Chapter 3

The trouble with Central London is that there is a rather noticeable lack of wild horses, especially when you want them. I had been thankful to get back to the office after the awkward excuse for a meal that I had shared with Richard, but it still didn't mean that I could stop thinking about him.

The little I had seen of his personality was such a dichotomy. There was the undeniable musical talent and to a certain degree good manners, but it was all finished with a veneer of sarcasm that I found hard to tolerate. How could you have a rational conversation with someone and how could you get to know them if they always took offense at what you said and threw it back in your face?

So I sat there, supposedly manning the telephones and keeping an eye on the office, whilst all the account managers and people above my pathetically low career station holed themselves up in a meeting for the rest of the afternoon. It gave me plenty of time to think and muse, but four hours later I was no where nearer to an answer then when I had sat across a table from him.

I couldn't go and see him tonight, it would not be right, it would give the impression that I wanted something from him and to do so would be dire. I was confused, for my thoughts were in a jumble, how when I claimed to have a boyfriend could I even be looking at another man? Especially when that man was a sarcastic, masked busker? The answer was very very easy, the reasoning behind a little more difficult.

And of course there was the problem of Nigel! Good, kind, dependable Nigel who never put a foot wrong, who always said the right thing and treated me with an old fashioned courtesy. Good kind, dependable, boring, Nigel. I went out with him as much in honour of my Mother's memory as for that usual feeling of being flattered that someone had lifted you out of the crowds. Unfortunately Nigel has lifted me out, put me on a pedestal and was determined I stay there, however much I wished to jump off.

At the age of thirty he was a full five years older then me and had obviously got through his wild period (although I doubted he knew the meaning of the term). At two score and ten (as dickens would write) he seemed much older, his views and ideas almost belonging to another age, let alone age gap. However he was safe, he was secure and he flattered me and in my somewhat fragile world it was a good place to be. Much safer then flirting with masked street musicians with chips on their shoulder.

My life had suddenly changed a few years ago and it seemed stupid to rock the boat, to leave the safe little haven that I had created for myself. My Mother had died when I was only fifteen, the dreaded breast cancer creeping up on her and taking her life and destroying both my father's and my own in the process. We stumbled along some how, I buried myself in my exams, far easy to face the dreaded green GCSE paper then real life and Dad quietly withdrew into himself, finding solace in never ceasing work.

The kind talented man that had nurtured me was shuttered off, without my mother to tease and coax it out of him and instead he became increasingly distant and cold. Eventually when I was seventeen he off loaded me on to 'Auntie Anne', not an Aunt at all, but a longstanding friend of my mother's who could not bear to see my life go to waste. And so I moved town and county and changed my life, sharing my once happy existence with this bohemian woman and her daughter Margaret.

Thankfully their kindness and love stopped me drowning in a see of self pity and when the horrific news reached me that my father had chosen to end his life, it was to their supporting arms I turned. It happened whilst I was at university and becoming an orphan at the age of twenty was enough to overturn my happy existence, even though I claimed I felt little for my father anymore. My life went off the rails, my solid capable degree destroyed in a wave of drinking and finally teetering on the edge of alcoholism I dropped out all together.

Instead I wandered through my life for a few years, holding down various jobs, fast order cook, shop assistant, tour bus guide; museum rep. I never let any of them touch the inner me and never gave any passion to them. Secretly I envied Mags for her calling as a dancer at least allowed her a path to follow however vague and people appreciated the fact that she had a calling.

Instead I floated like flotsam and getsam upon the tide, going wherever its will took me and looking, always seeking a purpose in my life. My adventure into Public Relations was just another wander up another byway of life. I was bored of being the broke assistant and a conversation with one of Mags' friends (PR to the stars supposedly) made me think that it could be quite an interesting life. I had never lost my ability to learn and it only took me a year to be able to be gainfully employed by Farrow and Faith (effeff to those in the know – darling) as an Accounts Executive with a bad shoe habit, a faithful boyfriend and the ability to be bored to tears.

It wasn't the alluring world that Mags' friend had painted, no glamorous launch parties and late lunches, just an awful lot of begging and pleading with journalists, several late nights proofing copy and an awful lot of phone answering and coffee making.

My colleagues didn't realise that I wasn't one of them – not a 'dharling girl' with a nice degree and a nice family in the Home Counties. Instead a rather odd relationship with a sweet friend and her mother, who let's face it was eccentric at the best of times, was the most family I could muster. Nigel was the perfect front and ticket to belonging into this world and he assumed the same as the rest. Isabella Saunders was a nice girl, from a nice family who went to a nice school and had a nice life. I suppose it was true – it just stopped being so when I was fifteen.

Maybe that was why I was so riled with the way my masked man treated me. Ric, the words rolled off my tongue. His sarcasm and outward front amused me and drew me in; for I was sure that like me, they hid an injured person inside. Of course there was the possibility that I was wrong, but something didn't make me think so. He too was a seeker and a wanderer, guaranteed to always be on the edge of what life had to offer.

Suddenly I realised the danger of living a false life. As I sat there, idly tapping my pencil against my lips and pretending to work; it dawned on me the enormity of what I had done. I was pretending to be someone that I was not and when the chips were down I was not sure if I could continue being this fake person. I wasn't an actress and couldn't carry off a role indefinitely – I was actually a bad person. I must be, or my father would not have treated me as he did. That much I knew.

My plans for staying out of temptations way started to go awry as soon as the meeting of my superiors ended. "God," Rachel flung herself into her chair at the desk opposite mine. "I seriously need a drink after that!"

"Bad meeting?" I murmured, knowing that I would get the full lowdown, if I asked for it or not.

"Horrendous! I now have a doubled workload, and that means more for you Izzy! I cannot carry this load on my own!" Rachel was an Account Manager and a pretty good one when she stopped bitching about people and actually did some work, or passed most of it over to me. "I now have responsibility for not only Covent Garden Times, but also De Vere Hotels. You can imagine which one is more important to me?"

"Uh, Covent Garden Times?" I decided to go for the teasing approach, after all a free local rag handed out to tourists was not the same as one of the largest hotel groups in the world, with a huge presence in Britain. The teasing worked and she shot me a sarcastic smile.

"So you can understand why I need you to take on most of the responsibility on this one. There is a monthly meeting of the trustees which is worth going to and they also like company input on design and layout of the paper, which is a fag, but doesn't take up too much time. And besides, it means you get tickets to all the do's which go on, which reminds me that in two months time, opera in the square – now that is the highlight of the year for them, so they will get stressed with it!"

I waved a hand to silence her, for she was dragging on the conversation, most of which I knew anyway. I was more perturbed by the fact that when I trying to avoid the place it came and landed straight on my desk, a potent reminder. "Anyway, let's go for that drink," she continued.

"I, I can't.." I started to make excuses, muttering vaguely about meeting Nigel and abstaining from alcohol, all of which she ignored, batting them away with her hand as if they were annoying flies.

"Nigel knows where to find you and you barely had a drink yesterday so a small glass of wine won't hurt you, or make it a G and T, lot less calories in spirits you know! Come on, the others can catch us up."

Nope definitely no wild horses when I needed them.