by Jill Mansell
Izzy digested this in silence. Maybe she had reacted too strongly. Tash wasn’t being deliberately obstructive, he simply hadn’t thought it that important.
‘All right,’ she said finally, only too well aware herself of the fact that the last thing they needed right now was a major row. The publicity machine was revving up to full throttle; practically every day for the next fortnight they were scheduled for interviews with journalists eager to get the low-down on Tash’s latest relationship. ‘All right, I’m sorry too. I just can’t help worrying about Kat, that’s all.’
‘No big deal,’ he said easily, relieved to have averted the crisis. Sliding out of bed, he strode naked across the room to the vast chest of drawers and took out a slim, matt black jewellery box. ‘Here, I was saving this for the day “Never, Never” went to Number One.’With a crooked smile, he dropped it in her lap. Izzy needn’t know that the emerald-and-sapphire earrings from Bulgari had been bought for Anna. Splitting up with her three days before her birthday had had its small advantages, after all; he’d never bothered returning them to the shop. ‘But maybe you should open it now. Just a little something to cheer you up.’
Kat might not want her but at least Tash did. Overwhelmed by the size and beauty of the stones, and by his thoughtfulness in choosing the kind of earrings he knew she would love, Izzy rose to her knees and slid her arms around his neck. Too moved to speak, she leaned closer and kissed his handsome mouth.
‘I’m too old for this,’ murmured Tash.
‘I’m sure you can cope,’ Izzy replied, her lips curving against his as she smiled. ‘What the hell, anyway? I’ll risk it if you will . . .’
Chapter 37
Later, much later, Gina would come to appreciate the significant part two fingernail-sized slivers of pink tissue paper had played in her life. At the time, however, it didn’t even occur to her; she was having far too much trouble keeping a straight face.
The rain was still hammering down outside. It had been the dazzling spectacle of forked lightning against an indigo sky which had drawn her to the window less than two minutes earlier. Doug, hunched in his chair with his ear welded to the phone, glanced up and said hopefully, ‘Coffee?’ but Gina didn’t hear him. In the street below, emerging from a cab and pausing briefly to examine his reflection in the rain-streaked side-mirror was Ralph, whom she hadn’t set eyes upon since that humiliating afternoon at Kingsley Grove. All the air seemed suddenly to have been sucked from her lungs. He was one of Doug’s most successful clients and she had known she should be geared up to seeing him again, but now that it was happening she was still unprepared. No matter how many times she told herself he didn’t mean anything to her, it never quite rang true. Ralph was too charming and attractive ever to be ignored. He was the epitome of cool . . .
‘With three sugars?’ wheedled Doug, who wasn’t cool at all. Thanks to Gina’s gifts of deodorant and aftershave the aura of BO had dissipated and he no longer smelled anything but sweet, but whenever he was caught in the throes of clinching a deal nothing on earth could prevent those damp patches forming on the underarms of his shirts. Poker, as Izzy had once gravely informed him, was never going to be his forte.
But making coffee would at least give Gina something to do so that she wouldn’t have to sit there like a lemon while Ralph made polite conversation and inwardly smirked at her gullibility. Moving away from the window and flicking the switch on the kettle, she began spooning instant coffee into two cups and listened to the rhythmic beat of Ralph’s footsteps as he confidently ascended the stairs.
The beige Burberry trenchcoat was rain-spotted but otherwise immaculate, as were - of course - the matching scarf and umbrella. The collar-length blond hair had grown blonder still with the recent addition of expensive and artfully styled streaks. The tan was deeper and smoother than ever. Intimidated by such perfection - as she had known she would be - Gina bent her head to the task of spooning far more sugar than usual into Doug’s cup. Since she habitually under-sugared in a vain attempt to reduce his paunch, he would think it was his birthday.
