Izzie gleefully passed on the hot news to Marcus as soon as he got back from the pub before supper, but he barely smiled. She’d been hoping it would thaw the atmosphere that had been building up between them enough for her to broach the tricky topic of their planned trip to the Cévennes. He ate without looking up from the paper, and she wasn’t even sure he was listening to what she was hesitantly explaining.
“So there’s no option really.” Izzie looked down at her plate, twisting the pasta round and round the fork without ever raising it to her lips. “We’ll have to get the centpertuis boiled down and filtered in France. It’s costing far too much to have it shipped over here in its raw state.”
Still no response. “We were thinking we could go over once the school holidays begin—spend a few days there setting up the operation. We’ve got access to premises and there are staff lined up.”
At last he closed the paper and folded his arms, looking up stonily. “All lined up. That’s handy. How did you manage that then?”
Izzie concentrated very hard on organizing the carrot sticks in her side salad into neat rows. “Maddy more or less took care of it. She’s got contacts over there and she made a few calls.” Damn, why did she sound so apologetic?
“Right—simple as that then? And what about the kids? I hope you’re not simply assuming I’ll drop everything and look after them again?”
It was time for her trump card and she smiled triumphantly. “No, actually. Maddy and I thought we might take them all with us. It could be fun for them.”
“Very neat.” Marcus looked away and exhaled loudly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “So you won’t need me at all this time. What am I supposed to do while you’re off in France, then?”
“Do what you want, for goodness sake. You’re always complaining that you don’t have any time to yourself.”
“Suppose what I want is to have you and the kids here with me. What then?”
“Marcus, make up your mind.” Izzie’s patience had worn through. “You’ve made it perfectly clear you resent looking after the kids so much of the time, but when I offer to take them off your hands, you get all sulky. I’m trying to be helpful here.”
“Oh you are, are you? Silly me! I thought you were just trying to squeeze me out. Again.”
“Look, I’m offering a few free days on a plate. What’s the problem?” Izzie stood up abruptly and emptied her uneaten food into the bin, then crashed her plate into the dishwasher.
“I don’t know. You tell me! You’ve got all the answers, haven’t you?” Marcus stalked over to the fridge and pulled out another can of lager, staring at her challengingly.
“The way you’re talking, anyone would think I was dumping on you. I’m not going on holiday, for goodness sake. I’ll be working, making Paysage Enchanté more efficient.”
“Oh working!” He turned away, sauntered back over to the table, and sat down again with his legs stretched out in front of him. “Well that makes it all right then. If you’re working, then you can put everything and everyone to the back of the queue and it’s all right, in fact it’s fantastic because you’re a big fucking success, aren’t you? Everyone I meet tells me how lucky I am, how proud I must be, how hard you work. I know how fucking hard you work, because you’re never here. You’re never here, you never talk to me, you never tell me what you’re doing—until you’ve already done it—”
“Now hang on.” Izzie stood in front of him, hands on her hips. “That’s not fair. I’m not just doing this for me, you know. Do you think I like working all hours making this stuff, having to watch my every move for fear that some cruddy journalist will spot me putting on mascara or something?”
“I assume you do like it.” He shrugged. “I mean, you’ve got a choice in the matter. If it’s so awful, just stop. Go on—give it all up now.”
“Oh don’t be ridiculous. You know it’s not as simple as that. I have responsibilities, obligations—”
“And what about your responsibilities to me?” Izzie could feel her heart sink. There was no deflecting the row now. “Don’t turn away from me,” he went on. “Sit down. We’re going to have this out. Basically you just take it for granted that I’ll fit in with whatever you dump on me.”
Izzie forced herself to sit, but clenched her fists together on the table. “That is so not true! All the time you were working, I put my work, my whole life on the back burner, just so I’d be there for you. I kept the kids out of your way when you were tired. I always put your career and what was best for you first, even when—”
“Here we go. I was waiting for this.” He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Even when what? When I lost my job, you mean? Do you think I wanted to move to this godforsaken hole . . . ?”
Izzie gasped. “But I thought you loved it here. It was your idea!”
“What other option was there? It’s all worked out fine for you, hasn’t it? You’ve got your own little business, your little mate, your little bank balance.”
“But it’s not my money, Marcus. It’s ours. For you and me and the kids.”
“Can’t you see how excluded I feel from all this?” He thumped the table. “My life is going down the tubes and your solution is to pop over to France with the kids. Great timing, Izzie. Top marks!”
“But the whole idea is that we’ll make enough money eventually for me not to have to work so hard. That way we can all be together. It’s what I want. Really! Marcus, you’re welcome to come, if you want to,” she lied. “It’s just a question of getting another plane ticket. Look”—she reached for the phone—“I’ll call right now. I’ll book you in—”
Marcus slammed his hand down on the table again. “You’re not listening to me. I’m telling you I feel rejected. What do I have to do to get your attention? Send you a fucking e-mail? You’re not really interested in how I feel. Just managing me like you do the kids. Well, I’m not a kid, and you can’t brush me off!”
