Goodbye, Jimmy Choo

by Annie Sanders

  “I don’t know what you mean. I’m not hiding anything!”

  “Oh, Izzie.” His voice was coaxing, and she could feel her defense starting to drop. “Maybe things didn’t happen quite as we expected, but you can’t deny that it was a beautiful moment. It has been so long since I was close with a woman like that.”

  “Oh come off it, Jean Luc. I can’t believe that.”

  “No, Izzie, it’s true. I don’t take these things lightly, and the memory of what happened has been keeping me warm ever since.”

  “But nothing did happen, did it?” she hissed. “I mean, it could have. We both know that. And God knows I wanted it to, but I bottled out, didn’t I? When it came down to it I couldn’t go through with it. And ever since, I’ve been ashamed of myself for leading you on.”

  He put his arms around her. “Nooo! I thought that’s what you felt, but you mustn’t. We were both guilty of flirting with each other. And I have no regrets about wanting you—but we both know that stopping when we did was the right thing.” She could smell his warm body through his shirt and when she looked up at him, she could see the paler, fine lines around his eyes where he had squinted in the sun. “When we hesitated just for that moment, it gave us both time to think. Looking at everything, the way our lives are, it would have been a mistake to make love to each other. You’re a passionate and exciting woman, Izzie. But you’re also a married one. Very married, despite what you might think at the moment. You could not do it and neither could I.” He held her out at arm’s length, gazing down into her face, and she could feel the pressure of his fingers on her shoulders. “But I feel very close to you. You will always be more than just a friend to me now. I hope you will feel the same about me?”

  Izzie swallowed hard, and felt her body relax. Somehow, by making her talk and by being so honest, he’d made everything all right again, and a heavy shadow passed from her heart. Why couldn’t she and Marcus talk like this? She smiled up at him, her eyes bright with grateful tears. “I do feel the same about you. I really do. I would have just gone on pretending I didn’t care, and I do care. I really do.”

  “I know, Izzie. Now, let’s have a drink together and you can teach me how to dance this . . . Macarena that your friends are all doing with so much enthusiasme. I think I will be rather good at it, no?”

  She laughed. “I’ll see if I can find you some wine that doesn’t taste of kiwi fruit and fresh tarmac, shall I?” Jean Luc moved toward the fire, rubbing his hands together as the evening cooled. She was almost knocked off her feet as Jess and Charlie threw themselves into her arms, chattering excitedly. So Marcus must have arrived. She looked over and saw him standing in the shadows—he hadn’t noticed her yet—and followed his stare across the crowd. He was looking at Jean Luc with utter loathing. Izzie shuddered as she realized how obvious her attraction for Jean Luc must have been to him. Could she convince him that nothing had really happened? Would he ever understand? She grabbed a beer and walked toward him.

  An hour or so later, and the party was in full swing. Izzie surveyed the scene from the safety of the barn door and smiled quietly to herself. She felt happier than she had in ages. The scent of broad bean flowers, an irresistible blend of Nivea and vanilla, filled the air and, in the darkening evening, the lights created a cocoon around all the assembled guests. Strange combination though they were, they all seemed to be rubbing along nicely. Pasco was still awake, wrapped safely in Jean Luc’s big arms, and was watching the party with his huge brown eyes. The older children were starting to get to that disinhibited stage that tiredness can bring, and Izzie knew it would soon be time to leave. Marcus hadn’t been as bad as she had feared; he had made an effort when she’d introduced him to Crispin and Lillian, and Angie and Donna had chatted him up shamelessly. He’d even got into quite a deep conversation with Janet but, she noticed, he’d studiously avoided both Maddy and Jean Luc.

  Maddy came over, picking her way carefully past discarded glasses and plates, bearing three plates of carrot cake. “Here you are, doll. Get stuck into that. The frosting is amaaaazing. A real Janet special.”

  Izzie took the plate with enthusiasm. “If Janet made it, sign me up. I’m so glad Oscar and Tamasin are coming back to work the summer. I’ve been dreaming about those burrito wraps she does. I can hardly wait.”