‘Doug, how are you?’ Ralph, who had in fact taken particular care with his appearance because he was anxious to impress Gina - OK, so he had used her initially to get back at Izzy, but he had rapidly grown to like her - stepped forward and shook his agent’s pudgy hand with enthusiasm. ‘God, what weather! I just called by to let you know that we’ve finished filming the TV serial. The producers are really pleased with me, and the director has suggested I put myself up for a play he’s involved with, so things are on the up. Hallo, Gina,’ he added, as if seeing her for the first time. ‘You’re looking well. Very well. Working for this old slave-driver obviously suits you.’
He was . . . golden, thought Gina, forcing a brief smile and attempting to appear unconcerned by his presence.
‘Less of the old,’ complained Doug, glancing between the two of them and realizing that something was going on. Not always famed for his diplomacy, he nevertheless sensed that a trip to the newsagents around the corner might be in order. ‘Hell, I’ve run out of cigarettes. Gina, make this young man a coffee and keep him entertained until I get back, will you? I’ll be five minutes.’
‘Fine,’ said Ralph.
Help, thought Gina, oh help.
But for once in her life, help was on its way. As the door slammed behind Doug, Ralph settled easily into the client’s chair and unwound the cashmere scarf around his neck, and the miracle Gina had been praying for finally happened.
‘I wanted to see you again.’ He assumed a confidential air, pushing his streaked hair away from his forehead and tilting his head slightly to one side as he studied her. ‘You really have bloomed, Gina . . . look, I’m sorry about that misunderstanding we had, but I’m sure we could put it behind us now.’
Gina couldn’t speak. If she tried to open her mouth she knew the giggles would erupt. If it had been anyone else, the fact that they had cut themselves while shaving wouldn’t even be particularly funny, but it was perfect Ralph, the picture of GQ sophistication.
With a gulp she gazed, transfixed, at the two torn shreds of pink toilet paper dangling from his throat. Dotted with dried blood, they were an inch and a half apart, which only made them look that much more like a vampire’s bite. Exactly on cue, a fresh downpour of rain rattled the windows and forked lightning illuminated the office, causing the lights to flicker in true Hammer Horror fashion. As the ensuing roll of thunder shook the building, Gina pressed her lips together and clenched her fists until the nails dug into her palms. The spell had been well and truly broken; no longer perfect, it was now Ralph’s turn to look foolish and she was going to make sure she enjoyed every single, wonderful moment . . .
‘What’s so funny?’ he demanded with a trace of suspicion, and she shook her head.
‘Nothing . . . nothing. Thunderstorms make me a bit nervous, that’s all. Um . . . I can’t remember whether you take sugar.’
From the expression on his face she might have been enquiring whether he injected heroin. Ralph took fanatical care of his body.
‘Thanks.’ Taking the cup, he flashed her a winning smile. Imagining for a moment that his incisors seemed slightly elongated, Gina quelled a further explosion of giggles, and sat back down in her own chair with a bump.
‘Am I making you nervous?’ He spoke gently this time, shaking his head with mock disbelief.The ludicrous shreds of pink toilet paper fluttered in sympathy. ‘Sweetheart, there’s really no need. Why don’t we put the past behind us and try again? I’m free this evening if you’d like to come out with me for dinner.’
‘I . . . I’m busy tonight.’ With an effort she managed to get the words out. ‘Sorry.’
He shook his head once more. Flutter, flutter. ‘Oh sweetheart. Don’t tell me you’re still cross with me.’
‘Not . . . cross.’ In serious danger of wetting herself, Gina pressed her knees together. ‘Just b-busy.’
Ralph shrugged and leaned forward to take a sip of coff
ee. It was the shrug that finally did it. Absolutely transfixed, Gina watched as one of the dislodged shreds of tissue landed in his cup.
‘. . . priceless! So, what did he do? What happened next?’
Gina, who hadn’t laughed so much since she was a child, wiped her eyes with a mascara-stained handkerchief. She had an aching stitch in her side. Every time she thought the hysteria was dying down, she only had to envisage the expression on Ralph’s face as he’d peered at the alien object floating in his coffee, and it erupted once more.
