Into Temptation (Spoils of Time 03) (15 page)

She put the phone down and smiled at it. They weren’t going to like this one bit.

She suddenly realised she felt about twenty years younger.

CHAPTER 8

Izzie put the phone down, and tried to pretend she didn’t care. Didn’t care that the rather charming, good-looking young writer she had met at a publishing party the previous week had just telephoned to cancel a supper date. With what had seemed like a very slim excuse.

It happened to her rather a lot; she was slowly facing up to the fact that she just didn’t seem to be very attractive to men. Elspeth and Amy Warwick had always had dozens of boyfriends; Amy had been engaged twice already and Elspeth was now so happily and implacably in love with her Scot that all other men hardly seemed to exist. While he was away in Glasgow, Elspeth behaved like a married woman. Probably she’d be announcing her engagement next, Izzie thought gloomily. And most of Izzie’s friends seemed to have steady boyfriends, and a social life that was a lot more hectic than her own.

She supposed she just wasn’t – sexy. She had never mastered the art of flirting; whenever she tried she felt embarrassed and could see perfectly clearly that it didn’t work, didn’t suit her, any more than rather obviously sexy clothes did. She knew she was pretty, and everyone was very fond of her – indeed, if she heard Kit or Sebastian telling her once more that everyone loved her, she thought she would scream. She didn’t want everyone to love her. She wanted just one person to be passionately in love with her, wanted them to be trying to get her into bed, wanted to be sent flowers and given jewellery and be taken to nightclubs and – well, just to have a really good time. Instead of which she was twenty-five years old, still a virgin and spent a great many evenings at home with her father.

She wondered if her mother had been sexy; she suspected not. Now that she was really grown up, she could see it was true what people like Barty and the twins were always telling her, that she was like her in every way. She could see her father, on the other hand, must have been very sexy in his youth; so astonishingly handsome and romantic-looking – like a film star, a blond Rudolph Valentino, as Celia had once told her when she had had rather too much to drink. Izzie had discouraged that particular conversation, she found it embarrassing and upsetting, but she had looked out some old pictures of Valentino and could see what Celia had meant. And he had clearly had a pretty wild youth, marrying so young, and then – well, anyway. She was clearly not in the least like him.

She sighed; what could she do about it? She knew she was too serious to attract young men; she tended to like older ones – again, rather like her mother she supposed. Her father had been twenty years older than her when they married – and older men also liked Izzie, but most of the ones she knew or met were married. She was a deeply moral person, and knew she could never, ever have an affair with a married man. She had seen firsthand what terrible unhappiness that caused.

She sighed, sat staring out of the window at the rather bleak October garden; now she not only had to spend Saturday evening alone, but tell her father that she wasn’t going out after all. He would be sweet and clumsily sympathetic and consoling and suggest they got Kit round and there she would sit, having supper with them, with a label saying ‘wallflower’ hung almost visibly round her neck.

The phone rang again; she jumped, picked it up hopefully. Maybe the young man had been speaking the truth, maybe his father really hadn’t been very well but he was better now, maybe—

‘Izzie ? It’s Henry. What are you doing tonight?’

‘I – don’t know,’ she said carefully. ‘Supposed to be going out with some boring man but – well, why do you ask?’

‘I’m having a few friends round. To my flat. Want to come?’

If she hadn’t been feeling so rejected, so very undesirable, common sense would have told her to say no. But – well at least Henry liked her. Always had. Even if he was engaged to Clarissa Carr-Johnson, he kept telling her it was only because Izzie had turned him down. Of course he didn’t mean it, but—

‘Well – ’

‘Oh go on, Izzie. Bring the boring man if you like.’

‘No. He’s too boring. You’d have hated him anyway. Look – I’ll get back to you. I might just cancel him. It was only – only a drink. Are the others going to be there?’

‘The girls are. Noni’s probably coming. Roo’s out of town, at some house party. Look. You don’t have to say now. Just come if you want to.’

‘Yes, Henry, all right. I might. Thank you.’

She arrived at Henry’s flat at eight, a bottle of Spanish Rioja tucked under her arm. It was the new thing to do, arrive with a bottle. Henry looked at it, and screwed up his face. ‘Phew, Izzie. Bit rough. I’ll have to give you a crash course in wine. Never mind, sweet of you. I’ll bring it out later when everyone’s well and truly plastered.’

‘Thanks, Henry,’ she said tartly. ‘You’re such a charmer.’

