Kiss (36 page)
Authors: Jill Mansell
Ralph shrugged and leaned forward to take a sip of coffee. It was the shrug that finally did it. Absolutely transfixed, Gina watched as one of the dislodged shreds of tissue landed in his cup.
‘. . . priceless! So, what did he do? What happened next?’
Gina, who hadn’t laughed so much since she was a child, wiped her eyes with a mascara-stained handkerchief. She had an aching stitch in her side. Every time she thought the hysteria was dying down, she only had to envisage the expression on Ralph’s face as he’d peered at the alien object floating in his coffee, and it erupted once more.
‘He . . . he . . . recognised it!’ she gulped, clutching Doug’s sturdy arm for support. ‘And then of course he realised how stupid he must have looked, and his face went all p-p-purple like an aubergine. I couldn’t help it after that, I just burst out laughing and he went even
purpler
. . . then he leapt up, shouted, “You bloody little bitch,” and stormed out. I’m afraid your door hinges might never be the same again . . .’
purpler
. . . then he leapt up, shouted, “You bloody little bitch,” and stormed out. I’m afraid your door hinges might never be the same again . . .’
Doug grinned; poor old Ralph. In puncturing his ego, Gina had dealt him the cruellest of blows. He would undoubtedly now find himself a new agent, but Doug didn’t even care. How could anyone - particularly someone as imperfect as himself - possibly resist such a wonderful tale? And to see Gina enjoying her much-deserved triumph was a positive delight.
‘I suppose I am a bitch,’ she continued, her tone unrepentant. ‘If it had been anyone else - you, for example - I would have told them straight away, just as you’d tell someone if the label on their sweater was sticking out. But Ralph is so
vain
. . .’
vain
. . .’
And she was off again, rocking in her chair and clutching her side. Suddenly emboldened by their shared secret and the mood of almost festive celebration, Doug glanced at his watch and said, ‘It’s five-thirty. Are you really busy this evening, or d’you fancy slipping round to Russell’s winebar for a drink?’
Her second dinner invitation in less than an hour. This time Gina didn’t even hesitate. ‘I think I’d better,’ she said with a grin. ‘For my own safety. Can you imagine what people will think if they see me giggling to myself all the way home on the tube?’
Over a shared bottle of Beaujolais and succulent ham-and-asparagus quiche in a corner of the dark, crowded winebar, they continued to laugh and shamelessly mock Ralph for his pretentious ways and over-co-ordinated wardrobe.
‘But you must have liked him to begin with, otherwise you wouldn’t have gone out with him,’ ventured Doug finally.
Gina toyed with her glass. ‘I suppose so. Well, I was flattered because he seemed so charming and attentive, but he was never really my type. It had just been so long since any man had paid me that amount of interest that I kind of . . . fell for it.’
It was beyond Doug’s comprehension why anyone of Gina’s calibre should be starved of male attention. As far as he was concerned she was eminently desirable and if he hadn’t long ago come to terms with the fact that such women were way out of his league, he would have made his own interest obvious months ago.
‘In that case,’ he said, eyes twinkling, ‘it sounds to me as if you had a narrow escape. Or should I call it a close shave?’
‘Oh no,’ gasped Gina, almost choking on her wine. ‘Don’t make me laugh again . . .’
‘Really, my dear,’ he protested, all innocence. ‘Can I help it if I have a razor-sharp wit?’
‘Doug . . . !’
‘OK, OK. I’ve stopped. So, tell me, what kind of man
would
be your type?’
would
be your type?’
Gina thought for a moment. ‘Someone as unlike Ralph as possible.’
Doug felt his heart inadvertently quicken. Fingering the frayed cuff of his badly ironed shirt, he experienced a faint - a very faint - surge of hope. Of all the men in all the world, he thought, surely none could possibly be more unlike Ralph Henson than he was.
