The Party Season

  'You look stunning. That's a beautiful dress.'

  'Thank you,' I say, feeling suddenly gauche. 'You look good too.'

  'The rest of the family will be down soon. Do you want me to do anything?'

  'No, we're all fine. You enjoy yourself.'

  'Are you going to be working all night?'

  'I might get half an hour off later.'

  'I'll save a dance for you. Make sure you eat something.'

  'I'll try' I say, suddenly feeling absurdly happy. No one has cared whether I eat or not for a very long time.

  'See you later,' he adds before wandering off, hands in pockets, towards Will who had just appeared on the other side of the lawn.

  Guests start arriving in twos and threes and I spot Aunt Winnie looking resplendent in burgundy taffeta. A very proud Monty is standing next to her. They give me a wave. Even Mrs Delaney and a nice-looking gentleman with red hair, who I presume is Mr Delaney, are looking happy and as though they are enjoying themselves.

  Suddenly the majority of guests seem to arrive in a huge wave and from then on things start moving at an alarming pace. Someone breaks a glass and cuts their finger. The head chef has a fit because people aren't moving through to the marquee quickly enough and his first course will be ruined. One of the trapeze artists feels ill and isn't sure about going on. Dominic and I gradually start to move the group through to the marquee before the chef has a nervous breakdown altogether. There isn't a seating plan as such – each table is assigned to the appropriate company. The waiters and waitresses scurry about, dishing up the first course while some stragglers bring up the rear.

  'That's the lot,' whispers Dom to me.

  I frown as I look around the marquee. 'Who's taken those seats?' I ask, pointing at two empty tables.

  Dominic consults his clipboard. 'A company called Maida Insurance. They might turn up later.'

  I shrug and wander over to the Monkwells' table. As I weave my way through the maze of furniture, twisting my hips this way and that, I notice that they look as though they are having a marvellous time. Although, if we're being honest, park some booze and half-decent food near the Monkwells and they will always have a good time. Will is looking very handsome but he can't eclipse his older brother.

  I eventually reach their table and Simon smiles at me. 'I can't believe you put all this on! It's simply amazing! Is it better than Lady Boswell's Nordic Ice Feast?'

  'Definitely!' I smile back at him appreciatively. 'Thanks,' I say simply.

  'Are you tired?'

  'My feet are killing me!'

  'Izzy?'

  'Yes?'

  He glances at Aunt Flo, who has her back to us but her ears tuned in to our conversation. 'Did you know that our old friend Gussie is looking for a cat?' he says casually, without taking his eyes off me.

  My brain vaguely stirs in recognition. He's talking to me in our secret language, I think slowly to myself. The problem is, I haven't heard it for fifteen years and I am absolutely amazed that he remembers it.

  Gussie means us. Any reference to cat means that we need to talk (I think originating from the fact that the French for cat is chat).

  'When are you seeing Gussie?' I ask, meaning where and when shall we talk.

  He smiles at me and reaches out to take my hand. An extra shot of adrenalin starts to pump around my body.

  But the smile dies on his face and he suddenly drops my fingers. He is staring at something behind me and I swivel round to see what it is. I gasp because there, very calmly taking his seat at the vacant table in black dinner jacket and tie, is Rob Gillingham.

  C h a p t e r 23

  The next thing I spot is Dominic haring towards me like a maniac. He has gone quite pale.

  'Izzy,' he hisses. 'Rob is here.'

  'I know,' I snap back, 'I can see him.'

  Simon stands up. 'What name is he booked under, Dom?' He inclines his head towards Dominic's clipboard.

  'The table is under the name of Maida Insurance.'

  'That must be them,' I say, watching the rest of the table take their places.

  'I recognise some of them,' whispers Dom.

  'It's the whole of the Gillingham board,' Simon says grimly. 'They're trying to intimidate me. I'm the only representative from my company here. Bugger.'

  'They must have bought tickets,' I say in wonderment. 'They must have been planning this all along.'

  During our little interchange, Rob looks around the marquee. As soon as he spots us, he gives a charming little wave as though we are all the best of chums and gets up.

