'Your fee isn't going to be enough, is it?'
'Don't worry! We have the catering for five hundred to factor in now; we weren't expecting that bonus! Can I meet with the charity to discuss details? Soon?' I endeavour to keep a slightly panicky note out of my voice. Clients don't tend to like it.
'I took the liberty of arranging a meeting this Thursday. The marquee company is coming on Friday. They haven't seen the site yet. You must stay with us, Izzy, I absolutely insist.'
I'll be moving in straightaway, I think to myself. 'Thanks, Monty. That'll help. It's a bit of trek back to London.'
'Oh, by the way, they said they wanted a circus theme.'
'Sorry?'
'You know, big top, that sort of thing! A circus!'
I have a feeling that's what we're going to get with or without my help. 'Marvellous!' I say and smile brightly. 'What will they think of next?' Yes, indeed.
I can't do much more without speaking to the charity first so we get up and wander towards the kitchen. 'Are you parked at the back?' asks Monty.
'Yes, Aunt Winnie brought me over.'
'Winnie did? Why didn't you say, Izzy? She should have come in!'
'Sorry, I always forget you must have met her once or twice!'
We charge along the corridor at a rate of knots. Monty strides across the kitchen and flings open the back door. The pea-green Mini still has opera booming out of it and Monty raps loudly on the driver's window. Aunt Winnie jumps in horror but her face soon spreads into a wide grin and she leaps out as best she can from the Mini.
'Monty you old dog!' she roars.
'Winnie, me dear, how the devil are you?' he booms.
God, it's like being at a convention for the hard of hearing. They don't know each other very well but Aunt Winnie always makes an impression.
I hang about while they noisily ask about each other's health and generally get skittish until Monty says, 'I've suggested that Izzy comes and stays with us for a few days at the end of the week to sort out this charity malarkey. Will you come and have supper with us?'
'Love to! As long as we're not having pork. Can't abide the stuff.'
'No pig it is then! I'll tell Mrs Delaney. Shall we say Thursday?'
'Marvellous!'
'Izzy, why don't you come over on Wednesday night so you're fresh for the charity folk on Thursday?' 'Thanks, Monty. That would be great.'
The following day I get into work early. I have a ton of stuff to do before I return to the estate at the end of the week. Since the job at Pantiles will involve so much work, I'll hand over all my other events to Aidan, except Lady Boswell's Nordic Ice Feast which no one will take on the pain of death. I daresay Aidan is not going to be very happy; there are some monster clients involved.
Stephanie is puffing on a cigarette and rather dispiritedly typing with one finger while trying to read the
Daily Mail
.
'Morning!' I say brightly. 'Any messages?'
'Where have you been?'
'Er, in Suffolk.'
'Oh.'
'Any messages?' I repeat.
'On your desk.'
'On my desk?' I query. Last time they were found next to the kettle.
She raises her eyes heavenward and mutters something about Hitler which I choose to ignore.
I walk through to the main office. Aidan is having an animated discussion with someone in the corner and waving around what looks like a pair of lederhosen. I turn on my computer and sit down. Aidan has spotted my arrival and comes rushing over, still brandishing the clothes.
'Izzy! What do the Swiss eat?'
I blink for a minute while trying to engage my brain. 'Em, Toblerone.'
'What else? What else?' he demands.
'Er, er' – I blink distractedly – 'I don't know, fondue? Wiener Schnitzel? Or is that German? Why?'
'We're launching a new Swiss cheese and I'm trying to get some ideas together for the launch party. We're having the VIP invites hand-delivered by a yodeller. We've got a couple coming in later to audition,' he giggles and sits down opposite me. 'How was the estate? Has it changed at all?'
'I think it's gone to pot actually. It feels … neglected.' Privately I think Simon could do with spending more time looking after his home and less time trying to take over other people's companies. Just a personal opinion of course. Completely unbiased.
'I think you're so lucky to get that project. I would
die
for it.'
'Aidan, it's a ball for five hundred and they've decided they want a circus theme.'
'Oh,' he says, not looking quite so enthusiastic anymore. 'A circus theme? At such short notice? Which sick individual thought of that?'
'I don't know but Dominic and I certainly have our work cut out.'
'Dominic's helping you?'
'Yes, I'm going to ask him to be my runner if I can get Gerald to agree.' I look at Aidan suspiciously. 'Why?'
'Oh, no reason. How is he, by the way?'
'Just fine. I'll tell him you asked after him, shall I?'
Aidan smiles a secret smile to himself. 'Send him my regards.'
I open my mouth to find out more but my phone rings and I pick it up.
'Darling! So
glad
to have caught you!' It's my mother calling from Hong Kong. She still hasn't gathered that through the marvels of modern technology you don't have to speak as though you are talking to a very old, very deaf aunt. She enunciates key words and speaks very loudly and slowly. 'Your
receptionist
, what's her name,
Clementine
?' How on earth has she managed to get Clementine from Stephanie? She doesn't pause to hear my reply but sweeps on. 'She said you've been
out
all morning. Now the
important
thing is, and your father is making
frantic
hand signals at me, do you know who
won
the 2.30 at
Kempton
?'
'Er, no.'
She puts her hand over the top of the mouthpiece and shouts, presumably at my father, 'Darling, she doesn't know, please don't go on … all right, I'll ask her.' She comes back to me. 'He wants to know who
won
the
premiership
.'
'Mum, I don't know who's in the premiership, let alone who won it. Don't they have English newspapers out there?'