  To Izzie’s surprise Maddy waved at Marcus as he walked past. “There you are, Marcus! Look, I’ve got you a piece of cake. You must try it.”

  Marcus stopped and frowned. Izzie bridled. Couldn’t he even make an effort when Maddy was going out of her way to be nice?

  “Er, yes. All right. Thanks.” He put down his can of lager and looked at the cake suspiciously, then tasted just a little. “Hmm. Not bad. Not really my type of thing though. I don’t have much of a sweet tooth.”

  “Oh go on, Marcus. I’m sure even you succumb to temptation sometimes.” Maddy seemed to be gushing. “I’ll tell you Janet’s secret, shall I? What makes the frosting so very special? Can you keep a secret, Marcus? It’s basically cream cheese, with icing sugar of course, then she adds Grand Marnier. That’s the secret. Now don’t go giving that away to any rivals, will you? You can get into awful trouble that way, you know. People have been sacked for less!”

  Izzie was staring at Maddy in puzzlement. Was she pissed? She seemed to be talking rubbish. But a snarl of rage from Marcus had her turning back to him in astonishment. He was gazing at Maddy as if he wanted to hit her. Instead, he threw the cake to the ground, turned on his heel, and stalked away. She turned to Maddy, who was watching him narrowly. “What the hell was that all about? Did I miss something? I’ve no idea what’s got into him tonight. Should I go after him?”

  Maddy shook herself. The expression on her face was almost one of pity, but she swiftly hugged Izzie. “Maybe you should. I hope I didn’t upset him too much. He really doesn’t like cake, does he? See you tomorrow, mate.”

  Izzie scanned the depleting crowd to find Jean Luc and say good-bye before gathering her troops. There he was over by the fire, on his own for the first time that evening. She made to go toward him. He, however, was looking beyond her, over her shoulder and with a fixed gaze she had never seen on his face before. She glanced round to see and stopped dead. Realization dawned.

  Glass of wine in one hand, Maddy idly pulled weeds from between the slabs in the terrace and chucked them into the hedge. She straightened up and stretched her back, stiff from crouching. Looking down the long stretch of garden, positively manicured now she could afford a gardener two days a week, she could see the boughs of the apple trees heavy with fruit. This time last year they’d picked them and eaten them right from the trees like real city folk, thrilled by the idea of fruit growing in their very own garden. What a year had passed since then. They’d arrived here, Simon chock full of enthusiasm and intentions for life as a country squire, she resentful that she’d had to pack up life in London and hike out to the provinces. Now here she was, Simon was gone, she’d met Izzie, the quality of whose friendship eclipsed anything she had known before, and they were famous. Famous for some fabricated image based on the countryside she still didn’t feel completely comfortable with.

  Her waistband didn’t feel comfortable either. Without the fags—okay, she’d had the odd one—she’d been drawn to the biscuit tin for something to do with her hands and she’d definitely put on weight. Bugger. She’d never get into her size-four capri pants, even if she was ever allowed to wear them again.

  “Mum, when’s lunch?” Will came padding out of the French windows in his football socks, swallowing quickly, the telltale smears of chocolate still around his mouth.

  She ruffled his hair. “I’m just about to come in and make the gravy. Come and sit on this bench with me for a minute.”

  “What are we having?” He slid up next to her on the seat.

  “Roast lamb.”

  “Yum!”

  “But you won’t have room for any if you keep stuffing your face with biscuits.” He smiled
sheepishly, revealing teeth coated in chocolate and crumbs.

  “I was just looking at the orchard. Tell me”—she put her arm around him and pulled him close—“do you like living here?”

  “Oh yeah. It’s cool. There’s lots of places to play.”

  “But what about your old school friends?”

  “Well, I miss Harry and Dan. But I’ve got lots of new friends.” He swung his legs as they hung over the edge of the seat. “But this house isn’t Daddy.” Maddy felt a lump grow in her throat.

  “Do you remember him here?” she asked gently.

  “Not really. I think of him in the London garden and at the park. And I think of him on holiday on the beach.” She felt a massive wave of sadness that even these tenuous memories of Simon would eventually fade in Will’s memory and how Florence and Pasco would have nothing to hang on to at all.