Izzie stood up, too angry now to keep a guard on her tongue. “If you’re not a child, then stop bloody acting like one. Take responsibility for yourself for a change. If you’ve got a problem, do what I do—sort it out yourself. I’ve got enough crap to deal with, and I don’t want yours.”
He sighed theatrically. “Yeah, you have such a lot to complain about—don’t you? Well, where would you have been without me these last months, eh? I’ve done everything for you, picked up the kids, fed them, even gone shopping for you. And this is the gratitude you show me!”
Izzie felt an icy calm close round her heart, and she stood up, looking at him with distaste. “Yes, of course. You have been helpful; you’ve done lots of things for the children. But the one thing only you could have done—give me your complete support, belief, and love—well, that’s the thing you haven’t been able to do.”
Marcus seemed to be having trouble focusing. “Well, from now on you can pay someone to do it all for you, because I’m out of here, and we’ll see how you manage.”
And he walked from the house, leaving the door wide open behind him.
Izzie collapsed into her chair. She felt sick, and her lower back was throbbing with tension. Was that it? Was that the end of it? She felt so confused, she couldn’t work out how they’d got to that cold hateful place. She felt a surge of remorse. She went through the motions of clearing up, then went upstairs to bed, where she curled up in a fetal position, her teeth chattering. She thought, He doesn’t have his jacket. He’ll be cold. Then she fell asleep.
The next morning, he hadn’t reappeared. She tried calling his mobile phone but didn’t leave a message. The children didn’t seem unduly surprised that Marcus wasn’t there, and she quickly made up some story about his having to work early. Charlie complained, “He was going to help me make an assault course for my Action Man tonight. Will he be here when I get back from school?”
Izzie swallowed hard. She had no idea what to say to him. “I hope so, darling. But let’s see later on. Maybe I can help you if he’s busy.”
Izzie and Maddy were due to have another meeting with Elements that afternoon, but since Maddy had gone to visit Peter and Giselle, they had arranged to meet outside the head office. A single phone call was enough to ensure that the kids were taken care of, and she explained carefully before dropping them at school just who would be picking them up and for how long.
Maddy was already waiting on the pavement by the time Izzie hopped out of the taxi, looking slightly shifty in a puff-sleeved blouse with drawstring neck. Izzie plastered a smile on her face. “Moll Flanders, I presume?”
Maddy groaned and rolled her eyes. “Don’t! I’ve had Giselle going on and on about my clothes since first thing this morning.” She gave her a kiss. “You all right? You look a bit peaky.”
Izzie couldn’t face this now. “Oh—fine, more or less. I didn’t sleep very well. Come on. We’d better go in. Can’t keep Billy Bullshit waiting.”
An hour later they emerged onto the pavement as if they’d been punched. “Could you please pinch me?” muttered Izzie, dazedly. “I’m not sure that wasn’t a dream.”
Every element of Elements had undergone some sort of metamorphosis. Gone were the plasma computer screens, the glass-topped desks, the primary-colored chairs. Gone was the monochrome tailoring, the gravity-defying hair, the NASA-inspired decor. When the gleaming lift doors hissed open to reveal Finbar, it was not as they had known him. Could he be wearing corduroy? Yes, top to toe—brown corduroy. Positively Hugh Grant in his floppiness, and smiling with a gentle warmth.
As the whole encounter unfolded, it became increasingly clear that Elements hadn’t taken on Paysage Enchanté. Paysage Enchanté had taken over Elements, body and soul. The entire company had suffered a sea change into something rich and very strange. The walls had been made to look like rustic plaster, and swags of carefully distressed damask hung at the plate-glass windows. In place of the coffee machine, there was now an evil-smelling earthenware teapot. Even the staff were dirndled and Birkenstocked.
A lot may have changed at Elements, but the language remained the same, though even Finbar couldn’t cloud the message this time. Sales were fantastic. They were crying out for the new range. The shop-within-a-shop idea was working perfectly—and the “future-here brands” were apparently being somewhat bypassed in the stampede to reach the Paysage Enchanté that now lay at the heart of each store, as Finbar had poetically put it, like a pearl within an oyster.
So Maddy did pinch her hard, then hugged her, and Izzie tried to match her enthusiasm as they staggered (again laden down with samples) homeward.
Pleading a headache, Izzie pretended to fall asleep on the train and tried to imagine life without Marcus. Would he stay in touch? Would he disappear out of their lives? Or would things just carry on as before, and they’d agree to forget about the whole stupid row?
By the time they got into the car at Ringford, she felt she owed Maddy an explanation.
“Oh. I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
“I don’t know and I don’t know where he is.” Tears spilled from her eyes, but she dashed them away angrily. “How could he walk out on the kids like that, without saying where he was going? He’s being so fucking selfish!”
“What started it off?”
