by Jill Mansell
‘Not at all. It’s rather exciting.’
‘Hmm.’ Katerina wasn’t convinced. ‘Doesn’t sound very exciting to me.’
‘You’re too young to understand,’ Izzy informed her cheerfully. ‘Men like Sam aren’t used to not getting what they want. I shall dazzle and intrigue him, and the longer he has to wait the more tantalized he shall be. It’s going to be the most enormous fun.’
‘How would you know?’ Katerina gave her spoon a final, appreciative lick. ‘You’ve never played hard to get before.’
Izzy looked serene. ‘Don’t worry, it always works. I read it in a Mills and Boon.’
Sam could easily have slept right through the day but he knew from experience that the only way to beat jet lag was to ignore it. Besides, he had a lot to do.
‘Oh, are you going out?’ said Gina fearfully when he arrived downstairs at midday wearing a crumpled white shirt and Levi’s, and with his hair still wet from the shower. With his deep Hawaiian tan and sun-bleached hair he looked even more startlingly exotic than usual and Gina wondered unhappily how on earth she could seriously expect Izzy to remain immune to his charms.
Edgy because she knew that sooner or later he would be seeing Andrew, she averted her gaze and busied herself with the coffee maker. ‘Black or white? If you’re hungry I could make you a bacon sandwich . . .’
‘I don’t want you to wait on me,’ said Sam, who knew exactly what was bothering her. Removing the packet of ground coffee from her grasp, he pushed her gently towards a chair, realizing as he did so just how much weight she had lost. ‘And if anyone needs a bacon sandwich, you do.’
‘I haven’t got much of an appetite at the moment,’ muttered Gina. Then, defensively, she added, ‘Don’t worry, I’m not anorexic.’
Sam nodded. ‘OK. It’s allowed, I suppose, under the circumstances.’
Gina, however, wasn’t going to be side-tracked. Abruptly, she said, ‘You still haven’t told me where you’re going. Have you spoken to Andrew yet?’
‘No.’ Sam, who intended phoning him that afternoon, was able to reply honestly. ‘I’m going to the club. And I have to sort out some transport - I’ll rent something for now - then I thought I’d take a look at some properties. Who knows,’ he added teasingly, ‘I may end up living next door. Isn’t that the most terrifying thought ever?’
‘It’s not a terrifying thought,’ said Gina, realizing that he was attempting to cheer her up. Giving him a quick, awkward kiss on the cheek, she said, ‘And you don’t have to rush out and buy the first thing you see. It’s lovely having you here.’
Her utter inability to lie was one of her most endearing traits. Ruffling her smooth, blonde hair, Sam said, ‘Thank you, sweetheart.’ Then he grinned and added, ‘But a word of advice. If you were thinking of going into politics . . . don’t.’
Old friendships died hard and Sam had no intention of criticizing Andrew’s actions. These things happened, longstanding marriages bit the dust every day and Sam wasn’t about to apportion blame. In the long run it could well turn out to be the best thing that could have happened to both Gina and Andrew.
As long as Andrew, he reflected drily as he drove towards the Barbican in his extremely clean, newly rented car, hadn’t made the biggest, most Godawful mistake of his life.
The tapas bar was crowded with after-work commuters having a drink before bracing themselves for the journey home. Although there were a couple of free tables outside - it was a mild, sunny afternoon that had seen the seasonal re-emergence of the Ray-Bans - Andrew evidently preferred the gloom of the bar’s interior. As he paid for a bottle of Rioja and a bowl of tapas, Sam observed that he, too, had lost weight; his charcoal-grey suit was too big for him and the collar of his shirt was loose. It was six months since he’d last seen him and he looked five years older.
‘So, are you happy?’
Andrew filled their glasses and grimaced. ‘I’ve done it, haven’t I? Too late to change my mind now.’
Sam said nothing, waiting for him to continue. Listening to other people was what he was good at.