  “We had fun on the beach, didn’t we? Do you remember him in his scuba-diving gear in St. Lucia? He looked like a frog, didn’t he?” Will smiled wanly. “And rock-pooling on the Isle of Wight. Daddy always managed to find the crabs.”

  “He cheated.” Will carried on swinging his feet. “It was always the same one—he just kept pretending.”

  Maddy laughed, uncomfortable with her son’s melancholy. “And I thought he’d fooled you, you clever chap. He’d be ever so proud of you, you know. How well you’ve settled into school and all the friends you’ve made.” Will shuffled and she realized she’d gone too far with the emotional stuff.

  “I wish you were home more though.” This one took her by surprise. She knew she’d done some very long days at the barn but had really hoped that, once she got home, she’d absorbed herself enough in the children that they wouldn’t really have noticed. How stupid. Of course they would. The guilt made her feel sick.

  “I know I’ve been busy, but what Izzie and I are doing is very exciting—and it means we might have enough money to take lots of holidays and have new toys.”

  “I’d rather have you here.” She couldn’t speak and simply held him closer.

  “Can you make the gravy now? I’m hungry.”

  “Come on then, old man.” She heaved herself up off the seat. “Better feed you. Sometimes I think you have hollow legs.” And they walked back into the house.

  The next morning, galvanized by guilt, she told Colette she would do the school run and packed Florence and Will into the new car. “Just think, Florence, darling,” she said, trying to work out how to turn off the fan and trying harder to sound as enthusiastic as possible, “by this Thursday, you’ll have done your first full week at school. Isn’t that brilliant?”

  “No, hate school. Don’t want to go.” She kicked her feet sulkily against the back of Maddy’s seat.

  “Oh, you love it really. Lots of new friends to play with, and Will there to see every day at playtime.”

  “Never going to school. Want to stay home and be with you.”

  “But Mummy’s never there anyway,” piped up Will. “She’s always at work.” Thanks, thought Maddy to herself. Shatter any illusions I may still have that I’m a half-decent parent.

  “Haven’t seen you for ages, Maddy,” chorused Sue Templeton and Linda Meades in unison, striding up to the car like Hinge and Bracket as she pulled into the school car park. “Nice new car,” cooed Linda, peering to have a butcher’s inside as Maddy hustled Will and Florence out, fishing his cap and Florence’s folder from the floor and kissing them both good-bye with a gentle push of encouragement. “Very swish. You and Izzie must be doing well.”

  “Didn’t you see them on breakfast telly? They’re frightfully famous,” Sue put in. How was it that she managed to sound so catty even when she’s pretending to be friendly? “Very er . . . ethnic you both looked! Hardly recognized you.”

  Linda, clearly more interested in Maddy’s new set of wheels than her burgeoning TV career, was still peering in at the dashboard. “It’s ever so nice. Volvo, isn’t it? Keith and I were looking at one the other day.”

  “Oh, well,” said Maddy, sliding past her back into the driver’s seat and looking down on the two women. “It’s the safety element that clinched it for me—you know how important it is to keep one’s precious family safe. And it’s so roomy—a real treat after the Fiesta.” She turned on the engine, shut the door, and pressed down the electric window. “That was so pokey. Know what I mean?” and, winking at Sue, she pulled away out of the car park.

  Smiling broadly at her own joke, she belted over to the barn far faster than she should, considering the car was still being run in, and pulled up in front of the doors just ahead of Geoff. Peter’s Mercedes was already there. They’d tried to arrange the board meeting for after the end of the holiday, out of some pathetic delusion that they would be spending that time with their children. Fat chance. She suddenly felt irritable, and not just by Sue Templeton’s cutting remarks, but at herself. Will’s comments had cut deep, and she was struggling to work out the best thing to do.

  It hadn’t really been much of a summer holiday, though they’d grabbed the odd long weekend here and there, and Cynthia and Alan had very gamely entertained the children in Hertfordshire for a couple of days—though not entirely successfully by all accounts. Maddy should, she thought, have felt revitalized. All she felt was relieved that they were back at school, and she could shelve her guilt for six hours of the day at least.

