The Accidental Mistress. Sophie Weston

      Jemima nodded. She did not look surprised. ‘Another one falls at the Third Date fence,’ she said sadly. ‘What is it with you?’

      Izzy knew how to deal with a nosy younger sister. ‘The party is work. You know we don’t mix work and play.’

      ‘You play?’ said Jemima, mock incredulous.

      ‘Watch it, brat!’

      ‘Social skills course and make-up lessons,’ said Jemima, grinning.

      Izzy stood up and gave Jemima a quick hug. ‘Don’t waste your money,’ she advised.

      Jemima bit her lip.

      ‘Don’t worry about it. I prefer being the sister who bites.’

      ‘I don’t care about that,’ Jemima said impatiently. ‘It’s this giving up on clothes and third dates that worries me.’

      Izzy grinned. ‘I’m just not the pretty one. Get used to it.’

      Jemima was packing away her stuff. She glared.

      ‘You’re crazy. You ought to be gorgeous. You’re three times as much fun as I am. You dance like a maniac. Guys line up and half the time you don’t even see them. And you look as if you don’t own a mirror. And,’ yelled Jemima, suddenly losing it, ‘I feel—as if—it’s my fault.’

      ‘Hey. Calm down.’ Izzy was disconcerted and a bit annoyed. ‘It’s nothing to do with you if I look like a rag bag.’

      Jemima stopped yelling. But under the exquisite make up her face was drawn and her eyes tired. ‘Yes, it bloody is,’ she said. ‘And we both know it.’

      Their eyes met. For a moment there was silence in the luxurious cloakroom. Then Jemima gave a quick, spiky shrug and started to stuff all her tubes and pots and brushes back into the designer tote bag.

      ‘Oh, what’s the point?’ she said wearily. ‘Come on. We’ve got a cousin’s business to promote.’

      She stuffed the bag under the coat rack and went back to the conference room without a backward look.

      Izzy followed more slowly. There was a faint frown between her brows. It was not like her sister to fly off the handle. Maybe all the time-zone hopping was getting to her.

      ‘You and I,’ she muttered, ‘have got to have a long talk. And soon.’

      But Jemima did not hear. Or did not want to hear. And once in the conference room, like the professional she was, Jemima went instantly into posing beautifully for assorted photographers, her usual vibrant self again.

      She had changed into what Pepper hoped would be the Attic’s signature outfit: soft full trousers and a shirt with sleeves that an eighteenth-century duellist would have killed for. Jemima’s chosen colours were chocolate and amber. They made the glorious hair look alive, as if it had caught lamplight and fire in its depths.

      Even Izzy, used to her sister’s beauty, was startled.

      ‘She really is gorgeous, isn’t she?’ she said, almost to herself.

      The clipboard queen was passing. ‘Gorgeous,’ she said indifferently. She stuffed the board under her arm and held out a hand. ‘Molly di Peretti from Culp and Christopher. Too much of a rush to do introductions earlier. But I wanted to say how much I admire what you did here today.’

      ‘Thank you,’ said Izzy, but absently. She was still looking at Jemima. That outburst was so out of character! What was going on behind the professionally flirtatious manner?

      But Molly di Peretti was more interested in the concept of the launch. ‘This is just so original. You know, when Pepper told me what you were planning, I told her it was too weird?’

      ‘Oh?’ From a distance she could see that Jemima was clearly on edge. Her hands were never still and she kept touching her face, her hair.

      “‘The hacks want champagne and lots of it,” I said. “Coffee and chat won’t cut the mustard.” That was your idea, right?’

      ‘Yes,’ said Izzy absently.

      Jemima wasn’t happy. Other people might not notice, but Izzy had protected her from her first day in the playground. She could see that, however much her sister smiled, she was just desperate to get away.

      ‘Well, I was wrong,’ said Molly, oblivious. ‘It’s brilliant. Everyone is going to remember this launch.’

      Izzy pulled herself together. ‘That’s the name of the game,’ she said gaily.

      ‘Hmm. Not everyone can do it, though.’ Molly di Peretti thought a bit. ‘And you’re Pepper Calhoun’s assistant, right? You don’t organise events for a living?’

      ‘Good grief, no. I’m just the gofer.’

      ‘Hmm,’ she said again. ‘And how did you get together with Pepper?’

      ‘We’re cousins.’

      The woman’s eyebrows climbed towards her green hairline. She looked across the room to where Jemima was laughing a little too loudly at something one of the photographers had said. ‘Ah. So you must be related to the gorgeous Jemima as well?’

      ‘She’s my sister.’ Izzy’s voice was neutral. She waited for Molly di Peretti to remember that she had called Jemima the Beast of Belinda. She was not vindictive but she would enjoy seeing the brisk sophisticate wince.

      But Molly di Peretti was not wincing. She was looking intrigued. ‘Lots of talent in your family.’ She put her head on one side. ‘We might just be able to use that.’

      Izzy was trying to gauge how the launch party was going, but at that she stopped looking round the room for a moment and paid attention.

      ‘Use it? How?’

      ‘Woman power,’ said Molly, clearly writing the press release in her head. ‘Siblings unite to give the fashion establishment a run for its money. Redheads Rule! There’s lots of possibilities.’

      Izzy snorted. ‘Oh, yeah? And what are you going to call it? The Brains, the Beauty and the Other One?’ she said with sudden savagery.

      Molly flung up a hand in mock surrender. ‘Hey. No sweat. It was just an idea.’

      Izzy was taken aback by her own vehemence. She said in a calmer voice, ‘Sorry. It’s just not my scene.’

      ‘Yeah. I can see that,’ Molly said slowly.

      ‘Anyway, why would you want to start another story? Isn’t this one going to be big enough? Especially with the party tonight?’

      ‘Yup. I wanted to talk to you about that. I may have another guest.’

      ‘Fine.’ Izzy shrugged. ‘I’ll put her on the list. Name?’

      Molly rested her chin on her clipboard. ‘Dominic Templeton-Burke,’ she said. And waited for a reaction.

      She did not get one. ‘Sounds like another chinless wonder,’ said Izzy, making a note. ‘Hope he’s pretty.’

      Molly’s lips twitched. ‘Oh, he is. In fact—’

      ‘Great. Now, tell me that you were joking about the three-woman line-up and I’ll be a happy bunny.’

      Molly hesitated. ‘PR is more than one splash, you know. After the launch we’ll keep on drip-drip-dripping away. We have to place a story here, a photograph there.’

      ‘But the story doesn’t have to be woman power, does it?’ said Izzy with foreboding.

      ‘Not if you don’t want, of course.’ Molly di Peretti did not try to hide her disappointment. ‘But that’s the message Pepper keeps pounding out.’ She sighed. ‘In fact, I’d better go circulate among the hacks. Make sure it’s getting through.’