by Jilly Cooper
‘What was it?’ I said.
‘A sheep’s eyeball,’ said Gareth.
I started to giggle.
‘He’s over the moon about the baby,’ I said, trying to keep the trace of wistfulness out of my voice.
‘Yep, it’s a good thing. It’ll patch up things between him and Ricky, too.’
There was a pause. The room was suffocatingly hot. I still hadn’t looked at him. A schoolgirl embarking on her first love affair couldn’t have behaved with more gaucheness. I felt hollow with longing and misery.
‘It’s very hot isn’t it?’ I said.
‘Very,’ said Gareth.
This wasn’t getting us very far. I got to my feet, edging towards the door.
‘I must get you some coffee.’
‘I don’t want any.’
‘I–I’ve got some work I’ve got to finish.’
He followed me into the general office, passing Miss Parkside on the way out, bearing her floral sponge-bag off to the Ladies.
‘It’s going-home time,’ he said.
‘I’ve got to finish these,’ I said, picking a page off the four separate piles of paper until they shook in my hand as though they were being fluttered by an electric fan.
Gareth looked at me for a minute.
‘You’re getting them all out of order,’ he said, taking them from me, and restacking them. He shoved them between the stapler and banged it down with one hand. Nothing happened.
‘Bloody thing’s run out,’ he said. ‘Come on, you can do them in the morning. I’ll buy you a drink.’
The bar was crowded with commuters who couldn’t face the journey home yet. Gareth found me a bar stool, I curled my feet round one of the legs, trying to control the hammering in my heart. In a minute I knew I’d wake up from a dream, and be crying back in bed in Putney. He handed me a gin and tonic and shot soda into his whisky. I took a slug of my drink at once, gripping it with both hands to stop them shaking.
I glanced up at the smoked mirror behind the bar; my eyes met Gareth’s. For a second we gazed at each other with a steady fascination, as though we were two quite different people, in another world for the first time. I felt if his sleeve touched mine the whole bar would burst into flames.
I tugged my eyes away and took another gulp.
‘You’ve lost a lot of weight,’ he said.
‘Have I?’
‘Too much.’
‘It’s the heat.’
He glanced at the beige sausage rolls and curling sandwiches in the glass case.
‘D’you want something now?’
I shook my head. A fire engine clanged past the door, followed by another.
‘D’you think it’ll ever rain again?’ I said.
I noticed for the first time how tired he looked, the black rings under his eyes, almost as dark as his eyebrows.
‘Is Seaford-Brennen too much of a sweat?’ I said.
‘Well it’s not exactly a day trip to Llandudno,’ he said. ‘Jakey’s very pleased with you, by the way.’
I felt myself blushing. ‘He is?’
‘Yep, and so am I. You haven’t just turned over a new leaf, Brennen, it’s a bloody great tree.’
He looked at me reflectively for a minute.
‘Why have you been crying your eyes out all afternoon?’
I took a hasty swig of my drink, the glass was too deep and it ran all over my face.
‘I’m trying to get my head sorted out,’ I said, frantically, wiping gin away with my sleeve. ‘So I started going to a shrink.’
‘Jesus, you don’t need a shrink.’
‘H-he thinks I do. He pounced on me today.’
I started to tremble again. For a moment Gareth’s hand tightened on my arm, then he said,
‘The bastard. Report him to the medical council.’
‘I don’t think you can report shrinks, but it was a shock. I sort of trusted him.’
‘You give me his name and address, and I’ll get him kicked out,’ said Gareth. He was really angry. God, he was being so nice, any minute I’d start crying again. I took a bite of my lemon peel.
‘Lorna rang me this afternoon,’ I said. ‘She was in the country.’
Suddenly he looked evasive and shifty. He got out a packet of cigarettes, and when I refused one, lit one for himself.
‘She said she had something special to tell me,’ I went on, ‘but she wouldn’t tell me over the telephone in case it upset me.’
Gareth shook his ice round in his glass.
‘Do you want another drink?’
I shook my head, the lump was getting bigger and bigger in my throat.