Chapter 38
In Izzy’s experience, throwing a party had always involved working out how much money she couldn’t afford to spend, roughly doubling it, then staggering back from the off-licence with enough crates of lager and boxes of wine to ensure that no one could possibly go thirsty. Huge vats of chilli con carne or spaghetti mopped up the alcohol and her rickety but reliable cassette player provided the music. If whichever flat she was living in at the time could comfortably hold thirty guests, she invited fifty and jammed them in willy-nilly because that way they could more speedily get to know each other and have fun. The party continued until the last guest fell asleep and whoever stayed the night helped with the clearing-up the following morning.
Well, that was how it had always been in the old days, thought Izzy drily. Throwing a party at Stanford Manor, however, wasn’t going to be like that at all.
But not having to worry about the cost certainly had its advantages. As she adjusted her upwardly mobile, bottle-green lycra skirt, smoothed the strapless green-and-gold sequinned bodice into place and ruffled her hair for the last time in front of the mirror, she could hear the band tuning up downstairs in the main hall, their music punctuated by the stentorian tones of Mrs Bishop as she bullied the outside caterers and made absolutely certain they understood who was boss. The food, it went without saying, would be spectacular, the flow of vintage champagne never-ending and none of the two hundred or so guests need worry about being press-ganged into helping with the washing-up.
By ten o’clock the party was in full swing. ‘Never, Never’, having entered the top ten the previous week, was expected to go to Number One tomorrow and everyone was celebrating in advance. But it wasn’t until the huge front doors swung open and Simon, with Katerina at his side, entered the hall, that Izzy truly began to celebrate.
She was about to rush towards them when Vivienne yanked her unceremoniously back. ‘You’re supposed to be playing it cool, remember,’ she admonished. ‘What did Sam tell you? She wants to be treated like an adult. Whatever you do, don’t
gush
.’
gush
.’
‘I won’t.’ Izzy, dizzy with delight, determined to be as ungushing as possible. Telephoning Simon and inviting him and Katerina to the party had been a master-stroke. In reasonable tones, she had explained that, although she and Katerina weren’t on the best of terms at the present time, there was no earthly reason why they couldn’t be civil to each other on a purely social level. Knowing how star-struck Simon was, he had been a foregone conclusion, and she had banked on his powers of persuasion - together with Katerina’s deep-seated curiosity - to get her here tonight.
And it had worked, she thought joyfully, making her way towards them. It had really worked . . .
‘You made it. I’m so pleased you’re both here.’ Gosh, it was hard not to gush.
‘Simon wanted to come.’ Katerina wore a guarded expression, as if she were expecting a more extravagant welcome.
‘Well, it’s exciting,’ said Simon defensively, the colour already rising in his cheeks. Stepping forward, he dropped an awkward kiss on Izzy’s cheek. ‘And I think it’s brilliant, your single doing so well.’
Izzy wondered whether Katerina was wearing jeans and an old, black T-shirt to make a point. Now that she was finally making real money, she ached to shower her daughter with lavish gifts. Instead, taking care to hide her true feelings, she smiled up at Simon and said, ‘Thank you. I think it’s brilliant, too.’
‘Our A level results came through yesterday,’ said Katerina abruptly. ‘I didn’t fail them.’
‘Oh darling . . .’
‘But the grades are too low for medical school, so I might as well have done.’
‘Oh.’ Swallowing her disappointment, forcing herself not to react as Kat appeared to want her to, Izzy managed another, slightly wan smile.
‘Well, never mind. Look, the band’s about to start up again and our eardrums could suffer. Why don’t you two head through that archway, get yourself something to eat and drink, and take a look around?’
Simon was already looking. Ogling. This threatened to be the most exciting night of his life and he had already spotted several famous faces, not to mention real bimbos, enthrallingly underdressed.
‘There’s the drummer with Blur,’ he said, his voice hushed with reverence. ‘And that girl in the bikini - isn’t she Fiona whatsername?’
‘For heaven’s sake, don’t gawp,’ said Katerina, determinedly unimpressed. Pushing him in the direction of the bar, she added in a fierce whisper, ‘And don’t you
dare
ask anyone for their autograph . . .’
dare
ask anyone for their autograph . . .’
