It was five o’clock in the morning and he had been wondering whether Izzy was asleep. If Vivienne hadn’t turned up with her usual miraculous sense of timing . . .
‘You should have let me know you were coming over.’ Not wanting to sit down, he was pacing the sitting room, drinking black coffee and watching the sun rise over the park.
‘You would only have gotten crazy.’ Vivienne pouted, wriggling still further down in her seat, and Sam realised how quickly he had readjusted to the English accent; her lazily elongated vowels sounded incredibly put-on. In addition, she had always adored a bit of drama.
‘I would have told you that it was a wasted journey.’ A full-scale row wasn’t what he needed right now; he had a business meeting at nine o’clock and a couple of hours’ sleep beforehand would have helped.
‘Oh, Sam!’ Kicking off her shoes, she drew her feet up beneath her. ‘So, what are you going to do, kick me out on to the streets?’
That was really likely. The reason Vivienne found it so hard to believe he was no longer interested in her wasn’t a million miles removed from her bank balance. The only daughter of Gerald Bresnick, a genuine Texan oil baron, she could in all probability - if she really wanted to - rent every suite in the Savoy and have change left over for the doorman.
‘I’m going to bed,’ said Sam quietly. He didn’t have time for arguments. ‘You can sleep in the spare room, if you’re staying.’
‘That takes me back,’ mused Vivienne, her tone playful. ‘You’re beginning to sound like my ex-husband.’
Sam, moving towards the door, didn’t reply.
‘And there I was,’ she continued softly, ‘thinking that you might be my next husband.’
He turned back to face her. ‘Vivienne, it’s over. You really shouldn’t have come here.’
‘Maybe I shouldn’t.’ She shrugged, apparently unperturbed, then gave him a slow, languorous smile. ‘But, on the other hand, maybe I should. My mom always taught me that if a man was worth chasing, he was worth chasing all around the world, so flying over from the States wasn’t even that far to come. Besides,’ she added with a careless gesture, ‘what the hell did I have to lose?’
For the second time, Sam kept his mouth very firmly shut. A mental image of Izzy flashed through his mind . . . notoriously impatient, unreliable, why-stop-at-one-man-when-you-can-have-two Izzy Van Asch, with whom he would so much rather have spent the night. Vivienne might not have had anything to lose, he thought drily, but if her intention had been to come over here and put paid to any romantic attachments he might be in danger of forming, she had certainly won the first round, hands down.
Chapter 17
It was so hard, struggling to appear cheerful when all you wanted to do was crawl into bed and let the rest of the world carry on without you. And it was harder still, Gina decided sourly, when she had to put up with Izzy indulging in one of her favourite pastimes - getting ready to go out.
Now, as Izzy burst into the sitting room for the third time in fifteen minutes and did an extravagant twirl to show off her red velvet dress - with the red shoes, this time - Gina gave up trying.
‘Well?’ said Izzy, glossy-mouthed and seeking approval. ‘Which looks better, red or black? And are the stockings too much . . .?’
The stockings had red hearts stencilled up the back of them. Izzy, who was booked to sing at a charity ball in Henley, looked like a saloon girl. She also looked, thought Gina, exactly like . . . Izzy.
Irritation, which had been welling up, now spilled over ‘Since you ask,’ she retorted, ‘they’re perfectly hideous. But I’m sure you’ll wear them anyway.’
Izzy halted in mid-twirl. ‘What?’
‘You wanted my opinion, I gave it to you.’ It was surprisingly satisfying, watching the expression on Izzy’s face change and the wide smile fall away. Why did she always have to be so bloody cheerful anyway? ‘Although I don’t know why you bother, because you never take a blind bit of notice of anything I say,’ Gina continued, inwardly amazed at her own daring but at the same time almost exhilarated by it. ‘You simply carry on regardless, thinking everything’s great and not even stopping to wonder what other people might think of
you
.’
Accustomed as she was to dealing with the occasional heckler when she was working, Izzy was so stunned by this full-frontal attack on her personality that for a moment she couldn’t even speak.
‘I see,’ she said finally, wondering whether Gina might be in the throes of some kind of nervous breakdown. Apart from hogging the bathroom for an hour earlier she couldn’t imagine what might have annoyed her enough to trigger such an outburst. ‘And what exactly
do
other people think of me?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Gina, her expression truculent. The adrenalin-rush was ebbing away; she had wanted to hurt Izzy and she’d succeeded. Now she felt slightly ashamed of herself.
‘No, go on. Tell me.’ Izzy’s eyes were beginning to glitter. ‘I’m interested.’
‘You’re nearly forty,’ Gina said defensively. ‘You shouldn’t be wearing stuff like that.’
‘And?’
Gina shifted uncomfortably in her chair. ‘OK. If you must know, I find it embarrassing when my friends ask me what you do for a living and I have to tell them you’re a barmaid.’
There, she’d said it. And it was true; apart from anything else, Izzy was too
old
to be a barmaid.
‘I see,’ said Izzy again. Shock was giving way to anger now; how
dare
Gina look down her nose at the way she earned enough to pay their rent? Tilting her head to one side, she enquired softly, ‘And are you embarrassed when they ask you what you do for a living?’
Bitch, thought Gina, turning red. Pushing back her hair with shaking fingers and beginning to feel outmanoeuvred, she said, ‘At least I’m not reduced to working in a bar.’
‘Of course you aren’t. You’re lucky,’ Izzy retaliated. Then, out of sheer pride, she added, ‘And that isn’t my
career
, anyway. I’m a singer.’
