Kiss (58 page)
Authors: Jill Mansell
‘You keep asking me that,’ he complained good-naturedly. ‘And I keep telling you, she’s nobody.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because she must be your girlfriend.’
‘And if she is?’ Cocking his head to one side, he studied her beautiful, mutinous profile. ‘Would you be jealous?’
Katerina wasn’t eating. Having demolished a bread roll with agitated fingers, she was now reduced to rolling the dough into pellets.
‘Of course I’d be bloody jealous,’ she muttered, her cheeks burning with shame. ‘I don’t even know her, and I hate her.’
Bingo, thought Simon, breaking into a grin. Putting down his fork, he took her trembling hand in his and said, ‘In that case, maybe it’s just as well she really doesn’t exist.’
It was weak and pathetic of her, Izzy knew, but after four solid hours of being relentlessly cheerful she needed a break. Her mouth ached from smiling, her new high heels pinched like crab claws and her stupid skirt - even without its button - was still far too tight. It was hard work socializing without the aid of champagne and harder still avoiding Sam without making the distance between them seem obvious. Other people’s happiness, Izzy ruefully concluded, wasn’t catching at all. It was making her downright miserable.
Chapter 62
‘What are you doing in here?’
Sam’s voice made her jump. Izzy, who had been curled up in the corner of a Wedgwood-blue sofa in the otherwise deserted hotel sitting-room for the last twenty minutes, felt her stomach do its familiar ungainly flip-flop.
Avoiding you of course, she thought. But since she couldn’t very well say so, she replied shortly, ‘Nothing. Having a rest.’
With an inward sigh, Sam realised that this wasn’t going to be easy. Discussing anything of any real importance with Izzy had
never
been easy and the signals she was sending out at this moment were unpromising to say the least.
never
been easy and the signals she was sending out at this moment were unpromising to say the least.
But he was damned if he was going to give up without having even tried. Not when he’d come this far . . .
‘You haven’t told me about Jericho,’ he reminded her, nudging her feet out of the way and making himself comfortable on the sofa next to her.
Oh God, thought Izzy, close to despair, not more polite conversation.
‘It isn’t exactly the most riveting gossip in the world,’ she said with a dismissive shrug. ‘He got some poor bitch pregnant, that’s all. She gave birth to three puppies last week.’
‘Hmm. It sounded more riveting the way Katerina told it.’
Izzy glared at him. ‘If you already knew, why did you bother to ask me?’
‘Well, we’ve already discussed the weather . . .’
He was almost-but-not-quite smiling. Realizing that he was making fun of her, she snapped back, ‘Don’t patronize me.’
‘Don’t sulk then,’ Sam replied easily. ‘Izzy, look. It doesn’t have to be like this. I thought we were supposed to be friends, at least.’
The more
reasonable
he was, the more she hated it. Childishly, she said, ‘Real friends send Christmas cards.’
reasonable
he was, the more she hated it. Childishly, she said, ‘Real friends send Christmas cards.’
He started to laugh. ‘You didn’t send me one.’
‘Only because you didn’t send me one first.’
‘Izzy, is that
really
what this is all about?’ Rising to his feet, taking out his wallet, he said, ‘Would you like me to go out to the shops and buy you a Christmas card now?’
really
what this is all about?’ Rising to his feet, taking out his wallet, he said, ‘Would you like me to go out to the shops and buy you a Christmas card now?’
‘Oh, shut up!’ she howled, determined not to smile. He had always been able to
do
this to her and she needed so badly to remain in control . . .
do
this to her and she needed so badly to remain in control . . .
But Sam had crossed to the mantelpiece, upon which was stacked a sheaf of the glossy brochures extolling the delights of the Laugharne Hotel. Removing the top from his pen he sat down beside her once more, wrote ‘Happy Christmas, Izzy’ across the front of one of the brochures, then opened it up and scrawled on the inside page, ‘With all my love, Sam.’ ‘There,’ he said, his expression deadpan once more. ‘Better?’
