by Jill Mansell
Katerina, who had endured so much misery in the past weeks, now revelled in the sensation of her own power.
‘Did I say I liked him?’ she enquired with exaggerated politeness. ‘And is my opinion of Tash Janssen really relevant anyway? I tell you what, Mum. You don’t lecture me on my choice in men and I won’t lecture you on yours. OK?’
Chapter 40
By four-thirty Izzy was seriously beginning to wilt. Although most of the guests had left, those that remained showed no signs of giving in. Music blared from amplifiers around the pool, people were still dancing and joints were being passed around between unsteady fingers. A well-known actress, currently starring as a nun in a top-rated TV series, was swaying in time with the music and slowly removing her dress to raucous acclaim. Behind her, Tash lay on a white sunlounger, and smiled his deceptively sleepy smile as a slender redhead began to massage his shoulders.
Izzy wished it could all be over. Tired and sober, her head was pounding and her eyes ached. Joel and Benny had long since disappeared, there was no one left she particularly wanted to talk to, and she was having a hard time shaking off the whisky-sodden attentions of a red-faced man who insisted that in real life he was a concert organiser.
‘You name it, I’ve organised ’em,’ he declared expansively, reaching for his drink. ‘Yeah, all the greats . . . all the biggest venues . . . an’ it could be you next, up there on that great big stage. Cute li’l thing like you could have a real future an’ I’d be there to look after you, sweetheart . . .’
No longer listening to his drunken ramblings, Izzy wondered where Vivienne was and hoped her friend had at least enjoyed the party more than she had. Everyone was yelling and applauding the actress as she discarded her camisole top and began to undo her bra. All they needed now was for a member of the paparazzi to leap out of the bushes with a camera.
Idly she watched as Mirabelle, not to be outdone, staggered to her feet and made her way over to Donny.
‘Dance with me, baby,’ she wheedled, crouching beside him in her high heels. ‘Come on, just one little dance with me?’
Donny wasn’t interested. ‘Nah, dance on your own.’
‘But that’s no fun,’ wailed Mirabelle, clutching his arm as he attempted to open a can of Newcastle Brown. ‘Donneee, that’s no fun at all. I want to dance with you.’
Shaking off her hand, he grabbed the hem of her dress and twanged it. Then he started to laugh. ‘Whiney bitch, always moaning. Haven’t you seen that film, Flashdance?’
‘Yes, but . . .’
Reaching for another rubbery handful of the electric-blue dress, he said loudly, ‘Well, this is Splashdance,’ and twanged again. The next moment, with a shriek, Mirabelle had toppled into the pool.
‘Can she swim?’ asked Izzy some moments later, when all that had surfaced were bubbles.
Everyone else seemed to find it highly amusing. Amid much laughter, Tash drawled, ‘She’ll be safe, she’s wearing a big enough condom.’
Izzy wasn’t so sure. Mirabelle still hadn’t risen to the surface and she was far too stoned to be fooling around. Shaking Donny’s shoulder, she repeated urgently, ‘Can she swim?’
But Donny scarcely seemed to be aware of his surroundings. With a vague gesture, he said, ‘Hey man, how should I know? How d’you get the lid off this sodding can, anyway?’
The night was warm but cold sweat prickled beneath Izzy’s arms as she was gripped by a premonition of doom. All around her, people were still laughing. Nobody was going to make a move to help. The horrible party was turning into a nightmare . . .
Izzy wasn’t a strong swimmer but she knew there was no time to waste. Kicking off her shoes, she held her breath and dived in.
The heavily chlorinated water stung her eyes and when she touched the bottom of the pool a jab of pain shot through the sole of her foot, but by some miracle she found Mirabelle almost at once.
