The Accidental Mistress
But Molly di Peretti was not wincing. She was looking intrigued. ‘Lots of talent in your family.’ She put her head on one side. ‘We might just be able to use that.’
Izzy was trying to gauge how the launch party was going, but at that she stopped looking round the room for a moment and paid attention.
‘Use it? How?’
‘Woman power,’ said Molly, clearly writing the press release in her head. ‘Siblings unite to give the fashion establishment a run for its money. Redheads Rule! There’s lots of possibilities.’
Izzy snorted. ‘Oh, yeah? And what are you going to call it? The Brains, the Beauty and the Other One?’ she said with sudden savagery.
Molly flung up a hand in mock surrender. ‘Hey. No sweat. It was just an idea.’
Izzy was taken aback by her own vehemence. She said in a calmer voice, ‘Sorry. It’s just not my scene.’
‘Yeah. I can see that,’ Molly said slowly.
‘Anyway, why would you want to start another story? Isn’t this one going to be big enough? Especially with the party tonight?’
‘Yup. I wanted to talk to you about that. I may have another guest.’
‘Fine.’ Izzy shrugged. ‘I’ll put her on the list. Name?’
Molly rested her chin on her clipboard. ‘Dominic Templeton-Burke,’ she said. And waited for a reaction.
She did not get one. ‘Sounds like another chinless wonder,’ said Izzy, making a note. ‘Hope he’s pretty.’
Molly’s lips twitched. ‘Oh, he is. In fact—’
‘Great. Now, tell me that you were joking about the three-woman line-up and I’ll be a happy bunny.’
Molly hesitated. ‘PR is more than one splash, you know. After the launch we’ll keep on drip-drip-dripping away. We have to place a story here, a photograph there.’
‘But the story doesn’t have to be woman power, does it?’ said Izzy with foreboding.
‘Not if you don’t want, of course.’ Molly di Peretti did not try to hide her disappointment. ‘But that’s the message Pepper keeps pounding out.’ She sighed. ‘In fact, I’d better go circulate among the hacks. Make sure it’s getting through.’
She moved on with a friendly smile.
Izzy watched her go. She could have kicked herself. Not well handled. Maybe I’m losing my touch with a crisis, she told herself, trying to make a joke of it.
Oh, well, back to work. Check with the boss, check with the team, keep the wheels rolling. If she could find any of them in the suddenly active crowd, of course.
But actually it was easy. The crowd was thickest round her cousin, and they were all listening with attention. Some were even scribbling.
Pepper was on a roll. She might freeze with nerves on a stage, but in a small group, on her own subject, she was unstoppable.
‘These are real clothes for real women,’ she was saying earnestly. ‘We’ve got some wonderful designers working for us. No more tarty tat for stick insects or black, black, black. Out of the Attic is going to be a fun place to come. And you take the fun home with you when you buy one of our outfits.’ She twirled the jade and turquoise skirts of her silk coat with manifest delight.
At least one journalist beamed in sympathy. Someone took a photograph.
Izzy bit back a smile. Only this morning in the car coming here, she had said, ‘Don’t put that in the speech. Keep it for the one-to-one chats. It will make a great quote.’
Pepper met her eyes across the group in a conspiratorial grin. ‘Isn’t that right, Izzy?’
‘Take home the fun? Works for me,’ agreed Izzy easily.
The journalists turned. They clocked that she was a member of staff. At once, Izzy saw, they bypassed her face, looking straight at the dress. She would have to get used to that, she thought wryly.
‘One of the new designs?’ someone asked.
Fluently, Izzy gave them name, designer and catalogue number. They wrote that down, too.
‘Let me show you the campaign trunk,’ Izzy said, leading them to one of the clusters of furniture. ‘We really love this. We found the original in a junk shop and had it copied. See those drawers? That’s where we keep accessories. We want the customers to discover them, like secrets.’
The journalists started to pull out the drawers, exclaiming with pleasure at the lavender bags and delicate twisty belts they found there.
‘How am I doing?’ Izzy said out of the corner of her mouth to Pepper.
‘Born saleswoman,’ returned Pepper, with a wink. ‘Keep on working the room. We’re flying!’
She was right. To a woman, the guests loved the idea of a store that invited customers to discover stuff in an attic. Some of them weren’t quite so sure about all the clothes themselves. But absolutely everyone loved Jemima’s golden shirt. And nobody said a word about the absence of champagne.
