Authors: Jill Mansell
Kiss (53 page)
Simon had never stopped wanting to, but despite the intensity of his desire, some sixth sense warned him that if he gave in now, his new-found advantage would be lost and he’d find himself back at square one. He no longer would be a challenge and Kat would lose interest all over again. So far, Jessie’s advice had been spot-on. If, therefore, there was to be any future for this relationship, he absolutely had to remain aloof, macho and . . . oh, hell . . . uninterested . . .
‘Actually,’ he said, doing his best to shrink away from actual physical contact, ‘it was quite some time ago. And you, if you remember, turned me down.’
For the life of her, Katerina couldn’t think why. Neither was she able to imagine how she could have failed to notice until now how attractive Simon really was. He might not be what the girls at school would call ‘drop-dead gorgeous’ - their true heroes, after all, were currently Leonardo DiCaprio and Robbie Williams - but with his straight blond hair, kind face and American football player’s strapping physique, Simon was a million times more interesting than the girls’ puny real-life boyfriends.
‘So now you’re turning me down,’ she said, her self-confidence in tatters, the disappointment evident in her eyes.
Simon shifted uncomfortably in his seat, willing his erection to subside and only hoping he was doing the right thing. Knowing his luck, he thought wryly, Kat would meet some other boy next week and fall madly in love . . .
Placing all his trust in Jessie Charlton, however, and furtively crossing his fingers at the same time, he said, ‘You didn’t want to jeopardize our friendship, if you recall. And I realised afterwards that you were right. Far better to be good friends, Kat, without the hassle of all that sex and stuff.’
To his relief, she broke into a grin. ‘Sex and stuff. It isn’t that terrible, you know.’
Simon didn’t know. Deeply shaming though it was, he had yet to discover the delights of actually making love to a real live girl. If his flatmates ever found out, he would die . . .
‘Of course it isn’t terrible,’ he replied easily, giving Katerina the benefit of his man-of-a-thousand-conquests smile. Little realizing that he was echoing Izzy’s argument with Sam - and lying, just as she had done, through his teeth - he added, ‘But friendship’s more important than sex, every time. And we don’t want to spoil that, do we?’
Chapter 56
Izzy, unaware of the furious speculation surrounding her supposed romance with Tash, was both amused and amazed when - upon arriving home on Saturday morning - she found herself on the receiving end of a decidedly severe mother-daughter lecture.
Since Katerina clearly needed to get the talk out of her system, however, she sat obediently on her bed and waited until it was over before saying, ‘But darling, I
know
he’s a jerk. This silly newspaper article doesn’t mean anything at all. I’m really not seeing him again, scout’s honour.’
know
he’s a jerk. This silly newspaper article doesn’t mean anything at all. I’m really not seeing him again, scout’s honour.’
‘Oh,’ said Katerina, deflating like a balloon. Lamely, she added, ‘Well, good.’
‘And I haven’t married any Italian solicitors either,’ continued Izzy, humouring her. ‘In fact, as far as I’m concerned, men are off the agenda for the foreseeable future. I’m going to be concentrating on work, work, work.’
‘Me too.’
Dying to ask how things were between Sam and Gina, but sensing that something was still bothering Kat, Izzy gestured for her daughter to sit down beside her. Idly playing with her long, sleek brown hair, she said, ‘Is everything all right, sweetheart? Simon isn’t . . . making a nuisance of himself, is he?’
Katerina leaned against her mother’s shoulder, as she had always done when she was a child. ‘No. He’s taking me to see a rugby match this afternoon.’
‘Oh my God, whatever for? You don’t like rugby!’
Katerina smiled. Her mother was looking positively indignant. ‘I suppose I might change my mind. I’ve never watched a real match before. It might be fun.’
Curiouser and curiouser, thought Izzy. Tentatively, she said, ‘So, things are going well between the two of you?’
Her expression rueful, Katerina replied, ‘If you must know, I’ve decided that I fancy Simon like mad and he’s decided we should be just good friends.’
‘The nerve of that boy!’
Katerina shrugged. ‘But then why should I be any less miserable than anyone else? Mum, I swear there’s a jinx on this house . . . this thing with Gina and Sam is so farcical it’s embarrassing. There’s Doug,
obviously
in love with Gina, mooning around the place like a lost soul.’ She paused, ticking the disasters off on her fingers. ‘Then there’s Simon and myself, of course. You and . . . nobody at all. Lucille and anyone at all, but preferably Trevor McDonald—’
obviously
in love with Gina, mooning around the place like a lost soul.’ She paused, ticking the disasters off on her fingers. ‘Then there’s Simon and myself, of course. You and . . . nobody at all. Lucille and anyone at all, but preferably Trevor McDonald—’
‘What?’
