling out a large, folded envelope. ‘You’re busy and I’m wasting your time. My name’s Ralph Henson and I came here to return a contract. I’ve read it and signed in the appropriate places. All Doug has to do now is bury it . . . except that there doesn’t appear to be anywhere left for him to bury anything.’
Gina, glad of something to do and relieved to discover that her legs still worked, turned back from the D to J filing cabinet with a bulky, charcoal-grey file. ‘It all goes in here, from now on.’
Ralph grinned. ‘Amazing. More than a miracle.’
‘Gosh, ITV,’ said Gina, gazing at the contract.
Nervy but attractive, thought Ralph, admiring the excellent cut of her sleek blonde bob as she bent her head to return the file to its rightful place in the cabinet. Better still, his name obviously didn’t mean anything to her.
‘I know,’ he said with a modest shrug. ‘The producer warned me that once the series goes out, my life will never be the same again. I don’t really know whether to celebrate or panic.’
‘But that’s amazing.’ Gina’s eyes shone. ‘You must celebrate.’
‘OK.’ Ralph, rising to his feet, rested his hands lightly on the edge of the desk. ‘But only if you’ll celebrate with me. Tonight.’
Gina could smell his aftershave. She knew she must have misheard him.
‘What?’
‘Dinner at Bouboulina’s. Eight o’clock,’ he said steadily. Touching her left hand with his index finger, he added, ‘You aren’t married; I checked first.’
‘But . . . but I don’t know you,’ she stammered. Nothing like this had ever happened to her in her life before. One minute she was harmlessly fantasizing, the next it was becoming scarily true. ‘And you don’t know me.’
Ralph, who had thought he’d known Izzy Van Asch, simply shrugged. ‘Sometimes that’s the best way. All you have to do is say yes.’
‘No,’ said Gina, panic-stricken.
‘Are you scared of me?’
‘No!’
‘Then say yes.’
She closed her eyes for a second. What would Izzy do now? Was going out to dinner with an attractive man such a huge ordeal, after all? And which would she most regret later: accepting the invitation or refusing it?
‘OK,’ said Gina, before she had the chance to start panicking all over again. ‘OK, yes.’
‘That’s better.’ Ralph, who had overheard Izzy cajoling Gina into lending her some money and had watched Izzy leave the building ten minutes earlier - she was being towed along the pavement by s
ome massive dog and looking extremely pleased with herself - couldn’t wait to see her face when he turned up at her house this evening. Pulling a battered Filofax from his other pocket, he picked up a pen. ‘Just give me your address and I’ll pick you up at eight sharp.’
For once, Andrew didn’t even notice the state of the bedroom. Pushing aside a towelling robe and a box of tissues, he sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall. Behind him, Marcy wiped her eyes and reached for his hand.
‘Oh darling, I’m sorry.’ The words came out jerkily, between sobs. To her relief the tears flowed on cue. ‘It happened yesterday afternoon. I wasn’t feeling terribly well all morning, then after lunch I started to get these terrible cramping p-pains. It all happened so . . . quickly.’ Encouraged by the fact that Andrew was holding her hand, she allowed her eyes to fill up once more. ‘By the time the doctor got here, it was all over. The b-baby was gone.’