‘She sounded over the moon, like Xander,’ I continued. ‘I guess she was trying to tell me she was getting married.’
‘Yep,’ said Gareth. ‘That’s about it.’
‘Soon?’ I said.
‘Pretty soon. Lorna’s one of those girls who wants to keep her virginity for marriage. She’s worried she can’t hold out much longer.’
‘Bully for her,’ I whispered.
‘She feels terribly guilty,’ he went on. ‘She’s worried stiff about upsetting you, and she knows Hesketh and Bridget are going to say she’s too young.’
‘You can’t win them all,’ I said in a choked voice.
‘Look Octavia, you’re a beautiful, beautiful girl. There are plenty of other guys in the sea, and masses on land for that matter.’
‘Sure,’ I said numbly, the tears beginning to course down my cheeks.
He took my hand; it was all I could do not to fling myself into his arms.
‘I’m really sorry,’ he went on. ‘Look I’ve got nothing to do tonight. I’ll buy you dinner and we can talk about it.’
‘No you won’t. It’s very kind, but no thank you,’ I said, wiping away the tears with the back of my hand. ‘I’ve already got a date,’ and breaking away, I slid off the bar stool and fled out of the bar.
‘Octavia, wait,’ I heard his voice calling after me. Then I plunged down into the Underground.
Chapter Eighteen
When I got back to Putney, Monkey threw himself on me, yelping with ecstasy, taking my hand in his mouth, and leading me up the path. I found Mrs Lonsdale-Taylor grumbling about the heat and the greenfly and pouring boiling water on a plague of ants who were threatening to enter the house. The dustmen were on strike and hadn’t collected for two weeks; the stench of Jeyes fluid in the dustbins was almost worse than yesterday’s smell of rotting food and vegetation.
Mrs Lonsdale-Taylor straightened up, scarlet in the face.
‘There’s a young man waiting for you upstairs,’ she said with a sniff, ‘he says he’s your brother.’
I bounded upstairs, I couldn’t wait to tell someone how miserable I was. Xander loved Gareth too; he would understand how suicidal I felt. I found him in my bedroom, his face had a luminous sickly tinge, as though he was standing under a green umbrella. A muscle was going in his cheek. The ashtray beside him on the table was piled high with half-smoked cigarettes.
‘Thank God you’ve come,’ he said. ‘I’m in dead trouble.’
His light brown hair, almost black from sweat, had fallen in a fringe over his forehead, emphasizing the brilliant grey eyes. He looked absurdly young. I ran across the room and put my arms round him.
‘What’s happened? Tell me. It’s not the baby?’
He shook his head.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I haven’t got anything to drink. Tell me what’s the matter.’
‘I’ve got to get £2,000 by tomorrow.’
‘God, whatever for?’
‘I’m being blackmailed.’
‘Then you must go to the police at once.’
‘I can’t,’ he said with a groan. He was near to tears. I realized I was the one who had to stay as calm and cool as a statue.
‘You must go to the police; they’ll keep your name out of it. What on earth have you done? It can’t be that bad.’
The door sud
denly opened, making us both jump, but it was only Monkey. He trotted over and curled up at Xander’s feet. I kicked the door shut.
‘Who is it?’ I asked.
‘It’s Guido,’ said Xander in a dead voice.
‘Guido?’
‘The Italian boy, the good-looking one you met that day we had lunch at Freddy’s, before you went on the boat with Gareth and Jeremy.’
‘Oh yes, I remember,’ I said.
‘That weekend you were away I refused to go and stay with Ricky and Joan.’
‘Yes.’
‘I went down to Devon with Guido — to a gay hotel.’
Oh God!
‘Well one of his mates turned up, another pretty boy, also Italian, and we all got stoned of course, and started taking Polaroid photographs in the bedroom. Some of them went pretty far. Now Guido and his pal want a couple of grand for a start, and if I don’t cough up tomorrow, they’re going to send the photos to Pammie and Ricky.’
I thought for a minute. The scent of tobacco plants was almost sickening outside. I could hear the outside tap water plummeting into Mrs L-T’s watering can.
‘Don’t you think Pammie twigged long ago?’ I said. ‘She’s not stupid.’