Sequins grazed her inner arms as she struggled to grab hold of the inert body, slippery in its rubber casing. Feeling as if her lungs were about to explode, Izzy slid her arms securely around the girl’s ribcage and hauled with all her strength. Bizarrely, the water around them was turning cloudy pink like something out of a Jaws movie. Kicking her feet, blinking as Mirabelle’s candyfloss hair plastered itself against her face, Izzy strained towards the surface of the pool. Strangely, in the dim distance, she could hear people cheering . . .
Only the concert organiser deigned to help. Between the two of them they eventually managed to haul Mirabelle - like a large, ungainly seal - out of the pool. Gasping for breath, wiping her streaming eyes, Izzy searched for and eventually found a weak pulse, but the girl’s chest was ominously still.
‘Get an ambulance,’ she croaked, tilting the slack head back and pinching Mirabelle’s nose. Kneeling over her, she bent her own head and breathed into the cold, rubbery mouth.
‘Hey, this is more like it,’ yelled an indistinguishable male voice. ‘Better than a porno film. Watch out, Tash, you’ve got competition there.’
Shovelling Mirabelle on to her front, Izzy pressed down on her lungs in a desperate attempt to clear them. This was worse than any nightmare. And although she couldn’t see where it was coming from, there seemed to be blood everywhere, mingling with the water from the pool and staining the beige concrete upon which Mirabelle lay.
But finally, just as she was about to give up all hope, Mirabelle’s chest heaved and water gushed out of her mouth. With a moan - as the water was followed by vomit - she flailed her arms and struggled to raise her head. Izzy rolled her on to her side so she wouldn’t choke and sent up a prayer of thanks as the girl’s ribcage rose and fell in something approaching a regular pattern.
‘I say,’ observed the actress in conversational tones, swaying as she bent to take a closer look. ‘That’s an awfully good trick.’
Izzy spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Did they say how long it would take before the ambulance got here?’
Behind her, Tash said, ‘She’s OK. Just let her sleep it off. Ambulances screaming up the drive would only give the neighbours something else to complain about, and drowning drug addicts aren’t exactly the kind of publicity we need.’
Coughing and spluttering, Mirabelle wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and moaned, ‘Where’s Donny? I’m c-cold.’
‘Get some blankets and call an ambulance,’ snapped Izzy, fixing the concert organiser with a steely glare. ‘Now.’ Then, still kneeling with Mirabelle’s head in her lap, she turned to face Tash and his guests.
‘You selfish, stupid . . . bastards - all of you. Is anything more important to you than getting stoned? You’re lucky she isn’t dead, and all you care about is bad publicity. Any one of you could have fallen into that pool . . . and not one of you is capable of doing a damn thing to help.’
‘Christ, this is all we need,’ said Tash lazily. Glancing up at the redhead still massaging his shoulders, he winked and added, ‘Don’t you just hate moralizing do-gooders? Aren’t they the most boring people to have at a party?’
Trembling with rage, repulsed by the knowledge that this was her lover speaking - and that she didn’t know him at all - Izzy said icily, ‘You are the most despicable man I’ve ever met in my life. You are pathetic . . .’
Tash’s dark eyes glittered with amusement. ‘Ah, but at least I’m not boring.’
At that moment a tall figure stepped out of the shadows and moved swiftly towards Izzy. For a fraction of a second she thought she was hallucinating.
But Sam, who had been listening to the heated exchange for the last thirty seconds - long enough to figure out what was going on - didn’t waste any more time. Scooping Mirabelle up into his arms, he said briefly, ‘Come on, we’ll take her to the hospital in my car.’
‘Oh, when the saints go marching out,’ sang Tash, as they passed him. Izzy, who was limping behind Sam, paused. Beyond words, she turned and slapped his thin face as hard as she could. It wasn’t enough, but it was better than nothing a
t all. If she’d had a gun she would have used it, without so much as a second thought.
It wasn’t until she emerged from the casualty cubicle and found Sam waiting outside that she finally managed a weak smile.
‘I’ve just seen myself in a mirror. No wonder they thought I was the patient.’