Izzy circulated conscientiously for an hour.
‘Have you had one of these smoked salmon things?’ Pepper asked, nibbling a canapé. ‘Boy, I needed that.’
Izzy shook her head. ‘Can’t risk it. I’ll mark the dress. Always been a messy feeder. We’ll have pizza later.’
Pepper laughed and let her go. Izzy went to check on her helpers. They had to be ready to clear the room the moment the last guest left. The hotel was on a tight timetable.
‘They’re having too much fun,’ said Geoff, munching on a Bath bun and peering in through the service doors. He offered her a bite.
Izzy shook her head. ‘I’ll get them out,’ she said with confidence.
‘How?’
‘If they want to go to the nightclub reception this evening, they have to pick up a ticket. From the table in the foyer. All I have to do is go in there and murmur in a few ears and there’ll be a stampede.’
He was amused. ‘You’re good at this, aren’t you?’
‘I seem to be,’ Izzy agreed, after a moment. She sounded surprised.
‘That’s not all you’re good at,’ he said, licking the sugar off the top of his bun. ‘That was a real coup de theatre you got going with the lights and the stars and all. You ever want to work in the theatre, you give me a call.’
She was embarrassed. ‘Oh, this was just a one-off. I wasn’t even sure it would work.’
‘It worked,’ he said without emphasis. ‘You’re a natural. You’ve got my number. Call me. Maybe next time I’ll be employing you, rather than the other way round. Oh, well, action stations.’
He finished his bun, gave her a friendly punch in the shoulder and went to round up his team.
Izzy went back to start the whispering campaign. It cleared the room. In ten minutes the only people who had not moved were Jemima and the woman from the PR company. Izzy waved in her team to start the dismantling operation and still they stayed locked in serious conversation. She sighed and went over to them.
‘…off my back,’ Jemima was saying with heat.
‘But you can do it. Today proves that.’ Molly di Peretti sounded impatient.
‘Today was family.’
‘Is that what you want? Are you saying that we have to take your sister onto the pay roll for you to honour your obligations?’
‘My sister wouldn’t look at you,’ flashed Jemima. ‘She’s got a great job.’
‘Then what will it take?’
‘Just get off my back.’ It was a wail.
Molly said crisply, ‘Jemima, no one else will tell you the truth, but I will. You’re walking a tightrope. Go on like this and you’ll fall off. Nobody’s indispensable.’
Hey! thought Izzy. She increased her pace. ‘Sorry to break this up, guys. But we have to be out of here in twenty minutes flat. Can you transfer your chat to the bar?’
She put a protective arm round her sister’s shoulders. They were as rigid as iron.
Jemima looked round. Her face was hard. She did not look as if she needed anyone’s protection.
‘Chat over,’ she said curtly.
Molly di Peretti shrugged. ‘I’ll see you in ten days then. If you make it, of course.’
Jemima’s expression darkened. ‘I’ll make it.’
Molly nodded. ‘I’ll go and round up the spare press packs.’
She went. Jemima glared after her.
‘What was that about?’ asked Izzy, gathering up some silky tops that had got scattered and bundling them into an open chest.
‘Nothing.’ Jemima folded a couple of scarves and slapped them down on top of the nearest cabin trunk. ‘I hate PR,’ she burst out. ‘Of all the pointless things. They make you do stuff you hate. And you’ve got to pretend it’s all terrific fun all the time. It’s worse than gym at bloody school.’
Izzy was startled. ‘Jemima—’ she began in concern.
But one of the boys was coming over with one of the tea trays on wheels that served as removal trolleys and they had to help him load the furniture.
‘We’ll talk about the principles of public relations later,’ Izzy promised.
Jemima gave a laugh that sounded more like a shriek. ‘One day when all this is over,’ she agreed.
But then the car was at the door to take her to the airport and there was no time to talk. ‘I’ll call you,’ she said, giving Izzy a swift, hard hug.
It stayed with her all the rest of the day. It had felt like desperation.
‘I hope she’s all right,’ said Izzy, almost to herself.
‘She’s fine,’ said Pepper, overhearing. ‘She’s the face of Belinda. She’s got a diary full of top jobs. And she’s through adolescent spots. What can go wrong?’
Izzy could not put her finger on it. ‘I—just have a feeling…’
‘Quit worrying,’ said Pepper, not without sympathy. ‘Okay, you’ve known her since she was minus nine months. But she’s all grown-up now, and she knows what she wants. Heck, it’s success that most people only dream about. She’s feeling great.’
