Charles kisses her hand, and she gives a practised, little-girl giggle.
Lily Venus? Her real name’s Frutt. Doesn’t she realize that if she’s going to use a pseudonym it shouldn’t sound like a porn star’s?
‘Delighted,’ he says, staring at her awkwardly as Lily licks her lips. ‘Ahm, delighted.’
‘And this is my other roommate, Jan – er – Jay-Me,’ I say.
‘All right!’ says Janet in a friendly voice. ‘How’s it hanging?’
‘Yes. Marvellous,’ says Charles faintly. ‘Shall I show you to your rooms?’
The entrance hall is thronged with people in evening gowns and penguin suits, all braying and trying to kiss Charles, but he threads his way rather expertly through the crowd and leads us up a wide, stone staircase, lined with solemn-looking oil portraits of his ancestors.
‘Here we are,’ he says eventually, after we’ve been through three corridors and I’m lost. ‘The William Suite. I hope that’s acceptable?’
‘Why is it called that?’ asks Lily, peering in at the sumptuous interior.
‘Oh, you know. William the Third liked it. Stayed here quite often with one of my predecessors. It’s a bit fusty, I’m afraid,’ he adds apologetically. ‘Anyway, I’ll leave you ladies to change. Cocktails before dinner downstairs. Just follow the crowd. Anna,’ he adds, in a low, intent voice as Janet and Lily race into the room in delight. ‘You look absolutely sensational.’
‘Thanks,’ I say, going pink with pleasure.
Charles gives a stiff little bow and withdraws.
I don’t look sensational, but it’s nice to hear it. Very nice. And everybody’s sucking up to Charles madly, and yet I’m his date.
‘Bloody hell,’ says Lily, looking around as soon as the door shuts. ‘I could get used to this.’
It’s like being allowed to walk inside one of those roped-off room exhibits in a palace or a stately home. Everything in here is probably a priceless antique. The walls are hung in a rich yellow damask, there’s a vast four-poster with intricate carvings on its dark legs, and an opulent daybed; the threadbare carpet looks Persian, the chairs look Louis XIV …
Janet is staring out of the huge, lead-panelled windows, and even though it’s twilight, you can still see the orchards spread out below us because they’ve been lit with flaming torches.
‘Imagine, Anna,’ she says, disbelievingly. ‘All this could be yours.’
We get changed with lightning speed, Janet and Lily because they can’t wait to unleash themselves on some unsuspecting duke or other major landowner, and me because if I don’t eat soon I’m going to start on wads of loo roll just to stop the gnawing pains in my stomach.
Lily is wearing a slimline strappy number in palest gold silk, with teetering matching sandals, and diamond drop earrings some past boyfriend bought her, her hair up in a chic French twist.
Janet has chosen a burnished copper gown in crushed satin, a full ball gown look, with a corseted waist that throws out her boobs and bum. She’s let her raven hair fall loosely and she looks stunning, very Catherine Zeta-Jones in Zorro.
I’m wearing the blue dress Janet picked out. It has a silky look to it, a full-ish skirt, and a boat neck over three-quarter sleeves. It shows a bit of cleavage and covers my bum and my legs. I’ve also got on some real pearls which Janet lent me – she wouldn’t let me go with fake ones.
I look like an ordinary girl with a big nose. But let me tell you something, that’s a huge improvement! It even feels strange to wear colour. I’ve got enough black in my wardrobe to run a funeral parlour.
I resolve to try not to look too much at the other two. Anyway, if we don’t get downstairs soon I may just eat them.
* * *
Cocktails are finished, and people are being ushered into the dining hall. Thank God. If I drank on a stomach this empty I’d be puking my guts out before nine.
Charles is there, waiting and hovering.
‘Ah, ladies,’ he says. ‘You all look absolutely incredible.’
‘Fuck me, who’s this?’ asks a man standing next to him. Despite the upper-class accent and the black tie he looks like a huge oaf. ‘Charles, you lucky sod. You’re not seeing both of ’em, are you?’
‘Shut up, William,’ says Charles, loudly. ‘Please excuse my friend,’ he says to us.
‘Sure,’ says Lily, smiling at him. She grinned when he said ‘both of them’ instead of ‘all three of them’.
