by Jilly Cooper
‘I thought I’d ring straightaway, before we lost touch.’
‘You must come to dinner,’ I said.
‘We’d love to, but actually we’ve got a plan. Are you doing anything the weekend after next?’
‘I’m supposed to be going to France, but it’s a fluid arrangement.’
‘Well, I expect you’d find it awfully boring, but Jeremy shares a boat with another chap, and we’ve got it next weekend. We wondered if you’d like to come too.’
‘I might get seasick,’ I said, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice.
‘Oh you couldn’t! It’s a barge, and all we do is drift up and down the canals, going through the locks and tying up where it takes our fancy. Would you like to bring Charlie?’
‘He’ll be away,’ I lied. ‘It’s not a big thing, Charlie and me, we’re just mates.’
‘You haven’t got someone special you’d like to bring?’
‘I did have. We were going to get married, but he was killed in a car crash earlier this year.’
‘Oh, poor, poor Tavy,’ she said, unconsciously lapsing into the nickname of schooldays. ‘Oh God, I’m sorry.’
There was a pause.
‘Well, anyway,’ she floundered on. ‘If you didn’t want to bring someone, Jeremy had thought. . do you know Gareth Llewellyn?’
‘No, should I? The name sounds faintly familiar.’
‘He’s a great friend of Jeremy’s. We’ve been trying to persuade him to come on the boat for ages, but he works so hard, he can never get away. I think you’d like him; he’s awfully attractive.’
I didn’t care if he were. My mind was already jumping ahead, dreaming of a long weekend, drifting up and down the canals, lounging on the deck in my bikini by day, my hair gleaming pale in the moonlight by night — how could I not hook Jeremy?
‘It sounds great,’ I said. ‘I’d love to come. Why don’t you and Jeremy come to dinner on Monday and we can talk about it?’
I planned Monday’s dinner like a military operation. As I’m a rotten cook and can be guaranteed to louse up even fake mashed potato, I arranged for the food to be sent up from the restaurant around the corner, so I could pass it off as my own efforts.
Gussie had obviously given Jeremy the impression that I was a frivolous social butterfly and I was determined to dispel it. I scoured the shops until I found a dress that made me look both demure and sexy, and I bought all Jeremy’s books — two slender volumes of poetry and a book of criticism of John Donne’s poems. I found Jeremy’s poems quite incomprehensible. The long, rather self-admiring introduction written by Jeremy himself made me understand them even less.
The doorbell rang as I was spraying scent round the flat. Gussie stood in front of Jeremy, clutching a huge box of chocolates.
‘For you,’ she said, giving me a bear hug. ‘You’re the only friend I have who doesn’t need to diet. Goodness, that blue looks stunning!’
I couldn’t say the same for her. She was wearing a scarlet dress which clashed horribly with her flushed face. We went in to the drawing-room and I poured everyone stiff drinks.
‘How delicious to have a flat like this all to oneself,’ said Gussie, collapsing on to the sofa.
‘I can’t wait to get out of London on Friday,’ I said.
‘Nor can I,’ said Gussie, shovelling nuts into her face like a starved squirrel. ‘My office is like a furnace. Gareth is coming, by the way. I lured him by telling him what a knockout you were.’
‘Well then, he’s doomed to bitter disappointment,’ I said with a sidelong glance at Jeremy.
‘Not in your case,’ he said, staring back at me until I demurely dropped my eyes.
Oh Good-ee, I thought, it’s beginning to work. I sat on the sofa, stretching long brown legs in front of me. I saw Jeremy looking at them surreptitiously. I didn’t blame him, they were a far prettier sight than Gussie’s tree trunks, displayed almost in their entirety by a rucked-up skirt.
‘Gareth wants us to go round after dinner for a drink,’ she said. ‘He says he can’t wait until Friday.’
‘Do you like him?’ I asked Jeremy, as though it were only his opinion that mattered.
‘Yes, I do. He’s one of my oldest friends. We were at Oxford together. His father was a Welsh miner, and he was a scholarship boy with a chip as big as a plank on his shoulder. Then he ended up with a first.’
‘He’s got a mind like a steel trap but he’s not at all academic,’ added Gussie. ‘All he’s ever wanted to do is make masses of money. He’s got his own company now, with thousands of little men working for him putting up sky-scrapers. He’s the most energetic man I’ve ever met.’