Izzy thought of the conversation she had overheard. ‘I’m not sure that’s true.’
‘I am.’
A lifetime of being the heir to a multi-million-dollar retail empire had given Pepper total confidence in her judgement, Izzy thought. Not a shimmer of doubt there.
She said slowly, ‘But this success is very big, very sudden. I’m not sure Jemima really knows how to deal with it.’
‘Then she’ll learn.’ Pepper was impatient. ‘I did. You did. You’re the most together woman I know. You can deal with anything.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘In fact, if anyone did try to attack you in the park, I just bet you’d talk him right out of it. No contest.’ And she went back to work.
Caught unawares, Izzy felt her head go back as if her cousin had hit her. It was the first time in ages, and it took her right back to two years ago and a small border town in the Andes. Shaken, she watched Pepper walk away.
If only you knew, she thought. If only you knew.
CHAPTER TWO
DOMINIC TEMPLETON-BURKE was sitting in the oak-panelled library of the Explorers’ Reading Room when his cellphone gave a discreet cough. It was so discreet it was almost inaudible, in fact. Even so, three assorted explorers looked up and glared.
‘Sorry,’ Dom mouthed.
He went out into the corridor. Tall windows looked down onto a rustic garden, incongruous in the centre of London. He settled himself into a window seat and put the phone to his ear. Below him, late roses were golden in the September sun.
‘Yes, Jay?’
‘My staff tell me you were perfectly bloody.’ Jay Christopher sounded mildly amused.
Dom shifted uncomfortably. Jay was an old friend. ‘Not my scene,’ he said excusingly.
Jay was unsurprised. ‘I warned you. Why don’t you just take the book deal? That would sort out all the funding problems at a shot.’
‘I keep telling you. I’m a doer, not a writer.’
Jay sighed. ‘Okay. Well, Molly has got an idea.’
‘What sort of idea?’ said Dom suspiciously.
‘Oh, some celebrity bash she thinks you should go to. It will get plenty of coverage. Not inspired. But it’s a start. She’ll call you. Do what she says, Dom,’ he ended warningly. ‘She knows what’s she’s doing.’
Molly had obviously been waiting for Jay to finish the softening up process. She rang as soon as he’d put the phone down.
‘Hi, Dom. Party tonight. The Flamingo Pool,’ she said briskly. ‘Wear something tasty.’
Dom blinked. ‘Tasty?’
‘Something that will get you noticed. We need those photographs in the papers tomorrow.’
Dominic could not resist it. ‘You mean like a parka and goggles and no knickers?’
Molly choked on a laugh in spite of herself. ‘You can be a real pain in the ass,’ she informed him. ‘But you’re worth it for the cabaret. Go and rent yourself some designer togs and have a session on the sunbed. We’re talking serious crumpet for the thinking woman, here.’
Dominic’s heart sank. ‘Whose party?’ he said gloomily.
‘Pepper Calhoun. For her new business. Basically the fashion crowd,’ said Molly hardily. ‘I know it’s not your scene, but tough. Where there are frocks there are photographers. Where there are photographers there are celebrities. And where there are celebrities there are columnists. Write yourself two appealing sentences, learn them off by heart, then say them to everyone you meet.’
‘Sounds like a fun evening.’
‘Who said anything about fun? I thought this was your work!’
Dominic laughed and capitulated. ‘You’ve got me there,’ he said ruefully. ‘Okay. Tell me where to go and I’ll do the pretty.’
Molly gave him the club address. ‘Don’t get there before eleven-thirty,’ she said briskly. ‘And polish up your biceps for the cameras. Gotta go. See you tonight.’
Dom went back to the library and submerged himself in the saving sanity of ice drift.
‘Somewhere I lost about three hours today,’ Izzy said, unpacking boxes from the back of the taxi while Molly di Peretti rang the bell in the Flamingo Pool’s ominously dark entrance. ‘We were supposed to go out for pizza. But then it took longer to clear up than I expected.
‘Publicity parties always take longer than you expect,’ said Molly absently. The intercom asked a question and she leant towards it. ‘Hi, Franco, it’s me. We’ve brought the stuff for the Out of the Attic party.’