  'Christ! He's coming over!' Dom says incredulously.

  I glance at Simon. He looks calm but I can see a little muscle ticking in his neck. This is clever. To catch Simon at his most vulnerable, at his family home, without anyone from his company to support him and when he is supposed to be relaxing and having a good time.

  'Simon, Isabel and Dominic,' Rob greets smoothly. 'How nice to see you all!' He extends a hand to Simon, who shakes it grimly. 'May I call you Simon?'

  'Why are you here?'

  'We thought it would be a nice evening out for all of us. After all, these last few weeks have been a bit of a strain. We thought we'd celebrate the failure of your takeover, Simon. You did say I could call you Simon?'

  I try to stand closer to Simon. I can feel every muscle in his body tensing and for one awful moment I think he is going to hit Rob.

  'After all,' Rob continues, albeit a little less confidently, 'it wasn't until Isabel here said she could get us tickets for this event that we thought we would treat it as a sort of final farewell to the whole ridiculous idea.'

  'What did you say?' I manage to stammer. 'I didn't suggest anything of the sort.'

  'You know, I have never seen you perform before, Izzy.' He gives a little laugh. 'Well, not in public, my love. But I have to say, I am very impressed.' He looks around at the marquee. 'You have been a little gem these last few weeks. 'You know, Simon, I don't think we could have won this takeover without this little diamond here.'

  'There are no winners in this,' Simon says in a hard voice.

  'We'll see,' Rob says softly, 'we'll see,' and with this he turns and goes back to his seat.

  I spin around to face Simon. 'Simon, I haven't seen or spoken to Rob Gillingham since that night I told you about, I swear. He's just—' The rest of my words are drowned out as the family crowds around Simon, demanding to know who Rob is and what all that was about. And then one of the chefs taps me on my shoulder to inform me there is a problem in the kitchen.

  The rest of the evening passes in a blur. I fight the desire to go over and kick Rob firmly in the goolies as some sixth sense tells me that any sort of showdown won't help Simon or the takeover. I try my best to ignore Rob, even though he has the audacity to raise his glass to me every time I walk past his table. In contrast, Simon won't even make eye contact. Things on the Monkwell table are decidedly tense but everyone is uncomfortably holding their ground. When I finally have five minutes to myself, I walk anxiously over to them.

  'Simon, can I talk to you?'

  'What about?'

  'The Rob Gillingham thing, obviously.'

  'Izzy, I'm exhausted and I don't want to give Rob Gillingham the satisfaction of us looking as though we're rowing. Can we talk about this tomorrow?'

  I really want to clear the air between us but Simon is right, Rob has already caught sight of us talking together and is watching us with interest. I nod and get back to work.

  Rob manages to grab me later in the evening. He neatly sidesteps me as I make to walk past him and blocks my way.

  'Izzy, you never called me,' he says gravely but with a distinct air of piss-take.

  'Rob, you complete shit. I can't believe—'

  'Now, now, Izzy. People will start to talk,' he says, putting his hand on my arm.

  I look over to one side to find Rose and Mary watching me. I concentrate very hard and smile at them. They relax slightly, smile back and look
away.

  'So what's the score between you and Simon Monkwell?'

  'Why? Do you want to ring a newspaper with that information?'

  'Don't be bitter, Izzy, I did what I had to do. You would have done the same in my position.'

  'I doubt it, Rob. I could never bring myself to sleep with you again for anything.'

  'Don't say that. Your lover is looking for you, by the way.'

  I glance over my shoulder to see Simon staring at us. There is no disguising the look of distaste on his face.

  It is about four in the morning by the time I have supervised the general clear-up operation but, despite my tiredness, I am completely incapable of sleep. Dominic is already gently snoring by the time I reach our room. I play the whole Rob scene over and over in my head, rehearsing what I want to say to Simon and what he might say back. Does he really think I have been feeding Rob information all this time? The sun has already risen by the time I drop off into an uneasy slumber.

  The next morning, I creep down to breakfast to be greeted by the sight of a very hungover Aunt Flo and a frighten-ingly cheerful Aunt Winnie and Monty. I try unsuccessfully to avoid eye contact with any of them.