‘He . . . he . . . recognised it!’ she gulped, clutching Doug’s sturdy arm for support. ‘And then of course he realised how stupid he must have looked, and his face went all p-p-purple like an aubergine. I couldn’t help it after that, I just burst out laughing and he went even purpler . . . then he leapt up, shouted, “You bloody little bitch,” and stormed out. I’m afraid your door hinges might never be the same again . . .’
Doug grinned; poor old Ralph. In puncturing his ego, Gina had dealt him the cruellest of blows. He would undoubtedly now find himself a new agent, but Doug didn’t even care. How could anyone - particularly someone as imperfect as himself - possibly resist such a wonderful tale? And to see Gina enjoying her much-deserved triumph was a positive delight.
‘I suppose I am a bitch,’ she continued, her tone unrepentant. ‘If it had been anyone else - you, for example - I would have told them straight away, just as you’d tell someone if the label on their sweater was sticking out. But Ralph is so vain . . .’
And she was off again, rocking in her chair and clutching her side. Suddenly emboldened by their shared secret and the mood of almost festive celebration, Doug glanced at his watch and said, ‘It’s five-thirty. Are you really busy this evening, or d’you fancy slipping round to Russell’s winebar for a drink?’
Her second dinner invitation in less than an hour. This time Gina didn’t even hesitate. ‘I think I’d better,’ she said with a grin. ‘For my own safety. Can you imagine what people will think if they see me giggling to myself all the way home on the tube?’
Over a shared bottle of Beaujolais and succulent ham-and-asparagus quiche in a corner of the dark, crowded winebar, they continued to laugh and shamelessly mock Ralph for his pretentious ways and over-co-ordinated wardrobe.
‘But you must have liked him to begin with, otherwise you wouldn’t have gone out with him,’ ventured Doug finally.
Gina toyed with her glass. ‘I suppose so. Well, I was flattered because he seemed so charming and attentive, but he was never really my type. It had just been so long since any man had paid me that amount of interest that I kind of . . . fell for it.’
It was beyond Doug’s comprehension why anyone of Gina’s calibre should be starved of male attention. As far as he was concerned she was eminently desirable and if he hadn’t long ago come to terms with the fact that such women were way out of his league, he would have made his own interest obvious months ago.
‘In that case,’ he said, eyes twinkling, ‘it sounds to me as if you had a narrow escape. Or should I call it a close shave?’
‘Oh no,’ gasped Gina, almost choking on her wine. ‘Don’t make me laugh again . . .’
‘Really, my dear,’ he protested, all innocence. ‘Can I help it if I have a razor-sharp wit?’
‘Doug . . . !’
‘OK, OK. I’ve stopped. So, tell me, what kind of man would be your type?’
Gina thought for a moment. ‘Someone as unlike Ralph as possible.’
Doug felt his heart inadvertently quicken. Fingering the frayed cuff of his badly ironed shirt, he experienced a faint - a very faint - surge of hope. Of all the men in all the world, he thought, surely none could possibly be more unlike Ralph Henson than he was.
Chapter 38
In Izzy’s experience, throwing a party had always involved working out how much money she couldn’t afford to spend, roughly doubling it, then staggering back from the off-licence with enough crates of lager and boxes of wine to ensure that no one could possibly go thirsty. Huge vats of chilli con carne or spaghetti mopped up the alcohol and her rickety but reliable cassette player provided the music. If whichever flat she was living in at the time could comfortably hold thirty guests, she invited fifty and jammed them in willy-nilly because that way they could more speedily get to know each other and have fun. The party continued until the last guest fell asleep and whoever stayed the night helped with the clearing-up the following morning.
Well, that was how it had always been in the old days, thought Izzy drily. Throwing a party at Stanford Manor, however, wasn’t going to be like that at all.
