Kiss

by Jill Mansell

  They were making their way out to the floodlit pool. Vivienne, impressively encased in shell-pink satin, undulated like an eel in heels. With a shrug, she replied, ‘Who knows? Sam keeps his thoughts pretty much to himself these days. He doesn’t ask me what I’m up to any more, and when I tell him, he doesn’t even seem to listen. I’m bored to tears and all he says is why don’t I get some kind of job. Can you imagine what that kind of advice does to someone like me?’

  Izzy frowned. ‘So, what are you going to do?’

  ‘What would any normal human being do? It’s practically an invitation to misbehave!’ Vivienne tossed back her golden hair and grinned in passing at Tash’s drummer, who had quite wickedly dissipated blue eyes. ‘Hell, why else would I damn near give myself a hernia trussing myself up in this dress? I’m going to dazzle and delight, honeychile, like it’s going out of fashion. This beautiful body is fed up with being ignored . . .’ Her voice trailed away for a second, then added, ‘. . . and I think I may just have spotted the man not to ignore it. Izzy, who is that guy over there? The one in the dark blue shirt . . .’

  ‘Oh, Vivienne, what about Sam?’ Izzy was beginning to get worried. She clearly meant business.

  ‘Since when did a little jealousy go amiss? And stop changing the subject. Tell me at once who he is, and how much money he earns. This is definitely the man for me.’

  Izzy didn’t think he was, but Vivienne was unstoppable. Refusing even to listen to Izzy’s reminder of how very amiss her own love life had gone as a result of the mutual jealousy between Ralph and Mike, she made a beeline for the object of her desire and wasted no time at all introducing herself.

  Since Tash was far too busy being chatted up by a rapacious, heavily bleached blonde either to notice or to care what Izzy might be up to, she danced with Benny Dunaway and marvelled - not for the first time - that such an accomplished musician could dance quite so badly. At this rate, her poor feet were in danger of doubling in size.

  ‘Oops, sorry.’ Benny, unused to champagne cocktails, looked hopelessly unrepentant. ‘Now you know why my wife refuses to dance with me.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ said Izzy valiantly, giving him a hug to prove it. ‘If it weren’t for you, none of this would have happened. Are you enjoying yourself?’

  ‘Are you kidding? This is how the other half lives.’ He flung his arm wide to indicate the splendour of the occasion. ‘And from now on, it’s how you’re going to live. You’ve cracked it, my darling, and I couldn’t be more pleased for you.’

  She was touched. ‘Really?’

  ‘Well, it hasn’t exactly done my street-cred any harm.’ Benny trod on her toes once more and grinned. ‘Did I forget to mention it earlier? The entire fifth year have issued demands for signed photographs. No hurry, tomorrow morning will be soon enough.’

  ‘Nice to know I’m popular with some teenagers,’ sighed Izzy, watching out of the corner of her eye as Katerina - sitting temporarily alone in one of the carved stone window-seats - rebuffed the attentions of a pony-tailed youth wielding a chicken leg in one hand and a bottle of Sol in the other.

  ‘Not you,’ said Benny cheerfully. ‘It’s Tash they’re interested in, stupid.’

  Having been abandoned by Simon, who was deep in conversation with Tash Janssen’s bass guitarist, Katerina covertly watched her mother dance first with Benny, then with an horrendously dressed male who had to be Joel McGill. She was clearly enjoying herself in her new home, she thought, somewhat piqued by the fact that Izzy had paid her virtually no attention at all this evening. Everybody seemed to know everybody else. Extraordinary amounts of alcohol were disappearing down throats and several of the guests were on their way to getting stoned. It was certainly a good job Sam hadn’t turned up, she thought, glancing in the direction of the pool and observing Vivienne wrapped around a complete stranger in the shadows.

  Deciding to explore the rest of the undeniably spectacular house, Kat rested her orange juice on the window-ledge and set off in the opposite direction, away from the crowds and noise, before the jerk with the ponytail could come back and start pestering her again.

