The Accidental Mistress. Sophie Weston
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Izzy liked him, too. She just wasn’t sure she wanted him to move in any closer. And the third date was—well, big.
Bigger even than she’d realised, thought Izzy wryly now. She and Jemima called it the Sex Date. They always had; it was a sister thing. So Izzy was taken aback to find that everyone else seemed to be calling it the Sex Date, too. Including Adam Sadler.
He was getting increasingly impatient, too. To be honest, Izzy couldn’t blame him. The trouble was, it wasn’t just London that was getting her down. Adam—and the five guys before him—were a big part of it, too. She enjoyed dating; she liked having a good time. But she didn’t want to go through the third date barrier with any of them. Not any more.
She took herself to task. Well, maybe make that not with anyone yet. Things could change. Meanwhile—
Izzy shook her head. ‘Hard-Hearted Hannah,’ she said with a grin. ‘They’ll just have to live with it.’
She began to jog quietly along the grass beside the Tarmac path. It was only just six-thirty, but already the sky was hazy with the promise of heat. It would be a perfect day for walking in the woods. Or canoeing. Or just lazing by the river under the shade of a willow, watching the insects hover and thinking of nothing. Alone.
‘Not an option,’ she said aloud, squashing regret.
Today was her cousin Pepper’s big day. Today saw the opening of Out of the Attic, Pepper’s new retail concept. Pepper had put her heart and soul into this, her breakout venture on her own, and Izzy had worked with her on it for months. This was a day of presentations and schmoozing and parties. No time for willows.
Izzy sighed—but she laughed as well.
The trouble was, she thought, Pepper really cared about shopping. Whereas Izzy didn’t, not if she were honest. Still, that didn’t matter. Pepper had given her a job when she’d been so badly shaken she’d thought that she was unemployable and always would be.
Not that Pepper knew that. Nobody did. Izzy had taken good care of that. Izzy fought her demons in private. Always had.
She increased her pace.
The low morning sun struck rainbows off of the dew-wet leaves. Birds sang. A heron cruised idly over the mill-pond surface of the lake. It was not really hunting, just checking out the scene, she thought with a grin.
The exercise was beginning to take effect. Izzy’s blood pumped and her skin tingled. Oh, this felt good. This would make up for the hours to come. Hours of monitoring what she said to make sure she stayed on message; of circulating in air thick with warring perfumes; of feeling that she was drowning in people.
When she’d first moved to London she’d run in the park every day. Always early, very early, when it was virtually deserted.
‘But isn’t that terribly dangerous?’ New Yorker Pepper had said, blenching, the first time she met Izzy in the hallway in her shorts and running shoes.
Izzy laughed. ‘I run fast and I kick hard.’
‘She does,’ agreed Jemima with a grin. Jemima had been there all the time then. Hadn’t got her big job; wasn’t travelling twenty-four days a month; still listened.
But Pepper was unconvinced. ‘But what if a man came at you with a gun?’
Inwardly Izzy tensed. But outwardly she stayed unconcerned. She shrugged. ‘Run if you can. If you can’t—negotiate!’
Jemima, still in silky kimono with a coffee in her hand, shook her head at her cousin.
‘That’s what she always says, Pepper. Izzy has been all round the world you know. Every time she comes back without a scratch. So she must be right.’
Pepper was unconvinced. ‘But the risk!’
Izzy was unlacing her shoes, but at that she turned her head and said with quite unnecessary force, ‘Life is all about risks.’ She eased the shoes off, sat on the polished parquet and looked up at the other two. ‘Run away from one and you just rush slap into another. So you can either sit in a locked room and shiver. Or take the risks. And learn to deal with the consequences.’ Her voice was hard.
Pepper, who was in the middle of the biggest risk of her life, blinked. Then she laughed and flung up her hands. ‘When you put it like that, I can’t argue.’
So today Izzy ran in the empty park; revelled in the physical stretching of her capacities; savoured the diamond-bright dew and the lazy heron—and stayed on the alert.
Pepper did not need to warn her about the dangers of men with guns. Izzy had first-hand experience to draw on. Though that, too, was part of her secret. Nobody knew it. Not even Jemima.
Maybe one day I’ll tell them, she thought. Pepper and Jemima—even Adam.
But the thought of handsome Adam Sadler made her shake her head. No, it was impossible to tell him. Adam was a banker. He thought the most dangerous thing that could happen was the US economy going into recession. Whereas Izzy knew that danger came at you in combat gear with crazy eyes and—
She swallowed. It all seemed so far away from London and her busy life these days. Sometimes it even felt as if it had happened to someone else—a story she’d read in one of the Sunday magazines. Or as if she had split into two people on that bus on the jungle track. One Izzy had come home and flung herself into the family enterprise and was doing just fine.
Only the other Izzy was still lost. And Adam Sadler, with his Lotus and his Rolex and his membership of a ferociously expensive City gym, was not the man to help her find herself. Even if she wanted him to.
Well, she’d better stay lost today, thought Izzy, revving up for the final push. Today there were more important things to think about. Today was going to take a lot of handling. Today was serious.
And there were definitely problems on the horizon. Last night Pepper had been showing signs of climbing the walls. And Jemima was jet-lagged out of her brains. But somehow or other they had to pull it all together for the launch. Because today was crunch time.
Izzy flung back her head, the loose red hair flying. ‘And the crunch is what I do,’ she said firmly. ‘Crisis a speciality. The others can freak all they want. I’ll bring home the bacon.’
And she lengthened her stride, put her head down, and went through the pain barrier.
When she got back to the apartment Pepper was sitting huddled over the kitchen table surrounded by three cups of barely touched coffee and clutching a sheet of paper covered with sticky notes. She looked up when Izzy came in. But she did not really see her, thought Izzy. Her cousin’s eyes were wild.
‘“A whole new experience”,’ she was muttering. “‘A whole new experience”. Hello, Izzy. “A whole new shopping experience”.’
‘Stop it,’ said Izzy, taking the sheet of paper away from her. ‘We went through all this last night.’
Until two in the morning, actually. The woman could hardly have slept at all.
Pepper’s smile was perfunctory. ‘But I had this idea in bed…’
‘Sleep would have been better,’ said Izzy. She took the coffee cups away, too, and threw their congealing contents down the sink.
‘No. Listen. The statistics—’
Izzy looked round from the sink in disbelief. ‘You aren’t going to hit a bunch of fashion journalists with statistics?’
‘They’re significant,’ said Pepper earnestly.
Izzy shook her head. ‘You’re on a caffeine burn,’ she said kindly. ‘Cogs not engaging. Statistics are strictly for back-up stuff in the press pack. You have to keep your speech short and intriguing.’
‘But—’
‘I’m going to make you some toast,’ announced Izzy. ‘And eggs. With warm milk.