“Something stupid—I can’t even remember. Only it wasn’t a stupid row. Not really. We’ve bickered before, but this was something different.” She sniffed unattractively. “It’s been building for a while—well, you know that—and for the first time in ages, I really told him how I feel, but I don’t think I did it very well. I wasn’t—you know—assertive. I got a bit harpy-ish. But it’s just so unfair. I look after everyone, and my needs always come last. All I really want is to be loved and looked after, you know, nurtured, and really cherished. Is that too much to ask?”
“No, I don’t think it is. How do you feel about him now?”
“Bloody angry. But I’m just so confused.” Izzie paused and looked out of the window as Maddy drove. “And the idea of never seeing him again is terrifying. Oh, I’m sorry, Maddy. This must sound so trivial compared to what you’ve had to endure. Anyway, I don’t really want to talk about it. I can hardly bear even to think about it.”
Maddy put her hand on Izzie’s leg. “It’s okay. I’m here when you do feel like talking. And don’t worry about the Simon thing. I promise I don’t compare. We have two different stories—that’s all.”
When they got back to Maddy’s, Izzie hugged her friend gratefully, then got in her own car to pick the children up from Janet’s. Full of fish pie—why wouldn’t they eat hers?—and worn out from playing with Tamasin and Oscar, they bickered in the backseat, but without conviction. As they approached home, Izzie’s stomach contracted. What would she find?
A surge of relief mingled with panic. Marcus’s car was in the drive. Letting the kids run on ahead, Izzie tried to pin down her feelings, as if they could guide her in her decision about what to do. Was she pleased he was back or not? Both really. At least she knew he wasn’t dead in a ditch somewhere, but she didn’t think she could face another row like last night’s.
She needn’t have feared. Marcus was drunk as a skunk, fully dressed and asleep on their bed. While the children tormented him, like Lilliputians pulling at Gulliver washed up on the beach, she quickly checked for empty bottles. There were plenty—at least he hadn’t been driving drunk. That she could never have forgiven. She quietly extracted the children from their bedroom, ignored Marcus’s slurred, “Love ya, babe,” and got them ready for bed. She cleared up the mess he’d left, slamming things into the bin and enjoying the moral high ground as she gave in to her resentment, then watched crap on telly. By eleven, showered and in clean pajamas, she lay down on the very edge of the bed as though on a precipice, and fell into a fitful sleep, punctuated by nightmares about missing trains.
But if Izzie had thought they were going to shuffle back to a flawed but tolerable version of normality, she was mistaken. Marcus was assiduous in his care of the children. If anything, he was far more patient than usual, but to Izzie he said only the barest minimum and never made eye contact. The frosty politeness was somehow worse than rowing. “Tea?” “Finished with the paper?” “No thank you. I’ll iron that shirt myself.” By the time they left for France, Izzie was at screaming point.
Ensconced on the plane, Maddy leaned across the aisle while the kids grappled with their seat belts. “Go on then, spill the beans.”
“Oh, Maddy, he’s being so immature.”
“You never really told me what was going on.” Maddy rummaged in her bag for Pasco’s dummy. “What sparked off that huge row?”
“It was coming here actually.” Izzie shook her head in exasperation. “He hasn’t been as bad as this for ages. The last time was when he was made redundant. That was hell but—well, I suppose I felt he had a right to be furious with the world. He says I neglect him, I always put him last. That’s not true, is it?”
Maddy snorted in disgust. “Honestly, Izzie, he’s acting like a spoiled brat. He’s a big boy—leave him to stew—he doesn’t appreciate you anyway.”
“So you don’t think it’s me? I was beginning to wonder. Well, now he’s giving me the polite stranger treatment.”
“God, that one! That sulking act drives me crazy. Maybe it’s good that you’re getting away for a while. It’ll give you both time to think. You know, it’s funny—in some ways he reminds me of Jean Luc’s wife.”
Izzie had wondered about her but hadn’t dared ask. “Yeah? What went on there?”
“Oh she was a piece of work all right. A really spoiled brat. Gorgeous looking—exquisite really—but cold as ice. We all hated her from the moment we met her, but he was besotted. Pascale, her name was. He did everything for her, spent a fortune on her, and she always wanted more.”
“That doesn’t sound much like me and Marcus.”
“No, that was more extreme. But it was another relationship out of balance, with one partner doing all the giving. It’s not healthy.”
“No, I don’t suppose it is . . .”
They broke off as the plane began to taxi, Jess and Charlie squealing with excitement as it picked up speed and lifted into the air. Will, blasé to the point of ennui, never took his eyes off his Game Boy.
“Tell me more,” urged Izzie, once they’d settled the children with drinks.
“Well, La Pascale never took to the country life—she was a Paris girl all the way. Started spending more and more time there until—well, you can guess. He called up one night and a bloke answered the phone. He’s never told me what happened and he never talks about it—or her—now. And there are no pictures of her anywhere in the house. It’s as though she’d never existed.”
“Gosh, that’s quite romantic in a way. He’s clearly got hidden depths. If I did that to Marcus now, I reckon he’d just spend his time in the pub slagging me off.”
