‘Sorry? What was that?’
‘I said I really admired the way you handled Serena at the shoot,’ I murmured. ‘It can’t be easy having temperamental actresses flouncing around on the set.’
He laughed. ‘That’s nothing – you should see them on a feature film. Sometimes they lock themselves in their caravans and refuse to come out for days, and not just the women. The men are just as bad, if not worse. You need to be a nanny, psychiatrist and film director all rolled into one sometimes.’
‘Well, you do it awfully well,’ I husked admiringly, swaying slightly in my seat as I gazed up at him. I steadied myself on the table and ran my tongue over my teeth as they stuck to my lips. Sam rested his arm round the back of my chair and regarded me thoughtfully.
‘Tell me, Polly, have you ever thought about taking filming seriously? I think you have all the right instincts for it and I think you’d probably take a very fresh approach.’
I clenched my toes. This was it, this was it! He was going to ask me to audition for his next film – I was about to be discovered! I smiled coyly and played with some breadcrumbs on the table.
‘Well, I must admit I did a fair amount of acting at school, in fact I was a bit of a star, in a very small way, of course.’ I smiled modestly.
He nodded. ‘Good, so you know the basics. That’s terribly important – so many young directors these days don’t know a thing about acting and it helps enormously. There’s a marvellous film-making course at one of the polys in London, why don’t you sign up for it?’
‘Er, yes, bit of a hike from Cornwall, isn’t it?’ I said weakly, neglecting to add that somehow I’d imagined myself on the other side of the camera.
‘Well, what’s to stop you being a weekly commuter? You could always stay with Pippa during the week and go home at weekends.’ He raised his eyebrows enquiringly.
I gasped and took a slug of wine. Wow! He obviously wanted me all to himself during the week! Was he hot for me or what? And was it my imagination or weren’t those hazel eyes just sparkling with depravity? Play it cool, Polly, I thought, blushing into my brûlée, he’s mad about you all right, but for God’s sake play it cool.
‘What d’you think?’ he asked.
‘Well, Sam, I’m flattered, really I am, but to stay all week in London, I’m not sure how Nick would –’
‘Look, Polly,’ he put his hand on my arm, ‘I hope you don’t think I’m coming on strong or anything, it’s just that – well, I find you so refreshing, so gloriously unspoiled. And I’m not bullshitting you about the directing either, I do think you’d bring a fresh approach, but I must admit I have a selfish motive too. I’d really like to see more of you, in – well, in a purely platonic way of course.’ He shook his head and looked slightly bewildered. ‘I don’t know, I just find you so –’ He paused and struggled for the right word.
Golly, what? What was I? I was absolutely agog now and leaned forward, eager not to miss a syllable of this tantalizing observation, but unfortunately he never got to the end of it because I inadvertently put my elbow on the edge of his plate and catapulted a great dollop of gooseberry fool up on to my chest.
‘Damn!’ I squeaked. ‘Oh God, what a mess!’
‘Here – let me.’
Sam reached quickly for a napkin, dipped it in some Perrier and began mopping my top, perilously close to a couple of my larger erogenous zones. I clutched the table for support and moaned softly, trying desperately to imagine he was Roy Hattersley or someone.
‘Thanks!’ I gasped at last. ‘Silly of me!’
‘Easily done,’ he said, still mopping away in the lower armpit region. He grinned. ‘Not making you nervous, am I?’
‘God, no!’ I trilled, feeling decidedly light-headed with drink and excitement. ‘Me? Nervous? Not at all, don’t be ridiculous.’
‘Good,’ he said quietly. He stopped mopping and his hand came to rest next to mine on the table. Our fingers touched and I could almost feel mine vibrate with excitement. I swallowed hard and stared at him. He held my gaze.
‘Um … look, Sam …’ I began, but quite forgot what I was going to say as his hand covered mine and held it. I felt powerless to take it away. My head said no, but my body was all for it, no self-control as Nick would say – Nick! I gulped. Would he sense that I’d indulged in guilty gazing? That I’d been mopped to within an inch of my erogenous zones? That I’d done a bit of extra-curricular hand-holding? Drunk or not, alarm bells rang loud in my head and with a staggering flash of sobriety I realized I had to act fast. Perhaps Sam had forgotten he too had a spouse? Certainly it had temporarily escaped me. His hand held mine and his eyes were getting more dangerous by the second. I had to remind him.
‘And how – how is your wife?’ I enquired desperately.
Sam looked surprised.
‘My wife?’
‘Yes, your, um, wife. Sally, isn’t it?’
Sam’s mouth began to twitch at the corners. He took his hand away, threw back his head and laughed out loud. He roared away for quite some time before eventually slumping back in his seat. He wiped his eyes and groaned, shaking his head.
