Octavia

by Jilly Cooper

  ‘Oh lovely, you must be weak in the head. For heaven’s sake, if you play a game, even if it’s only scrabble, you want to win don’t you?’

  ‘And it matters so much to you, the winning?’

  ‘Of course it does, why not have a Lamborghini and a Rolls Royce and a nice house in London, and a villa in France? And if you can throw in a few good paintings, a string of race horses, the odd yacht in the Med, well bully for you.’

  ‘It’s status symbols that really matter to you don’t they?’

  ‘And to you too,’ said Gareth. ‘More than anyone, you need a sybaritic existence with different guys to take you to trendy restaurants, buy you fur coats, fly you to all the smart places. It wouldn’t amuse you at all to be shackled to a poor man.’

  I opened my mouth to protest, but he went on.

  ‘Jeremy’s the same. He’s lucky to be marrying Gus, who’s got some bread.’

  ‘Jeremy’ll make money out of writing,’ I said quickly.

  ‘Nuts! He can’t write “bum” on a wall. I bet you don’t understand a word of those poems of his you claim to be so fond of, and do you know why? It’s because there isn’t anything in them to understand.’

  ‘I can only assume you must be jealous of his talent,’ I said furiously.

  ‘Oh, don’t be pompous, sweetheart. There’s far more poetry in those blue eyes of his than there is in any of his verse.’

  ‘I thought you were supposed to be a friend of his?’

  ‘So I am, but I believe in doing practical things for him like getting him somewhere to live, rather than swooning over his tin-pot poetry.’

  I didn’t trust myself to speak. Gareth said, ‘We’ll be there in ten minutes.’

  I started to do my face.

  He flicked on a spotlight to help me, then said, ‘Go easy on the warpaint.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked, painting a more seductive curve on my bottom lip.

  ‘Because Jeremy belongs to Gussie.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘You’ve come down with the sole purpose of getting him away from her.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Oh yes you do. That performance you two were putting on the other night, not speaking to each other when anyone else was around, rushing together as soon as you were alone. I heard you both: “Oh darling, we shall have to rely on self-control.”’

  It was a brilliant imitation of my voice.

  ‘Gussie is an old friend,’ I said evenly.

  ‘That’s the trouble, you’re jealous of her.’

  ‘Jealous. Me jealous of Gussie? You must be joking!’

  ‘Because, despite your looks, people love her more than they do you.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘Gussie is a friend and I couldn’t be less interested in Jeremy.’

  ‘Good,’ said Gareth amiably. ‘Keep it that way then. Here we are.’

  He turned off the road down a long woody tunnel. Clenching my hands, I choked back the torrent of rage and fury that was ready to pour out of me. Jeremy’s mad for you, I said to myself, keep calm. Gareth’s just trying to bug you. Gareth stretched.

  ‘What a marvellous prospect, three whole days of sleep, sex and sun.’

  ‘It isn’t very likely,’ I hissed, ‘that you’ll get any sex from me.’

  ‘Not likely at all, unless I ask you for it,’ he said.

  Just as I was groping for a really crushing reply, we emerged out of the tunnel and found ourselves almost at the water’s edge. The sky unfurled like a banner cascading with stars. Black hulks of barges darkened the water. Behind, the murky towers and pinnacles of Oxford rose indistinctly.

  Jeremy emerged from the nearest boat to meet us. I’d never felt more pleased to see anyone. I wanted to throw myself sobbing into his arms.

  ‘Hullo,’ he said. ‘You made it OK? Let me help with the cases.’

  ‘I’m desperately sorry we’re so late,’ I said.

  ‘Doesn’t matter. Gareth rang this afternoon and said you wouldn’t be here much before midnight.’

  In the headlamps of the car I could see the barge was painted scarlet and decorated in brilliant blues, yellows and greens, like a gypsy caravan. The brasswork glinted, the red curtains glowed behind the saloon windows. In gold letters edged with blue was written her name, The Lady Griselda.

  ‘Isn’t she lovely?’ I said.

  Jeremy helped me across the gangplank, but he didn’t squeeze my hand, nor answer when I whispered that it was heavenly to see him again.

  Gussie was in the kitchen. She was wearing old jeans and an oil-stained shirt. I suddenly realized how stupid I must look bringing three suitcases.