But not having to worry about the cost certainly had its advantages. As she adjusted her upwardly mobile, bottle-green lycra skirt, smoothed the strapless green-and-gold sequinned bodice into place and ruffled her hair for the last time in front of the mirror, she could hear the band tuning up downstairs in the main hall, their music punctuated by the stentorian tones of Mrs Bishop as she bullied the outside caterers and made absolutely certain they understood who was boss. The food, it went without saying, would be spectacular, the flow of vintage champagne never-ending and none of the two hundred or so guests need worry about being press-ganged into helping with the washing-up.
By ten o’clock the party was in full swing. ‘Never, Never’, having entered the top ten the previous week, was expected to go to Number One tomorrow and everyone was celebrating in advance. But it wasn’t until the huge front doors swung open and Simon, with Katerina at his side, entered the hall, that Izzy truly began to celebrate.
She was about to rush towards them when Vivienne yanked her unceremoniously back. ‘You’re supposed to be playing it cool, remember,’ she admonished. ‘What did Sam tell you? She wants to be treated like an adult. Whatever you do, don’t gush.’
‘I won’t.’ Izzy, dizzy with delight, determined to be as ungushing as possible. Telephoning Simon and inviting him and Katerina to the party had been a master-stroke. In reasonable tones, she had explained that, although she and Katerina weren’t on the best of terms at the present time, there was no earthly reason why they couldn’t be civil to each other on a purely social level. Knowing how star-struck Simon was, he had been a foregone conclusion, and she had banked on his powers of persuasion - together with Katerina’s deep-seated curiosity - to get her here tonight.
And it had worked, she thought joyfully, making her way towards them. It had really worked . . .
‘You made it. I’m so pleased you’re both here.’ Gosh, it was hard not to gush.
‘Simon wanted to come.’ Katerina wore a guarded expression, as if she were expecting a more extravagant welcome.
‘Well, it’s exciting,’ said Simon defensively, the colour already rising in his cheeks. Stepping forward, he dropped an awkward kiss on Izzy’s cheek. ‘And I think it’s brilliant, your single doing so well.’
Izzy wondered whether Katerina was wearing jeans and an old, black T-shirt to make a point. Now that she was finally making real money, she ached to shower her daughter with lavish gifts. Instead, taking care to hide her true feelings, she smiled up at Simon and said, ‘Thank you. I think it’s brilliant, too.’
‘Our A level results came through yesterday,’ said Katerina abruptly. ‘I didn’t fail them.’
‘Oh darling . . .’
‘But the grades are too low for medical school, so I might as well have done.’
‘Oh.’ Swallowing her disappointment, forcing herself not to react as Kat appeared to want her to, Izzy managed another, slightly wan smile.
‘Well, never mind. Look, the band’s about to start up again and our eardrums could suffer. Why don’t you two head through that archway, get yourself something to eat and drink, and take a look around?’
Simon was already looking. Ogling. This threatened to be the most exciting night of his life and he had already spotted several famous faces, not to mention real bimbos, enthrallingly underdressed.
‘There’s the drummer
with Blur,’ he said, his voice hushed with reverence. ‘And that girl in the bikini - isn’t she Fiona whatsername?’
‘For heaven’s sake, don’t gawp,’ said Katerina, determinedly unimpressed. Pushing him in the direction of the bar, she added in a fierce whisper, ‘And don’t you dare ask anyone for their autograph . . .’
‘Well done,’ said Vivienne approvingly, when Izzy returned to her side. Raising her exceedingly strong vodka and tonic in a semi-salute, she surveyed the departing couple with amusement.
‘Poor old Kat, what a muddle. She and Simon actually make a good couple, if only she’d realise it. And if only,’ she added as an afterthought, ‘poor old Simon could control his unfortunate blushes.’
‘Speaking of good couples,’ said Izzy, her tone casual, ‘why isn’t Sam here with you? Does he still disapprove of my being with Tash that much?’