Sam’s expression softened. With her white, mascara-streaked face, dripping wet hair and blood-streaked legs, Izzy had presented a far more convincing picture of an accident victim than half the patients in the waiting room, and she didn’t look that much better now. With a glance at her bandaged foot, he held out his arm in order to support her back to the car. ‘Does it hurt?’
She pulled a face. ‘A bit. There was broken glass in the bottom of the pool and I managed to land on it. Oh Sam, should we be leaving? What about Mirabelle?’
He led her firmly through the double doors. ‘They’ve admitted her for observation just to be on the safe side, but they’re pretty certain she’ll be OK. And there’s no need to look at me like that,’ he added with a grin. ‘I’m in charge. You’re absolutely wiped out and I’m taking you home.’
‘Home,’ murmured Izzy, her expression doubtful.
They had reached the car. Opening the passenger door and helping her inside, Sam said briskly, ‘My home.’
When they reached the flat, he deposited her on the sofa, threw a large towelling dressing gown down beside her and headed towards the kitchen.
‘Change into that while I make the coffee.’
Exhausted though she was, Izzy nevertheless summoned up the energy to make her lie sound convincing. ‘I thought Vivienne would be here. She left the party ages ago, saying she was going to have an early night.’
Pausing in the doorway, Sam merely looked amused. ‘But not in her bed, it seems. Never mind, Izzy. Nice try.’
By the time he returned with the coffee and a packet of chocolate digestives, however, the shock had begun to set in. Izzy, enveloped in the white towelling robe, was shivering so much the sofa practically vibrated beneath her. She looked so uncharacteristically frail and unhappy that Sam’s heart went out to her.
‘I suppose you’ve been looking forward to this,’ she said, clasping the mug he offered her between both hands in order not to spill the contents.
‘To what?’
‘Saying, “I told you so.” ’
‘I was looking forward to it,’ he said truthfully, ‘but it doesn’t seem all that relevant now. I’m more concerned with how you’re feeling.’
Izzy shrugged, her dark eyes enormous but mercifully dry. ‘Lucky, I suppose, to be out of it in one piece. Angry, gullible . . . oh, Sam, how could I have been so stupid? When I first met Tash I really thought he was a nice person.’
‘That’s because he wanted you to think he was.’
She sniffed. ‘God, I’m a lousy judge of character. Imagine the damage I could do if I was ever called for jury service.’
Easing his long legs up on to the coffee table and tearing open the packet of biscuits, Sam said evenly, ‘Anyone can make a mistake.’
‘You never do.’
‘I let Vivienne move in with me.’
The signs of Vivienne’s occupation were strewn around them. Having absently helped herself to a biscuit she didn’t want, the chocolate now melted between her fingers as Izzy gazed at a pair of black-and-gold stilettos occupying a chair, and at the CDs littered like playing cards on the floor beside the stereo. The system had been left switched on, with a half-empty wineglass balanced precariously on top of it. In a small way, it was comforting to know how much Vivienne’s untidiness irritated Sam. Maybe he was right, after all.
‘But she isn’t . . . scary, like Tash. She doesn’t get out of her brains on drugs. He doesn’t care about anyone or anything . . . he’s practically psychopathic. You can’t compare them, Sam. Vivienne’s only unhappy because you aren’t paying her enough attention.’
She was speaking more calmly now, and her teeth had stopped chattering. Lifting a semi-damp tendril of hair from her neck and breathing in the chlorine, Sam shrugged.
‘That just proves my point. If I hadn’t made the mistake of letting her stay here in the first place, she wouldn’t be unhappy now. If Vivienne and I were genuinely happy together, I’d be paying attention.’
‘It doesn’t bother you that she didn’t come home tonight?’ Izzy still found it hard to believe. In her own mind, they were such a good couple.
‘I’m relieved.’ He paused, then added drily, ‘It’s easier this way. She can make her own decision, and her pride will still be intact. As you may have noticed, Vivienne has more than her share of pride.’