‘Well done,’ said Vivienne approvingly, when Izzy returned to her side. Raising her exceedingly strong vodka and tonic in a semi-salute, she surveyed the departing couple with amusement.
‘Poor old Kat, what a muddle. She and Simon actually make a good couple, if only she’d realise it. And if only,’ she added as an afterthought, ‘poor old Simon could control his unfortunate blushes.’
‘Speaking of good couples,’ said Izzy, her tone casual, ‘why isn’t Sam here with you? Does he still disapprove of my being with Tash that much?’
They were making their way out to the floodlit pool. Vivienne, impressively encased in shell-pink satin, undulated like an eel in heels. With a shrug, she replied, ‘Who knows? Sam keeps his thoughts pretty much to himself these days. He doesn’t ask me what I’m up to any more, and when I tell him, he doesn’t even seem to listen. I’m bored to tears and all he says is why don’t I get some kind of job. Can you imagine what
that
kind of advice does to someone like
me
?’
that
kind of advice does to someone like
me
?’
Izzy frowned. ‘So, what are you going to do?’
‘What would any normal human being do? It’s practically an invitation to misbehave!’ Vivienne tossed back her golden hair and grinned in passing at Tash’s drummer, who had quite wickedly dissipated blue eyes. ‘Hell, why else would I damn near give myself a hernia trussing myself up in this dress? I’m going to dazzle and delight, honeychile, like it’s going out of fashion. This beautiful body is fed up with being ignored . . .’ Her voice trailed away for a second, then added, ‘. . . and I think I may just have spotted the man not to ignore it. Izzy, who
is
that guy over there? The one in the dark blue shirt . . .’
is
that guy over there? The one in the dark blue shirt . . .’
‘Oh, Vivienne, what about Sam?’ Izzy was beginning to get worried. She clearly meant business.
‘Since when did a little jealousy go amiss? And stop changing the subject. Tell me at once who he is, and how much money he earns. This is
definitely
the man for me.’
definitely
the man for me.’
Izzy didn’t think he was, but Vivienne was unstoppable. Refusing even to listen to Izzy’s reminder of how very amiss her own love life had gone as a result of the mutual jealousy between Ralph and Mike, she made a beeline for the object of her desire and wasted no time at all introducing herself.
Since Tash was far too busy being chatted up by a rapacious, heavily bleached blonde either to notice or to care what Izzy might be up to, she danced with Benny Dunaway and marvelled - not for the first time - that such an accomplished musician could dance quite so badly. At this rate, her poor feet were in danger of doubling in size.
‘Oops, sorry.’ Benny, unused to champagne cocktails, looked hopelessly unrepentant. ‘Now you know why my wife refuses to dance with me.’
‘I don’t mind,’ said Izzy valiantly, giving him a hug to prove it. ‘If it weren’t for you, none of this would have happened. Are you enjoying yourself?’
‘Are you kidding? This is how the other half lives.’ He flung his arm wide to indicate the splendour of the occasion. ‘And from now on, it’s how
you’re
going to live. You’ve cracked it, my darling, and I couldn’t be more pleased for you.’
you’re
going to live. You’ve cracked it, my darling, and I couldn’t be more pleased for you.’
She was touched. ‘Really?’
‘Well, it hasn’t exactly done my street-cred any harm.’ Benny trod on her toes once more and grinned. ‘Did I forget to mention it earlier? The entire fifth year have issued demands for signed photographs. No hurry, tomorrow morning will be soon enough.’
‘Nice to know I’m popular with some teenagers,’ sighed Izzy, watching out of the corner of her eye as Katerina - sitting temporarily alone in one of the carved stone window-seats - rebuffed the attentions of a pony-tailed youth wielding a chicken leg in one hand and a bottle of Sol in the other.
‘Not you,’ said Benny cheerfully. ‘It’s Tash they’re interested in, stupid.’
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