Into Temptation (Spoils of Time 03) (43 page)

The phone rang; she jumped. It had to be Geordie, it had to. No one else knew she was here . . .

‘Darling? It’s Venetia. Just checking you’re—’

‘I’m fine,’ she said firmly. ‘Absolutely. Probably having a drink with Geordie later.’

‘Good. Give him my love. Speak to you tomorrow. ’Bye, darling, better go—’

‘Of course. Thanks.’

Another drink? Better not. She wasn’t hungry. What was she going to do this evening, if Geordie didn’t phone? It was going to be quite – long.

But he would. He was sure to.

She pulled out her cigarette case, one of the Cartier pair Sebastian had given her and Venetia for their eighteenth birthdays so long ago. When her parents had given them the dear little red car that even now was in Boy’s garage, driven by the occasional young person. She had been pretty lonely that night: watching Venetia dancing with Boy, recognising that here was something important, something that was going to come between them. She – oh damn. Maybe she had better have a meal in the dining room. That would be all right. Or – room service. She had a good book. Except she just wasn’t hungry. Or tired any more. Maybe – maybe she should ring Barty; it was silly not to. Better than spending the evening alone. If – if Geordie hadn’t phoned in another half hour, that’s what she would do. Definitely. Meanwhile, maybe another slow drink . . .

‘Shall we go out for dinner?’ said Izzie. She had woken, feeling very remorseful, shocked at her lack of willpower and moral courage. She looked at Geordie; he was half lying on a great pile of pillows beside her, reading intently; he felt her gaze and turned to smile at her, his grey eyes very tender.

‘Good sleep? I thought you’d never wake up.’

‘Yes, very.’ She stretched. ‘What are you reading?’

‘
A Certain Smile
. By that French girl. Françoise Sagan. It’s marvellous. Have you read it?’

She shook her head. ‘Not yet. I’ve been drowning in
Peyton Place
. It’s like eating boxes and boxes of chocolates, it’s so self-indulgent.’

‘You should try the Sagan. I’ll leave you my copy.’ He put it down, leaned over her and kissed her.

‘You’re so lovely.’

‘Geordie—’

‘Now what was that you were saying about dinner? I’m starving.’

‘I wondered if we should go out.’

‘Good idea. But not yet. Much too early. It’s only – let’s see – six-thirty. Too hot, too. Why don’t we stay here, have a drink, some of that very nice champagne you still haven’t drunk and then go out about eight. Would you like to go uptown? I mean we could go somewhere really ritzy, if you like, the King Cole Room at the St Regis, that’s pretty nice—’

‘No,’ said Izzie, ‘no, I hate those sorts of places. Let’s eat locally.’

‘Fine by me. God it’s hot. Could I take a quick dip in that very grand bath of yours?’

‘Of course. I might even come and join you.’

This was not the sort of thing she should be doing, Izzie thought, as she settled into the bath with Geordie, her legs intertwined with his, laughing as he put great dollops of soap on her nose, her breasts, her belly, leaning forward to kiss him, wondering if they could go back to bed again. God, how could you want someone so much, so terribly much? Thank goodness he couldn’t read her thoughts.

‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ he said suddenly.

‘No. I mean, I don’t know what you’re thinking.’

‘Yes you do. Lady Isabella, how very voracious you are. Shall we leave this water to get cold and return to it later?’

Not the last time then, that afternoon, she thought afterwards, lying in his arms, exhausted now, desire most profligately spent, what was she thinking of, what was she doing?

‘Barty? No, no, it isn’t, is it, I’m sorry—’

‘Miss Miller not here. This is Maria. Her housekeeper. Can I help you?’

‘Oh, Maria, hallo. You probably won’t remember me. This is Adele MacColl, I stayed with Barty a few years ago. Anyway – is – is she around?’

‘Gone to Hamptons. To join Mr Patterson and the young ladies.’

Disappointment cut into Adele; another avenue of companionship cut off. ‘How – how long is she there for?’

‘I dunno. She say she not going at all this weekend, then suddenly, Friday afternoon, she pack and just leave.’

‘On her own? She didn’t take any friends? Like – well, like my husband, Mr MacColl?’

‘She not take nobody, I don’t think.’

‘Right. Well – well is Miss Brooke there?’

‘Miss Brooke, she don’t stay here no more.’

‘Oh really? Where has she gone?’

‘To her own place. Down in the village.’

