Imogen

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Imogen Page 22

by Jilly Cooper


  ‘I had to have something new. You couldn’t turn up in any old rag to that party. Everyone noticed it. That’s the way one gets work.’

  ‘Not that kind of work. How the hell d’you think we’re going to pay for the rest of the holiday?’

  ‘You’ll have to win it back at the Casino. You can always cable the paper. You must have made twice that on your precious Braganzi story already.’

  They paused, rigid with animosity, as the waiter cleared away the debris, leaving only clean glasses and ashtrays.

  ‘Anyway,’ Cable went on, ‘since you decided to buy her’ – she glared at Imogen – ‘an entire new wardrobe, I thought it was my turn to have a few new clothes. Don’t you agree, Nicky?’

  Nicky showed his teeth non-committally. He wasn’t going to be drawn in.

  ‘Children, children,’ cried Yvonne, dimples flashing, highly delighted by the turn of events, ‘please don’t spoil my party. I’ve got something to tell you all. This is a very special night for Jumbo and me.’

  ‘So you’ve already told us,’ snarled Cable. She turned to Matt. ‘I don’t know why you’ve got so fucking tight with bread recently.’

  ‘Skip it,’ said Matt, ‘we’ll discuss it later.’ His face was expressionless but his hand trembled with rage as he folded up the bill and put it in his pocket.

  ‘That’s right, kiss and make up,’ said Yvonne.

  There’s going to be one hell of a row later, thought Imogen, as the waiter arrived with an ice bucket and a bottle of champagne.

  ‘What’s that for?’ said Nicky, as the waiter removed the cork and filled up everyone’s glasses.

  ‘Because I want to celebrate my first and last film part for a long time.’

  ‘Your last?’ asked Imogen.

  ‘When I went to the doctor about my foot the other day, he was able to confirm that I’m expecting a baby.’ Yvonne, her head on one side, looked even more like the Virgin Mary than ever.

  There was a long pause. Imogen caught Nicky’s eye and for a terrible moment thought she was going to laugh. She could see Matt still gaining control of himself with an effort. Then his natural good nature conquered his fury with Cable.

  ‘That’s great news. Congratulations to you both.’ He raised his glass in the air. ‘To Baby Edgworth.’

  ‘Baby Edgworth,’ said Nicky and Imogen dutifully.

  ‘I must say I’m jolly excited,’ said James, leaning across and giving Yvonne a great splashy kiss, which she immediately wiped away with her napkin.

  Cable said nothing. She was drumming her fingers on the table. Then she got to her feet.

  ‘I’m going to the loo.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to congratulate me?’ said Yvonne.

  ‘The prospect that there might be another replica of you in the world shortly is too horrible to contemplate,’ said Cable and turned on her heel.

  There was another long pause.

  ‘How horrid of her,’ said Yvonne in a choked voice, then added more brightly, ‘Of course she’s only jealous. As I told her this morning, she’s twenty-six now, her days as a model are numbered. She really ought to think about settling down soon. I know you don’t like talking about marriage, Matt, but I’m sure if she had a tiny baby of her own, she’d be a different person.’

  ‘Even worse I should think,’ said Nicky, filling up everyone’s glasses. ‘I can’t see Cable changing nappies.’

  ‘Oh, she could always use the nappy service, or disposable nappies, don’t you agree, Matt?’

  ‘When’s it due?’ asked Imogen hastily.

  ‘May the 10th,’ said Yvonne. ‘I’m awfully glad it’ll be a little Taurean, rather than Gemini, so much more placid. Cable’s Gemini, isn’t she, Matt?’

  She knows exactly to the day, thought Imogen. She and James can’t sleep together very much.

  Yvonne was still rabbiting on about the baby when Cable came back. Imogen could catch an asphyxiating waft of her scent from across the table. She’d drawn even darker lines round her eyes. She looked like a witch. For a moment she stood glaring at them until Nicky and James rose dutifully to their feet. Matt remained seated, his eyes cold, his mouth shut in a hard line.

  Cable slipped into her seat.

  ‘Where are we going next?’ she said. ‘Let’s drive over to Antoine de la Tour’s place.’

  ‘We’re not going anywhere,’ snapped Matt. ‘We can’t afford it.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be bloody stingy.’