  She knew Izzie had found the holidays as hard to juggle, but at least she’d had Marcus at home some of the time—however resentfully. She talked little about him, except for the odd gripe, which Maddy found hard not to agree with. The thing she really couldn’t forgive was how Marcus had duped Izzie. It was obvious from her puzzled reaction at the party that Izzie was completely in the dark about the circumstances of his leaving the agency. Marriages may have their little deceptions and, God knows, Simon hadn’t shared his worries with her, but not telling your wife you had been fired and then playing a little game of lies for years? That was hard to justify.

  Since the party and that stupid coded conversation about the carrot cake, she’d let things lie to see if Marcus would do the decent thing. He was clearly even more lily-livered than she gave him credit for. Arsehole, she thought to herself as she pulled in beside Geoff’s Jag.

  Geoff smiled toothily at her as he climbed out of the car. This was going to be an important meeting, with the figures for the first proper quarter of trading tucked away in his smart leather briefcase. “You look lovely, Maddy.” He smiled at her appreciatively. “It must be your celebrity.” What a creep, she thought, and shuddered. He walked over and handed her an inside page from the day’s Financial Times. “Thought the headline might amuse you.” Maddy peered at the page, scanning the small column of short news stories.

  “Sorry, Geoff, I can’t see where you mean.”

  He pointed a finger at the main headline at the top of the page. “Luce Women go on Top.”

  “Very racy for the FT, don’t you think?”

  Maddy barely heard him, as she skim read the news item. “City analysts are predicting Paysage Enchanté, blah blah . . . brainchild of two women, will be looking to expand . . .” She let her eyes run ahead. “Float on the AIM . . . logical move if they are to exploit their success and expand.”

  “I wonder if Izzie has seen this.” If Izzie hadn’t, she certainly knew all about it by the time they were all sitting round the table, and had coffee in front of them. Geoff was full of it, and Maddy had strong suspicions who it was that had put the idea into the heads of the City analysts in the first place.

  “It’s a logical move, ladies,” he said, pulling his laptop out of his briefcase and rubbing his fingers rather salaciously over the mouse button. “Now,” he said as he found the document he wanted and swung the screen round to face them. “Look at these figures.” Both Maddy and Izzie, once so clueless about spreadsheets, were getting quicker off the mark at working out the sea of numbers. They were both silent for a while, as they took in Geoff’s calcu
lations. Projected profits were one thing, but it was the current turnover figure which amazed them both.

  “Pretty impressive, isn’t it?” said Peter to break the silence. “I’m sure it was skill and good judgment, of course,” he added with a smile, “but you undoubtedly made the right move by centering production in this low-cost unit, keeping your employees to low enough numbers, and expanding your product range using very similar ingredients to the healing balm.”

  “Well, I suppose it has kept the costs down.” Maddy kept her eye on the figures. “And having Jean Luc doing the boiling process in France . . .” The four of them talked through several distribution points, suppliers who were keen to stock the brand, and about other sources Izzie had unearthed for supplying the rose oil for the new moisturizer, but Geoff kept returning relentlessly to the question of expansion.

  “But why would we want to float?” Izzie looked bewildered. “We don’t need to raise any capital, do we?”

  “Not if you stay as you are”—Geoff tapped his pen irritatingly on his notepad—“but businesses succeed because they don’t stand still. You need to exploit your popularity now by building on your success, and outlets will be looking for products like yours to back up their poorly performing brands. Old Luce’s notebook must be chock-full of other recipes—can you exploit those? What about products for men? Shaving balms, that sort of thing? I know my barber is always waxing lyrical about such things and trying to get me to fork out for them.” Maddy glanced briefly at his immaculate hair, cropped close to his head but leaving just enough to reveal the slight wave. All a bit contrived.

  “Well,” started Izzie hesitantly, “there are quite a lot more, I suppose, and I know Maddy has translated some.” She fiddled with her pencil absentmindedly. Maddy wondered if she was thinking the same thing.

  “Shouldn’t we be consolidating?” She could see Izzie nodding her head in agreement. “We haven’t been going that long, and it could all be a blip, just a passing fashion.”