  'Hello Izzy! What a marvellous party! Well done!' Aunt Winnie greets me. Is she mad? Was she at the same party as me? 'Apart from the Rob thing. That obviously was dreadful. Poor Simon. I could have gone over there and punched him myself.'

  'I wish you had done,' I rejoin gloomily.

  'Simon wouldn't say anything about it. Just told us to ignore them.'

  'He didn't mention anything about me?' I ask hopefully. That doesn't sound too bad.

  'No. But whatever did you see in that Rob character? Dreadful-looking youth.'

  I slump down at the table. This is all I need – a cheerful half hour reminding me where I've gone wrong in my love life.

  'Are you okay, Izzy?' asks Aunt Winnie in concern.

  'Yes, I'm fine.'

  'You don't look fine,' says Monty. 'Are you ill? Which one of the girls was always ill, Winnie?'

  'I'm fine.'

  'Was it Izzy who could only sit in the front of the car because she always got car sick?'

  'I don't get car sick.'

  'I don't know because both of them always had to sit in the back with me.'

  'I don't get car sick.'

  'Always a bit of a hypochondriac, like Flo. Quite endearing.'

  'But I don't get car sick.'

  'Actually I think that might have been Sophie, Monty dear. But you're right, Izzy doesn't look at all well. Have you been travelling in a car this morning, Izzy?'

  'I DON'T GET FRIGGING CAR SICK!' I'm quite anxious to get this point clear – the only reason I don't look well is because they are steadily winding me up.

  They both look at me in surprise. 'Do you want to go back to bed?'

  'Aunt Winnie, much as I would like to go back to bed and stay there indefinitely, I have to help with the clearing up.' I try to say this with as much dignity as I can muster. It's not much.

  'I'm making scrambled eggs for Simon's team, Izzy. Would you like some?' asks Mrs Delaney from over by the Aga.

  'Simon's team? Are they here?'

  'All in the drawing room,' says Monty. 'I think they're preparing for the press conference tomorrow. Marvellous do last night, by the way. Haven't had so much fun for years!' Everyone noisily expresses their agreement.

  I frown to myself as Mrs Delaney bustles about and hands me a plate of scrambled eggs on toast. I am desperate to see Simon again, if only for a minute, but God knows how long they will all stay in the study for.

  The morning passes quickly. I have to oversee the clear-up operation in the marquee as well as the removal of various bits of equipment. Gerald also calls to demand a report. I walk hopefully past the solid wooden door of the drawing room at least ten times in the vague hope that Simon might come out and I would have a chance to speak to him. My opportunity comes about halfway through the morning when I glimpse him disappearing into the kitchen ahead of me. I accelerate, calling out, 'Simon!'

  The figure in front of me hesitates and then turns around. The body language is not good. It's awkward and bristly.

  'Isabel. Good morning.'

  'Er, morning.' I halt in front of him. 'Simon, I need to talk to you about last night.'

  He sighs. 'I suppose we have to talk about this sometime. Come on then.' He takes my elbow resignedly and leads me into the deserted kitchen. We sit down at the table. I look around me nervously. The kitchen isn't a very good place to be. It scarcely remains deserted for long, especially with Dom around.

  I jump in first. 'Simon, surely you didn't believe anything that Rob Gillingham said last night?'

  Simon's eyes remain fixed on the ground. He stares unsee-ingly at a slab of flooring. 'I don't know,' he says finally. 'You tell me.' At last he looks up at me.

  'Of course not! After all we've been through these last few weeks, do you really think I'd still be in contact with him? He was just shit-stirring!'

  'Isabel, let me ask you a question. Before you came back to Pantiles, how did you feel about me? Really feel about me?'

  I blink; the query has taken me completely by surprise. 'Well, I, er, suppose that, em …' His eyes are fixed on my face. 'I didn't like you very much,' I finish in a small voice.

  'Really, Izzy? Just "didn't like"? That's a bit mild for someone of your strength of character. Are you sure you didn't hate me? Don't forget that I was there when we were kids. I remember it just as well.'