‘She can’t admit it, even to herself.’
‘Wouldn’t it be better to tell her?’
Xander’s voice broke. ‘Not when she’s pregnant. She was so happy about the baby, and suddenly everything’s going so well at work, and we’re getting on so much better at the moment.’
There was no point in reminding him he’d only been back from the Middle East twenty-four hours.
‘Ricky’ll throw me out, and so will Pamela, and I know it sounds wet, but I really want that baby. You’ve got lots of rich friends.’
‘What about Gareth?’ I said. ‘He’ll help you.’
‘I’m getting on so well with him too,’ said Xander fretfully.
‘If you give in to Guido this time, he’ll only be back for more bread in a week or two.’
‘If I get a breathing space,’ said Xander, ‘I can think of a way to hammer him, I just need time. Oh for God’s sake Octavia,’ his voice rose, almost womanish, ‘I’ve helped you out enough times in the past.’
It was true.
‘All right, I’ll get you the money,’ I said.
‘How?’
‘I’ve got a friend who’s offered me £1,500 to do some modelling,’ I said, ‘I guess I can push him up to £2,000.’
As soon as Xander had gone I went out to a telephone box and dialled Andreas’s number.
I imagined him pushing aside a blonde, and climbing over a huge pair of tits to answer the telephone.
‘Hullo,’ said the husky, oily, foreign voice.
‘Andreas,’ I said. ‘This is Octavia.’
There was a pause.
‘Octavia Brennen.’
‘I know,’ he said softly. ‘Just let me turn this redhead down. I was expecting a call from you.’
‘You were?’ I said sharply. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘Well, the grapevine said you were having rather a lean time, and you’d left the flat. Pity. It was a nice situation, that flat. Anyway, what can I do for you?’
I swallowed. ‘Do you remember what you said about photographing me for Hedonist?’
‘Sure do.’ He had difficulty keeping the triumph out of his voice.
‘You were talking in terms of £1,500,’ I said.
‘I must have been crazy.’
‘Could you make it £2,000?’
‘Inflation’s clobbered everyone, baby.’
‘Not that much. Your circulation’s booming. I read it in Campaign last week.’
‘Well, if you make yourself available for — er — dinner and other things afterwards, I might consider it.’
He waited. I could almost feel him writhing like a great snake in anticipation. What the hell did it matter? Gareth was caput as far as I was concerned. What did anything matter?
‘All right,’ I said, ‘that would be nice. But can I have the cash tomorrow?’
‘Greedy, aren’t we? I hope there’s nothing the matter with you, Octavia. I’ve never known you haggle before. Take it or leave it, that’s the sort of duchess you always were. I wouldn’t like you to be any different. It’d make me think things had a certain impermanence.’
‘I need the bread,’ I said.
‘All right.’ His voice suddenly businesslike. ‘Cy Markovitz is in London at the moment. I’ve booked him all day tomorrow. Come along at two.’
In utter misery I realized I would have to cut the presentation. But getting the money for Xander had to be more important than anything else.
‘All right,’ I said.
He gave me the address and then added softly.
‘And don’t wear anything tight. We don’t want crease marks all over you. Till tomorrow, darling. You won’t regret it, I promise you.’
After that I had to go and waitress. When I got home I washed my hair and made pathetic attempts to get my body into some sort of shape to be photographed. I then spent hours writing and tearing up letters of explanation to Jakey. Even the final result didn’t satisfy me. I was so much on the blink, I could hardly string a word, let alone a sentence, together and nothing I said could change the fact I was doing the dirty on him. Monkey lay on the bed, dozing, unsettled by the change in routine. Every so often he gave a yawn which turned into a squeaking yelp. I refused to go to bed, it was too hot to sleep anyway, and if I did sleep I would have to wake up and face afresh the truth about Gareth and Lorna.
Nothing — not even the truth — prepared me for the horror of the photographic session with Andreas. I felt as though I was hurtling on a fast train towards Dante’s Ninth Circle, the one where the treacherous are sealed in ice and eternally ripped apart by Satan’s teeth. But I’d betrayed Jakey, so I deserved to be ripped apart.