But it wasn’t better. Izzy, awash with jealousy and realizing that she was once again in danger of bursting into tears, muttered, ‘You can’t put that. You mustn’t put “
all
my love”. What would your girlfriend think?’
all
my love”. What would your girlfriend think?’
‘My girlfriend.’ Sam paused, giving the matter some thought. Then he said, ‘What girlfriend?’
Izzy flushed. She was sailing close to the wind now, but the urge to say it . . . and the masochistic need to know what Miss America was really like . . . was irresistible.
‘I’d heard you’d got one,’ she said, her heart hammering against her ribs, but her tone carefully casual. ‘Is she nice?’
But Sam no longer appeared to be listening. Instead, having removed the impromptu greetings card from Izzy’s grasp, he was scrawling an additional line below his name.
Barely able to contain her impatience, Izzy repeated, ‘Sam. Is she nice?’
‘Who?’
‘You know damn well who!’
He sighed and handed her the card. ‘I can’t imagine where you’ve been getting this highly dubious information from, but there
is
no girlfriend. If you must know, I’ve been shamefully celibate for the last three months. Now, come on, open your Christmas card and read the last line.’
is
no girlfriend. If you must know, I’ve been shamefully celibate for the last three months. Now, come on, open your Christmas card and read the last line.’
It said, ‘PS Why don’t you stop arguing and just say you’ll marry me?’
The words swam on the page as Izzy’s eyes filled with tears, but this time she made no effort to hold them back. Sam was telling her everything she’d wanted to hear. The trouble was, he was
lying
. . .
lying
. . .
‘I spoke to her on the phone,’ she said, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘I phoned you and she was there at your apartment. Sam, I realise that she never did pass on the message for you to ring me back, so you can’t be blamed for that. But the second time I phoned, you were there in bed with her. The two of you were . . . together. So please don’t try and pretend you’ve been celibate for three months because I
heard
you . . . and I can’t bear the fact that you’re telling me lies!’
heard
you . . . and I can’t bear the fact that you’re telling me lies!’
Sam was silent for several seconds. Finally, he said, ‘Which number did you ring?’
‘Oh, shut up,’ wailed Izzy. ‘It was
your
number.’
your
number.’
He reeled it off. When she nodded - because for some ridiculous reason it had remained indelibly imprinted on her mind - he smiled.
‘That’s where I used to live,’ said Sam gently. ‘I sold it eight weeks ago. To a TV producer called Sam Hirsch.’
Izzy stopped crying. She stopped breathing. She couldn’t remember how to breathe . . . When she was able to speak, she said, ‘Are you sure?’
His dark eyebrows lifted. ‘Well, I’m fairly sure. And I used the money from the sale of the apartment to pay off the debts at the club . . . But if you wanted to double-check, you could always phone the Hirsches and ask them yourself.’
Every detail of the nightmare thirty-hour trip to New York was hurtling through Izzy’s mind: sixteen hours of flying, that beastly cab driver, the sheer torture of sitting in her hotel room waiting for the phone to ring, and then the ensuing anguish . . .
‘Oh, Sam,’ she said weakly, gazing at him in exasperation, ‘why didn’t you
tell
anyone you’d moved?’
tell
anyone you’d moved?’
‘I did,’ he replied with mock indignation. ‘When I sent Gina a Christmas card I gave her my new number and address. All you had to do was ask her.’
‘I flew all that way for nothing.’
‘You mean you were
in
NewYork when you called me?’
in
NewYork when you called me?’
Izzy closed her eyes for a moment, unable to believe this was really happening. She nodded.
‘Well, this is encouraging news.’ Intrigued, Sam said, ‘Does this mean you actually wanted to see me?’
‘Maybe.’ Her tone was cautious, but the corners of her mouth were beginning to twitch. ‘Oh bloody hell, Sam! Do I have to spell it out? Yes, I flew to New York because I wanted to see you and managed to make a complete idiot of myself in the process. There, I’ve said it. Are you happy now?’