  ‘Are you always this, er . . . forward?’ asked Terry Pleydell-Pearce, his expression somewhat bemused. ‘Not that I’m complaining, you understand, but I wouldn’t want you to think I was somebody wealthy or influential, or anything like that.’

  ‘Do I look like the kind of girl who would only be interested in money?’ Vivienne protested, genuinely dismayed by the implied slur on her character. She’d practically fallen in love the moment she’d set eyes on this charming, funny, self-deprecating man. The very idea that the attraction might not be mutual filled her with something close to panic.

  ‘Well, yes,’ he said, in reply to her question, ‘as a matter of fact, you do.’

  ‘OK.’ Determined to sweep his objections aside, she changed tack. ‘We’ll be honest with each other, shall we? I don’t make a habit of telling people this, but it really wouldn’t matter how poor you are, because I have money of my own. Oodles of the stuff. More than oodles . . .’

  ‘Stop it. You’re scaring me.’

  ‘I’m supposed to be reassuring you!’ It came out as a wail. Then he grinned and she realised he had been teasing her. ‘Oh, that’s not fair.’

  ‘But it is scary. When a wealthy, gorgeous Texan blonde shows this much interest in an impoverished, forty-one-year-old widower, it’s . . . well, nerve wracking.’

  He’d called her gorgeous. Enormously encouraged, Vivienne said gently, ‘How awful, your wife dying. Do you have any children?’

  ‘A boy and a girl. Theo and Lydia.’

  ‘And is that why you’re so poor? You had to give up your job to raise your kids?’ She could have wept; it was all so sad and so noble. This wonderful man, with his kind, careworn eyes and rumpled dark hair had abandoned a career in order to give his young family the love and emotional security they so badly needed . . .

  ‘Good God, no.’ Terry burst out laughing. ‘Lydia’s married with two children and Theo’s working as a junior houseman at St Thomas’s. When I said I was impoverished, I was speaking relatively. I work as a GP.’

  ‘A medic? So you can’t be poor,’ she countered, her eyes alight with triumph. ‘My gynaecologist back home has his own Lear jet.’

  ‘Believe me.’ Terry Pleydell-Pearce’s expression remained deadpan. ‘It isn’t like that in this country, particularly if you work for the NHS. Of course, some days I can afford to eat. Others, I simply take a walk through Regent’s Park and steal bread from the ducks . . .’

  Vivienne’s eyes narrowed. ‘Forty-one,’ she declared accusingly.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘You said you were forty-one years old. And your married daughter has two children?’

  The expression of guilt on his face was an absolute picture. At that moment, Vivienne fell irrevocably in love.

  ‘When a wealthy, gorgeous, Texan mathematical genius shows this much interest in an impoverished forty-one-year-old widower, it’s nerve-wracking,’ he reminded her. ‘But if the impoverished widower happens to be forty-six, it’s positively traumatic.’

  Moving closer, aching to kiss him, she touched his cheek, ‘It needn’t be traumatic.’

  ‘And you’re taller than me.’

  It was the mildest of protests. Slipping out of her heels, she brushed his dry mouth with a trembling forefinger. ‘Not any more.’

  ‘I’ve never met anyone like you before in my life.’

  This time, Vivienne smiled. ‘I should hope not.’

  ‘So, what happens now?’ said Terry Pleydell-Pearce, his voice no longer quite steady.

  She raised a delicate eyebrow. ‘You’re the doctor, doctor. You tell me.’

  Chapter 39

  ‘Oh,’ said Katerina, coming awake suddenly and realizing that she was being watched.

  Tash looked amused. ‘It’s a talent of mine.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Staring at people when th
ey’re asleep. Subconsciously, they become aware of it and wake up. Is the party that boring?’

  As she struggled into a sitting position he came and sat down on the opposite end of the sofa. Caught off-guard, she replied, ‘Of course not. I’m sure it’s a very good party. I was just tired, that’s all.’