‘He sounds exhausting,’ I said, filling Jeremy’s drink.
‘Not really,’ said Jeremy. ‘You occasionally feel you want to add water, but on the whole he’s fine.’
‘Won’t he get bored on the boat?’
‘Not with you around. He loves girls.’
‘He has time for them?’
‘Oh, yes,’ sighed Gussie. ‘He’s awfully attractive. He makes you feel all body, somehow.’
Dinner was a success. Luigi’s had surpassed themselves. Both Jeremy and Gussie were extremely impressed.
Over coffee, I opened Gussie’s chocolates.
‘Oh, we oughtn’t to,’ said Gussie, rootling round for a soft centre. ‘We bought them for you.’
It was then that I played my trump card. Turning to Jeremy I said, ‘You never let on you were the Jeremy West. You’ve been a god of mine ever since I can remember. I’ve got all your books.’
How sweet he looked when he blushed.
‘And you’ve actually read them?’
‘Of course. I know most of your poems by heart. I like the one about Victoria Station late at night best.’ I reeled off a few lines.
After that nothing stopped him. The occasional murmur from me was all he needed. I didn’t listen to what he was saying, I was too busy gazing hypnotically into his eyes. It was Gussie who finally halted him, when she’d finished the chocolates.
‘Darling, if we’re going to Gareth’s, it’s gone ten o’clock.’
He was all contrition. ‘Sweetheart, I am sorry. When I get on my hobby horse, it’s like crossing a motorway in the rush-hour, trying to stop me.’ He took her hand. ‘It’s so rare meeting someone who actually understands what I’m trying to say.’
‘Unlike me,’ said Gussie, without rancour. ‘Let’s quickly do the washing-up.’
‘Absolutely not,’ I said firmly. I wasn’t going to have her finding Luigi’s take-away carrier bags in the kitchen.
‘Oh, well, if you insist. Can I go to the loo?’
Jeremy and I went into the drawing-room.
‘There you are,’ I said, pointing to his books on one of the bottom shelves. I’d taken the jackets off and dirtied them up a bit.
He looked at me for a second. ‘You’re very unexpected, you know.’
‘I am?’
‘Yeah. When we met last week I thought you were one of those impossibly beautiful girls, incapable of doing anything but look glamorous. Now I find you know how to make a flat look wonderful, you cook like an angel, and you seem to know more about books than any woman I’ve ever met!’
‘I aim to please,’ I said. ‘Have you got a cigarette?’
‘Of course.’ He lit one for me.
‘Gussie seems determined to get me off with this Gareth man.’
‘Gussie’s a romantic; she longs for everyone to be as happy as she is. I’m sure you’ll like him. Most women do.’
‘I’m choosy,’ I said carefully. ‘I prefer to do my own hunting.’
For the first time we really looked at each other, slowly, lingeringly, exploring each other’s faces, unable to tear our eyes away.
‘Stop it,’ he said, but quite gently. ‘Gussie’ll be back in a minute.’
The hot June night blazed with stars. We drove through London with the roof down and the wireless blaring, in wild spirits. We were al
l a bit tight. As it was only a two-seater I had insisted on sitting in the luggage compartment on the right side so I could catch Jeremy’s eye in the driving mirror. When we swung round corners I let my fingers rest lightly on his shoulder.
Suddenly I felt a pang. Perhaps it was a bit much trying to nick him from Gussie. Then I saw Gussie put her hand on his thigh, not in a very sexy way, just in a friendly gesture of togetherness, and I was shot through with jealousy. The pang disappeared. Any girl who let herself get as fat as Gussie deserved to lose a man like Jeremy anyway.
I managed to show as much leg as possible as I got out of the car. In the row of large white, elegant Kensington houses, Gareth Llewellyn’s stood out like a sore thumb. It was painted violet, with a brilliant scarlet door. How ostentatious can you get, I thought.
Unexpectedly, the door was answered by a girl with long red hair, eyes the colour of greengages and endless legs.
‘Mr West,’ she said, giving Jeremy a pussy-cat smile. ‘Come in. Mr Llewellyn is upstairs; perhaps you’d follow me.’