“Well, Jean Luc’s very Gallic and passionate, in his way. When he falls for someone, he falls big time, I reckon. Even though he’s such a big flirt, I think he’s still very idealistic about luuurve.” She winked extravagantly at Izzie. “Maybe he’s just waiting for the right woman!”
Izzie’s outraged retort was cut off by Florence’s wail as Will opened her little sachet of black pepper all over her cake, and the conversation had to stop for a while, but Izzie was pensive for the rest of the journey.
“Aren’t small airports great?” enthused Maddy, as they quickly cleared customs at Montpellier and plunged through the arrivals gates. “Ah, le voilà!”
Jean Luc’s face lit up as he saw them all, and he pretended to reel and stagger under the impact of the children’s little bodies as they flung themselves at him. He greeted each one individually, teasing them and making them laugh. “And where is my little Pasco? No—you’ve swapped him for a big boy! Izzie!” He whisked her off her feet and spun her round, before planting kisses on each cheek, and one just grazing the side of her mouth. “I’ve been looking forward so much to your arrival,” he said softly against her cheek, then turned to Pasco. “Come on, little man, I’ll carry you. Your mother has enough to manage. At least you, Izzie, had the good sense to travel light. I hope we will all fit in the car—Pasco on the roof, maybe?”
Izzie had never been so pleased to see anybody. Straight away she felt better, and the contrast with the Marcus she’d left was overwhelming. In spite of herself, Izzie revelled in spiteful comparisons. “Sod you, Marcus!” she muttered to herself as she followed the group. “There are people who treat me well, even if you’ve forgotten how.”
Izzie threw herself into flirting back at Jean Luc as though her life depended on it. At first she wondered if it was wish fulfilment but, as the day wore on, she realized he too was taking every opportunity to touch her arm, make private jokes with her, or talk very quietly so she had to stand closer to hear. At times she caught him watching her with narrowed, speculative eyes. Even Maddy commented on it. “Blimey, you two are giving it plenty. Is this your bit toward the entente cordiale?”
Whatever the reason, Jean Luc’s mas wove a magic spell on them all. For the children it was an irresistible playground, and they ran wild with little Pasco trying to toddle after them. There were plenty of bedrooms—Izzie counted at least eight as she wandered around, although several were being used to store paintings, books, sculptures, and old furniture—but the children had all voted to sleep in the large attic room that stretched almost the length of one side of the building. Although Jean Luc had clearly not finished renovating the house, he’d prioritized the bathrooms. Huge rooms with enormous claw-footed baths, powerful showers, even armchairs with views over the field were irresistible to Izzie. She loved to soak in the bath until her fingers and toes wrinkled up, yet she so rarely got the opportunity at home. Here she would be able to indulge herself to her heart’s content, without interruption, and she hugged herself in anticipation.
The buildings away from the main courtyard were all quite low. Stone built and with red-tiled roofs, the farm nestled into the landscape as though it had grown there, the lines of poplars stretching out like rays of light from a star. It crouched on the side of a gentle hill, like a contented, sleepy animal. Behind them the hill sloped gradually up to a distant horizon, sharp against the cornflower blue sky. Below them, a valley opened out like a beautifully drawn map in a children’s book, revealing distant villages; pale gold, very straight roads; and oddly shaped fields. The whole view was softened by a shimmer of dust and heat, through which twinkled a far off, sinuous river—the Gard, Jean Luc had told her, a natural boundary to the farm—the course of which was plotted off into the distance in both directions by a fringe of dark green trees, occasionally pierced by a bridge or the odd house.
Within an hour of arriving, the children had all had a go on Coquelicot, a sweet, patient Appaloosa pony—even little Pasco, held safely in place by Jean Luc’s big hands round his tummy. They had collected eggs from the biscuit-brown hens that scratched and huffed around the large pen in a far corner of the courtyard. They had chased each other up and down the external stone staircases, although Pasco was not allowed to join in that game, and they had tired themselves out thoroughly. By suppertime—roast chicken cooked on a spit in the functional but simple kitchen, with little potatoes roasted underneath in the fat—the children were already nodding off.
The three adults carried or guided the sleepy children upstairs and encouraged those who were still conscious to clean their teeth. They all fell asleep within minutes of being tucked into the cool, slightly stiff white sheets, despite the novelty of all being together in a strange place. Maddy went to tuck Pasco into a travel cot in her room, while Jean Luc and Izzie puzzled over the baby listener borrowed from a friend for the attic dormitory, then plugged it in before they crept downstairs together. Izzie smiled secretly to herself, hearing the soft creak on the stairs behind her as he followed her quietly down.
They sat in the firelight, finishing their wine and, for the first time in what felt like weeks, Izzie started to relax. They chatted, laughed, fell silent. Everything felt easy and natural. Even Maddy was calm and sleepy looking, and was the first to give in. Stretching and yawning very loudly, she mumbled, “I always feel this way when we come here—I reckon I could sleep forever. How do you ever get anything done?”