‘I know you’re a singer. Everybody knows you’re a
singer
,’ blurted out Gina, without even thinking this time. ‘You tell the whole bloody world about it and if you really want to know, that’s what makes it all so laughable . . . As far as I can gather you’ve spent your entire life thinking that one day you’ll be discovered and turned into some kind of
star
and you don’t even realise that there are hundreds of thousands of other people out there who can sing just as well as you. Being able to sing is . . . nothing!’
All her frustration was spilling out now. The frustration of being unloved and always alone while the rest of the world had fun. The frustration of finally falling asleep at one o’clock in the morning, only to be woken again at two by Izzy’s key in the front door and the sound of her footsteps on the stairs. The frustration of answering the phone for the past two and a half months and endlessly having to say, ‘It’s for you . . .’
‘Well, thanks,’ said Izzy finally. ‘So, tell me, how does it feel to be perfect?’
Wearing her stencilled stockings with defiance, Izzy sang her heart out during her hour-long set at the Davenham Ball, although whether anyone truly appreciated it was another matter. Spirits were sky high and the general noise level incredible. She could have sung hymns and they would have carried on shrieking and dancing regardless.
It was also blisteringly hot and, by the time she left the stage to patchy applause, both her stockings and her pinned-up hair were beginning to droop.
But it wasn’t until she saw Sam, waiting for her at the side of the stage, that she realised how thoroughly miserable she really was.
‘Oh, hell, I never cry,’ she mumbled against his chest, reluctant to move away because then he would see the mascara stains on his clean white shirt. ‘I can’t think what you’re doing here, but I’m awfully glad to see you . . . it’s been the most horrible night . . .’
Bread rolls, as is apparently their wont at such functions, were hurtling through the air. Sliding his arm around her waist, Sam guided Izzy through the maze of bottle-strewn tables and gyrating dancers and led her outside.
‘I truly never cry,’ she repeated in a subdued voice when they at last sat down on a stone bench. Blowing her nose in the handkerchief he’d passed to her, she shook her head and shivered. ‘But honestly you wouldn’t believe the go Gina had at me this evening . . . and now we’ll have to move out and it’s such rotten timing, what with Kat’s A levels coming up . . .’
‘Gina rang me. She told me what happened and asked me to come and find you.’
‘What for?’ Izzy sniffed. ‘Did she think up another dozen or so reasons why I should be ashamed of myself?’
‘She’s sorry,’ he told her firmly. ‘She wants you to know that she didn’t mean any of it, but she was afraid that if she came here herself you’d refuse to listen to her.’
‘She was right.’
‘And she was also afraid,’ he went on, ‘that you wouldn’t go back to the house tonight.’
‘You mean she was worried in case I crept in, packed my things and made off with her precious Royal Doulton dinner service,’ Izzy retaliated, lifting her chin in defiance. ‘According to Gina, I’m the laughing stock of London and the Home Counties, and about as socially acceptable as a bed bug.’
‘Look, she really is sorry,’ said Sam, relieved to see that the tears had stopped. ‘And if you were to give her a hard time, nobody would blame you. But it isn’t you she’s really getting at . . . it’s herself.’
‘Really?’ It was gratifying to know that Gina was consumed with guilt, but Izzy wasn’t going to give up that easily. ‘She certainly had me fooled.’
‘And you aren’t the kind of person to hold a grudge,’ Sam continued, his voice low and encouraging. ‘It isn’t your style.’
‘Nobody’s ever spoken to me like that before,’ she countered, ‘so how would anyone know what my style is? She
hurt
me, Sam.’
‘I know, I know, but she envies you.’
Izzy pulled a face. ‘And there I was, just beginning to believe you. Now you’ve really blown it.’
‘You’re happy, she’s not,’ he said simply.
‘I’m not happy. I’m a barmaid.’
He gave her a hug. ‘You’re a singer.’
‘But an unsuccessful one, without any future.’ Drawing away from him, she shook her head and looked miserable. ‘That was what
really
hurt, Sam. Gina was right about that.’
For the first time, Katerina was seriously tempted to tell her mother about Andrew. The way everyone took care of Gina, sheltering her from real life and making endless allowances for her, made her sick. Sharing her wonderful secret with Izzy would make it all that much more bearable.
And although she hadn’t planned on falling in love with Andrew Lawrence, in a peculiarly satisfying way it evened the score, which would surely cheer Izzy up . . .
Some sixth sense, however, prevented her from saying the words. Perching on the edge of Izzy’s bed, Katerina handed her a mug of coffee instead and said, ‘Look, you mustn’t even
think
about my exams. She’s a complete bitch and I don’t care where we live or how soon we move.’
Considering that it was eight-thirty in the morning, Izzy was astonishingly alert. Rumpling her daughter’s glossy hair, she grinned. ‘We aren’t going to move. Gina’s apologised and it’s all behind us now.’
Katerina pulled a face. ‘I can’t imagine Gina apologising for anything. What was it like?’
‘Oh, very
Little Women
. She cried a bit, grovelled a bit, lied a bit . . . and I was terribly understanding; wounded and subdued, but prepared to forgive her because I’m such a wonderful human being.’
‘Yuk. Sounds horrible.’
‘It wasn’t horrible.’ Izzy assumed a saintly expression. ‘It was quite spiritually uplifting, as a matter of fact. From now on, I’m sure we’re all going to get along wonderfully.’
‘Why?’ Katerina shot her a suspicious look.
‘Because forgiveness is a virtue, my darling.’ Then Izzy winked and drained her coffee cup with a flourish. ‘And because to make up for being such an old bitch, the old bitch has waived this month’s rent!’