‘Jay-Me and Lily, this is William Lyons,’ Charles says. ‘And Anna is my girlfriend,’ he adds, with a touch of proprietary pride.
‘We’re not seeing anyone,’ says Lily.
And suddenly there is a throng of black-tie men all around us, some shaking my hand perfunctorily, others ignoring me altogether as they try to get closer to Lily and Janet. Charles and I are shoved to one side, but not before I’ve heard one of the Yahoos say to his mate, ‘Fancy a bit of rough?’
‘Mmm, yeah,’ says the other one, in a low voice. ‘Good for a couple of tumbles, at least.’
They laugh and try to get through the little crowd of hopefuls. And I suddenly feel a burst of anger. I actually feel protective even of Lily. How dare they talk about her like that? Just because she isn’t some horse-faced gentleman’s daughter called Camilla or Prudence. Poor Lily, she’s got no idea, I think instantly. She’ll have a rough time of it looking for a husband in this crowd.
I push my way back to them. ‘Excuse me.’
The crowd melts – they have to, I’m a woman – and I thread my arm through both of the girls’.
‘I think we should go in to dinner now,’ I say.
‘Let me go!’ hisses Janet, outraged. ‘You’ve got yours!’
Some of the men hear her and chuckle to themselves, which makes me even angrier. I drag the two of them into the hall. It’s easy. I’ve got thirty pounds on both of them.
‘She’s right,’ whispers Lily to Janet. ‘Always leave them wanting more,’ she says, like an expert.
I examine the seating chart for their places. ‘You’re on four and you’re on nine,’ I say to them. ‘And look, find me after dinner. I really need to have a word with you.’
‘No you don’t,’ Janet says to me reassuringly as she walks away. ‘I’ve done all I can. You’re on your own now, Anna.’
* * *
Dinner is delicious. Luckily for me there’s no bread basket, because I would have ripped through the whole thing right away. As it is, my stomach keeps rumbling and I have to keep coughing to cover myself.
‘That sounds nasty, old thing,’ says Charles solicitously. ‘Have some champagne.’
We’re sitting together on table one. It’s the most enormous dining hall with an iron-clad fireplace big enough to take an entire tree, and a huge vaulted ceiling. I can imagine long medieval trestle tables with benches in here, but today there are round tables, covered in white linen, with chairs set around them equally covered in linen. Little fairy lights and chiffon drapery have been pinned to the walls, giving the whole room a sort of Snow Queen feel. There are tall crystal vases crammed with flowers and gold-painted grapes scattered around the bases.
‘Just a little party,’ Charles says modestly, at my open mouth. ‘You know, sometimes I really push the boat out. I was thinking about something special for my birthday. Maybe you could help? Plan it with me. You know. As the hostess.’
‘I … maybe,’ I say. ‘This is amazing, Charles.’
‘Well, you look divine,’ he says. ‘The dress, and the … the…’ He waves his hand at me and I feel a little thrill of pleasure. He’s not so bad, Charles, is he? He honestly seems really nice.
Then he puts his hand gently on my upper thigh and squeezes it through the blue folds of my dress.
I half choke on the champagne. Urghh …
‘Caviar, ma’am?’ asks a waiter.
‘Oh! Yes, thanks,’ I say, jumping, so Charles is forced to dislodge his hand. What’s wrong with me? He was only putting his hand on my thig
h. He’s sweet, isn’t he? Free from any obvious deformities? No perversions? Enormous mansion, millions of pounds?
So why do I feel like bolting as fast as I can leg it?
The waiter heaps a huge mound of glistening grey pearls on my plate, and everybody tucks in, mixing in chopped egg and other things from little bowls.
‘Sevruga,’ Charles says. ‘I don’t care for Beluga, I think it’s a bit bitter…’
It tastes good. Fantastic, even. But a can of dog food would probably taste good at this point. Fortunately, mixing and scooping and eating pre-empts too much conversation, and then the middle-aged woman in black taffeta next to Charles is shouting in his ear, and I can relax again.
The main course is unremarkable, roast pheasant with stuffing and mashed potatoes, and I’m just wolfing mine down when the man on my other side speaks.
‘Hello,’ he says. ‘I’m Ed Dawson.’
‘Anna Brown,’ I say, shaking his hand. He’s about my age, maybe a year or two older, rather nondescript, with light brown hair and hazelnut eyes. A bit skinny for my taste but a nice smile.