‘Then Pepper put in an extra meeting,’ said Izzy, struggling with a couple of banners that, even folded, were as big as she was. ‘And Jemima booked me into her hairdresser’s. Somehow lunch just got lost.’
The door swung open by remote control. Molly propped it open with her briefcase and came back to the taxi to help unload. Together she and Izzy carried boxes of balloons, decorations and party favours into the building.
‘Leave them there,’ said Molly with authority. ‘Josh can carry them upstairs and put them up. That’s what new recruits are for. You and I are management.’
‘Huh. Management doesn’t eat, apparently.’
‘Proves we’re serious,’ said Molly hardily. ‘And we’re running the coolest party of the season to prove it.’
Izzy followed her up the stairs and onto the main dance floor. She stopped dead.
‘This is cool?’ she said incredulously.
Izzy liked to dance, and she went to a lot of clubs. She was used to a driving beat and searing spotlights that blinked through the feverish dark. It was vibrant, exciting, dangerous. But the room she had entered was just depressing. In the light of a hundred-watt bulb, the floor was stained, the mirrors smeared and the bar had bits gouged out of it.
‘Are you sure?’
Molly di Peretti chuckled. ‘This is what they all look like when the lights are on. The imagination doesn’t get going until the lights go down. It’s going to be great. A real party to remember. Trust me.’
She was right, too. It was the same basic crowd as the morning. But this evening the women brought their partners. And Culp and Christopher’s list of celebrity guests had all turned up, agog. The clothes were stylish; the music was hot.
Pepper, who did not normally go clubbing, began to look punch drunk by eleven o’clock. Her Steven, steady as a rock, put an arm round her.
‘How long do you have to stay, my love?’
Pepper leaned gratefully into his shoulder but said, ‘It’s my party. I’ll stick it out to the end.’
He looked down at her tenderly. ‘Sure? No one would notice if I carried you off right now. Would they, Izzy?’
Izzy looked away. Steven Konig was not her type, but there was something about the warmth in his eyes when he looked at her cousin that made her almost—well, sad. Grow up, she told herself. You’re the one who keeps passing on the third date. Your choice.
Aloud she said, ‘’Course they wouldn’t. Anyway, you won’t get me out of here till dawn. If you want someone from Out of the Attic to hand out the balloons and turn off the lights, I’ll do it.’
Steven smiled at her gratefully. And it was quite, quite different from the way he looked at Pepper. Just as well, thought Izzy, ignoring the little pain round her heart. She tossed her hair and boogied to the beat. ‘Take her home, Steven. And don’t wait up. This is my element. I was born to dance.’
She flung herself back on the dance floor and set out to prove it.
Izzy did not remember that she was running on her emergency tank. The combined effects of too many late nights and thirty hours without solid food gave her a pleasant sense of flying. There was no deadline, no last-minute hitches to sort out, no speeches to write. Above all, there was no man pressing her to respond to something she knew in her bones was not what she wanted.
She was wearing Out of the Attic’s Christmas party number. Bright red, lots of skirt, most of it slashed to hip height and a boned top that left her shoulders bare and her cleavage spectacular. Jemima’s hairstylist had got rid of her gelled queue, and now feathery red hair tumbled seductively about her bare shoulders. Izzy threw out her arms and let the music take her.
Or so it seemed to Dominic Templeton-Burke, walking in alone at midnight.
He stopped dead. ‘Who—is—that?’ he said with deep appreciation.
Molly di Peretti had been called to sign him in. She looked at the wild thing in scarlet on the dance floor and grinned. ‘That’s management. Or a woman with hidden depths, depending on your point of view.’
Dominic took an enthusiastic step forward.
‘My point of view is altogether too far away from the hottest babe in the place. Lead me to her.’
Molly barred his path. ‘Hey. Let’s not forget what we’re doing here. This is supposed to be work.’
Dom did not take his eyes off the supple whip-fast dancer. His lips twitched. ‘I’ll give it my best shot,’ he assured Molly. He swung past her with a neat evasive movement.
She blocked him even more neatly. ‘Focus, Dominic. Focus! The point of tonight is to get you off the science pages and into the gossip columns.’
The dancer raised her arms above her head. Her head fell back, eyes shut, lips parted. She was utterly surrendered to the music. Dom drew a soundless breath.
‘Done,’ he said, putting Molly out of his way with one decisive movement.
But she was a tryer. She hung onto his arm. ‘The woman you’ve got your greedy eye on has absolutely no publicity profile at all. There’s no point in you dancing with her.’