  ‘Tavy,’ she hugged me. ‘How lovely. Have you been having fun?’

  ‘Yes, marvellous,’ I lied, disengaging myself from her. I didn’t want oil stains all over my new blazer.

  ‘You must be exhausted. Come and see your cabin, and then I’ll give you a huge drink.’

  We went through a cabin with two bunks in it.

  ‘This is Jeremy and me,’ she said, and then opening another door, ‘This is you and Gareth.’

  Oh, my God, I thought, I’m going to have to spend the whole weekend fighting him off. Our suitcases were already deposited on one of the bunks. On a ledge stood a glass jam jar which Gussie had filled with meadow sweet, buttercups and already wilting roses.

  ‘The heads and the washbasin are next door. I’m afraid they’re a bit primitive, and the saloon’s beyond that,’ she said. ‘Come through when you’re ready.’

  I washed and put on more scent and make-up to give me confidence. In the saloon I found them all gathered round a portable television set.

  ‘Look at Gareth’s toy,’ said Gussie.

  ‘Trust him to bring the twentieth century with him,’ I said and looked at Jeremy, but he looked quickly away.

  ‘Have a drink?’ said Gussie.

  ‘I’ll get her one,’ said Gareth, getting a glass out of a cupboard in the corner and filling it with wine.

  ‘Isn’t this gorgeous?’ I said, looking round at the oil lamps, the panelling and the gleaming brass.

  ‘Very sexy too,’ added Gareth approvingly. ‘Octavia and I are waking at the crack of dawn to do PT.’

  ‘PT?’ said Gussie in surprise. ‘That doesn’t sound Octavia’s line of country.’

  ‘Some people call it sexual intercourse,’ said Gareth.

  He raised his glass to me, his wicked lecherous eyes moving over me in amusement.

  Gussie went off into peals of laughter.

  ‘You mustn’t tease, Gareth. Poor Tavy won’t know if she’s coming or going.’

  ‘Coming, hopefully,’ said Gareth.

  ‘I hear you’ve found a house,’ I said to Jeremy. ‘I’m so pleased.’

  For a moment he looked up and our eyes met, then he looked quickly away. A muscle was going in his cheek; he was obviously in a state.

  ‘Yes, it’s great, isn’t it?’

  ‘Great!’ said Gussie, ‘it’s marvellous! Most couples can’t afford a house for years. Gareth fixed us a mortgage and found us the ideal place in a few days. You must come and help me choose curtains and carpets, Tavy. I’m so hopeless.’

  They started talking about the house and wedding plans until I couldn’t stand it any more. ‘Does anyone mind if I go to bed?’ I said.

  ‘Of course not,’ said Gussie. ‘I’ll come and see everything’s all right.’

  ‘You’ll see me anon,’ said Gareth.

  ‘No doubt,’ I said, turning to Jeremy, ‘Goodnight, it’s such a treat to be down here.’

  Just for a moment I was comforted by a flicker of misery in his eyes, then the shutters came down.

  ‘Goodnight, sleep well,’ he said.

  In my cabin, Gussie was plumping pillows.

  ‘It was a good thing Gareth rang Jeremy and said you were going to be late, or we’d have been in an awful shambles. Jeremy and I spent all afternoon in bed,’ Gu
ssie confided with a little giggle, then went on, ‘I hope you don’t mind sharing a cabin with Gareth. I’m sure he won’t pounce on you unless you want it.’

  ‘What on earth do you mean?’ I snapped.

  ‘Oh well,’ she stammered. ‘I mean, I thought you might want it, perhaps, if you found him attractive.’

  ‘I don’t,’ I said.

  ‘Oh dear,’ her face fell. Realizing it was a bad move, I added, ‘I like him very much, but not in that way.’

  Once I was alone, I couldn’t stop shaking. What had that snake Gareth been saying to Jeremy to change him so much? Had he just done it out of sheer bloodymindedness or did he want me for himself? When I was in my nightie (which was apricot silk, clinging and, ironically, bought to inflame Jeremy) I found to my horror that I had left my sleeping pills behind. In the state I was in I’d never sleep without them.

  I put all my suitcases on the floor, and crept into the top bunk and lay there, tense and trembling, waiting to fend off the inevitable assault when Gareth came to bed. All I could hear were shouts of laughter from the other room.

