The Party Season Page 10

  Once safely aboard a London-bound train, my laptop and notes spread out on the table before me, I call the office.

  'Table Manners?' Stephanie impatiently answers, no doubt disturbed from a riveting article about Tara Fart-Whortle's, or whatever her name is, handbag collection.

  'Stephanie, it's me.'

  'Oh.' Attention obviously returned to article.

  'Er, how's everything?' I ask, my shoulders hunched apprehensively. I always like to test the water first with Stephanie, which prevents any nasty surprises. It's amazing how much trouble you can get into without even being there.

  'S'okay.' Phew. I breathe a sigh of relief and settle back down in my seat. 'But he's cross with you.'

  Resume hunched position over table. 'Why?'

  'Says he's never heard of such a crappy idea.'

  'Which one?'

  'They couldn't catch one of your doves at the Polynesian banquet and it crapped in the host's drink.'

  'Oh God, did it?' I resist the urge to laugh because I know it would just get back to Gerald. 'Were they cross?'

  'A bit, but not as cross as Gerald.'

  I'd better speak to him.'

  'I'll put you through.'

  I wait and eventually Gerald picks up the phone. The first thing he says is, 'Ahhhh, I see the fuck-up fairy has visited us again.'

  I grin; he's not as cross as Stephanie made out. 'Come on, Gerald, you can't blame me for a dove's bowel movements.'

  'A good party planner is always in charge of everyone's bowel movements.'

  'That's quite a responsibility.'

  'Are you on your way in?'

  'Yeah, just left.'

  'Good. I'm expecting a full report.'

  Back at the headquarters of Table Manners, a familiar atmosphere pervades. Chaos is threatening to spill out of every corner. Even Stephanie is busier than usual. She has two magazines open in front of her while she sups on a mocha frappé through a straw. She grunts at me and begrudgingly removes the straw from her mouth. 'They're all going mad,' she says and her attention returns to Hello!.

  'Messages?' I ask hopefully.

  She jerks her head in the general direction of my desk, which doesn't instill me with much hope, and adds, 'Lady Boswell called. I told her you were working up at Simon Monkwell's estate. I then had the old bat waffling on for about half an hour about how she has met Simon Monkwell once, how bloody wonderful he is and how much she would like him to come to her Ice Feast.'

  'God, I can't think of a more perfect fate for him,' I mutter.

  I walk into the main office where people are indeed going mad. Aidan is standing on a desk in the corner staring thoughtfully at a piece of flex in his hands and looking as though he's thinking of hanging himself with it. For some reason, Yogi the stuffed bear is sitting on the desk beside him. I make my way through the maze of desks and people towards him, ignoring my colleagues who are variously interviewing people dressed up as animals, crawling under desks or wedging flower arrangements with a triumphant, 'That'll hold it!'.

  'Hi!' I greet Aidan.

  'What's up, Boo-boo?' he says in his best Yogi-bear impression.

  'Thinking of ending it all?'

  'Christ, I wish someone would end it! Gerald is in a foul mood – did you hear about your dove? Is it true he actually drank the cocktail it pooped in?'

  'I don't think so.' I look doubtful.

  'Damn, that's what I've been telling everyone.' He leaps down from the desk to join me on the floor. 'So have you got anything on this week apart from the Pantiles thing?'

  I shake my head. 'Just some Nordic Ice Feast arrangements, thank God. I've got enough on my hands with this ball.'

  'So tell me all! How is the estate? How's the ball coming on? How are you getting on with big bad Simon Monkwell?'

  'He hasn't come home yet.'

  'But you will meet him?' he demands.

  'Yeah, soon.'

  Aidan sits down opposite me and looks thoughtful. 'And what about the rest of the family, how are they?'

  A wide smile spreads across my face. 'Oh, they're great! I'll tell you more about it later.'

  I dump my laptop and bag down by my desk and get back to work on my brief.

  Gerald is indeed in a bad mood and roars about for most of the afternoon. A junior party planner tries to get a menu for a teddy bears' picnic approved and he shouts him out of his office with, 'There is nothing amusé about your bouches! Come back when you have something people might like to eat!'