‘You’ll meet her,’ Andrew continued, glancing at his watch. ‘She’s joining us at six-thirty. God . . . I don’t know . . . I thought I was in love with her, but it isn’t easy. If opposites really do attract, she and Gina should get on like a house on fire. Do you know, she hasn’t cooked a single meal since we’ve been in that flat?’
‘Does she work?’ asked Sam mildly, trying not to smile.
‘Handed in her notice the day I left Gina. She doesn’t do any housework . . . she doesn’t do anything.’ Andrew spilled his wine in his agitation. ‘Hell, we’d have a nice view if we could only see out of the windows. So we go out instead; I spend a fortune I can’t afford in Italian restaurants because she’s developed a craving for spaghetti alle vongole, and we spend every evening telling each other how lucky we are to have found each other. Then we go back to the flat and screw ourselves stupid. After that,’ he concluded lamely, ‘Marcy falls asleep and I iron a shirt for the following day.’
‘Is she happy, do you think?’ said Sam, by this time seriously struggling to keep a straight face.
‘Is the Pope Catholic?’ Andrew riposted. ‘Of course she’s happy - she doesn’t do a single thing she doesn’t want to do, she has everything she’s ever wanted . . .’
‘So, what are you going to do?’
Andrew spread his hands in despair. ‘Haven’t I done enough? She’s having my child - because she couldn’t even be bothered to remember to take the bloody Pill - and I’ve left my wife. There’s nothing I can do now, except live with it.’ He shook his head, then drained his glass, pushing the bowl of tapas away untouched. ‘Lust isn’t love, Sam. Take a tip from an expert and don’t ever let it fool you into thinking it is.’
Marcy arrived late, swaying into the darkened bar at ten to seven. Sam’s first thought was that Andrew hadn’t been kidding when he had told him Gina and Marcy were complete opposites. Not yet enormously pregnant, she was nevertheless decidedly plump; her legs, in pale grey tights, reminded him of those stone-carved cherubs that cavorted around fountains and her pink lambswool dress strained across an impressive bust. Although she had an undeniably pretty face - pink cheeks, big grey eyes and a small, rosebud mouth - her shoulder-length auburn hair looked distinctly uncombed and the only make-up she appeared to be wearing was the remains of yesterday’s mascara smudged beneath her eyes.
She wasn’t what he’d been expecting at all, and for once in his life Sam found himself caught completely off-balance by the enormity of the gulf between expectation and reality. Marcy’s laid-back, extremely elocuted voice, her languorous gestures and the almost monotonous slowness with which she proceeded to plough through four bowls of fresh tapas, all combined to give the impression that her batteries were on the verge of giving out. Not that she said anything wrong; she seemed perfectly friendly and even smiled whenever necessary. It was just that Sam couldn’t for the life of him imagine her being capable of summoning the energy to actually laugh.
‘So, you’re staying with Gina for the time being,’ she observed, when she’d soaked up the last of the salad dressing with a chunk of crusty bread. ‘How does she seem to you? Poor Gina, we’re so concerned about her. Is she coping well?’
Sam envisaged Gina’s reaction, should she ever find out that she had Marcy’s sympathy. Spontaneous combustion, he decided, at the very least.
‘As a matter of fact,’ he replied easily, ‘she’s coping extremely well.’
‘It must be awful for her,’ Marcy continued, pushing her hair away from her face and taking a sip of Perrier. ‘I hope you can understand our situation. We didn’t mean this to happen, it just . . . did. The last thing I ever wanted was to hurt someone else, but when two people fall in love they can’t help themselves, Sam.’ She paused, then smiled across at Andrew. ‘They really can’t.’
‘Oh Kat, you must come to the club,’ pleaded Izzy. ‘Sam’s invited us. It’ll be wonderfu
l.’
‘Simon and I have a lot of work to do,’ Katerina replied calmly. Unwinding a long, navy-blue cotton scarf from around her neck, she dumped a pile of books on the kitchen table and motioned Simon to sit down.
Simon, enthralled by the invitation and as overwhelmed as ever by Izzy, said, ‘Well, maybe we could just . . .’