‘So I gather Charlie’s lucky enough to have you as a girlfriend?’
‘I – well, we’ve only just started…’ I begin, but become aware Charles is listening in. ‘Yes,’ I say lamely.
‘That’s fantastic,’ he says warmly. ‘I’m his cousin. We’ve been hoping for ages he’ll find someone nice. He usually dates such slappers.’
‘Um, well. We – we have fun,’ I say.
‘I was just wondering,’ he says, awkwardly. ‘The young ladies you came in with…’
‘Yes?’ I ask. Defensively.
His face falls. ‘Nothing. Nothing. Obviously they have boyfriends…?’
‘Actually, no,’ I say, ‘but they’re both very nice girls.’
‘Of course,’ says Ed. ‘They look … very nice.’
‘You mustn’t judge them by their looks,’ I say hotly. ‘Just because they’re beautiful, they’re not people’s toys.’
‘Gosh, no,’ he says humbly. ‘Of course not.’
‘They’ve got their own brains and … careers and things.’
‘What do they do?’
‘They’re … models,’ I say reluctantly, ‘but they take it very seriously and … manage their own money.’
‘That’s excellent,’ he says. ‘Tell me about the blonde girl’.
‘That’s Lily,’ I say. ‘Lily Frutt – er, Venus.’
‘Lily Frutt-Venus,’ he says, reverentially.
‘Just Venus,’ I correct myself. ‘And the brunette is called Janet, but she likes to be called Jay-Me.’
‘Why’s that?’ he asks.
‘Just because,’ I say, and then Charles leans over to ask me something, and Ed Dawson turns to his other side.
Dinner proceeds just fine after that. I have maybe just a tiny bit too much champagne, but I do justice to everything – the green apple sorbet, the plate of cheeses, and the petits-fours with coffee and brandy. Charles doesn’t put his hand on my knee again, just makes small talk. I’m really starting to enjoy myself, actually, the champagne and brandy combining to make me incredibly mellow.
‘Have you come to a decision on the book?’ he asks.
‘Huh?’
‘My book,’ he reminds me. ‘Anna’s been reading my book so her company can make it into a film,’ he tells the battleaxe on his other side, proudly.
Oh help. I asked John for his report too, just to be certain, I mean it’s more his type of thing. Theoretically. Only it wasn’t. ‘Total bullshit,’ I think it began. ‘Sophomorphic approximation of Proust without any of the fun! Takes himself completely seriously and is completely awful … no plot … no characterization … melodramatic description … no potential whatsoever.’
‘Oh yes,’ I say, trying not to slur my words. ‘I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the book.’
‘Is it absolutely divine?’ asks the battleaxe loudly.
‘Anna’s reading my book!’ Charles announces to the entire table. And now they’re all looking at me. I should just tell the truth. But obviously I am not going to.
‘Well,’ I say carefully. ‘My reader thought your manuscript was very different, Charles. He even said it was unique.’
This is the worst book I have ever read, went the conclusion.
‘Really,’ says Charles, beaming.
‘It stood out of the crowd for him.’
In two years as a reader, I have never been subjected to such drivel …
‘He thought it was amazingly intricate.’
Muddied, over-complex and pretentious …
‘So?’ Charles says eagerly. ‘Are you putting it into production? I might consider directing, you know.’
My mouth goes dry. Suddenly I remember how Vanna handled it.
‘I don’t think it’s right for film,’ I say carefully, ‘because it’s so complex, so varied. Film would butcher it!’
‘I see,’ says Charles, and his face falls.
‘Oh, it’s too good for the pictures,’ says the old boot. ‘Isn’t that so, Anna?’
‘Absolutely!’ I say brightly. ‘Too good for them!’
But Charles is swigging from his brandy and now I feel horrible. All mean and nasty, when he’s tried to be so nice to me.
‘Charles,’ I whisper, but he shakes his head.
‘Come on, everybody,’ he says loudly as the waiters whisk away the plates. ‘Shall we dance?’