  An hour went past; they were coming to bed; there were shouts of ‘goodnight’, then silence, broken only by the sound of water lapping against the boat.

  The door opened, and Gareth slid quietly into the cabin. Hoping he would not hear the terrified thudding of my heart, I tried to breathe slowly and evenly.

  ‘Only five out of ten,’ came the soft Welsh voice. ‘People who are really asleep breathe much faster than that.’

  Then, to my amazement, I heard him getting into the bottom bunk. He must be trying to lull me into a feeling of false security. I lay frozen for ten minutes, but suddenly my terror turned to fury. Unmistakably from the bottom bunk came the sound of gentle snoring.

  I lay there spitting with rage until eventually I decided it was no use working myself up into a state. Gareth might have temporarily chucked a monkey wrench into the romantic works, but if he intended to fight dirty, he would find that no one could fight dirtier than me when I put my mind to it. Whatever he had told Jeremy — that I was a spoilt bitch, a parasite, an opportunist — would make no difference in the end. Jeremy was mad for me, try as he might to fight it.

  Time was on my side. In this heat, cooped up together for three days, Jeremy’s self-control was bound to desert him. All I had to do was look stunning and wait. Festina lente. But how could I be expected to look stunning if I couldn’t sleep? I wanted to go up on the moonlit deck and cool off. But although Gareth was now snoring like a warthog, I had a feeling that as soon as I tried to climb out of my bunk, his hand would shoot out and grab me by the ankle. Why, oh why, had I forgotten to bring my sleeping pills? The hours crawled by, and only when a misty dawn began to filter through the porthole, did I fall asleep.

  Chapter Six

  When I woke the boat was moving. Through the porthole I could see shiny olive-green water, a tangle of rushes and brilliant blue sky. I could hear voices and the crash of footsteps above me. I pulled the sheets over my head and tried to go back to sleep again, then gave up and looked at my watch. It was nearly twelve o’clock.

  When I pushed open the door of the loo I was confronted by a huge brown back and tousled black hair. Gareth, wearing only a towel around his hips, was cleaning his teeth.

  ‘You’re up with the lark,’ he said grinning. ‘You must have slept well.’

  ‘Don’t you ever wear any pyjamas?’ I snapped.

  ‘Never, never. I always sleep in the raw. I like to get really close to people. Shall I run you a bath, or would you prefer a shower? I’ll see if Gussie’s got any Badedas.’

  Knowing there was only a cracked wash basin, I ignored this and flattened myself against the wall to let him pass. He paused in front of me and once again I was overwhelmed by the claustrophobia I always felt when he was close to me. As I bolted past him and locked the door behind me, I could hear him laughing.

  He’d gone, thank goodness, when I got back to the cabin. I couldn’t decide what to wear, all my clothes looked so new. In the end I settled for a dark green towelling jump suit with a red and green striped leather belt.

  Gussie was in the kitchen, cooking and pinkfaced. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘How are you? Did you sleep all right?’

  She was obviously dying to know if I’d slept with Gareth or not, and was on the look out for signs of ravage in my face.

  ‘I fell asleep the moment my head touched the pillow,’ I said blithely. ‘Can I do anything to help?’

  ‘No, don’t bother. Do you want some breakfast?’

  ‘Only a cup of coffee.’

  ‘You ought to eat something, you know,’ she insisted.

  ‘I can’t even look a fried egg in the face in the morning.’

  She began boringly explaining to me the merits of eating a proper breakfast, so I made a cup of coffee and a quick exit up on deck.

  A beautiful burning day had soared out of the mist. On either side white cornfields slanted down to the water, ahead on the left bank a clump of copper beeches glittered purple in the sun. The water ahead was so smooth, it was as though we were gliding over an old mirror. Jeremy, wearing only a pair of jeans, was at the wheel. He looked all tawny and golden haired, like a young lion, but his dark blue eyes were tired.

  ‘Everything all right?’ he said.

  ‘Yes, thank you, everything’s wonderful.’ I gave him a smile of pure happiness. Let him sweat, I thought, let him have a few nasty moments wondering if I really have been screwed by Gareth.

  ‘You look very pleased with yourself,’ said a soft Welsh voice. Gareth sat hunched up on the roof, his arms round his knees, smoking and reading the Financial Times.

  ‘How the hell did you get hold of that?’ I asked.

  ‘From the last lock-keeper, a man of property like myself.’