  I inhale sharply. This is the first time we have openly talked about his bullying. 'Okay, I hated you. Is that what you want to hear? Does that make me guilty of feeding information to Rob Gillingham?'

  'Was that ever the plan?'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Did you come back to Pantiles to extract some sort of melodramatic revenge? I mean, you have to admit that you going out with a non-executive director of the company I am trying to buy is a pretty big coincidence.'

  'We had finished by the time I got here and, yes, it was a coincidence. You're going to have to accept that. Are you also saying that I managed to arrange for a ball for five hundred people to happen here at the same time?'

  'I'm saying that you and Rob might have seen an opportunity. Something that you could both get something out of. And you know, Izzy I wouldn't blame you. I really wouldn't.'

  'What are you trying to say? That my behaviour has been a sham?' My heart is pumping in my ears. I don't like the turn this conversation is taking; it feels terribly dangerous.

  'Maybe not. Maybe it was all for real. Maybe you and Rob didn't plan anything at all.'

  'We didn't!'

  'But my point, Izzy, is that somewhere very deep inside me, I doubt you.'

  'You doubt me?' I say disbelievingly.

  'Yes, and that makes me feel guilty as hell. Because of our past. Because of what happened fifteen years ago. I did all that stuff to you but I still doubt you.'

  'I can't believe you would think I would do anything to hurt you or your family.'

  'I'm sorry, I can't help it.'

  'You're the one with the nasty streak, not me,' I snap.

  He flinches slightly at this and I look down at the table, ashamed of myself.

  'That stuff won't go away, will it?' he says quietly. 'You'll be watching all the time for some glitch in my character. Some small-minded act or thought that might signify a return to that time.'

  I hesitate just for a millisecond – he has touched a nerve.

  'I would if I were you,' he adds.

  'Then tell me why, Simon. Tell me why all that stuff happened fifteen years ago.'

  He looks at me for a long time and reaches out a hand to touch my face. I smile hopefully. 'There's nothing to tell, Izzy,' he says simply and walks from the room.

  It is a few seconds before I manage to gather myself together and flee up to my room, Meg trotting after me. I stand in front of the mirror staring at myself. A very pale and scared-
looking Isabel stares back at me. Don't you cry, I threaten myself, don't you dare. I think about finding Dom or Aunt Winnie but realise that if I do I will have to relate the whole conversation and that will well and truly open the floodgates.

  Earlier there was no doubt in my mind that Simon and I shared some sort of intimacy. It was the same intimacy we had over fifteen years ago, until the bullying started – which I can't explain the reason for. So maybe I don't know this man at all. Maybe I have been imagining things that simply aren't there. Maybe some leopards don't change their spots. What the hell am I going to do? Go home, says a small voice inside me. Go home where you can cry your eyes out and eat Cornettos to your heart's content.

  I close my eyes and rest my forehead against the cool glass of the mirror. There's a slight problem in all of this. The slight problem is that I think I love him. Almost as much as I did all that time ago, but this time it's a different sort of love. More intense, more fierce. But, reason tells me, I loved him fifteen years ago and look what happened there. Am I so stupid as to risk all that again?

  And as tough as that is to handle, I think I have also fallen in love with his family. I not only want him, I want his family to be mine too. But how is this going to work, Izzy? Your Aunt Winnie and Monty look as though they might be forming some sort of an attachment and so you'll be forced to occasionally return to this house and this family and watch Simon at the heart of it. Watch him get married, watch his children growing up, chatter idly to Aunt Flo while wishing so hard that it was you at the centre of it all. I clench my hands into fists. It is almost too much to bear.

  I go over to the bed and lie on it. Meg hauls herself up next to me and settles down in the crook of my legs with a contented sigh. For the next half an hour or so I remain exactly like that, staring numbly at the ceiling, taking a small amount of comfort from the furry body next to me. Eventually, I pull the duvet over me and close my eyes in an effort to blot out the pain. I suppose I must have dropped off – Lord knows how little sleep I've had over the last few days – because the next thing I know there is a loud knocking at the door. I awake with a jolt. 'Izzy? It's Dom. Can I come in?' he calls.