‘At this very moment,’ said Katerina with heavy irony, ‘Simon is downstairs in the kitchen being seriously chatted up by our housekeeper. Yesterday morning she had the milkman closeted in there with her for over an hour. And as for Doug, well . . . the poor man just isn’t safe when she’s around.’
‘And Trevor McDonald?’
‘It’s only a matter of time,’ Katerina replied darkly.
‘Heavens.’ Izzy thought hard for a moment. ‘But Jericho’s OK?’
Her daughter grinned. ‘Oh, Jericho’s happy enough.’
‘That’s something, I suppose.’
‘But the next-door neighbours aren’t too thrilled. It seems he’s been getting on rather too well recently with their labrador bitch. And now she’s developed a craving for Mars bars and pickled mackerel.’
Izzy knew within minutes that accepting Vivienne’s supposedly impromptu dinner invitation had been a dreadful mistake.
It was sheer desperation that had driven her to say yes in the first place. Back in the recording studios to complete her album, she was able to avoid bumping into Sam during the day, but evenings at home were a nightmare. Unable to cope with the increasingly strained atmosphere, she had leapt at the chance of escape. Just an informal supper and a couple of good bottles of wine, Vivienne had assured her, and an opportunity for her finally to meet Terry Pleydell-Pearce, the most wonderful man in the entire universe.
And if he
was
the most wonderful man in the universe, she thought drily, what on earth was he doing with a sneaky, conniving, traitorous old bag like Vivienne Bresnick?
was
the most wonderful man in the universe, she thought drily, what on earth was he doing with a sneaky, conniving, traitorous old bag like Vivienne Bresnick?
‘It’s a set-up,’ she announced, her expression bleak. ‘Vivienne, how
could
you?’
could
you?’
Vivienne was just glad that Malcolm Forrester had arrived at the cottage first. Judging by Izzy’s reaction, she might otherwise have taken one look at the table set for four and walked straight back out.
‘What’s the big deal?’ she countered innocently, taking care to keep her voice down so that neither Terry nor Malcolm, in the next room, could overhear. ‘Like I said, it’s just a cosy evening with friends . . . no pressure . . . Malcolm’s a real nice guy.’
‘Hmm.’ Izzy, not taken in for a moment, said, ‘Well, excuse me if I don’t marry him.’
Vivienne, showing off her domestic skills, pressed the start button on the microwave. ‘You could do a hell of a lot worse,’ she replied lightly. ‘He’s divorced, charming and a real gentleman. He’s nothing like Tash Janssen at all.’
This was certainly true. Putting on a brave face, Izzy admired the cottage, which was enchanting, got to know Terry, who was every bit as nice as Vivienne had promised, and exchanged pleasantries with Malcolm Forrester, who was of all things an obstetrician.
He was also
old
, probably knocking fifty, with silver wings in his dark, swept-back hair, a paisley cravat and an avuncular manner that reminded Izzy of her grandfather. Vivienne, having found real happiness with Terry, had evidently decided that Izzy should broaden her horizons and at least consider a man of similar vintage.
old
, probably knocking fifty, with silver wings in his dark, swept-back hair, a paisley cravat and an avuncular manner that reminded Izzy of her grandfather. Vivienne, having found real happiness with Terry, had evidently decided that Izzy should broaden her horizons and at least consider a man of similar vintage.
But the excruciatingly polite conversation, which ranged from the latest exhibition at the Tate to the genius of Dizzy Gillespie, only succeeded in making Izzy realise how desperately she missed Sam. The sense of longing, so acute it was almost a physical pain, was showing no signs at all of going away. Every time Malcolm Forrester called her ‘my dear Isabel’ she found herself imagining the expression on Sam’s face if he could only have been there to hear it. His grey eyes, glittering with suppressed amusement, would have locked with hers as they had done so many times at The Chelsea Steps, and later they would have rocked with laughter together over a shared Chinese takeway.