‘Maybe,’ he mimicked gently, grinning and pulling her at long last into his arms. ‘Although I’ll be a lot happier when you’ve said you’ll marry me.’
Izzy’s lower lip was starting to tremble again. He kissed it, very briefly, then drew back and gazed into her brown eyes, his expression this time deadly serious.
‘I mean it, Izzy. I’ve had three months to think about it, and it’s the only answer. I don’t want anybody else. I can’t imagine
ever
wanting anyone else. I know now you were trying to be sensible when you told me I’d want children of my own, but that’s simply no longer an issue.
I
know I’d rather be married to you and not have children, than marry somebody else and . . .’ He shrugged, dismissing the argument. ‘Well, it would be totally pointless.’
ever
wanting anyone else. I know now you were trying to be sensible when you told me I’d want children of my own, but that’s simply no longer an issue.
I
know I’d rather be married to you and not have children, than marry somebody else and . . .’ He shrugged, dismissing the argument. ‘Well, it would be totally pointless.’
‘Oh.’ Suffused with love, Izzy clung to him. In a moment, when she was able to think coherently once more, she would break the news to him that Mother Nature had decreed a change of plan.
But Sam’s arms, around her waist, were making a voyage of discovery of their own.
‘Your zip’s undone,’ he said, looking perplexed and glancing down at her short, topaz-yellow velvet skirt. ‘What’s the matter, are you ill?’
‘We . . . ll,’ Izzy began, but at that moment the door to the blue-and-white sitting room flew open.
‘There you are,’ declared Katerina accusingly. ‘For heaven’s sake, you two! I’ve been looking
everywhere
for you.’
everywhere
for you.’
It wasn’t the most well timed of interruptions. Izzy, struggling to pull herself together, said, ‘Why, is something the matter?’
‘Of course not.’ Advancing towards them, Katerina held out a sealed brown envelope. ‘We wondered where you were, that’s all. Doug’s only just remembered that he was supposed to give this to Sam, so I offered to deliver it.’
‘Looks like one of my tax demands,’ joked Izzy feebly. Then, glimpsing the loopy, uneven scrawl on the front of the envelope, she said in surprise, ‘That’s Lucille’s writing.’
Katerina winked at Sam. ‘Lucky old you, then. It’s probably an indecent proposition. Now that Doug’s out of the picture she’s fixing her sights on the next best thing.’
‘Thanks,’ said Sam drily, tearing open the envelope and removing a once-crumpled, now flattened-out sheet of paper. Then he frowned. ‘But Lucille didn’t write this.’
With a shriek, Izzy made a lunge for it. ‘You mustn’t read that!’ she yelled, struggling to wrench the half-finished letter from his grasp. ‘It’s mine! I was just about to
tell
you—’
tell
you—’
‘It says Dear Sam,’ he pointed out, effortlessly fending her off and skimming the contents in seconds. Then, his expression changing, he turned his gaze back to Izzy.
‘Is this true?’
Trust Lucille, she thought, to take matters blithely into her own meddling Irish hands. Carefully keeping a straight face, she said, ‘Maybe.’
Oblivious to the presence of his future stepdaughter, Sam dropped the letter to the floor and pulled Izzy into his arms. This time the kiss he gave her wasn’t brief.
‘Young love,’ said Katerina cheerfully. Unembarrassed, she perched on the edge of the coffee table and waited patiently for the grown-ups to finish. Sam, she decided, had evidently taken notice of the advertising posters exhorting him to Experience Izzy Van Asch’s Kiss.
‘OK,’ she said eventually, fixing Sam with a determined gaze. ‘This is all very well, but before it goes any further there’s something I really must ask you.’
‘What’s that?’ said Sam, his expression suitably deferential. Hidden from Katerina’s view, his left hand was surreptitiously exploring the gaping zip at the back of Izzy’s skirt.
‘I need to know,’ said Katerina slowly, ‘whether or not your intentions towards my mother are honourable.’
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