On the third floor, standing in the doorway, stood a tall, thickset man, smoking a cigar. Jeremy collapsed into his arms, clutching at his shirt and gasping out some story about having become separated from the main party with which he had scaled all but the final peak. ‘Brandy,’ he croaked and, staggering past the man with the cigar, collapsed onto a pile of cushions. Gussie shrieked with laughter.
‘I think he’s a bit tight. Hullo Gareth darling,’ she said, kissing him. ‘This is Octavia Brennen. Isn’t she a knockout?’
‘How do you do?’ I said, putting on my society voice because I was embarrassed.
‘Very well, thank you,’ he mimicked me, looking me over very slowly, like a judge examining a show hack.
He turned and smiled at Gussie. ‘She’s beautiful, Gus. For once you haven’t exaggerated.’
‘Are you sure you two haven’t met before?’ said Gussie. ‘I should have thought you would have, being jet-setters and all that.’
Gareth Llewellyn examined me a bit more and shook his head.
‘No, I never forget a body. Did she really come up the stairs? I thought girls like that only came down the chimney at Christmas time.’
His voice was low in both senses of the word, with a soft but very discernable Welsh accent. I had the feeling he was laughing at me. Gussie shrieked with more giggles; she was beginning to get seriously on my nerves.
We joined Jeremy in a room which looked like the sunset people walk hand-in-hand into, at the end of technicolor films — brilliant pink walls, covered in books and paintings, scarlet curtains, parquet glimmering in pools round flamingo-coloured long-haired rugs, piles of white fur cushions and a long orange sofa. It was vulgar, but it worked. Papers were scattered over the floor and the girl who’d let us in started picking them up.
‘I love your cushions,’ said Gussie, collapsing onto a pile beside Jeremy.
‘I took my hangover to Habitat last Saturday and bought them. At least they keep everyone horizontal,’ said Gareth, winking at me and moving towards a bookshelf of leather-bound volumes. The next moment he’d pressed a button and the entire works of Walter Scott slid back to reveal a vast cocktail cabinet.
‘Now,’ he said. ‘What would anyone like?’
He was absolutely not my type. His face was heavy with a powerful butt of a jaw, big crooked nose, full sensual mouth and wicked black eyes which seemed to be continually laughing at some private joke.
His skin was swarthy, and his thick black hair, prematurely streaked with grey, grew over his collar and in long sideboards down his cheeks. He was wearing light grey corduroy trousers and a dark blue shirt, open at the neck to show a mat of black hair. His height and massive shoulders didn’t entirely draw the eye away from a thickening waistline.
He handed me a drink. ‘There you are, baby. It’s a real L.O.’
‘L.O.?’
‘Leg opener. Never fails to work.’
Blushing angrily, I turned away.
By the time he had fixed us all drinks, the beautiful red-head had collected all the papers from the floor.
‘You haven’t met my PA, Mrs Smith, have you?’ said Gareth. ‘Now, in her case the “A” stands for Aphrodisiac. Do you want a drink, lovely?’
She shook her head and gave him her pussy-cat smile.
‘I ought to be getting home. My poor husband will be wondering what the hell’s happened.’
‘I’ll see you out,’ said Gareth. ‘I won’t be a minute,’ he added to us.
‘Isn’t he gorgeous?’ said Gussie.
‘Great,’ I replied, unenthusiastically.
There was a crude power about him. I could see why certain women might go for him — but not me. I detest those big, hunky aggressively sexual men; they make me feel claustrophobic. I like my men gentle, reticent, subtle. Gareth Llewellyn was about as subtle as a steam roller in overdrive.
I wandered round the room examining objects and giving Jeremy the opportunity to admire my figure. I avoided looking into an adjoining room, after glimpsing one of the biggest double beds I’d ever seen. I half expected to see a blonde in gold lamé pyjamas revving-up beneath the sheets.
A slight breeze swayed the curtains, bringing a scent of mignonette and tobacco plants from the window box outside. I looked out of the window. Down below Gareth Llewellyn was talking to Mrs Smith. Suddenly he pulled her into his arms and kissed her very thoroughly. After a minute, he let her go and opened the car door for her. She patted his cheek with her hand.