‘Oh God, Polly, you do make me laugh. That’s what I like about you, you have absolutely no guile at all, do you? You just say exactly what comes into your head. My wife is fine and you’re absolutely right – I’m getting way out of line here. Sorry, I’ve probably had one too many of these,’ he indicated his gin, ‘and I have to admit, I do find you incredibly attractive.’ He shrugged and gave me a lopsided smile. ‘Sorry, but there it is, can’t help myself. If it’s not too corny, you’re a real breath of fresh air in this fuggy, pseudo-sophisticated London atmosphere. I can’t tell you what a glorious change it is to talk to someone like you after the luvvie people I spend my time with, but, believe me, that’s as far as it goes. I’ve never cheated on my wife in my life and I don’t intend to start now, even,’ he grinned and winked, ‘with someone as delectable and enticing as yourself.’ He raised his glass enquiringly at me. ‘OK? Friends?’
I grinned back and raised my glass. I wasn’t sure about the lack of guile, I’d always thought I’d had buckets of it, but this was much better, this I could cope with. ‘Friends,’ I agreed, ‘and I’m sorry I brought your wife up in such a cack-handed manner, but I did just think it might be as well to – you know – keep our matrimonial obligations to the forefront of our minds and not to forget that we do owe it to our partners to –’
‘Hey, hey, enough!’ Sam was grinning and backing away in mock terror now. He held up his hands. ‘I promise I’ll never so much as smile at you again, I’ll never even glance in your general direction! Dib dib dib, dob dob dob, scout’s honour, you’ve made your point, Polly!’ He wiped his mouth on his napkin and got to his feet. ‘In fact I’m backing off right now.’
‘Oh!’ I felt suddenly disappointed. ‘Wh-where are you going?’
He grinned. ‘To the loo. I’ll be right back.’
‘Ah.’ I smiled. ‘Right, good.’
He went. I leaned back in my seat and sighed. Shame. Pity I’d had to nip him in the bud like that, but it had to be done. I frowned as I cradled my wine glass, taking the occasional sip. Odd that there really didn’t seem to be any middle ground with this flirting lark. As far as men were concerned it was very definitely a means to an end and not an art to be savoured and perfected. Such a waste, and so unlike France, where it’s practically a national pastime. I mean look at that Cointreau ad. That smoothie Frenchman’s been at it for years – stroking crystal glasses suggestively, giving his bird smouldering, sexy looks over the dinner table, banging on about an inimitable blend of ’erbs and spices – it’s never got him anywhere but he still seems to be enjoying himself. What a pity the English are so – I jumped as someone tapped my shoulder.
‘Eh? What?’ I swung around.
‘Wake up, Polly, there’s a plan afoot to move on.’
Sam was smiling down at me from behind my chair. I looked around dreamily. Everyon
e else appeared to be standing up too but they weren’t smiling. Coats were on, bags were on shoulders, hands were in pockets, in fact the entire table were standing behind their chairs looking at me in a rather disapproving manner.
‘Wh-what? What’s going on?’ I enquired from my slumped position. It occurred to me that I couldn’t even begin to move without some help, I was positively welded to my chair. I spotted someone familiar.
‘Where are we going, Pippa?’ Her face swam in and out of focus.
‘Well, one or two people are going on to Annabel’s, but personally I’m going home to bed, and I think perhaps you should come too, Polly, and get the train in the morning.’ She looked at me meaningfully.
I giggled. ‘What, with you and Josh? Three in a bed, you mean?’
I sniggered. Gosh, I was on form tonight. Then I saw her face. It was white, ashen even. Oh Christ. I stumbled to my feet and crashed towards her, knocking over a couple of chairs on the way.
‘Pippa! Oh, Pippa, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to say that, it just slipped out!’
‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,’ hissed Pippa, ‘but I’m going home – on my own – right now. Are you coming?’
‘Oh, Pippa, I’m so sorry, I completely forgot no one was supposed to know!’ I wailed, making it much worse, but Pippa was already halfway out of the restaurant with Josh stalking out behind her. I went to go after her but Sam put a restraining hand on my arm.
‘Leave her – wait till she’s calmed down a bit.’
‘She hates me!’ I wailed.
‘Course she doesn’t. Besides, it’s no big deal; we all knew anyway.’
‘Really?’
‘Sure, it’s been going on for months, and it’s probably a good thing it’s out in the open now, certainly from Pippa’s point of view.’
I considered this. He was right. I cheered up immeasurably.
‘Yes, of course, you’re right. Gosh, she’ll probably even thank me tomorrow!’
‘Exactly. Now come on, forget about Pippa and Josh, let’s go dancing.’
‘Really? Now?’ I peered at my watch. ‘I’ve got to get a train at some point.’
The point was, when? I couldn’t actually see what the devil the big and little hands were up to; they seemed to be rotating at an alarming rate. I knew I should have gone for digital. I turned to Sam for assistance.
‘Er, any idea what the time is?’
‘Oh, it’s quite early. You’ll make it easily, don’t worry.’
‘Will I?’ I lurched and clung to his arm to steady myself. ‘Will I really?’
‘I’ll personally put you on the train myself. Now come on, let’s go and get a taxi.’