For a moment Izzie felt envy flicker in her at Maddy’s casual familiarity with this magical place and with Jean Luc. His low laugh rumbled. “I get things done because I like to get things done. You know I’ve always been that way, Maddy. And you used to tease me about it when we were kids. But you were so lazy then, only living for pleasure. You’ve changed. Now you are like me. I know—in the morning you will be up at six, rushing around, hurrying everybody and making me crazy. No peace for anyone once you set your mind on something!”
They all laughed, and Maddy went up to bed, kissing Jean Luc on the top of his head as she walked past. Izzie made for the stairs a couple of minutes later, resolved she’d be up at six too. But Jean Luc didn’t move, and held her eye as she bade him good night.
“You’re leaving me all alone? I hoped you would stay with me a little.”
Her mouth went dry. “I’m . . . a bit tired tonight. Perhaps I’ll be a bit more rested tomorrow. Good night.”
He nodded and smiled, looking up at her from his chair by the fire. “I hope so, Izzie. Fais de beaux rêves.”
The next day they did, indeed, wake early. It took a couple of days to get everything sorted out in the barns Jean Luc had set aside for the boiling and filtering process, but the four women he had hired for the project were capable and hardworking, and soon caught on to the shortcuts and tips Izzie and Maddy had to pass on to them. They took it in turns to keep an eye on the children and Izzie had to operate mostly with sign language, but her few attempted words of French earned her a particularly warm smile from Jean Luc. Once they had fully briefed the women and checked and rechecked the process, they were free to have fun.
Colette, who had joined them after spending a few days with her parents, was an extra pair of hands, so they passed the time taking the children out for walks, shopping in the market, and having impromptu picnics. The relaxing fresh air was having an effect, and there were no more early morning starts for anyone but Jean Luc. Izzie watched with pleasure as the shadows under Maddy’s eyes gradually disappeared. But her feelings were not entirely altruistic. Once Maddy had crawled up to bed each night around eleven, she and Jean Luc fell into a pattern of sitting in front of the fire watching the embers tumble, drinking Armagnac, and talking about everything under the sun, his voice low and mesmerizing.
It should all have been relaxing for Izzie too, but the combination of the warm early summer sun and Jean Luc’s presence made her tingle with anticipation. Something had to happen, but she knew he was leaving it up to her. She let the children make the odd duty call to Marcus, but kept her own conversations with him as brief as possible. She resented the interruption. This wasn’t the Izzie that had left, angry, resentful, and confused, only a few days ago. She felt desirable and desired. In control.
On their last full day it wasn’t until half past eight that Izzie sat back in the wooden kitchen chair, and pushed back her plate after a breakfast of fresh croissants. She looked across at Maddy, still in her pajamas, hair uncombed, and stretched like a cat. “I could take any amount of this. I’m just doing what I feel like, for the first time in years. I’m not thinking about anything or anyone else and I don’t give a stuff about any consequences.” Her eyes glittered recklessly, and she leaned forward conspiratorially. “It feels bloody fantastic.”
With plans for a huge farewell picnic under way, the children were all in a party mood, and the preparation became steadily more elaborate. There was a barn that Jean no longer used about ten kilometers away, on a tributary of the Gard that widened into a tranquil pool—ideal for bathing. From the first visit, the children had claimed it as their own, and insisted on going there every day.
“Okay, that’s everything packed. It seems like a mountain of food, but if we’re spending the whole day there, we’ll certainly get through it.” Maddy squeezed another few ficelles into a space between the seats of an old Land Rover. “Are you sure you can’t come until later, Jean Luc? We’ve got tarte aux cerises—you’ve never been able to resist that.”
“Temptress—try to keep a little for me to have later. I have to go into town, but it won’t take all day. I’ll be there as soon as I can manage.”
“I don’t promise anything. You’d better not be too long—that’s all!” She glanced at Izzie. “Are you all right, love? You look awful.”
Izzie felt it. “I don’t know. It’s come on suddenly. I’ve got a ghastly headache, and I feel really queasy. Maybe I’ve just had too much coffee.”
Jean Luc turned to stare at Izzie for a moment. “It’s true,” he said. “Your lips are pale. You should lie down.” He brought her a couple of paracetamol and a glass of water, which she swallowed gratefully. She sat hunched over on the step, feeling nauseated and shielding her eyes from the early morning sun, while the others continued their preparations. Jean Luc looked at her narrowly.
“Maddy, can you and Colette manage the children on your own for a bit? If Izzie rests now, I can bring her with me later.”
Maddy paused for a moment, and she caught Izzie’s eye. A long look of complicity passed between them. “Yes, of course, we can manage. Izzie, take as long as you like. You need this. It will do you good. Just do exactly what you feel like, you hear me?”
Izzie smiled hesitantly. “Yes, I understand. I think I’d better have a rest. I feel so odd!”