  ‘When I planned this holiday I didn’t bank on you spending 4,500 francs on a lot of feathers.’

  ‘I’m going to bed too,’ said Yvonne. ‘With Baby on the way, I don’t want any late nights.’

  ‘I want to go to Verdi’s Requiem.’

  ‘Well, you can’t.’

  ‘Why don’t we compromise?’ said Nicky reasonably. ‘Let’s go to the fair and win some cheap plonk at the shooting range, and have a party back in our rooms.’

  Only Yvonne wanted to go to bed. It would have been like missing the last act of a thriller. After they’d been to the fair, they all congregated in Nicky’s room.

  James, who proved a surprisingly good shot, had won a large teddy bear, a china Alsatian and two goldfish, who were swimming around in the bidet.

  Imogen sat on the floor, too stunned by the hostilities at dinner to say anything. Nicky was filling tooth-mugs. Matt lounged on the bed blowing smoke rings.

  Cable, who was extremely drunk by now, was pacing up and down, determined to keep everyone’s attention. She tossed back one mug of wine, and was about to pour another one, when Matt got up and took away the bottle.

  ‘You’ve had enough,’ he said quietly.

  ‘I have not!’ she snapped back.

  She rushed over to Nicky and flung her arms round his neck.

  ‘I’m as sober as a judge, aren’t I, darling?’

  Nicky grinned and pulled her on to his knee.

  ‘I don’t care what you are,’ he said, ‘but I like you.’

  ‘There you are,’ Cable said triumphantly. ‘Nicky says I’m lovely. I’m glad someone appreciates me.’

  ‘Cable, baby,’ said Matt, ‘at this moment the whole neighbourhood is appreciating you, particularly the people in the next door room. Keep your voice down.’

  Cable slipped off Nicky’s knee and went over to the dressing table and picked up the transistor.

  ‘Let’s have some music,’ she said, turning it up full blast. ‘Imogen did a strip-tease last night. Now it’s my turn. I’m going to do the Dance of the Seven Veils.’

  She kicked off her shoes and started to sway to the music.

  ‘There’s one veil gone.’

  ‘Atta girl,’ said Nicky.

  ‘What’s the next veil?’ said James.

  ‘My watch,’ said Cable, taking it off without stopping dancing.

  A muscle was going in Matt’s cheek.

  ‘Cable,’ he said in a voice of ice, ‘turn that transistor down.’

  ‘Why should I?’ she said. ‘I’m sick of being ordered about. Veil number three coming up.’ She started undoing the buttons of her blue shirt.

  James’s eyes were out on stalks.

  Matt got to his feet, went over to the transistor and turned it off.

  Cable seized his wrist. ‘Why are you such a wet blanket?’

  ‘Go to bed and stop making a fool of yourself.’

  ‘All right,’ said Cable defiantly. ‘I’ll find some decent music somewhere else.’

  She opened the window and put a foot out.

  ‘Oh, don’t Cable,’ cried Imogen. ‘It’s terribly dangerous.’

  ‘I’m going,’ said Cable, starting to climb down the wall.

  ‘You mustn’t let her,’ said Imogen, running to the window and catching Cable’s hand.

  ‘Turn on the transistor,’ screamed Cable, who was hanging from the window.

  Imogen turned, pleading to Matt, ‘Please stop her.’

  ‘Leave her alone. She’s just showin
g off,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, let her go,’ said Nicky. ‘I’m fed up with her tantrums.’

  Reluctantly, Imogen let go of her hand.

  Cable started to clamber down the wall, then missed her footing and crashed to the ground.

  ‘Are you all right?’ called Imogen, worried.

  Nicky and James started to roar with laughter.

  ‘She’s sitting in the middle of the road,’ said Imogen, giggling in spite of herself. ‘I hope she doesn’t get run over.’

  ‘Most unlikely,’ said Nicky. ‘It’s a very deserted road, unfortunately.’

  ‘For goodness sake forget her,’ said Matt. ‘She’ll get bored soon and come in.’

  ‘But she might have hurt herself,’ said Imogen.

  ‘Cable yells her head off if she even pricks her finger,’ said Matt.

  James put on Cable’s wig, and a pair of earrings and started to do a tango with the Teddy bear. Everyone got slightly hysterical.