‘No, we could not . . .’ Katerina quelled him with a look. ‘A night at The Chelsea Steps isn’t going to enhance my life half as much as a physics A level will. And there’s no need to look at me like that, Simon - I’m just being practical.’
There were times, thought Simon darkly, when Kat was a damn sight too practical. Glancing across at Izzy for support, he was further cast down when all she did was shrug and say flatly, ‘She is not my daughter. I took the wrong baby home from the hospital, I know I did. Somewhere out in the big wide world my real daughter is out having fun.’ Then, making up for it slightly, she blew a kiss which encompassed them both. ‘Darlings, I hope you have an exhilarating evening. Meanwhile, we old fogies will totter off and try to enjoy ourselves. Now, where did I put my bus pass . . . ?’
Chapter 10
By ten-thirty The Chelsea Steps was almost completely full. Sam, having concluded his brief business meeting with Toby Madison and reassured himself that all had been running smoothly in his absence, was reacquainting himself with old friends. Izzy, in her element, was engrossed in flamboyant conversation with a racing driver whose right arm was in plaster. Gina, finding herself briefly alone at the bar, wondered if she’d ever felt more uncomfortable in her life.
It wasn’t fair, she thought miserably. Everyone else appeared to be able to switch with perfect ease into night-club mode; was she the only one genuinely incapable of doing the same? As Andrew’s wife she had been an adequate conversationalist, if not a sparkling one, yet here . . . now . . . she couldn’t even begin to imagine how it was done. This kind of socializing was what single people did - it was what single people like Sam and Izzy evidently excelled at - but she had been married too long even to remember what being single was like. She couldn’t do it. All she wanted now was to be able to go home, crawl into bed and pretend that the events of the last few weeks had never happened.
Moments later, Sam materialised at her side.
‘That bad, hmm?’
‘It . . . it’s a lovely club,’ stammered Gina, not wanting him to think her a complete wimp. Gesturing around her at the midnight-blue-and-bronze décor, she said, ‘And it’s obviously going well. Everyone’s enjoying themselves . . . having fun . . . I’m always reading about it in the papers . . .’
‘You don’t have to feel guilty just because you aren’t enjoying yourself,’ he told gently. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have persuaded you to come.’
‘I don’t think I’m a terribly clubby person,’ said Gina, her expression despondent. ‘Izzy’s having a marvellous time and she makes it all seem so easy.’
‘She’s had plenty of practice,’ replied Sam drily, his gaze fixing upon Izzy. Shedding glitter at a rate of knots, she and the racing driver were now making their precarious way towards the bar in search of yet another bottle of champagne. As strong as his initial attraction had been towards her, Sam wasn’t blind to her faults and keeping Gina company was the least she could have done, under the circumstances. Taking Gina’s arm, he said, ‘Come on, let’s go home.’
She looked alarmed. ‘We can’t leave Izzy.’
‘Why not?’ said Sam evenly. ‘She left you.’
The thought of Sam and Izzy having an affair had filled Gina with horror, but the prospect of friction between them was even more unnerving. Leaping to Izzy’s defence, she said, ‘Only for a couple of minutes, truly.’
He grinned. ‘Don’t panic, I’m not suggesting you kick her out into the streets. I’m just saying that she can be a bit thoughtless now and again. Loyal,’ he conceded, the memory of her verbal attack on him last night still fresh in his mind, ‘but still thoughtless, nevertheless.’
‘But we can’t abandon her,’ Gina protested miserably. ‘And you don’t want to leave either. Why don’t I just get a cab? I’ll be fine, really I will.’
‘Oh shut up,’ said Sam, his tone affectionate. ‘Come on, we’ll tell Izzy we’re going. She’s a big girl, I’m sure she can find her own way home.’
Only Katerina Van Asch, thought Simon with rising frustration, could spend three solid hours discussing - in dizzying detail - the human reproductive process and not even spare a thought for the effect it might be having on her partner-in-revision.
‘So,’ she was saying now, as she stretched across the velvety carpet for the saucer of Liquorice Allsorts, ‘let’s just run through it again. I’m still not quite happy about testosterone levels.’
