Authors: Jill Mansell
Kiss (37 page)
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 . . .’
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.’
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.’
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?
’
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 they’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?’
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?’
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.’
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