‘Oh – sorry. Didn’t mean to be rude. Now come on in, lots of people here you know, here’s Bobby Cousins, you remember him, he works with me, and Freddy Whittaker, we were at school together. Freddy, this is Izzie Brooke, honorary cousin of ours, she’s in your line of business, writes wonderful advertisements for books. Freddy works for – what is it, Freddy?’

‘J. Walter Thompson,’ he said, ‘on the account side. Greatly admire you creative people of course, but I’m just not safe with a pencil.’

He went into a braying laugh; Izzie tried to join in.

‘Honorary cousin, eh?’ he said, looking at her. ‘How’s that, then?’

‘Oh – just the daughter of a – a close family friend,’ she said quickly. She often wondered what people would say if she started telling them the rest of the story. Of how very close the family friend had been, how extremely close she herself had come to the family; the thought did sometimes tantalise her, especially when she could see she was boring her audience. As she clearly was now. She could see Freddy was already dying to get away from her and back to a girl he had been chatting up; Izzie made an excuse, went across to the drinks table, and poured herself a glass of wine.

‘Izzie, hallo. How lovely you could come. You look great.’

Amy’s tone was enthusiastic rather than convincing; she looked wonderful in a low-cut black top and very full skirt, her hair was done in the new curly Elizabeth Taylor style, her eye make-up heavy, her mouth full and bright red. She looked far older and more sophisticated than Izzie. Izzie always wore very little make-up, and was dressed in a simple red sheath dress; it had seemed rather splendid in Woollands’ changing room, here it had suddenly assumed an almost homely air, too long and too bodyskimming. Amy, like most of the other girls, was all bosom and hips. Izzie felt suddenly like a maiden aunt.

‘Thanks, Amy. How’s college?’

‘Oh – fine. Terribly hard work. And I’m the most hopeless typist ever. Ten thumbs, I’ve got.’

Amy sighed. She was at Queens secretarial college, after a year at finishing school in Paris and a year doing the season, having decided against university; she was by her own confession lazy, and wanted simply to have a good time. She had had a triumphant season as a debutante, and her grandmother had insisted on giving her a ball at Cheyne Walk; now, as she kept saying, everything was on hold until she got engaged. Barty had told Izzie that Amy was so like her mother at the same age it was quite spooky.

‘Silly, funny, so attractive, absolutely determined not to do anything more difficult than catching a husband.’

Which seemed to be quite difficult actually, Izzie thought; and here she was, five years older than Amy, and not even a boyfriend in sight.

She smiled at her. ‘I’m sure you’ll get better at typing.’

‘I hope so. I want to go and work in a bank or something. Lots of lovely men.’

‘Is Noni here?’ said Izzie, looking hopefully round the room.

‘No, she isn’t. Spending the evening with her mama. Says she’s trying to cheer her up, she’s missing Lucas terribly. I wouldn’t miss him, little beast. Apparently she – Adele, I mean – and Geordie are having endless rows about him, there were the most frightful scenes when Lucas had to go back this term, Geordie threatening to thrash him, it’s absolutely horrible there. Good for Geordie I say, putting his foot down finally. Oh, there’s Porky Cavanagh, ’scuse me, Izzie darling, he promised to get me an invitation to Sandringham after Christmas. Or do you want to come and meet him? I know he’d love you.’

Porky Cavanagh was predictably plump and pink-faced; Izzie shook her head.

‘No, honestly Amy. Is Elspeth here?’

‘She’s over there. You should marry Henry, Izzie, you’d be so good for him. And he’s still in love with you, he’s always saying so. And the whole family would love it.’

‘That’s not quite the point though, is it?’ said Izzie.

She moved over to talk to Elspeth who hugged her.

‘Izzie, I’m so glad you’re here. Between you and me I’m not mad about Henry’s friends. How are you?’

‘Oh – fine. Yes. Thank you. How’s Keir?’

‘Oh – all right; I haven’t seen much of him for a few weeks. He’s living up there in Glasgow, trying to get a job, coming down for interviews and then haring back again.’ She sighed. ‘I’m afraid it’s not going terribly well.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘So am I. It’s not helping our relationship, I can tell you. It’s so unfair, he’s so clever. But – oh well. I’m sure in time it’ll be all right.’

‘I’m sure too. How’s Lyttons?’

‘Oh Izzie, I love it. That doesn’t help with Keir either, of course. That I’ve got the very thing he hasn’t. Of course I’m doing the most basic things, reading manuscripts, copy-typing, sending out rejection slips – so many of them – running errands, but it’s just so exciting to be there.’

