Kiss

by Jill Mansell

  ‘Sam who?’

  They set out to do some serious damage in and around Bond Street, Vivienne the acknowledged expert and Izzy an enthusiastic newcomer to the art of real spending. South Molton Street was a particularly good starting-point; after twenty minutes in Browns, Izzy realised that she had blown more money on a pink suede skirt and a white cashmere sweater than she used to earn in an entire month. Vivienne, who had been weaned on designer labels and who never wasted any time glancing at price tags, kissed her gold card and became the proud new owner of a coffee-coloured silk dress and matching jacket, three pairs of trousers and a spectacular black-and-bronze sequinned top by a young Japanese designer with an awful lot of ‘Ys’ in his name.

  ‘Better?’ said Izzy two hours later when they stopped at a crowded bistro for a cappuccino and several slices of Amaretto-soaked chocolate-fudge cake. Glancing down at the slippery pile of carrier bags propped against the table legs, she estimated that they must have spent enough money to cover the cost of a holiday in Barbados.

  Vivienne lit a cigarette. ‘It helps, I suppose. It always helps.’ Then she leaned closer. ‘But I still haven’t told you yet why I was miserable in the first place.’

  ‘That’s easy.’ Izzy pulled a fearsome face, startling several nearby customers. ‘You live with an unspeakable bastard. It’d be enough to make anyone miserable.’

  ‘I love him so much.’

  ‘Oh, Vee.’ Izzy’s expression softened. ‘Do you still? I really thought you were getting over him.’

  Vivienne, who had been idly scooping the froth off her cappuccino with a teaspoon, frowned. ‘Not Sam, dumbo. I’m talking about Terry.’

  ‘What!’ Izzy, jack-knifing forwards, didn’t even notice that she’d landed her left breast in the chocolate-fudge cake. ‘Who? You haven’t told me anything about this!’

  Vivienne hadn’t told anyone, so afraid had she been of breaking the spell. But now she simply couldn’t help it.

  ‘The man I met at Tash’s party,’ she explained, stubbing out her cigarette and immediately lighting another, even though Terry passionately disapproved of smoking. ‘Oh Izzy, he’s wonderful. I love him to pieces . . . he’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a man.’

  Reluctant though she was to spoil the fairy-tale, Izzy said cautiously, ‘You said that about Sam.’

  ‘Yes, but Sam’s never loved me back.’ Vivienne shook her head, then half-smiled. ‘And Terry does.’

  ‘In that case, I don’t understand why you aren’t deliriously happy. You love this guy, he loves you . . . so the two of you are crazy about each other . . . and you’re miserable!’ Izzy was seriously confused. Then she said, ‘Uh oh, don’t tell me - the dreaded M-word.’

  ‘No, he’s not married. He’s a widower, with two grown-up children. I’ve met them, I get on well with them, they like me. Hell, even his bloody cat likes me . . .’

  By this time almost bursting with frustration, Izzy screeched, ‘Then what?’

  ‘He won’t take me seriously.’ For a moment Vivienne looked as if she was about to burst into tears. ‘Oh Izzy, it’s ridiculous. He says I’m too young, too beautiful and far, far too rich to be interested in someone like him. I’ve tried telling him until I’m blue in the face that none of those things matter, but he simply refuses to believe me. And what can I do?’ She spread her hands in despair, her cigarette almost setting fire to the trousers of a passing waiter. ‘I can’t make myself older.’

  Despite Vivienne’s tragic expression, Izzy had to smile. She was envisaging the world’s first face-lift-in-reverse.

  ‘Maybe if you stopped wearing make-up?’ she suggested hopefully.

  ‘I tried that last week. All I did was look ill.’

  ‘And what did he do?’

  ‘Took my blood pressure.’

  ‘My God! Is he a pervert?’

  This time, even Vivienne laughed. ‘No, a doctor.’

  Izzy, relieved to see that she was at last beginning to cheer up, was absolutely fascinated. ‘So, what’s he like to sleep with?’ she said avidly. ‘I’ve always thought the medical profession must be spectacular in bed because they know exactly where everything is . . .’