Simon wasn’t happy about his own testosterone levels, which were skyrocketing; he was sure it couldn’t be good for his health. Hauling himself into a sitting position he cast her a reproachful look.
‘What?’ said Katerina, twisting on to her side and meeting his gaze. Even in her frayed orange sweatshirt, khaki combats and holey green socks she looked irresistible. ‘Simon, whatever’s the matter with you tonight? You really aren’t concentrating at all.’
Plucking up as much courage as he possessed, Simon pushed back his straight blond hair and said, ‘Do you think it would be sensible to take an important maths exam without ever having worked out a single mathematical equation?’
He really was in an odd mood tonight, decided Katerina. Humoring him, she replied obediently, ‘No, of course it wouldn’t.’
‘Or . . . a chemistry exam, when you’ve never conducted an actual chemical experiment yourself?’
‘No.’
‘Yet you expect to pass biology purely on the strength of what you’ve learned from books,’ he persisted, flushing slightly. ‘Doesn’t that seem . . . illogical?’
Having considered his argument for a few seconds, Katerina broke into a broad smile. ‘You mean I should murder you, then dissect your body with Gina’s best carving knife and eyebrow tweezers? Simon, it’s a generous offer, but—’
The next moment his arms were around her, his mouth fastening upon hers and his frantically racing heart pounding against her chest. Astonished, Katerina almost laughed out loud but sensed it wouldn’t be the diplomatic thing to do. She might be lacking in experience but even she knew that kissing and laughter didn’t mix. ‘I love you, Kat,’ mumbled Simon, scarcely able to believe that his dreams were at last coming true. ‘You must know how much I love you, it’s been driving me crazy...’
‘And you think we’d stand a chance of improving our grades if we got a little practical experience on the subject,’ she said, pulling gently away from him. If this was what sexual passion was all about, well . . . on the whole she preferred Liquorice Allsorts. ‘Simon, it’s lovely of you to offer, but I really can’t. It wouldn’t be . . . right, somehow.’
‘Oh damn,’ Simon muttered unhappily. Realizing that he’d well and truly blown his chances - maybe his only chance - with Katerina, he slumped back on one elbow and gazed morosely at the pile of books lying open in front of the fireplace. ‘I suppose you won’t want to see me again, now.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ she replied, smiling and passing him his half-empty can of lager. ‘You’re my best friend, aren’t you?’
His expression still truculent, he said, ‘I’d rather be your boyfriend.’
‘No, you wouldn’t.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘I’m a seventeen-year-old virgin and probably frigid to boot. There’s nothing I can do about it; maybe subconsciously I’m rebelling against my upbringing. But it isn’t your fault, OK?’ she persisted, more forcefully this time. ‘It’s mine.’
‘One day,’ said Simon with resignation, ‘some man will come along and sweep you off your feet and you won’t know what’s hit you.’
‘He won’t know what’s hit him,’ Katerina replied briskly. ‘But it’ll probably be my physics textbook. I’ve told you, Simon, I’m
really not cut out for all that love-and-sex business. It just isn’t me.’
There was nothing like a bit of good, old-fashioned sexual attraction to put a spring in one’s step, thought Izzy, gazing down at her decidedly unspringy left leg the following morning. But although the sexual attraction was still there - on her part, at least - last night’s plan appeared to have misfired in somewhat spectacular fashion. By chatting to Nicky Holmes-Pierce, cavalier racing driver and ex-husband of one of her oldest friends, she had hoped to prove to Sam that she wasn’t overkeen on him and at the same time pique his interest. Instead, however, he had simply left the club with Gina and so far this morning had seemed totally unpiqued. And she’d put make-up on, too.
Now, with the sun streaming through the kitchen windows, he was ignoring her totally, poring instead over a pile of estate agents’ details spread across the kitchen table. With Gina out shopping and Katerina at school, their previous easy camaraderie appeared to be in genuine danger of evaporating completely. Izzy was in danger of losing all faith in Mills and Boon.