  ‘She’s all hunched up,’ said Imogen. ‘I think she’s crying. I’m going down to her.’

  ‘Not by yourself,’ said Matt, taking her arm. ‘I’ll come with you.’

  As they turned down an alley to reach the back of the hotel, Imogen stumbled. Matt caught her and suddenly she was in his arms, her eyes wide, her heart pounding.

  As if by instinct, he bent his head and kissed her, and once she started she found she couldn’t stop. She was powerless to do anything but kiss him back.

  It was Matt who had to prise her fingers away from his neck. ‘Easy, sweetheart. We’ve come to look for Cable not the end of the rainbow.’

  He groped for a cigarette and, as the match lit up his face, his features were expressionless. Shattered, mortified, Imogen walked beside him. How could she have let herself go like that?

  They found Cable lying in a huddle in the street. She was sobbing quietly. Matt was across the road in a flash. In the moonlight Imogen could see that her ankle was grotesquely swollen. Matt dropped on his knees beside her.

  ‘Oh, God, darling, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.’ There was no mistaking the tenderness and concern in his voice.

  ‘Please don’t go,’ said Cable, through gritted teeth, and as he picked her up to carry her inside, she fainted. When the doctor arrived next morning he said she had broken her ankle.

  Chapter Seventeen

  And that, thought Imogen dully, was that. In the simplest, if most painful, way possible, Cable had drawn Matt back to her side again. Once more she was the centre of attention. Nicky and James – mortified at having laughed at her last night – brought her huge bunches of black grapes. Yvonne, peeved at having missed a drama and furious with James for not coming to bed, was only too keen to take Cable’s part.

  Cable, once her ankle was set, took every opportunity to wring every ounce of pathos out of her situation.

  ‘The terrible thing was,’ she told Yvonne, ‘that when I was in such agony all I could hear was drunken laughter.’

  ‘Disgusting!’ said Yvonne. ‘How could they have been so heartless?’

  After last night’s heartlessness Cable had gone off Nicky again, but she insisted on Matt dancing attendance on her.

  ‘I think I could just manage a little soup. Could you possibly close the shutters a little? Is it too soon for another pain killer?’

  She’s got us over a barrel, thought Imogen angrily, and then felt ashamed of herself. Matt, who was looking tired and on edge, drove everyone out of the bedroom in the end.

  James, as a penance, was made to clean the car. Yvonne and Nicky went waterskiing. Rather half-heartedly they tried to persuade Imogen to join them. But she said she preferred to sunbathe. In fact, she just wanted to be alone.

  As she lay on the beach she wondered if she’d ever been more unhappy in her life.

  After yesterday’s day in bed her suntan had settled to a deep tawny brown, without any red in it. Her hair was streaked with gold. The beach was packed with week-end trippers. Man after man sidled up and asked her to come for a drink or a swim.

  She was wondering how much longer she could stand it when a silky voice said, ‘Your sun lotion has spilled.’

  ‘Oh, go away,’ she snapped and looked up into the wicked brown face of Antoine de la Tour.

  ‘Antoine!’ she said, her face lighting up. ‘How lovely to see you.’

  ‘And you, ma petite.’ He sat down beside her, his eyes running over her body.

  Imogen told him about Cable.

  ‘Serve her jolly well right,’ he said. ‘And now she mangle the commiseration out of everyone. I know ’er sort. Mimi has gone back to Paris,’ he added, looking at her out of the corner of his eyes. ‘I am poor boy on my own. ’Ow about the two of us spending the day together.’

  Imogen drew circles in the sand, and decided it didn’t really matter what she did now.

  ‘I’d like to, Antoine. Can I just tell the others?’

  But for reasons best known to herself, she didn’t go up and tell Matt where she was going. Instead she left a hastily scrawled note at the desk.

  Hours later, she sat drinking brandy on the terrace of Antoine’s villa. The moon, grown slimmer since last night, was pouring white light on to the sea. Fireflies flickered in and out of the orange trees. The Milky Way rose like smoke from the dark hillside. Antoine sprawled in a hammock, smoking a cigar.

  The day had passed in a dream. They had ridden along the sand for miles. They had swum and they had dined in a four-star restaurant.

  Antoine had been a constantly amusing companion. But although he hadn’t lifted a finger in her direction, she knew he was playing a waiting game. And this time she was dealing with a professional, not a larky amateur like Gilmore. It was like spending the evening with a tiger.