'Yes. But they are always
late
, then we
forget
to look and by the time we've remembered I've
wrapped
the potato peelings in them.' She puts her hand back over the mouthpiece and talks once more to my father. This three-way conversation is starting to play on my nerves. We always talk like this on the phone; the only way to have an actual conversation with my mother is when my father is out. 'No, she doesn't know, darling … look, do you want to speak to her? … well then, shut up.' She comes back to me. 'Anyway, darling, how
are
you?'
I hesitate for a moment. I could tell them about going back to Pantiles but the dialogue-á-trois would take roughly an hour to complete and I'm not sure I could survive it. I could also inform them of my break-up with Rob but since I didn't tell them I was going out with him in the first place it seems pointless. A few thousand miles isn't the only distance between us all.
'Absolutely fine,' I lie in answer to her question. 'How are things with you?'
On-stage: '
Chaos
. We've got Darth Vole
coming
for
dinner
.'
Off-stage: 'I know he's not bloody well called that.'
'Who?' I ask.
On-stage: 'Local Chinese dignitary.'
Off-stage: 'Of course I will learn his real name by tonight.'
'English food or Chinese?' I ask, trying to keep my side of the conversation going.
On-stage: 'Chinese,
unfortunately
. I still haven't mastered chopsticks. I only managed to get three grains of
rice
to eat last night and those were by
flicking
them.'
Off-stage: 'No, it's Isabel, not Sophie.'
'Mum, call me next week.'
'I know, when your
father
's out.'
'Give him my love.'
'Bye, darling.'
Just as I put the phone down, Gerald pops his head around his office door and yells through his tannoy: 'ISABEL! In here!'
I collect a notepad and pencil and walk over to Gerald's office. He's shut the door again so I give it a light tap and walk in. He's frantically scribbling on a wipe-board.
'Are you okay?' I ask tentatively. 'You look a little, er, tense.' He looks like a rabbit caught in headlights.
'No! Just very alert! Couple of late parties and a few too many espressos. How was yesterday?' he asks.
'Good.' I briefly outline the core points of the meeting for him.
'Are you really going to be able to manage all that work?'
'I'm handing most of my parties over to Aidan.'
'Oh God, Izzy, did you have to? That's going to make him more histrionic than ever. What about Lady Boswell's Nordic Ice Feast?'
'No one would take it. You wouldn't—'
'No. I wouldn't,' he snaps. You'll just have to fit that one in somehow. It sounds as though you'll have to spend quite a few days up at Pantiles. I'm not sure the fee is going to be enough.'
'Well, they've already got some things arranged.' I want to go back to Pantiles no matter how much work is involved. 'I'll go and do the cost projection now if you like. Make sure it's viable.'
'You may be anal but at least your figures add up.'
'Thank you, I think. But I think I'm going to need a runner, Gerald.'
'Couldn't you do without?'
It is a large ball and they do want a circus theme. We do now have the catering for five hundred which we weren't expecting so I think we could stretch to a runner, don't you?'
'You'll nag me until I agree, won't you? You'll drip away like a faulty tap.'
'Yep.'
'Very well. You can have a runner,' he says sulkily. 'But remember your head will be on the block if
anything
goes wrong.'
I smile and make a mental note to call Dom to tell him to book himself some holiday.
After the yodelling auditions, everyone insists on yodelling all their conversations and the office takes on the giggly atmosphere of a three-year-old's party with too much orange squash. I reluctantly leave them all at the end of day and return home.
With rare foresight I manage to locate my keys while on the Tube. Dom is on his mobile phone in the sitting room as I let myself in. As soon as he sees me he hurriedly murmurs something into the mouthpiece and turns it off.
'Hi!' he says brightly. 'How was work?'
'Fine! Who was on the phone?' I ask lightly, my eyes fixed on him. And why was he using his mobile instead of the landline?
'Oooh, no one. Just, er, my mother.' He looks shifty. Dom's mother is an industrious woman who 'does a lot for charities and other good causes'. I take a sneaky look at my watch. There is no way she would be back from one of her afternoon committee meetings yet, but I nod a little. 'Did you have enough holiday left to be my runner?'
'Absolutely! I'm really excited about it!' he says. 'Just think, Izz! I get to see where you and Sophie grew up!' I can't see why this would be so thrilling but I let it pass. 'I might actually give in my notice at the same time, I don't know yet,' Dom continues. 'Working for that company has kind of lost its appeal now.' When Rob and I finished, Dom wanted to hand in his notice as some sort of protest. It was a sweet offer but I knew that, as his landlady, I would be the first to suffer. I nearly point out that there hasn't really been a time when working for Rob's company has ever held an appeal for Dom but I think this might be a little cold-hearted.
My spirits sink only slightly at this veiled mention of Rob. Returning to Pantiles, whatever that means to me, must have had a beneficial effect.
'I just hope Simon doesn't come back too soon.' I bite my lip anxiously.
'You know, Izz, he has probably forgotten all about that ghastly childhood business.'
'He blanked me at that party!'
'Maybe he didn't recognise you?'
'He recognised me all right,' I say grimly.
'Don't worry. Apparently it's a huge takeover he's involved in. I've been reading all about it in the paper. He won't be back for ages.' Dom stretches and yawns, his arms high in the air. 'Can you suggest something to eat with our salad, Izz?'
I think hard. I'm running out of ideas.
'What about some pasta? You could have yours without any cheese?' suggests Dom.
I make suitably appreciative noises. Only a few more pounds to go. Dom gets up to go into the kitchen.
'New trousers?' I ask.
He glances down. 'These? Bought them a few weeks ago. Come and tell me all about Pantiles.' He wanders off into the kitchen.
Peculiar phone calls? New clothes? He's going to have to tell me soon.