  He immediately yells at me to come into his office. By the time I have followed him in and shut the door behind me, he is already slumped at his desk.

  'God, it's all so bloody relentless, isn't it?'

  'What is?'

  'This having a good time malarkey. Goes on and on. How's the Monkwell project? Anything to report?'

  'No, everything is fine.'

  'Managing not to piss-off the Monkwells?'

  'I think so.'

  'When is Dominic joining you?'

  'Next week.'

  'Tell him not to piss them off either. Remember, a closed mouth gathers no foot. And if your mouth …'

  '… is open then you're not learning anything,' I finish for him.

  'You can never drum the lesson home too much with Dominic. I'll never forget the time he told a fat guest that she had better not stay still for too long on that yacht of hers in case they mistook her for a whale and harpooned her.'

  'Well, she was being annoying and he did say it under his breath.'

  'She must have exceptionally good hearing then because, as I recall, she heard him. How is he, by the way?'

  I have a sneaking suspicion that Gerald quite likes Dominic. 'He's well.'

  'Bearing up, is he?'

  I look at him suspiciously. 'He's just fine. Why?'

  'No reason. Let's hope we get some more business out of this ball, Izz. It seems like you have been away for ever. Aidan's accounts are deteriorating rapidly.'

  'Really?' I ask innocently. 'He's probably having an off day.'

  'More like a week of them. So, how is the ball?'

  I think of all the work involved – the circus theme, the catering for five hundred and the million other things I have yet to confirm. 'Fine,' I say firmly.

  'Seen Simon Monkwell yet?'

  'No, not yet. Next week maybe.'

  'Will you ask about his corporate contract?'

  'If I get a chance,' I say, thinking very definitely not. There is no way I am touting for business from Simon Monkwell.

  'Your Aunt, er … what's her name? The one who thinks I'm a communist?'

  'Winnie.'

  'That's it! your Aunt Winnie might have come up trumps on this one! Make sure you're nice to Simon Monkwell next week.'

  'I will.' Behind my back, my fingers are firmly crossed.

  I begin to enjoy my afternoon, even though I am making arrangements for my bête noire, the Nordic Ice Feast, because I am in the unusual position of being able to leave at seven on a Friday night come what may. Thursdays and Fridays are usually our busiest nights of the week because most of the smart set depart for their country residences at the weekend. People assume our work must be enormous fun, and for a lot of the time it is, but they have no idea what it's like when your table placement hasn't worked out and you know you can't go home until it does.

  I spend most of the afternoon on the phone to the ice supplier, smoothing out problems with the ice bar, and then schedule another rehearsal with my mock Vikings and a meeting with Lady Boswell herself for when I am next in the office. Lady Boswell kicks off about Simon Monkwell again but I manage to extract myself from the conversation before she can instruct me to send an invitation to him.

  As soon as I let myself through the door of my flat, Dominic leaves, looking remarkably smart. He claims he is going to the cinema with a friend from work but I presume this person to be more than a friend because he would usually invite me along too.

  I decide to rent a video
and wander through to my bedroom to get changed into my favourite pair of combats before heading off to the video store. I'm just searching for my keys when the door buzzer goes. Dominic must have forgotten something.

  'Hello?' I answer.

  'Hello?' It's not Dominic but the voice is familiar and recognition stirs slightly.

  'Hello?' I say again.

  'Isabel. It's me, Rob. Please buzz me in.'

  C h a p t e r 11

  My finger hesitates on the buzzer, but I push it and the front door opens. I hear him coming up the stairs and then he appears in front of me.

  I don't know what to say, so I say nothing. My first thought is whether any of my make-up has survived the day. My second is that Rob must have left something at my flat and come to collect it. Then I notice the bottle of champagne. Little butterflies of excitement start up in my stomach. Do I pretend not to have seen it?

  He leans insolently against the door frame and beams at me. 'May I come in?'

  'Of course,' I say automatically and step to one side.

  I follow him into the sitting room and hastily lurch forward and gather the mugs that litter our coffee table. I take them through to the kitchen and when I return Rob is twisting the foil off the bottle of champagne. I bristle slightly at the presumption.

