Jill Mansell - Mixed doubles

‘Wrong again.’ Kit grinned. He reached across and patted the tweedy sleeve of Liza’s jacket. ‘He fancies you.’

‘I don’t know how I’m going to explain this to my editor,’ said Liza an hour later. Not only had the maître d’ been charm itself, she had barely been able to find fault with their lunch. The menu was unpretentious, the food expertly cooked and presented with understated elegance.

‘I hope the meal is to your satisfaction,’ murmured the maître d’, materialising at their side.

Somehow he managed to ignore Kit completely.

‘He was looking at your hand, to see if you’re wearing a wedding ring.’

Liza didn’t find it as amusing as Kit. She was beginning to get a complex about looking old.

Damn, she really wished she hadn’t worn her disguise today. Even being recognised would be preferable to this.

‘He’s still not sure about me,’ Kit confided in a whisper. ‘Next time he comes over I’ll call you Auntie. Then he’ll know the coast’s clear. Bet you a tenner he asks for your phone number before we leave.’

The next moment they both turned as a girl’s breathless voice squealed, ‘Kit Berenger! What are you doing here?’

Recognising her, Kit started to laugh. Liza’s heart sank. The girl, brown-eyed and with hair cut in a glossy burgundy bob, was as thin as a bit of spaghetti. She was wearing pink shorts, a minuscule black rubber waistcoat, black lacy tights and patent leather boots with spiked heels.

‘Never mind what I’m doing here,’ Kit told her, as she threw her arms around him, ‘what are you doing wearing stuff like that?’

‘Bloody old fogey,’ retorted the girl, undaunted. ‘What do you want me to wear, a tweed skirt and lace-ups? Oh ... sorry.’ She turned and grinned at Liza, a friendly, uncomplicated grin revealing flawless white teeth. ‘Foot-in-mouth time again! I didn’t mean to interrupt your meal. I was at college with Kit.’ Holding out her hand she added, ‘I’m Abby. Hi.’

The maître d’ was hovering within earshot.

Kit said, ‘Abby, this is my Aunt Elizabeth.’

As Liza dealt with the bill, Abby rushed up again.

‘Hey, you two! Listen, Oliver has to get back to his office, but I’m free. How about catching up on old times over a drink? We could go to the Pyramid bar, it’s just round the corner.’

As the maître d’ had managed to exclude Kit earlier, so Liza found herself being ignored now.

She willed him to say no.

But Kit, clearly tempted, gave Liza a ‘shall we?’ look in return.

‘Come on, let’s go for it!’ This time Abby touched Liza’s arm. ‘They do brilliant cocktails.’

Laughing, she added, ‘Don’t worry, we’ll look after you, won’t we, Kit? We won’t let you get squiffy!’

‘You’d be surprised,’ said Kit, ‘a couple of cocktails and Aunt Elizabeth’s a different person.’

He winked at Liza in her awful wig. ‘Quite a changed woman, in fact. Once she lets her hair down.’

Liza had forgotten about the photographers camped outside. As they emerged from the restaurant she found herself being elbowed out of the way. Since they were both young and strikingly attractive, Abby and Kit were the couple they focused their attentions on. Abby they recognised as an up-and-coming children’s TV presenter. Kit — well, okay, maybe they didn’t recognise him yet, but with those looks and that smile it could only be a matter of time.

‘You two go ahead,’ said Liza, when they caught up with her further down the road. ‘Really, I don’t feel like a drink. I’d rather just go back to the hotel.’

Kit looked at her. Abby, still clinging to his arm, pretended to be disappointed.

‘Oh no! Are you sure?’

Liza nodded at Kit, signalling that she was fine, she wasn’t jealous and of course he should go for a drink with Abby. ‘I’m sure. I’ll see you later.’

‘Okay.’ Brightly Abby waggled her fingers at her, just as she waved to the millions of adoring young fans who watched her Saturday-morning TV show. "Bye, Aunt Elizabeth. You take care.

See ya!’

Chapter 39

‘That girl’s as daft as a brush. Three years ago I told her they made rum from fermented coconuts and she still believes it. How she ever landed that job of hers is beyond me, although I suppose I can hazard a guess. Anyway,’ said Kit, abruptly changing the subject, ‘are you all right?’

Liza had washed her blonde hair — the wig always flattened it — and re-done her make-up. She had also changed into a black scoop-necked T-shirt, a clinging red velvet skirt and high heels.

She looked luscious and desirable again, Kit realised, and every man in the hotel lobby was visibly lusting after her. He kissed her on the mouth and sat down next to her.

‘Of course I’m all right.’

‘Not peed off because of ... you know?’

‘What?’

‘The old maître d’ guy at Beaujolais, not making a move. Admit it,’ Kit nudged her, ‘you thought you’d pulled. You were gutted when he didn’t ask for your phone number.’

Liza had to smile.

‘When you book a table at Beaujolais, they automatically take your number. Anyway, speaking of pulling ... is Abby an old girlfriend of yours?’

Kit shrugged.

‘I went out with her for about two minutes. Got bored. She’s a nice enough girl, but ...’

Another shrug.

I’m not bored with you yet, thought Liza, watching him carefully, looking for signs. Are you bored with me?

.. like I said, thick as two planks,’ Kit concluded with a yawn.

‘I’m going down to Devon this weekend. It’s my mother’s birthday.’

This made him sit up.

‘When did you decide this?’

‘An hour ago. I rang her.’ Liza nodded at the pay phone just beyond the bar. ‘She was really pleased. I haven’t been to see them for ages.’

‘Something’s wrong,’ said Kit.

‘Nothing’s wrong.’

‘Okay. I’m free this weekend. I’ll come too.’

‘No you won’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘You just can’t,’ Liza said flatly.

He raked his fingers through his dark hair.

‘But I have to meet them at some stage.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Who says you do?’

Exasperated, Kit almost shouted, ‘Liza, it has to happen sooner or later. Why not now?’

‘Okay.’ Liza held up one hand. She began steadily counting off on her fingers. ‘We’ll make a list. One, the chances are this relationship of ours won’t last, so there isn’t much point in meeting them. Two, they’re just ordinary parents. They aren’t rich or famous, or remotely glamorous.

They aren’t brilliantly witty and they don’t tell jokes.’

‘Meaning?’ said Kit, stunned.

‘Meaning you’d probably be bored witless.’

He shook his head. ‘I can’t believe you’re serious.’

‘Three,’ Liza went on, still counting fingers, ‘my mother is seventy years old, my father’s seventy-two. They have traditional ideas. They want me to settle down and get married and have children. Knocking around with a twenty-three-year-old boy isn’t something they’d understand

—’

‘Come on,’ chided Kit, finally figuring out what it was she was doing. ‘These aren’t reasons, these are excuses. Shouldn’t you give your parents the benefit of the doubt? Introduce me to them and let them make up their own minds.’

‘I know them. Trust me. If I rolled up with you in tow,’ Liza said bleakly, ‘they’d just be embarrassed.’

‘I see. So they’d be embarrassed and I’d be bored.’

‘Right.’

‘And all this has nothing – nothing whatsoever to do with today.’

Liza wanted to cry. Of course it did; it had everything to do with today. She was accustomed to being in control of her life. She definitely wasn’t used to feeling insecure. Lack of confidence was Pru’s speciality, not hers.