  ‘Anything up?’ asked Jeremy.

  ‘My shares are, by 10p,’ said Gareth.

  ‘Don’t you ever let up?’ I said.

  ‘Only in the mating season.’

  ‘Jeremee,’ called Gussie from the kitchen.

  ‘Yes love?’

  ‘You haven’t kissed me for at least a quarter-of-an-hour.’

  Jeremy looked at us and blushed.

  ‘Get on with it, you flesh monger,’ said Gareth, getting to his feet. ‘I’ll take the wheel.’

  ‘We’ll be coming up to Ramsdyke Lock in half-an-hour,’ said Jeremy. ‘I’ll come and take over then.’

  He went dutifully down into the kitchen.

  ‘In a few years’ time,’ I said savagely, ‘they’ll be calling each other “Mummy” and “Daddy”.’

  I enjoyed going through the lock. The lock-keeper’s little house was surrounded by a garden of flowers as gaudy as the front of a seed packet. A goat looked over the fence, a golden retriever sat lolling its tongue out in the heat. When Jeremy sounded the horn a fat woman in an apron came out and opened the first lot of gates for us. Then the boat edged its way into the dark green cavern with dank slimy walls and purple toadflax growing in the crevices, and the gates clanged behind us. Suddenly water poured in from the other end, gradually raising our boat to the new level of the river.

  ‘Very phallic, isn’t it?’ said Gareth, who was waiting on the shore to open the gates at the other end.

  I looked up at him with loathing. ‘Do you keep your mind permanently below your navel?’

  We tied up for lunch under a veil of green willows, and I changed into my favourite bikini, which is that stinging yellow which goes so well with brown skin and blonde hair, and very cleverly cut to give me a cleavage like the Grand Canyon.

  ‘Hickory dickory dock, the mouse ran up the drink bill,’ said Gareth, pouring himself a quadruple whisky. ‘This weekend is fast degenerating into an orgy.’

  He looked up and whistled as I walked into the saloon.

  ‘Despite your obvious limitations, Octavia, I must admit that you’re very well constructed. Really, it’s a sin for you to wear any clothes at
all. Don’t you agree Jeremy?’

  Jeremy was devouring me, as a starved dog might look at a large steak. His hand shook as he lit a cigarette, that muscle was going in his cheek again.

  ‘Oh these engaged men never look at other women,’ I said lightly. ‘Pour me a drink, Gareth darling.’

  We all got tight at lunch. It was far too hot to eat but as Gussie had spent all morning making a fish mayonnaise, we had to make half-hearted efforts. She’d even cut the tomatoes into little flowers. As usual she ended up by guzzling most of it herself.

  Afterwards, as Jeremy and Gareth cast off, I curled up in a sunbaked corner on deck. A few minutes later Gussie joined me — not a pretty sight in a black bathing dress, her huge white bosom and shoulders spilling over the top. She immediately started boring me making lists for her wedding.

  ‘There’s so much to do with only a month to go,’ she kept saying. How many double sheets did I think she’d need, and was it absolutely essential to have an egg beater? But her fond dreamy gaze rested more often on Jeremy than on her lists.

  ‘Isn’t he beautiful?’ she said, then giggled. ‘Gareth’s given me this fantastic sex instruction book. I can now see why so many people end up with slipped discs. The things they expect you to do, and it’s a bit tricky when you have to hold the book in one hand in order to learn how to do it,’ and she went off into shrieks of laughter.

  ‘How are you getting on with Gareth?’ she went on.

  I admired my reflection in her sun glasses. ‘Well I’m not getting off with him, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘Ah — but the weekend is still in its infancy,’ said that hateful Welsh voice and Gareth lay down on the deck between us, cushioning his dark head on his elbow, the wicked slit eyes staring up at the burning sky.

  ‘I’ve just been telling Tavy about your fantastic sex book,’ said Gussie.

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought she’d need it,’ said Gareth. ‘She must have taken her “L” plates off years ago.’

  A large white barge was cruising towards us on the other side of the river. A middle-aged man in a yachting cap was at the wheel, addressing two fat women with corrugated hair up at the front of the boat, through a speaking trumpet. Another man with a white moustache and a red face was gazing at us through binoculars. They all looked thoroughly disapproving. Gareth sat up and waited until they drew level with us.