‘Oh. Oh I see.’ She remembered now, Noni talking about Izzie moving. Well – Izzie would be a good person to spend the evening with. If she was free. Even if she wasn’t, she was pretty sure to invite her along. They had always had that sort of relationship.

‘Do you have her phone number there, Maria, please?’

‘I will see. Just wait, please.’

Adele sat tapping her fingers on the bedside table, telling herself that it didn’t really matter if Izzie wasn’t there, she could see her tomorrow, she could just go to bed early, take an extra pill maybe, and sleep; it would seem less daunting tomorrow, being all alone in this great city.

‘Yes. Here is. You want address as well?’

‘Oh – yes, please, Maria. Thank you. Thank you very much.’

Izzie and Geordie were back in the bath when the phone rang.

‘Bloody thing,’ said Geordie, ‘expecting anyone?’

‘No.’

‘We’ll let it ring.’ It rang and rang. And then stopped.

‘Great. Now then, shall I wash your back – shit. There’s the phone again. Someone’s keen to get hold of you. I’d better go – ’

He got out of the bath, slipped slightly on the tiled floor, stubbed his toe on the lavatory pan.

‘Ow! God that hurt. Shit, don’t laugh Izzie, it’s not funny. Now the bloody thing’s stopped again. Can I take it off the hook? We don’t want to talk to anyone, do we?’

‘Don’t think so.’

‘Right, then.’

He came back, smiling with satisfaction.

‘Whoever it was will have to manage without us. Now where was I? Moving down to your very charming backside, I think . . .’

So she was out as well. Oh God . . .

Adele’s fragile spirits were in free fall; she felt lonely, unloved, almost frightened. What on earth had made her do this, come all this way on her own, to a city where she knew no one, or almost no one, when she could have been at home with Clio, reading her a bedtime story, cuddled up on the sofa? Adele felt tears rising in her eyes, felt the treacherous despair reaching into her. Nobody cared about her, nobody loved her.

She took a large sip of her Martini; it was very strong. It seemed to restore her. Come on, Adele, this won’t do, you’re here, you have to cope with it.

She would try once more, then just order a sandwich and go to bed, with an extra sleeping pill. She’d be fine; she’d feel better in the morning.

She tried the phone again; it was engaged. So Izzie was there; how wonderful . . .

‘Darling I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t we eat here? I’ll cook. I can, you know, I’ve had to learn.’

‘I don’t believe you. Cook what?’

‘I do a real mean chilli con carne. How would that be?’

‘Sounds great.’

‘I shall go shopping right now. We can sit under your new lamp and gaze at one another while our mouths burn. All right?’

‘Very all right.’

She might as well enjoy it; she couldn’t do it today; not now. Not when they’d made love twice, and he’d given her this wonderful present. She’d wait till tomorrow.

Still engaged; she’d tried three times now. Izzie must be having a marathon conversation. It would be so nice to see her, to see her apartment, as well. Maybe – no, she had never liked the idea of dropping in on people. Hotels were different, but houses – her mother had always said it was extremely inconsiderate: although she could remember a great many occasions when Celia had just arrived on her doorstep, demanding hospitality. Well, that was fairly par for her mother’s course, don’t do as I do, do as I say. Anyway – Adele took a deep mental breath. She would go. Why not? She’d go down there, in a cab. She could ask the concierge how far it was, but she was pretty sure it wouldn’t take long. And Izzie had been out for ages, and now she was on the phone, Adele had a pretty good chance of catching her. It was worth a try. At worst, it would use up an hour or so. Making it nearer a respectable time for her to go to bed.

‘Right. I’m off. You got any wine?’

‘No. All drunk. Except your champagne.’

‘That won’t go with chilli. I’ll get some, and some beer. ’Bye darling.’

‘’Bye Geordie.’

Twenty minutes, the concierge had said. That was fine. She asked him to get her a cab.

This would be fun. She could stop on the way, get Izzie some flowers. She’d be so surprised, so pleased to see her.

‘Here you are, lady. Number Five.’

‘Thank you.’

The light was on in the ground floor: what the Americans called the first floor. Maria had said it was the first floor. So Izzie was there. How lovely.

She paid the cab off, gathered together her bag, the flowers she had bought Izzie, her evening wrap, and rang the doorbell.

Geordie had been very quick. She’d expected him to be at least three-quarters of an hour. Maybe he’d forgotten his wallet or something. And he must have forgotten she’d given him her key – he really was not himself. Any more than she was . . .

Izzie went to the door smiling, opened it.