As he turned to come back into the house, he looked up and caught me looking at him, and grinned.
The telephone rang. Gussie picked up the receiver.
‘Hullo, yes. He’s downstairs. Hang on a minute. Gareth,’ she yelled, ‘telephone.’
He grimaced apologetically at us as he came in and took the receiver.
‘Vinnie, baby, how are you? Yeah. I’ve missed you too. Sweetheart, I haven’t a hope this evening. I’m knee-deep in people, and later I’ve got to work. I’ve got one hell of a day tomorrow. Listen, darling, what about Wednesday evening?’ God, that Welsh voice could turn it on.
Trying not to listen, I turned to Jeremy. He smiled at me reassuringly.
‘What other writers do you like?’ I said.
‘Keats, of course, Thomas Campion, some of A. E. Housman.’
‘What do you think of Robert Browning?’ I asked.
‘Why?’ said Gareth, coming off the telephone. ‘Is he marrying anyone we know?’
Gussie giggled. ‘You mustn’t mob them up; they’ve been having high-powered intellectual conversations all evening. Don’t you think, Tavy, that the colours of Gareth’s curtains would be ideal for my bridesmaids?’
After that I was forced to listen to her rabbiting on about her wedding. I lounged on the floor, propped against the sofa, lacing my fingers behind my head to show off my bust, and rucking up my skirt. With my other ear, I listened to Jeremy’s conversation with Gareth.
‘Is that bird really your secretary?’
‘Mrs Smith?’ said Gareth. ‘Quite a doll isn’t she?’
‘Doesn’t she mind working at this hour?’
‘Mr Smith is an in-work actor; irregular hours suit her. So stop eating your heart out, you’ll never get your spoon into that pudding.’
The telephone rang. It was South America on the line. Gareth, claiming it was business, took it into the bedroom. Jeremy and I helped ourselves to more drink.
‘Does he always carry on like this?’ I said.
‘With girls? Usually, not always. He isn’t trying to prove anything, he’s just a glutton. He can’t pass anyone up.’
‘He ought to get married,’ said Gussie. ‘He needs the love of a good woman.’
‘He’d need the love of four good mistresses as well to keep him going,’ I said. ‘Are you installing a telephone on the boat?’
‘No, that’s one of the conditions of his coming down, no telephones,’ said Gussie. ‘I
’m going to make some coffee.’
She wandered out of the room. I got to my feet and strolled over to the fireplace to examine the pile of invitations — parties, dinners, business functions. Jeremy came over and stood beside me. I looked up at our reflections side by side in the huge mirror above the fireplace.
‘How odd,’ I said slowly. ‘Have you noticed how alike we are, both blue-eyed and blonde? We could be brother and sister. I’ve always felt incest has the edge on all other relationships.’
Jeremy’s breath was coming rapidly and his eyes had gone almost glazed with lust.
‘You must know I don’t feel remotely brotherly towards you.’
I looked up at him, running my tongue slowly along my bottom lip.
‘How do you feel?’ I said softly.
‘Bloody disturbed — and I’m not amused by sleepless nights either.’
‘Oh, nor am I, nor am I. We can’t do anything about it, you know.’
‘Of course we can’t, but that doesn’t stop me being obsessed with you. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve seen in my life.’ He paused. ‘I suppose lots of men have told you that.’
‘A few. Not many of them meant it.’
‘Well I do,’ he said angrily.
‘Do you not want me to come on the boat?’
‘Of course I want you to. . and, well. . Gussie would be so disappointed.’
‘You realize how difficult it’s going to be, being thrown together all the time.’
‘We shall probably both go mad, but rather that than you staying away because of me.’
I took a step towards him. ‘We shall both have to rely on self-control, that’s all.’
‘Oh, I shouldn’t do that,’ said a voice from the doorway. ‘It’s not infallible in my experience. .’
We spun around, appalled to find Gareth watching us. His eyes weren’t laughing now. There was a calm, bland, dangerous look about him, but all he said was, ‘Your glass is empty, Octavia.’
Then Gussie came bustling in with the coffee. How much had he heard? I bit my lip with vexation.
After that we talked about plans for the weekend, who should bring what, what route we should take. I didn’t contribute much. I was too shattered. I couldn’t look at Jeremy.