  To her amazement, Vivienne actually blushed. ‘He is spectacular,’ she admitted, lowering her voice in order to frustrate the middle-aged couple at the next table who had been frantically eavesdropping for the last ten minutes. ‘Although we’ve only done it twice, so far. He wouldn’t for ages, because he said he was afraid of getting too deeply involved, so in the end I had to seduce him.’

  This was all too romantic for words. Izzy, breathless with anticipation, said, ‘And?’

  Vivienne’s green eyes sparkled. The blush and the Texan drawl both deepened. ‘OK, you guessed right. He knows exactly where everything is.’

  They were interrupted several minutes later by the arrival of a waiter bearing a bottle of rather good Beaujolais.

  ‘With the compliments of the couple at the next table,’ he murmured with a discreet nod in the direction of their neighbours.

  ‘Good heavens.’ Izzy swivelled in her chair to take a proper look, and saw that they were about to leave. ‘How very kind, but I don’t know what we’ve done to deserve it.’

  ‘You’re Izzy Van Asch,’ said the woman shyly. ‘Our son Giles is absolutely crazy about you. All he ever does is sing “Never, Never”, and fill his scrapbook with photos of you from the papers.’

  ‘Gosh.’ Absurdly flattered by the compliment and not yet accustomed to the attentions of total strangers, Izzy went even pinker than Vivienne had done earlier. ‘I’m so pleased he likes me. How old is your son?’

  ‘Seven.’

  When she had scribbled a greeting and a rather ornate autograph on the back of the menu, the middle-aged man took it, hesitated for a second, then slid a business card on to the table next to the wine. ‘Actually,’ he said with a diffident smile, ‘I hope you won’t think us impertinent, but the wine is for your friend as much as you. We’d so much like to know whether everything turns out all right,’ he explained, meeting Vivienne’s astonished gaze, ‘between you and this nice doctor of yours.’

  Izzy thought it all terribly funny. ‘I know,’ she said with a mischievous grin. ‘Wouldn’t we all!’

  ‘Well, you can’t disappoint that nice couple,’ she admonished when they were alone once more. Pouring the wine, she added, ‘And it isn’t really that surprising, the good doctor’s reluctance to take you seriously.You are still living with another man, after all.’

  ‘Sam isn’t a man, he’s a machine.’ Vivienne flicked back her blonde hair with new determination. ‘And you’re right, of course. The time has come to act. I tried my best, but I guess I simply wasn’t his kind of woman. He always complained that my only hobby was shopping; I think he needs someone with interests of her own, either a brilliant career or an obsession with mountaineering . . .’ She paused, took a sip of Beaujolais, then said a trifle shamefacedly, ‘. . . something that keeps her too busy to chase after him like a lost puppy. All I ever did was chase Sam, but what he really needs is an independent woman. Somebody he admires enough to chase for himself.’

  Chapter 45

  After the merry-go-round comings and goings of the past few weeks, Gina found it almost a relief to have the house to herself once more. Arriving home from work to peace and quiet - apart from Jericho’s initial volley of welcoming barks - definitely had its advantages.

  An even greater luxury was the fact that the bathroom was always empty and the water hot. This evening, having invited Doug round for supper at eight-thirty, she decided to shower first and cook later; that way she wouldn’t miss the first showing of Izzy’s new video, ‘Kiss’, on Top of the Pops at seven-thirty.

  Gina had a terrible singing voice, but since she was alone in the house it didn’t matter. ‘I want you to kiss me, To know that you’ve missed me, Like I’ve missed you and your smile . . .’ she warbled tunelessly, closing her eyes and letting the needles of bl
issfully hot water bombard her face. Shampoo, cascading down her body, had completely blocked her ears which improved the sound of her singing no end.

  It was minutes later before she realised that downstairs the doorbell was ringing and Jericho was going absolutely frantic in his attempt to answer it and discover who was there.