‘It certainly must be at the moment,’ said Izzie.

‘You mean with Granny back in charge? It’s priceless, Izzie, they all pretend she’s just dropped in, and of course she comes in more and more, day after day, calling meetings, sending memos, it’s driving them all mad. Just when they thought they’d got rid of her.’

‘Well it was silly of them to think so,’ said Izzie.

‘I suppose so. Anyway, it is quite edgy altogether at the moment, they’re very aware they need to find some brilliant new writers, they’ve lost quite a few, you know, and of course they don’t grow on trees—’

‘I don’t suppose they do.’

‘What does Sebastian have to say about it?’

‘Not a lot. It’s not something we – well, we’ve discussed very much. And of course Jay is his editor now, as much as anyone is, he’s getting awfully grand in his old age, won’t have anything changed at all. As you probably know.’

‘No, not really,’ Elspeth sounded awkward; there was a silence, then, ‘I must go, I promised Mummy I’d have supper with her, Daddy’s away. Izzie, darling, see you very soon. Maybe we could have lunch one day. Now go and talk to Henry, he’s looking frightfully down in the mouth. I do wish you’d marry him, we’d all like it so much.’

‘Not you too,’ said Izzie laughing. ‘Don’t be silly, he’s engaged to Clarissa.’

‘I know, but she’s such a pain. I wonder where she is anyway, she was supposed to be here hours ago.’

An hour later, Izzie was dancing with Henry; ‘Secret Love’ was on the gramophone and he held her closer than she would have liked, but he was, on the other hand, clearly distracted, talking little and keeping one eye, notionally at least, on the door. Clarissa had not arrived, had not even telephoned; even Amy thought it was odd and said so.

‘On the other hand, she’s so full of herself,’ she added to Izzie, ‘and thoughtless too, I suppose it’s not so surprising. I do hope Henry doesn’t marry her, she’d lead him a terrible life.’

‘Dear Izzie,’ said Henry, as the record ended. ‘I’m so pleased you came. Enjoying yourself?’

‘Oh – very much,’ said Izzie carefully. It wasn’t true; apart from Henry and the girls no one had bothered to talk to her and she had spent quite a lot of the evening standing alone by the gramophone, changing records. Still, at least she wasn’t at home in Primrose Hill . . .

‘Henry! Telephone. It’s Clarissa.’

‘Ah. Please excuse me, Izzie.’

‘Of course.’ Half an hour later he hadn’t reappeared; Amy, wide-eyed with distress came back from searching for him.

‘He’s really upset, Izzie. Almost in tears. I don’t know what’s wrong but – well – maybe he’ll talk to you. He’s in his bedroom. Would you – that is . . .’

‘Oh I’m sure he’d rather be alone,’ said Izzie quickly.

‘I’m sure he wouldn’t. Go on, Izzie, be a brick.’

Not sure if she liked the role of brick, Izzie went rather reluctantly along the corridor to Henry’s bedroom and knocked on the door.

‘Who is it?’ His voice sounded thick, odd.

‘It’s Izzie.’

‘Oh – Izzie. Just a minute.’

He appeared at the door, looking strained, pushing a hanky into his pocket, his eyes suspiciously bright. He was holding a bottle of wine in one hand, a glass in the other; he smiled rather feebly at her.

‘Mind coming in here for a bit? I don’t feel quite like going back to the party.’

‘Of course. Henry, what is it, what’s the matter?’

‘Oh – ’ he sighed, a heavy, rather shaky sigh ‘ – it’s Clarissa. Should have seen it coming of course – but it’s always a shock. She’s just – well, she’s just told me she’s not sure about – about our getting married.’

‘What, just like that?’

‘Yup. Just like that. Says she’s afraid we’re not really compatible after all. Wants some time to think about it. Oh shit.’ His voice shook slightly; he smiled weakly at her. ‘Sorry Izzie.’

‘Henry, I’m so sorry. How beastly. And just on the phone too, she could at least have come to see you.’

‘Well – she said she had wanted to, that it wasn’t her fault I’d asked so many people round.’

‘I see. And – is that all she said?’

‘More or less.’

‘Well – ’ she struggled to find something comforting to say ‘ – maybe she’s just being cautious. That’s not such a bad thing, is it? To want to be sure?’

‘No, I suppose not.’ He sighed. ‘I’d say it was more likely she’s met someone else, that’s usually what happens, isn’t it?’

‘I – don’t know,’ said Izzie quietly. She put her hand on his arm.