Her appetite by this time had all but disappeared. Uncharacteristically picking at the delicious meal -
boeuf Bourgignon
with fresh asparagus and tiny new potatoes - Izzy listened in silence as Terry and Malcolm swapped ‘And-then-she-said’ stories about their respective grand-children. Her sense of aloneness increased when she realised that beneath the table, Terry and Vivienne were holding hands. Nor could they keep their eyes off each other for more than a few seconds; with each newly touted example of infant cuteness Terry would glance at Vivienne as if unable to quite convince himself she was still there. Then, his face lighting up once more, he would give her a brief, secret smile . . .
boeuf Bourgignon
with fresh asparagus and tiny new potatoes - Izzy listened in silence as Terry and Malcolm swapped ‘And-then-she-said’ stories about their respective grand-children. Her sense of aloneness increased when she realised that beneath the table, Terry and Vivienne were holding hands. Nor could they keep their eyes off each other for more than a few seconds; with each newly touted example of infant cuteness Terry would glance at Vivienne as if unable to quite convince himself she was still there. Then, his face lighting up once more, he would give her a brief, secret smile . . .
Finally, unable to contain herself a moment longer, Vivienne leapt to her feet and disappeared into the kitchen. Returning with a bottle of champagne, she said, ‘OK folks, this was supposed to wait until after the meal but patience was never my forte. Sweetheart, can you get this thing open? I don’t want to wreck my nails.’
It wasn’t exactly the surprise of the century, but Izzy dutifully assumed a blank expression. While Terry wrestled somewhat inexpertly with the cork, Malcolm said in hearty tones, ‘What’s all this, then? Do we have something to celebrate?’
Vivienne, her amethyst silk dress shimmering in the candle-light, let out a squeal of delight as the cork ricocheted off the ceiling and champagne cascaded over Terry’s corduroys. When their glasses had eventually been filled, she clung to his arm and raised her own glass in a toast.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, we’d like you to be the first to know. Terry and I are going to be married!’
Amid the flurry of congratulations, with hugs and kisses all round, Izzy found herself being forced to submit to a decidedly firm kiss from Malcolm Forrester.
‘Marvellous news,’ he declared, straightening his cravat and looking smug. ‘How about that, Isabel? Isn’t it simply the most marvellous news?’
Izzy, fighting the childlike urge to wipe her mouth with her sleeve, said, ‘Absolutely splendid news, Malcolm,’ and glanced across at Vivienne to see if she, at least, was sharing the joke.
But Vivienne, who had never looked more radiant, hadn’t even been listening. ‘And of course,’ she continued joyfully, ‘we’d like the two of you to be godparents . . .’
Izzy stared at her. ‘You’re
pregnant?
’
pregnant?
’
‘Oh, not yet. But we certainly aren’t going to waste any time in that direction.’ Pausing, in order to give Terry another hug, she added, ‘I’m nearly twenty-eight, after all.’
‘But that isn’t old,’ Izzy protested, turning to Malcolm Forrester for corroboration and feeling hollow inside. ‘Twenty-eight isn’t
old!
’
old!
’
But Vivienne had been reading all the books. ‘The sooner it happens, the better,’ she said simply. ‘You weren’t even twenty when Katerina was born, but in the baby-making stakes I’d already be classed as an “elderly primagravida”. My fertility is decreasing, the chances of complications only increase with every passing year . . . all
sorts
of things could go wrong!’
sorts
of things could go wrong!’
‘Twenty-eight still isn’t old,’ repeated Izzy stubbornly.
‘Good heavens, of course not.’ Malcolm Forrester, swooping diplomatically to the rescue, refilled their glasses and adjusted his cravat once more. ‘Why, more and more women these days wait until they’re in their thirties before starting a family. Professionally, I’m all for it.’ To emphasise the point, he gave Izzy the benefit of his best Harley Street smile. Then, in a jocular undertone, he went on, ‘Although personally I can’t say I envy them. At least you and I have been through that stage and put it well and truly behind us now. We’re the lucky ones, my dear Isabel, don’t you agree? At our age we simply don’t need to worry about that kind of thing any more.’
Chapter 57
Having for the past week and a half been plagued by nightmares in which the second brain scan had shown up a tumour the size of a melon, the reality was almost disappointing. Gina, sitting in the consultant’s immaculate grey-and-white office on the fourth floor of the Cullen Park Hospital with Sam beside her, gazed in silence at the reality for several seconds before placing the films carefully back on the desk. Reaching for Sam’s hand, inwardly amazed by her ability to remain calm, she said, ‘So, what happens now?’
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