Izzy was finding it hard not to notice his warm fingers at the base of her neck, idly smoothing back her hair. She shivered uncontrollably and gazed down at the chocolatey mess in her hand.
‘What you need is a hot bath and plenty of sleep,’ he continued gently and for the first time her eyes filled with tears. What she most needed was a real hug, and someone to tell her she wasn’t an all-time prize idiot.
To her utter dismay she heard herself saying in a small, pathetic voice, ‘You’re such a nice person.You used to like me, didn’t you, Sam? I wish you hadn’t stopped liking me. I . . . I wish you didn’t hate me now.’
She didn’t get her hug. Taking a deep breath and giving her shoulder a brief, meant-to-be reassuring squeeze, he said, ‘Don’t be silly, of course I don’t hate you,’ and rose to his feet.
‘I’m sorry,’ mumbled Izzy, wiping her eyes and feeling more idiotic than ever.
Sam, continuing to exert almost superhuman self-control, dismissed the apology with a brisk gesture. She was vulnerable, exhausted and deeply upset about Tash. Now was hardly the time to tell Izzy how he really felt about her.
‘You’ve had a traumatic night,’ he said with a taut half-smile. ‘I’ll run you that bath, and then you’re going to bed.’
In a hopeless attempt to redeem herself, Izzy said weakly, ‘Will you do me a big favour?’
This, thought Sam, was precisely what he was struggling so hard not to do. ‘What?’
‘Can I have Badedas in it?’
Chapter 41
It wasn’t as if they were doing anything lewd, but it was still kind of embarrassing being caught on the sofa with the new love of your life, particularly when the person doing the catching was your new love’s grown-up son.
‘Well, well,’ he declared in arch tones, dumping a tartan overnight case on the living-room floor and surveying the cosy scene. Vivienne, whose bare feet had been resting in Terry’s lap, leapt guiltily into a sitting position and tried to make her cleavage less prominent.
‘Theo, for heaven’s sake.’ Terry was looking equally discomfited. ‘I thought you were working this weekend.’
‘Somebody wanted to swap shifts,’ replied Theo easily, ‘so I thought I’d drop in on my old man, make sure he was OK.’ He winked at Vivienne. ‘I thought he might be lonely . . . in need of a bit of company . . .’
Theo Pleydell-Pearce, sandy-haired and built like an American football player, had his father’s blue eyes and endearing freckles. Deciding to brazen it out - since Terry was clearly too embarrassed to say much at all - Vivienne grinned at him and replied, ‘I had exactly the same idea.’
‘So, you aren’t a patient.’ The blue eyes sparkled with amusement. ‘For a moment I thought I might be interrupting a reverse housecall.’
‘Theo, this is Vivienne Bresnick. We met at a party last night . . .’ Floundering for an explanation, Terry pushed his fingers agitatedly through his hair. ‘We came back here for coffee . . . we’ve been talking all night . . .’
‘What your father is trying to say,’ Vivienne intercepted kindly, ‘is that our relationship has not been consummated. Yet.’
Since morning surgery started at nine, Theo drove Vivienne back to Kensington. Above the roar of the ancient MG’s engine, as they careered along narrow country lanes with the hood down and the cassette player blari
ng out Bruce Springsteen, he yelled, ‘So, tell me, what exactly is going on here?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Between you and Dad. It would be simpler if you just told me the truth. Was it a drunken one-off or do you really intend seeing him again?’
Leaning across, she switched off the music. Theo obligingly reduced his speed so that she could speak without shouting.
‘Your father is one of the nicest men I’ve ever met,’ said Vivienne carefully. ‘And more than anything else in the world, I’d like to continue seeing him.’
He nodded. ‘OK. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, but you must understand why I needed to ask. Since my mother died, he’s had his share of women interested in him, but you aren’t exactly...’