* * *
The dancing is pretty awful. The room is glorious, of course, hung with golden silk drapery and featuring a band doing live Scottish reels, which I am flung into without knowing any of them. And then there’s disco, which finally gets Janet and Lily onto the dance floor. Charles dances the upper-class shuffle with me. It involves putting your arm round a girl’s waist, then lifting one foot and putting it down in exactly the same spot, and repeating with the other foot. Sort of marching in place. With the occasional turn. When we finally break for a while, I think it must be 3 a.m but it’s only been an hour.
‘Bugger,’ says Charles to me. ‘Must go and check on people. Host, you know. Is that OK?’
‘Oh, of course.’ I say, gratefully. ‘I’ll be at the bar.’
I rush off to get myself some more champagne (where would evenings like this be without booze?) and find Ed standing there at the bar, looking longingly after Lily who is dancing surrounded by a crowd of admirers.
‘You could always ask her to dance,’ I say.
‘What’s the point,’ he responds, gloomily.
Lily glances our way and waves at me. A second later she’s broken off from the throng of men and is teetering towards me on her high heels.
‘What shall I do?’ asks Ed, panicked.
‘Champers!’ says Lily loudly, snapping her fingers at the barman. She grabs the crystal flute without thanking him. ‘Anna,’ she says ingratiatingly, ‘wonderful party. All the boys tell me Charles is very taken with you.’
‘He is,’ agrees Ed.
‘He thinks you might even be the one, apparently.’
After the book thing, I doubt it. ‘Don’t be silly. I’ve only just started—’
‘No, it’s true. You see, Charles is tired of pretty girls,’ Lily explains to Ed, with a sigh.
‘Then why is he going out with Anna?’ responds Ed, chivalrously.
Lily gives her patented breathy giggle. ‘You’re so funny. And you are?’
‘Ed Dawson,’ he says eagerly. ‘Lovely to meet you. Lily, isn’t it?’
Janet bounces up to us in a froth of bronze silk.
‘Top party.’ she says, breathlessly.
‘Have some champers!’ Lily says brightly.
‘Just water,’ Janet gasps. She is a bit red-faced. ‘I was doing my J-Lo salsa and I’m knackered. Wazzup?’ she says to Ed.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Don’t be so affected, Janet,’ snaps Lily.
‘I’m Ed,’ he says, recovering, as Jan
et pumps his hand. ‘And you must be the lovely Jay-Me.’
‘Yeah,’ she says, going redder with pleasure. ‘Right on!’
‘So, Ed.’ starts Lily.
Here it comes. The patented Lily Frutt Inquisition. She’s going to find out everything about him. Or at least everything that can be written on a balance sheet, which I guess is all that matters to Lily.
‘Dawson,’ she says. ‘Same name as Charles. Coincidence?’
‘Not entirely,’ he says, diffidently. ‘I’m his cousin.’
‘Older branch of the family?’
‘No, younger,’ he says. ‘We’re quite distant. Second cousins.’
‘And what do you do?’
‘I work on a farm,’ he says.
Lily pulls a tiny face. ‘How interesting,’ she says distantly. ‘And I suppose that must be hard if you have a big place to run? Like this one?’
‘Oh no,’ says Ed. ‘I live in a small flat in Bath.’
‘You own it?’ she asks brightly.
‘Rent,’ he says. ‘And it’s daylight robbery. Of course Bath is a very pretty town. Very interesting. Some of the history is absolutely fascinating—’
‘Excuse me,’ says Lily, cutting him off with a cold smile. ‘I must get back to my dance partners. Nice to meet you, anyway.’
And she sets down her crystal flute and marches off instantly. That’s actually not the worst I’ve seen her. Once we were in a club and a guy comes up and asks her to dance. She says, ‘What kind of car do you drive?’ He says, ‘Ford Fiesta.’ She turned her back on him.
Ed’s been let off easy, but he doesn’t seem to appreciate it. He stares miserably into his champagne.
Janet and I exchange looks.
‘I’ve always wanted to go to Bath,’ Janet says warmly.
‘Really?’ Ed asks.
‘Would you like to sit down?’ she says, kindly. ‘And tell me about … farming?’
Some of the humiliation clears from Ed’s face. ‘We could go and find some chairs,’ he says. ‘And they’re serving sorbet in the next room. Charles has an ice-cream parlour set up.’
‘I’d love a sorbet,’ says Janet.
‘That’s a jolly nice frock you’re wearing,’ he says.
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