The children left her with barely a backward glance, and she watched as Maddy drove out through the arched gateway that led from the courtyard. Silence fell heavily between Izzie and Jean Luc, and they went back inside together. She sat down slowly on the window seat and Jean Luc leaned back against the huge porcelain sink and folded his arms, looking at her. She felt as though she had never been so thoroughly studied in her life. His face was impassive, but his eyes were roaming over her body, taking in every detail. She smiled a little. Normally, this intense scrutiny would unnerve her, have her twitching and fussing, chattering to try to dispel the tension. But she felt relaxed, powerful even, and reveled in the electricity that arced between them, filling the whole of the cool, stone-flagged kitchen. Her headache had receded—had already started to do so before the others left—but she had made a calculated decision. Dare she take the opportunity?
Still he watched her, looking almost amused at her cool returning stare. She was determined not to make the next move. After what seemed like hours, he stood up. “I think I’m going to take you to bed.”
“Good idea. I’m sure I’ll feel better.”
“You must treat these sudden headaches with respect. I’m glad I’m here to look after you.”
“So am I. I need to be taken care of. And you’re the very person.”
“Can you walk by yourself?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Would you like me to help you?”
“Mmmm.”
He crossed the room almost before she had replied, and held out his hands to her. She could see he was breathing rapidly—so was she. She slowly raised one hand to take his, deferring as long as she could the moment when they touched. Then he simply took her in his arms, lifted her off her feet, and carried her upstairs. After a moment’s resistance, she let her head rest against his chest and closed her eyes. She felt his breath on her face as he took the stairs calmly, not hurrying, and his lips brushed her brow then settled on her head. She could feel him inhaling the scent of her hair and she shivered.
“Right,” said Pru, sweeping into the restaurant ten minutes late, looking glamorous in browns and beiges and wafting perfume after her. She ordered a glass of wine—“Well, you’re the only one who has to look pure and sweet”—and settled herself in her chair. “Let’s talk work first, then we can get back to being like it was in the old days. Much as I love Izzie, it’s fun to have you to myself again.”
From her Mary Poppins-type bag, she produced a bulging file and handed it over. “I’ve had Emma, my latest recruit, put together your press cuttings to date. I have to say it’s staggering.” Maddy flicked through the pages. Some cuttings she’d seen and others were new: small pieces in the Sunday Times, Independent, and Telegraph; larger features in the women’s press; the big spreads from the Daily Mail and Country Lifestyle; Izzie and Maddy looking goofy in OK!, mentions in the trade press.
“Pru, was all this from the initial press release?”
Pru blew out smoke from her cigarette, and Maddy leaned forward to breathe it in. “Some of it, but you’d be amazed. We are actually getting unsolicited calls and I’ve had to put one of my girls onto it virtually full-time. The word just seems to be spreading.”
“Like a rash.” Maddy skim read the glowing praise, the confirmation that the product really was effective, but what struck her most was the theme all the copy kept coming back to: “What this product proves,” one beauty writer had eloquently put it, “is that we have invested too much in all that man and his endless capacity for invention has created. Too often we are blinded by the promises, often unfulfilled, of what can be achieved from a test tube. We need to readjust our perspective and look back to the earth from which we all emerged.”
“Bloody hell, this is heavy stuff.” Maddy’s eyes were wide as she looked at Pru’s rather self-satisfied expression. “All we did was boil down a weed and put it in a jar.”
“Maybe, but you boiled down something else when you did it. You managed to pop the balloon—if I’m not mixing too many metaphors—that is man’s relentless search for perfection.”
“Christ, Pru, you’re talking to me, Maddy, not writing your next press release.”
“Darling”—Pru picked up the menu—“most of the gumph in those features didn’t come from me. I think I’ll have a Thai prawn Caesar salad.” She dismissed the waiter and put the menu down again. “No, as I said to you right off, you have managed, whether you both meant to or not, to hit a nerve at a time when a nerve was ripe to be hit. We are on the verge of being able to reinvent ourselves by cloning, all in an attempt to achieve the only thing we haven’t yet—immortality. Thank you.”—She took a slug of wine the waiter poured for her—“Suddenly we are scared by the speed of things, and along comes a product not just made using the basest ingredients the earth can provide, but invented by a woman who was a real earth mother—”
“Or so we think—she might have been the village bike.”
“Don’t interrupt. I’m in full flow! A real earth mother, who knew what a woman’s role should be, who raised her family in a natural environment, and you are the glowing, healthy proof that her genetic line was strong and true.”
Maddy looked at her in silence. “But come on, this back-to-the-earth thing is nothing new. People have been ramming natural health and beauty products down our throats for years. You can’t move for anchovy and horseradish skin toners and mango and chopped liver foot creams, you said so yourself.”
“Ah, but this is different. All that is within the framework of the modern age. It’s all chrome and clean and clonelike. We are all buying into the same image, whether it’s what we put on our bodies or how we decorate our homes. You’ve come up with something fresh.”