‘Now what have you – oh my God. My God, Adele!’

She really, really thought she was going to be sick. She also felt she might fall over; the ground was heaving in a rather alarming way. She took a deep breath, put out her hand to steady herself on the door frame.

‘Adele,’ she said again. Her voice sounded odd even to her.

‘Hallo Izzie. I’m sorry, I’ve obviously given you a fearful shock. I just suddenly thought of it. Here – these are for you.’

‘Thank you.’

Izzie took the flowers carefully, as if they were made of fine china.

‘Thank you very much, Adele.’

‘The least I can do.’ She smiled at Izzie, her most brilliant sparkly smile. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me in?’

‘Of – of course. But I was just – just—’

Izzie was behaving rather oddly. She seemed far more shocked than Adele would have expected. And she was very pale.

‘Izzie, are you all right?’

She appeared to pull herself together; she smiled a rather strained smile, and said, ‘Of course. Just a bit of a shock, seeing you. I mean, I thought you were four thousand miles away, or whatever London is.’

‘Three I think. Maybe four. You know how badly educated I am. Geordie would know. Have you seen him, by the way?’

‘Oh – yes. Yes, once or twice. Adele, do please come in. I’m sorry, I – let me take your things.’

Izzie was feeling a bit better now; a bit steadier. But – what was she going to do? What in the name of God could she do? Make an excuse, rush out, try to head Geordie off?

Adele was looking very beautiful, of course. Very thin, but – beautiful. Perfectly groomed, as always, in a spotless white linen dress, her make-up flawless, her long nails perfectly manicured. Izzie cast a mental glance at herself, dressed in her jeans and a big T-shirt from the army surplus store, her hair still damp from the bath, curling wildly round her face. How could Geordie possibly—

‘Izzie, this is a divine apartment.’ Adele was walking round it, peering at things. ‘Really divine. So – so you, isn’t it? What a perfectly gorgeous lamp, can I switch it on, so I can see the colours?’

‘It hasn’t got a plug,’ said Izzie quickly, ‘it’s – it’s new.’

‘New! Goodness, Izzie, you must be doing well. Or was it a present from someone? I love that chair, it’s so pretty. And – goodness.’

For the first time her voice was odd. She looked at Izzie intently.

‘How did you get that picture of Noni, on the fireplace? I sent that to Geordie—’

‘Yes, well – well, I told you I’d seen him. He showed it to me and I put it in my bag by mistake. The colours are so lovely, they seem to suit the room, do you mind?’

She was talking much too much, rambling, even; she felt a flush rising on her face.

‘Of course I don’t mind,’ said Adele. ‘But – when did you see Geordie? Not today, I’ve been trying to get hold of him, he’s not at the hotel.’

‘Really?’

‘No. I’ve been ringing him ever since I arrived.’

‘Adele, it’s wonderful you’re here but I don’t – oh, sorry, would you like a drink?’

Suddenly a drink was what she wanted more than anything on earth. ‘I don’t know. I’ve had two Martinis and I’m not supposed to drink at the moment. I’m taking some pills.’

‘What sort of pills?’ As if she cared.

‘Oh – I’ve been a bit down. Anyway, yes, a little one. What have you got?’

‘Only—’ Only champagne. The champagne Geordie had brought; the very expensive champagne Geordie had brought. Suppose it was his favourite brand, suppose Adele recognised it . . .

‘Would you mind champagne?’ she said feebly.

‘Not a bit. How lovely. Just a tiny glass, though.’

Izzie went into the kitchen, took the champagne out of the fridge, and cast a desperate glance round the sitting room for clues to Geordie’s presence. A sweater, a handkerchief even. Thank God, just thank God it wasn’t the winter, there would have been a trail of things, scarves, gloves—

‘Here.’ She handed Adele a glass; she had carefully left the bottle in the kitchen.

‘Thank you, darling. Now I want to know everything, what you’ve been doing, about your fabulous job, about Barty, about Charlie—’

‘Yes, of course. But, Adele, you haven’t told me, you haven’t explained why you’re here . . .’

‘It was just a whim. You know how I like acting on whims. I’ve started working on
Record
again and they said they’d like to see me, and I thought, well, Geordie’s there, and you’re there and Barty’s there and why not? I’ve been a bit fed up in London. I thought I’d give you all a surprise. Specially Geordie. I do miss him, Izzie. I know we’ve had our problems and everything, but I still love him so much. And miss him so much.’