  Definitely not Doug, thought Gina, leaping out of the shower and hurriedly half-drying herself before tying her old towelling dressing-gown securely around her waist and running downstairs.

  ‘Who is it?’ She had to raise her voice to make herself heard above the noise of Jericho’s barking.

  ‘Me.’

  Gina froze. For several seconds she was unable to move. Finally, reaching down and grabbing Jericho’s collar, she dragged him - whining in outraged protest - into the sitting room and locked him inside.

  Returning, opening the front door, she gazed expressionlessly at her visitor. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘To see you.’ Andrew glanced uneasily over her shoulder, in the direction of the sitting room. ‘What on earth was that? Sounds like a pack of werewolves.’

  ‘He’ll calm down in a minute. Why do you want to see me?’

  Clearly unnerved by his close encounter with Jericho, and shivering as a blast of icy November wind ricocheted around the stone porch, he said, ‘Gina, can I come in?’

  She led the way into the kitchen, wondering why on earth he had really come here and at the same time marvelling at her own self-control. This was her ex-husband - no, he was still her husband, the divorce hadn’t been finalised yet - and she had loved him for over fifteen years. Now, however, it was like coming face to face with a virtual stranger about whom she had heard unpleasant things, and the very idea that they had once been man and wife seemed almost ludicrous.

  She guessed that he had come straight from the office; his grey suit was crumpled, his light brown hair uncombed. Realizing that her own hair was still tangled and wet from the shower, Gina marvelled at the fact that her hands remained comfortably in her dressing-gown pockets, and that she felt not the slightest urge to even attempt to make herself look more presentable. If Andrew had been the milkman she would have done so, but he wasn’t. He was only her husband . . .

  ‘Well?’ she said evenly, sitting down on one of the kitchen chairs.

  Andrew took a deep, steadying breath. It wasn’t the most promising of welcomes, but he was here now, and he had been rehearsing for this moment all week. He was aware of the fact that he’d behaved badly, but that had all been part of some mystical mid-life crisis, something a lot of men went through, and like all crises it had passed. He now knew that this was where he belonged. And Gina was his wife; she would forgive him . . .

  ‘Darling, I realise how much I must have hurt you. I’ve behaved like a fool, but it’s all behind me now. It’s you I love, only you I’ve ever really loved.’ Damn, he hadn’t meant it to come out sounding like something from a Noël Coward play. The words, so carefully planned, seemed ridiculous now even to his own ears. Panicking slightly, Andrew took a step towards her. ‘No, don’t say anything. I’m trying to tell you that all I did was make a terrible mistake and I’m sorry. I don’t understand it myself. Marcy and Katerina didn’t mean anything to me, not like you! Oh darling, I want us to forget the past year. I want to love you and make you happy again, as happy as you were before . . .’

  Gina gazed up at him, dumbfounded. The next moment before she had a chance to realise what was happening, Andrew had dropped to his knees beside her chair and pulled her into his arms, enveloping her in an embrace so ferocious she could scarcely breathe.

  It would have been laughable if she hadn’t been too stunned - or too winded - to laugh. Having done his best to destroy not only her own happiness but that of Kat and Marcy as well - and those were only the ones she knew about - Andrew seriously seemed to think she still loved him enough to forgive and forget, and welcome him back to married life as if nothing had ever happened.

  Meanwhile, he was still here, wrapping himself around her like Sellotape and frantically kissing her exposed shoulder.

  Still inwardly marvelling at her ability to remain calm, Gina stole a quick glance at her watch - it was now twenty-five past seven - and murmured, ‘You don’t know how many times I dreamed of this moment. I prayed so hard that one day you’d come back to me . . . and now at last it’s happened. I can hardly believe it.’

  ‘Oh darling.’ Andrew, hugging her tighter still, covered her face with triumphant kisses. ‘I knew you’d understand. I love you so much.’

  Drawing slowly, reluctantly away, trailing her slender fingers down his forearms and giving his hands a gentle squeeze, Gina whispered, ‘Do you want to make love to me? Now?’