“Can we eat now?”
Pru laughed. “I’m sorry. Got on my high horse a bit, didn’t I?”
The waiter glided over and put down the salad for Pru and risotto with wild mushrooms for Maddy. A real treat. She loved the stuff but never had the time to make it for herself.
“So diatribe over,” said Pru through a mouthful. “Tell me, how was sunny France?”
“Interesting. I think something went on between Izzie and Jean Luc.” Maddy fiddled with her napkin to distract her from the craving for a cigarette. “She seems fairly enrapt by him. You know Jean Luc from the old days. He’s criminally flirtatious and likes nothing more than a bit of encouragement, so much of the time I felt like a spare part. I’m not sure but I think they may have slept together.”
“Bloody hell.” Pru’s eyes widened. “She’s going to have to be very careful the press don’t get hold of that. I have to admit I’m quite surprised. She seems very innocent. What’s her husband like?” She took another sip of her wine. “Is he in the art world?”
“Well, he’s not one of my faves actually. We just didn’t hit it off right from the start. I suppose he had me down as some kind of airhead Sloane with a big house and more money than sense. And now I’ve committed the ultimate sin of going into business with his wife and we’re making a success of it. The better we do, the less he seems to like it. Male pride I guess, especially as he was once in a big London advertising agency, but he was made redundant and isn’t really working at the moment.”
“Who did he work for?” Pru stuck her fork into the salad put in front of her.
Maddy took a mouthful of the delicious risotto and let the flavors spread over her tongue. “Oh don’t ask me,” she mumbled, “something something McCormack, I think.”
“Stock. What’s his first name?”
“Marcus.”
Pru paused for a moment. “Wait a minute. I know about Marcus Stock. Yes, I certainly know about him. And he wasn’t made redundant.”
Maddy stopped, a forkful midway to her mouth. “What?”
“No. It was quite a scandal at the time. Let me think. They were pitching for a big account—British Airways or someone like that—and Stock had been head-hunted by a competing agency. Anyway, as I recall, he committed the cardinal sin and tipped them off about what Mitchell Baines McCormack planned to pitch. He was rumbled and given the heave-ho. It was all over Campaign.” She paused. “Did Izzie tell you he was made redundant?”
Maddy put down her fork, suddenly feeling sick. “No. Not as such. I think she said there was an agency takeover and that, as he’d had a pretty lean period creatively, he lost his job.”
“I’ll say he’s had a lean period. He used to be good, one of the best, but I don’t think there’s an agency in London that would have hired him at the time. No wonder they skedaddled to the provinces. Could explain why he’s not keen on your high profile in the press at the moment. They’d have a field day with that one.”
Maddy leaned back in her chair, disconcerted. Had Izzie known this all along? Was her story just to cover up and save Marcus’s dignity? She couldn’t quite believe that Izzie would have told her a lie—or at least been economical with the truth—but then she’d told her all about Marcus’s job at their first lunch together. She was bound to be cautious with someone she hardly knew.
She worried about Pru’s revelation all the way back on the train. If Izzie hadn’t given her the full story then, why hadn’t she been truthful since? God, Maddy had opened up enough about herself and her life and, gazing out of the window, she felt hurt. Didn’t Izzie trust her enough?
But then there was always the chance that Izzie didn’t know the real story. Marcus was such an arrogant man, and Izzie would have been unlikely to have read the trade press like Campaign, not when she worked in children’s book publishing, which wasn’t exactly cutting-edge. No, she thought, I wouldn’t put it past him to hush up the whole thing and just whisk Izzie out of London on the pretext that they couldn’t afford to live there anymore. Izzie was so wonderfully naïve, and so devoted to him, she’d have done whatever he wanted. But then hadn’t she, Maddy, done exactly the same when Simon suggested—okay, arranged—for them to move out of London, and she had been just as guilty of not really questioning very deeply his work setup. She’d just assumed. How dangerous assumptions can be. Armed with the information, and not quite sure what to do with it, she decided to think about it for a while and simply observe.
“So how are you feeling?” she asked Izzie when she called her later that evening. “Recovered from the trip?”
“Yes, yes fine. Piles of laundry to do and the house in chaos, but it’s nice to be home.” Either Marcus was listening or Izzie was being strangely offhand with her. “It’s been crazy today though. Elements have been on the phone almost constantly wanting to chivvy up the next order. Lillian was at the dentist and Karen got the phone before I could get to it, so God knows what they thought, but I managed a schmooze which you would have been proud of.”
“Learned at the knee of the expert schmoozer!”
“Naturally.” Izzie laughed, and sounded back to normal. “How was Pru?”
“Quite philosophical. She wants to take us beyond hippie, and make us more of a statement against the mediocrity and image obsession of today.” She tried to précis, not quite so eloquently, Pru’s spiel, but Izzie seemed to get the message.