  'You're opening that now? What's the occasion?' I ask.

  'Do you have any glasses?'

  'No, I don't.'

  He laughs at me. 'Come on, Izzy! Have a glass of champagne with me for the sake of auld lang syne.' I'm stuck between the kitchen and the sitting room, but he smiles up at me with that audacious, lazy smile and I have to admit to a slight softening of heart.

  'All right.' I go back into the kitchen and dig out two wine glasses.

  We sit in silence as he deftly pours the champagne. He chinks my glass with his, holds my eye for a second and then settles back into the sofa. The sensation of having him here with me again feels dangerously euphoric. 'So!' he says, 'what have you been doing with yourself, young Isabel?'

  'This and that. Rob, what's all this about? Turning up unannounced with a bottle of champagne?'

  He shrugs and doesn't quite meet my eye. 'I thought you might refuse to see me if I called you first.'

  'You're right. I might have.'

  'Well, there you are then.' He smiles disarmingly at me once more.

  I ignore him and persist. 'But why are you here?'

  'Well, Izzy I've been thinking a lot lately about how good we were together and … more champagne?' I hold out my glass as he tops us both up. 'I've been thinking that perhaps I was a little hasty.'

  'A little hasty?'

  'I've missed you.'

  I close my eyes slightly as though to shield myself from the full, slap-in-the-face irony of it all. What I would have given for this a few weeks ago.

  'Come on, Izzy,' Rob continues softly. 'I made a mistake. I'm sorry. But don't make one too, just because of your pride.'

  I hesitate. This strikes a chord with me. Am I throwing something precious away through sheer bloody-minded-ness? After all, what did he do wrong? He didn't cheat on me. We didn't have an enormous row and call each other awful names. He just got a bit scared of commitment, but he's realised he made a mistake.

  I take another gulp of champagne and he edges up the sofa towards me and takes my hand. The sensation of his fingertips caressing my palm is not altogether unpleasant.

  'Can I take you out to dinner tomorrow?'

  'No, I have plans.'

  'Next week then?'

  'No, I'm away working. In Suffolk.'

  'God, what on earth are you doing all the way out there?'

  'I'm working up at the Pantiles estate. It's owned by Simon Monkwell,' I add wanting to impress. It has the desired effect.

  'Simon Monkwell? Wow!' Rob says incredulously, moving even closer. 'What are you doing?'

  'I'm organising a ball for them.'

  'That's a pretty impressive job, Izzy.'

  'Yes, well, I used to know the family.'

  'Did you?' His hand starts to creep up my arm. 'You see, Izzy, I knew I'd made a mistake. You obviously know all the right people.' He smiles at me in that way that I used to find utterly charming but I'm not so sure now. 'It must be a difficult job, I've heard he's not terribly nice,' Rob continues, leaning back into the sofa once more and taking a sip of champagne. 'How are you getting on with him?'

  'I haven't seen him yet. He's in Chicago at the moment. But no, he's not very nice.'

  'How do you know that if you've not seen him?' Rob asks mockingly and a small smile plays around his lips. He starts stroking my hand again.

  'He evicts tenants for no reason and deliberately keeps the household short of money.'

  'He's sleeping with one of his lawyers, isn't he?'

  I look at him sharply. 'Where did you hear that?'

  He shrugs his shoulders. 'Around.'

  'I wouldn't know or be interested in who he is sleeping with,' I say stiffly.

  'So,' Rob continues softly, 'you're having to stay up at the estate? Will I be able to see you during the week?'

  'Yes, I'm staying there,' I say shortly, my mind still turning over recent events. Are Rob and I getting back together? Is this what I want? His hand shifts from my palm and starts moving up my arm again. It's rather hypnotic.

  'Could you get back during the week at all?'

  'I suppose.' His hand has moved across my shoulders and is now playing with a strand of my hair.

  'Poor you. Must be ghastly, having to have dinner with all those country bumpkins. What on earth do you talk about?'

  'Oh, beetles. Farming. That sort of thing.'