  Andrew quivered with lust. He hadn’t had sex for weeks. Wrenching off his tie and scattering shirt buttons across the kitchen floor, he gasped aloud as Gina’s fingers moved to his belt buckle and began to unfasten it.

  ‘Oh my God . . . yes, yes . . .’

  She had him just where she wanted him. Gina had never felt more powerful in her life. Tilting her head in order to hide her smile, she reached behind her with her free hand and found the short, sharp, serrated knife with which she had planned to slice the tomatoes for the lasagne.

  Andrew, opening his eyes with a start as cold metal made unexpected contact with warm flesh, gasped again. When he saw what Gina was holding he moaned aloud in horror.

  ‘That’s interesting,’ she said in almost conversational tones. ‘Your whole body’s gone rigid with fear. Well, nearly your whole body.’ Her smile broadened. ‘Of course a certain small part of it remains as disappointing as it ever was. Some things don’t change.’

  ‘G-Gina. For G-God’s sake . . .’

  She could hear his teeth chattering. Idly turning the knife this way and that so that the blade glittered in the light, she glanced at her watch once more. Very nearly seven-thirty.

  ‘It’s a good job I’m not a raving lunatic, Andrew,’ she told him pleasantly. ‘Because a raving lunatic abandoned wife wouldn’t hesitate for a second. She’d cut off this troublesome little appendage quicker than you could say . . . well, knife. And many people might applaud her for doing so.’ She paused, then shook her head and tossed the knife into the sink out of harm’s way. Leaning back in her chair, she said in cheerful tones, ‘Luckily for you, I’m not a lunatic. And I wouldn’t want to go to prison . . . just imagine the field-day my respectable neighbours would have when they read about it in the papers. So you can put it away now’ - with a brief nod in the direction of the petrified acorn, she drew her dressing gown more securely around her and pulled the belt tight - ‘and leave. I’m sure you can find your own way out.’

  When he had gone, Gina poured herself a large gin and tonic and made her way through to the sitting room to be sullenly greeted by Jericho, who was very put out at having been excluded from all the fun.

  ‘Cheer up, sweetheart,’ she consoled him, rubbing his ears and for once allowing him up on to the sofa beside her. ‘It was a pretty delicate situation, after all. And you might not have exercised as much self-control as I did.’

  With a noisy woof of forgiveness, Jericho attempted to climb on to her lap. Gina waved the remote control at the television in the corner. ‘Now shut up and pay attention, Jericho. Top of the Pops is about to start, and your favourite singer’s on tonight. No, not Cilla Black . . .’

  Unable to face slicing up those dear little cherry tomatoes, she had abandoned the idea of home-made lasagne and sent Doug out instead to pick up a takeaway from the new Mexican restaurant in Kensington High Street. Not until they had finished eating did she relate what had happened earlier.

  ‘Well, I think it’s marvellous,’ declared Doug, when she had told him everything. As his face creased into a smile of genuine admiration he wondered how he could ever have thought of her as ‘that skinny, nervy, bossy broad’. Over the months, Gina had metamorphosed into a calm, elegant woman who knew her own mind and no lon
ger needed to live her life through the kind of men who treated her like dirt and didn’t even deserve her. Doug had never been married; he had never even been in love, but he was aware now of skating perilously close to the edge. He knew, too, that he would never treat Gina like dirt.

  The chief fly in the ointment, of course, was the fact that he seemed unlikely to ever get the chance to treat her badly or otherwise, since she had shown no signs at all of even recognizing that he was a man, in that particular sense of the word.

  ‘I definitely scared him,’ she agreed now, with some satisfaction. ‘Oh Doug, you should have seen the expression on his face . . . I wish Kat and Izzy could have seen that expression . . . I still can’t believe I really did it!’

  ‘You can do anything you want to do.’ He was so proud of her. First Ralph, now Andrew. And her elation was contagious; raising his glass of Mexican beer he saluted her, wondering if he dared pluck up the courage to give her a brief, congratulatory kiss. It was what he wanted to do more than anything else in the world.