I sat in a little side room in front of a mirror lined with lit bulbs, wearing only an old make-up-stained dressing gown. The wireless claimed it was the hottest day of the year. It was impossibly stuffy in the huge Wimbledon studio Cy Markovitz had hired for the afternoon, but I still couldn’t stop shivering. I knew I looked terrible. I had covered my yellowing suntan with dark-brown make-up, but it didn’t stop my ribs sticking out like a Belsen victim. I had poured half a bottle of blue drops into my eyes but they were still red-veined and totally without sparkle.
In one corner of the studio, an amazing faggot called Gabriel with very blue eyes and streaked strawberry blond hair, clad only in faded kneelength denim trousers and a snake bracelet, was whisking about supervising two sulky, sweating minions into building a set for me. It consisted of a huge bed with a cane bed head, silver satin sheets, and a white antique birdcage. One minion kept staggering in with huge potted plants, the other was pinning dark brown patterned Habitat wallpaper to a huge rolled-down screen. Gabriel was arranging a Christopher Wray lamp, a silver teapot and glass paper weights on a bedside table.
‘Andreas asked for something really classy to set you off, darling. I’ve never known him to take so much interest.’
In another corner of the studio to an accompaniment of popping flashbulbs and Ella Fitzgerald on the gramophone, Cy Markovitz was photographing a spectacular looking black girl with 44-20-44 measurements. She was wearing red lace open crotch pants, heels with nine inch spikes, and was writhing against a huge fur rug which was pinned against the wall.
‘It’s to make her black boobs fall better,’ explained Gabriel with a shudder. ‘In the pix, it’ll look as though she’s lying on a bed.’
I turned back to the mirror, sweat already breaking through my newly applied make-up. Then I heard the noise of men laughing; my mouth went dry, my shivering became more violent. Next moment the curtain was pushed aside and Andreas came in reeking of brandy and aftershave, a big cigar sticking out of his mouth. Even heat and drink hadn’t brought any flush of pink to his man-tanned cheeks. He was carrying a bottle of Charles
Heidsieck and two glasses which he put on the dressing table. I clutched the white dressing gown tighter round me. For a long time he stood behind me looking into the mirror, his eyes as triumphant as they were predatory. Then he said in his oily, sibilant voice,
‘You look a bit rough, baby. Been up against it, have you?’
‘I’ve been working hard.’
Andreas laughed.
‘You’re not cut out for a career, I always warned you. And Gareth Llewellyn’s ditched you; I knew he would. You must listen to Uncle Andreas in future.’
He seemed to revel in my utter desperation.
‘Never mind,’ he went on soothingly. ‘I’ll see you right. A few weeks of cushy living and you’ll soon get the ripe peachy look you had at Grayston.’
He ran his hands over me, lingeringly and feelingly, like a child trying to gauge the contents of a wrapped Christmas present. I gritted my teeth, trying to suppress the shudder of revulsion. He let go of me, and started to take the gold paper off the top of the champagne bottle. I watched his soft white hands in horror. God knows what they wouldn’t be doing to me later this evening.
I took a deep breath. ‘Can I have the cash now?’
Andreas shook his head. ‘Uh-uh. You get the cash when you deliver the goods, and they’d better be good.’
The top shot off the bottle into the rafters. Andreas filled a glass and handed it to me.
‘That should relax you,’ he said. ‘Make you feel nice and sexy.’
I took a belt of champagne, wondering if I was going to throw up.
‘Come in boys,’ shouted Andreas over the curtain, and we were joined by a couple of Andreas’ hood friends, flashing jewellery, sweating in waisted suits. They were the sort of guys who’d give even the Mafia nightmares.
‘Meet Mannie and Vic,’ said Andreas.
He must have brought them along to show me off. They were obviously disappointed I wasn’t as fantastic as Andreas had promised but were too wary of him to show it.
‘You wait till she’s been with me for a bit,’ purred Andreas, pinching my cheek. ‘You won’t recognize her.’
‘Fattening her up for Christmas, are you?’ said Mannie, and they all laughed.