“I can see what she means, but isn’t that a bit of a tall order? We’re only a couple of—”
“Housewives!” they said simultaneously. “That’s exactly what I said.” Maddy put her feet up on the table and lit her first cigarette of the day. “But she seems to think we have hit a nerve, and that we must exploit it. I was thinking. Let’s see if Peter can come up and we could have a meeting with him and Geoff about financing the new product launch. We could get on with sourcing the ingredients tomorrow, and then you can call Jean Luc and give him the centpertuis order.” She waited, expecting Izzie’s coy giggle. There was a pause.
“No, you ring him, Maddy. Would you mind?”
Confused, Maddy didn’t mention him again, or Marcus and the sacking, but the rest of the week was too mad anyway. The team worked flat out, with intermittent complaints from Crispin that at this rate he’d forget how to mix cement, he hadn’t done it for so long, and the next order was ready for dispatch to Elements on time and in one piece.
Maddy’s ear went pink she spent so long on the phone to suppliers and to labs about accreditation for the samples of the moisturizer, and when she wasn’t doing that, she was poring over Luce’s book, and vats of more trial recipes with Izzie. There was barely time to mention anything, so preoccupied were they with proportions, temperatures, and fragrances, and Lillian had to remind them not to miss a meeting with the Web site design team—an hour’s meeting about Flash plug-ins and HTML that might as well have been in Serbo-Croat.
“Is it just me”—Maddy sighed, flopping into a chair with mental exhaustion, “or is the rest of the world talking bollocks?”
“Well, how about this for plain speaking?” said Lillian, smiling enigmatically as she replaced the phone. “That was the alternative therapies buyer at Harrods. She wants to arrange a meeting.”
Lying on Will’s bed a week later, curtains drawn against the evening sunshine, and listening to him read hesitantly about Biff, Chip, and the Magic Key, Maddy felt as though she too had held a magic key and been transported by mistake into a new and strange world. Over the last incredible weeks she had been in negotiations with one of the biggest cosmetics outlets in the country, had been bamboozled by techno-whizes, had been approached by the most famous department store in the world, all because of a weed recipe Izzie and she had cobbled together in her kitchen. Yes, the money was thrilling, and they had both gleefully signed a fat check to pay back Peter. The fees were secure, bills could be paid, and she had new car brochures—eco friendly, of course—sitting on the side in the kitchen just waiting for her to pick the color for the trim.
But frankly it scared her. It wasn’t so much the pots of healing balm per se, although they’d started to dominate her days and most of her dreams at night. It was what they had come to represent.
Here she was curled up with her little son, the same Mummy he had always known, and yet she was having to be someone else at the same time, acting out a role that was uncomfortable and farcical. What was she playing at, having Colette drive thirty miles to buy chicken nuggets and pizza for the children—there was only so much wholemeal pasta they could stomach—in case someone spotted her in the local supermarket? Only two days ago she had found herself with a copy of Tatler in her hand in WHSmith in Ringford, but had had to stuff it back on the shelf as if it was something smutty when Fiona Price had lolloped around the corner.
“Hey, Mum, you’re hurting me,” complained Will, and she realized she was holding him too tightly as if he, like the rest of her previous life, would suddenly evaporate. This time last year they had still been in London, and she’d never even heard of Ringford. Life had been simple, mapped out by an unchallenging routine of lunches and dinner parties, interspersed with copious bouts of shopping. Now here she was, a single mother, at the vanguard of a new sociological trend with implications she couldn’t begin to grasp. What on earth would Simon have said about it all? Something funny and sensible and grounding, no doubt.
The sense of being on a bolting horse only worsened a couple of days later when Peter and Geoff arrived at the barn. “It seems to me,” launched Geoff without preamble “and I don’t know anything about cosmetics, that you should exploit this success story right now and launch further products. Create a range and a stronger brand image.”
“We’re onto it,” said Izzie, “and we think we’ve got the recipe right for a moisturizer and a cleanser. We just need the accreditation, but I’ve a bit of a boyfriend at the labs and he’ll make sure it’s tested as soon as possible.” She picked up some notes from the desk. “And now that we are ordering broadly similar ingredients but in substantially larger quantities, we’re pretty sure we can get huge discounts on our orders.”
Geoff whipped out a pad, and they all settled down to number crunch. “You certainly have the capacity here,” he said, solemn and businesslike, “to cope with the extra production, but you will need to get in more staff.” He lowered his voice. “Your current . . . er . . . workforce is working well, but you are going to need to treble it.” He handed each of them a spreadsheet, and Maddy could just about work out from the sea of figures what their outlay would have to be. Next to it, he had calculated the potential income from extending the range and had estimated the profit once costs were deducted. She had to look twice, convinced he had put the decimal point in the wrong place.
“Are you sure this is right?”
“Obviously it’s a bit of a stab in the dark, but to the nearest grand I think I’m not far off.”
Izzie and Maddy looked at each other in silence.
“Time to buy back that piano, I think.” Izzie smiled, delight in her eyes.
“I think you might be able to run to the whole orchestra!”