  He laughs jovially, thinking I'm kidding, and leans over to kiss me. 'How awful. Can't think of anything worse,' he murmurs. Just then my mobile rings and jolts me from my trance-like state. I frown and lean towards the coffee table to pick the phone up. The display reads a Pantiles number.

  'Hello?'

  'Izzy? It's Will.'

  'Hi Will, how are you?' I say with some relief.

  'Good. I'm just calling to see what time your train gets in on Tuesday. I'll come and pick you up.'

  I rummage in my bag for my Filofax and reel off the time to him. He says he is looking forward to seeing me and rings off.

  I stare at my phone for a second. 'Actually Rob, can I think about this?' I say firmly.

  He looks taken aback but seems to recover quickly. 'Of course, Izzy! Of course. It must seem rather sudden to you.'

  'Yes, it does.'

  I get up and walk over to the door. He looks at me for a second and then follows suit. 'Can I call you?'

  'No, I'll call you. I don't want to rush into anything.' And with this I kiss him on the cheek and firmly eject him from the flat.

  Dom is apoplectic with rage when he hears of Rob's visit and I sip the remnants of the champagne apprehensively. I'm quite glad I made Dom neck his first glass now.

  'He seemed quite contrite,' I say uncertainly.

  'Rob? Contrite? Izzy, those two words have never before been linked in a sentence about Rob without "not the slightest bit" in between them.'

  'But he was! Why else would he come round?'

  Dom snorts derisively. 'Probably fancied a shag.'

  'Well, he wouldn't get one here,' I reply primly.

  'Did anything happen?'

  'No, nothing!' I say hotly.

  'Izzy,' says Dominic sternly. He can read me like a book.

  'Well … it might have done if Will hadn't called.'

  'Will?' he squeaks excitedly. 'From Pantiles?'

  'Yes. Will.'

  'Handsome farmer Will?'

  'Yes,' I say with some annoyance, regretting my off-the-cuff description of him.

  'Why was he calling you? I thought you were dealing with Monty?'

  'He wanted to know what time I was arriving at the station on Tuesday.'

  'Oh, so he's picking you up now. Is he the reason nothing happened between you and Ro
b?'

  'Indirectly I suppose so.'

  'That's not what Freud would say. I can see it now. Rob moves in to kiss you, the phone rings and it's Will. Suddenly there's no spark any more. Hmmm.'

  Crikey, was he watching from behind the pot plant?

  'Give over, Dom. It could have been anyone on the phone.'

  'Do you think this Will likes you?'

  'I really don't know.'

  'God, how exciting! And I can meet him for myself next week!'

  I stare at him in horror. I had actually forgotten that Dom was coming with me to Pantiles next week to help with all the work. This does not bode well; Dom fancies himself as quite a shot with old Cupid's bow. Several people lie maimed and injured as a result of it.

  I fix him with my most withering look. 'Dom, you are to forget that I ever mentioned Will.'

  'Awww, come on, Izzy! I might be helpful.'

  'The only way you could be helpful is to forget the entire thing.'

  'How can I forget the entire thing when my best friend is in love with a handsome farmer who owns all the eye surveys?'

  'I am not in love with him and for your information he doesn't inherit. Simon does.'

  He frowns. 'Are you sure you've got the right brother?' He gets a cushion right in the kisser.

  When I arrive in Bury St Edmunds on Tuesday evening the dirty Land Rover is once more waiting for me outside the station.

  'Will!' I say in delight as I heave open the door and clamber in.

  He rewards me with a kiss on the cheek and a huge smile. 'How's tricks?'

  'Fine! How's things with you?'

  'Good! All set?' He puts the car into gear and we whizz off.

  We chatter idly about the weather and then move on to the family.

  'How's Aunt Flo?' I ask.

  'She and Dad are fine.' He glances over at me. 'Simon is back tomorrow.'

  'Is he?' I say, feigning nonchalance.

  'Don't worry!' Will says, most likely seeing the slight shadow pass over my face. 'We probably won't see much of him!'

  I feel comforted by the 'we' and smile back.