  For a fraction of a second, Tash considered offering her a couple of the pills in his shirt pocket, then decided against it. The girl was straight, too straight, and he didn’t want to run the risk of being busted, particularly with the next single due for release bearing an anti-drugs message.

  ‘So, what do you think of my games room?’ he said instead, gesturing around the huge, candle-lit room to include the pinball machines, snooker and table-tennis tables and giant video screen.

  ‘Impressive.’ There was an edge of sarcasm in her voice. ‘Look, you don’t have to make polite conversation with me. Shouldn’t you get back to your guests?’

  Tash’s dark eyes glittered with amusement. ‘It’s my party. I can do whatever I like. Are you always this stroppy?’

  ‘I don’t know why you’re talking to me,’ replied Katerina evenly. ‘Unless it’s because my mother asked you to. Is that why you’re here, to give me another lecture?’

  He shrugged. ‘What you choose to do with your life is nothing to do with me. Now there’s line for a song . . .’

  Of course he wasn’t interested, she realised. If she had agreed to move into the house in Wimbledon, Izzy would be living there with her instead of here with Tash.

  For some reason, the thought cheered her. Reaching over, she removed the drink from his hand and took a mouthful to lubricate her sleep-dried tongue. To her surprise it was unadulterated tonic water.

  Tash, who had been admiring her slender body, said, ‘Do you play snooker?’

  For the first time, Katerina smiled. ‘Is Steve Davis boring?’

  ‘OK.’ Clasping her hand, he hauled her to her feet. ‘Rest time over. Game well and truly on.’

  ‘I can play. I didn’t say I was any good.’

  ‘No problem.’ Tash winked as he began setting up the table. ‘I’m a great teacher.’

  Vivienne was nowhere to be found. Izzy, who had gone out to the pool in search of her, found herself buttonholed instead by a dippy-looking girl with fuchsia-pink cheeks, matching eyeshadow and the kind of candyfloss hair more commonly found on Barbie dolls. She was wearing an electric-blue rubber dress which emphasized the puppy fat around her midriff, and purple stilettos. Izzy held her breath in order to avoid the reek of Poison.

  ‘You’re Izzy Van Asch,’ said the girl with a giggle. Holding out her hand, then realizing that a cigarette still burned between her fingers, she said, ‘Oops, my mistake. I’m Mirabelle. Hi.’

  You certainly are, thought Izzy, glancing around the pool and wondering where Tash had got to. This girl was seriously out of it.

  ‘I saw the video the other night. Great song. Wild,’ continued Mirabelle. ‘Tash is great, too, isn’t he? I know he’s a bastard, but I just love him to death. Wild.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Izzy couldn’t see Kat anywhere, either. ‘Have you known him for long?’

  Mirabelle smiled, revealing very small white teeth. ‘Oh yeah. Nearly seven months now. I’m Donny’s girlfriend.’

  That figured. Donny, the band’s keyboards player, might be musically talented, but he possessed about as many brain cells as the average Webb’s lettuce. Izzy, growing increasingly desperate to escape, scanned the poolside once more in search of someone - anyone - she might use as an excuse to escape. Even Mrs Bishop . . .

  ‘Yeah, and I was Anna’s best friend,’ continued Mirabelle, swaying slightly as she took another drag of her cigarette. ‘You know, Tash’s girlfriend before you.’

  ‘I know,’ replied Izzy carefully. Was this conversation perhaps leading somewhere after all?

  ‘You’re ever so much older than her.’

  ‘I know that, too. Look, is there some kind of problem? Do you have something you want to say to me?’

  ‘Well yes, I guess I do.’ Mirabelle twirled a strand of candyfloss white hair around her fingers, hiccuped twice and gazed at her, wide-eyed. ‘Hey, like, I just wanted you to know, it’s cool. No problem at all. As long as you’re with Tash, I’ll be your best friend too.’