Dom smiled.
‘Well, no professional point,’ Molly amended. She snorted. ‘Look, there’s only one place dancing like that will get you, and it isn’t into tomorrow’s newspapers. You do realise that?’
Dom’s smile widened wickedly. But his eyes did not waver. He was not looking at Molly. ‘I’m counting on it.’
Molly let him go and flung up her hands. ‘Okay. Waste your best chance. See if I care.’
But she could see that it did not matter what she said. He was already moving purposefully into the dancing crowd. She did not think he’d even heard her.
‘Grrrr,’ she said. Then shrugged. She’d just have to tell Abby that she had done her best and Dom wouldn’t cooperate. Somehow she did not think Abby would be surprised.
Dom had never seen anyone so completely absorbed. He homed in on the wild haired dancer with the unstoppable force of an arrow, brushing other people aside like falling leaves. They fell back, amused, seeing where he was headed. Not much doubt about his object; everyone could see that. Dancers parted obligingly, as he shouldered his way through the crowd.
In the end it seemed that there was only one person who did not know where he was headed. Eyes tight shut, his lady in red was in her own world, letting her hips do the talking.
Eloquently, thought Dominic. His breath quickened.
She was like a fantasy creature. Concentrated. Intense. Passionate.
In the flickering light, droplets seemed to gleam on the skin between her breasts. Condensation from the air conditioning? Some sparkly cosmetic? Sweat? Whatever it was, she was oblivious. Dom wanted to lick it off and find out.
The heat of desire hit him in the throat. For a moment he could hardly breathe. And still she didn’t notice.
He reached her. He put a hand on her swaying hip. It was very gentle, but—and with a shock Dom realised it—it said, Mine.
The woman’s eyes flew open as if he had bounced her out of a deep sleep. Her hips did not stop moving to the beat but for a second her feet tangled themselves up. She faltered, almost losing the rhythm.
Before she could stagger Dom put his other round her waist and braced her, his open palm along her spine. Her back was naked.
Her eyes widened but the music had her in thrall. She did not stop moving. He matched his hip movements to hers.
‘You are amazing,’ he said. Well, he mouthed it at her. Not much hope of her hearing him over the thunderous guitars. ‘I want some.’
Some? All! But he could take that up later.
She shook her head. But he could not tell if that was a rejection or she just couldn’t hear him.
He hesitated. Then thought, She’s not dancing as if she’s rejecting me.
Dom moved in closer. And closer. Their hips touched.
The woman did not pull away. Oh, she swayed back, of course. But when the music told her to she swayed forward, too. Her breasts brushed across his chest—deliberately? Or was it by chance? No more than an accidental touch, caused by her abandonment to the music? Did she even see him?
Dom groaned, unheard. And then realised their eyes were locked. Something told him she was seeing the moment of intense sensation in his face. Something made her eyes gleam anyway. Amusement? Sheer female triumph? Lust?
He felt sweat break out along the back of his neck. If it isn’t lust, I’m in deep trouble.
The track finished. For a moment she seemed to hang suspended, not unmoving exactly, but like a butterfly, beating the air with its wings while it hesitates between one direction and the next. He put a hand on her hip. No doubt about this one. Totally deliberate.
She looked startled.
And then, with a crash, the air was full of a salsa beat, fast and sexy. She plunged into a spiky routine and Dom did something he had never done before. He pulled her into his arms almost roughly, slid his thigh between hers, and took control.
She seemed to shimmer in his hands. Not with resistance, but as if for a moment she did not know what was happening. Then, in a second, he felt her total surrender.
Yes!
Her body moulded itself against him, as if they had danced like this a thousand times before. And they went into a routine that he had not even realised he knew.
It was like a cycle of the universe. Urgent, fast, yet still somehow unhurried. Tense, exciting, but underneath they both knew they were on a straight road and journey’s end was inevitable.
It was like making love.
The music changed. Dom bent his tall head, brushed her soft hair away and put his lips to her ear.
‘Time we were somewhere else.’
He felt her hesitate for the tiniest moment. He could not bear it. His hands tightened in spite of himself.
‘Please,’ he said in a ragged voice. He could not ever remember saying please like that before. It shocked him for a moment.
But then she shook back her head and gave him the most wonderful smile, and he forgot everything except that they had to be alone. Now.
‘Get your coat,’ he said curtly.