  He drained his glass of brandy, stubbed out his cigar and stood over her, very tall, very dark.

  ‘Let’s go inside,’ he said.

  This isn’t really happening to me, thought Imogen, as she sat down on a huge sofa, covered in leopard skins. In about two minutes he’s going to seduce me and I don’t give a damn.

  Antoine sat down beside her. He put a warm hand on her throat and slid it very slowly along her cheek to her ear and removed an earring.

  ‘Pretty, pretty girl,’ he said. ‘Would you like me to make love to you properly?’ He swiftly removed the other earring. ‘Improperly, I mean.’

  Oh God, thought Imogen, it’s like being in the dentist’s waiting room! The hi-fi began to swell soft music. Antoine put her earrings on the table and began to stroke her hair.

  ‘You’re just too good to be true,

  Can’t take my eyes off you,’ sang Andy Williams.

  Imogen burst into tears.

  ‘Darling, ma petite, please don’t cry.’ She was sobbing in his arms. ‘It is Matt, is it not?’

  She nodded miserably.

  ‘I thought that was the way the gale was blowing. And what does he feel?’

  ‘Nothing, nothing at all. He loves Cable. They fight like mad but you should have heard his voice when she hurt her ankle last night.’

  Antoine nodded. ‘He is strange mixture. Always he joke and give impression ’e take nothing seriously except the horses and the betting. But beneath, he care about things very deeply. And even at Ox-fawd, he was always one-woman man. Though why ’e choose that ’orrible Cable, I can’t imagine. I go to Rome tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Come with me. I show you nice time. I make you forget.’

  She shook her head sadly. ‘It wouldn’t work.’

  ‘I give you part in my film.’

  He picked up one of the leopard skins and draped it across her shoulders, and stood back with half-closed eyes.

  ‘You make beautiful slave girl.’

  After that they drank a lot more brandy, and Antoine got out his photograph album and showed her stills from his films, and lots of snaps of himself and Matt at Oxford.

  ‘I think I ought be getting back,’ said Imogen.

  ‘Hélas,�
�� said Antoine, ruefully. ‘I’m not tired. I think I’ll drive as far as Milan tonight. Just wait while I pack a luggage.’

  Outside the hotel, he took her in his arms and gave her a very thorough kissing.

  ‘Pretty girl,’ he said. ‘Tell Matthieu I behave with honour. The sheep in wolf’s suiting, I think. Are you sure you don’t want to come to Rome?’

  Imogen shook her head. ‘No thank you.’

  As she climbed the stairs, she was surprised to see a light on in her bedroom. She pushed open the door to find Matt lying on the bed. The ashtray on the bedside table was brimming with cigarette butts.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’ he said. It was the crack of the ringmaster’s lash.

  ‘Out with Antoine,’ she faltered. ‘I left a note.’

  ‘It’s nearly two o’clock,’ he said, getting to his feet and towering over her. His eyes were almost black.

  ‘Did you think I’d turned into a pumpkin too?’ she said with a nervous giggle.

  ‘You wrote that note ten hours ago. I just wondered how you filled in the time.’

  ‘We went riding.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘We swum and had dinner.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘We talked and talked.’

  Matt lost his temper. It was as though a thunderstorm had broken over her head. Seizing her by the arms, his fingers biting into her flesh, he swung her round to face the mirror.

  ‘Just look at yourself!’

  Her lipstick was smudged, her hair rumpled, the two top buttons of her dress had come undone. Hastily, she did them up.

  ‘He was just kissing me good-bye,’ she said.

  ‘Sure he was – ten hours after he’d kissed you hullo. And your dress is covered in fur. Talk yourself out of that if you can.’

  A slow anger was beginning to smoulder inside her.

  ‘He draped a leopard skin over my shoulders. He wanted to see what I’d look like as a slave girl.’

  ‘Oh boy – what you lack in morals, you certainly make up for in imagination.’

  ‘We were talking. We were talking,’ said Imogen, her voice rising.

  ‘You’re repeating yourself, kid. You really want to lose it, don’t you? First you try Nicky, and he’s not having any, so you switch to me. Then you try Gilmore and then when that doesn’t come off you fall back on Antoine.’

 

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