  Tash should have called it the fun-and-games room. The first time he had brushed past her on his way around the table, Katerina had given him the benefit of the doubt. Three reds, a pink and a green later, she realised he had other benefits in mind.

  ‘You should splay your fingers more to make a firm bridge,’ he said, moving up behind her and reaching forward to correct the angle of her left arm. In doing so, his body came to rest against hers; Katerina felt the gentle pressure of his lean thighs and allowed herself a grim smile.

  ‘That’s much better,’ he said, when she’d potted the ball. ‘You see, all you need is a little guidance.’

  All Tash needed, she thought, was a little bromide. But she wasn’t about to object yet; it was going to be fun seeing just how far he thought he could go.

  She didn’t have to wait long to find out. Tash, who had earlier been indulging in some of the excellent coke brought along by Mirabelle, was finding Izzy’s daughter increasingly desirable. She had the most gorgeous figure - and the longest legs - he’d seen in years. And as for that glistening, almost waist-length hair . . .

  The next moment his arm had snaked around her waist and he was pulling her round to face him. Serious, conker-brown eyes regarded him with heartbreaking intensity.

  ‘My mother could walk in at any minute,’ said Katerina in a low voice.

  ‘She’ll have to bulldoze the wall down first.’ Tash grinned. ‘I’ve locked the door.’

  His hands were sliding upwards. The next thing she knew, he had lifted her up on to the snooker table and insinuated his body between her thighs.

  ‘She’d still be hurt if she knew what was going on.’

  Tash, who had never understood the female obsession with monogamy, simply shrugged.

  ‘I think we both know how to keep a secret, don’t we?’

  ‘But doesn’t it worry you,’ Katerina persisted, ‘that you might be hurting her?’

  His dark eyebrows arched in amusement. ‘At this precise moment? No.’

  ‘Oh, well . . .’ she said slowly, ‘in that case, I won’t let it worry me that I’m about to hurt you.’

  ‘Aaargh,’ grunted Tash, as her right knee shot up, scoring a direct hit. Clutching his groin, he staggered backwards.

  Katerina, jumping down from the table and eyeing him with disdain, said, ‘Oh, for God’s sake, did you seriously think you were that irresistible?’

  ‘Shit . . .’ groaned Tash, as the pain intensified.

  Katerina, who had by this time reached the door and unlocked it, gave him a mock-pitying look. ‘Yes, I’d say that just about sums you up,’ she declared triumphantly. ‘Tash Janssen, despicable little shit. My God, you and my mother deserve each other.’

  Izzy was talking to Simon in a corner of the sitting room. Her eyes lit up when she saw Katerina coming towards them. ‘Darling, we were beginning to think you’d gone home! Where on earth have you been?’

  ‘Making polite conversation,’ replied Katerina briskly. ‘It’s what you’re supposed to do at parties, isn’t it? And it’s been great fun, but now we are going home.’ She patted Simon’s back pocket, locating his car keys. ‘Ready?’

  ‘Do we have to?’ He looked dismayed. The party would go on for hours yet. It seemed almost sacrilegious to leave so soon.

  But Katerina was determined. ‘Yes, we do.’

  ‘You’ve enjoyed yourself, though,’ Izzy put in eagerly. Despite Kat’s abrupt tone, she looked cheerful, almost elated. ‘Who were you talking to, someone nice?’

  Katerina only just managed to keep a straight face. ‘Tash.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so pleased!’ Izzy knew she mustn’t gush, but it was such encouraging news. She’d alwa
ys known that Kat and Tash would get on well, once they got to know each other properly. ‘Sweetheart, it makes such a difference, knowing that you really like him.’

  Katerina savoured the moment. Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed Tash, now evidently recovered, sliding his arm around the plump brown shoulders of a girl in a blue rubber dress. For a fraction of a second she debated telling Izzy exactly what had gone on in the candle-lit games room, less than fifteen minutes earlier. But then, why should she? Izzy deserved to find out the hard way and it damn well would serve her right for siding against her own daughter when she should have been supporting her.