‘What a dominant man you are,’ I murmured, knocking back the remains of my wine and clinging to his arm like a limpet as we ascended the perilous staircase to the front door. ‘I like my men like that, dominant and forceful, mmmmm … lovely, only – shhhh,’ I held a wobbly finger to my lips and it slipped attractively up my nose as I stumbled on the steps, ‘keep it shtum. We girls aren’t supposed to like that cave-man-hunter-gatherer bit any more; we’re supposed to go weak at the knees for the caring-sharing lark. Well, stuff that for a game of soldiers, give me a great big dominant man any time, only’ – I looked around for fear of being overheard – ‘for God’s sake keep it quiet,’ I hissed. ‘If any of those open-toed feminists found out, there’d be hell to pay, know what I mean?’
Sam grinned and guided me through the door. ‘Your secret is safe with me, Polly. I won’t breathe a word.’
He bundled me into a purring taxi and I fell into a bucket seat. Amanda, Chris and Sam made up the party. I looked around.
‘What – just us? Isn’t anyone else coming?’
‘They’ve all dun a bunk,’ grinned Amanda. ‘Couldn’t ’ack the pace, most likely.’
I groaned inwardly. Oh no, Amanda again. ‘Yeah, well blimey, wot a load of par’y poopers, eh? Gorblimey, the night’s still bleedin’ well young, innit? Wot the ’ell are they playin’ at, eh? I mean, lawks a mercy, apples an’ pears, whistle an’ flute –’ Suddenly I felt weak, I couldn’t keep it up.
‘Um, listen, Amanda.’ I leaned forward – a huge mistake in the bucket seat of a taxi – and nose-dived into her lap. She helped me up and deftly swapped places with me.
‘’Ere, you sit ’ere, you need it more than I do.’
‘Thanks – I mean, ta – I mean, listen, Amanda, I’ve got a terrible confession to make.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yeah – yes. You see, the thing is I’m not really like you at all.’
‘Come again?’
‘I mean, I don’t – you know – speak like you do, actually. I’m sorry, but the thing is I’m really quite posh, well, a little bit posh, and I’m certainly not a Cockney – not that you are either, of course.’
Even in my highly intoxicated state I was dimly aware that making fun of someone’s regional accent was neither politically nor socially correct, but it was a very dim awareness, and anyway, it was out now.
There was a terrible silence. Chris and Sam stared at their feet, Amanda stared at me. I gulped. Oh hell, what was she going to do, punch me on the nose? Or perhaps something altogether more sinister? I clutched my kneecaps possessively. After all, she could well be related to the Kray twins.
Suddenly she let out a bellow of laughter. She threw her head back and roared into the roof of the taxi.
‘It’s all right, I sussed you! You were so bad at it. I mean, blimey, I might be an East London girl but I’m not the blinkin’ Pearly Queen, you know!’
More raucous laughter followed this declaration and I joined in, nervously at first, but then wholeheartedly, and then of course I couldn’t stop. In fact the pair of us didn’t stop roaring and gasping until we fell out of the taxi at Berkeley Square, helpless with hysteria.
Sam gripped my arm and steadied me as I lurched around on the pavement, holding my stomach.
‘Here we are, girls,’ he said, ushering us down the steps. ‘Steady now, Polly, you’ll rupture something if you’re not careful.’
‘Oh God, that was so funny,’ I gasped weakly as Sam held the door open for me. ‘It’s made me positively thirsty!’
‘Er, d’you think perhaps you should have something soft, Polly, maybe a Perrier?’ said Sam, following me rather anxiously as I headed in a determined, if not entirely straight line for the bar.
‘Water? Don’t be ridiculous. I want to drink it, not swim in it – waiter! Oi, waiter, one large gin and tonic please!’ I yelled, totally out of control now. I banged the bar and tried to climb on to a stool but it was awfully high and I fell off.
‘Waiter!’ I shouted, trying to scramble up the stool again.
‘Er, it’s OK, Polly, I’ll get the drinks,’ said Sam, prizing me off the stool as I clambered up the side and steering me towards a little table. ‘You sit down here.’
‘So dominant, so charming,’ I muttered, giving him a winning smile as I lowered myself rather precariously into a chair.
He turned to Amanda. ‘Amanda, what would you like?’
‘No thanks, Sam, actually I’ve just spotted some really old mates of mine over there, d’you mind if I go and join them for a sec?’
‘No, no, fine, we’ll see you later.’
She disappeared with Chris in tow.
Sam returned from the bar with our drinks and sat down opposite me. ‘So … just the two of us.’ He smiled. ‘Perfect. Cheers.’
I smiled back, but had the feeling it was more of a drunken leer, so I buried my face in my gin. This one hadn’t even been near a tonic bottle but luckily my taste buds were totally anaesthetized so I knocked it back without a problem. The only problem seemed to be coming from my loins. I staggered to my feet.
‘Got to go to the loo,’ I mumbled, and off I stumbled, knocking over a couple of chairs on the way and cannoning into quite a few people who didn’t seem to be able to walk in straight lines.
/> It took me ages to find the ladies’ and when I did I was a little taken aback to see a couple of men already in situ. They looked equally surprised to see me, so I gave them an icy glare and made a mental note to inform the management that whilst mixed loos might be a liberated concept I didn’t think it would work until men could be trained not to pee in the basins like that. Disgusting. Not being such an exhibitionist myself I crashed into a cubicle to relieve myself, but once relieved, I encountered a problem. Getting the Lycra body unpopped at the crutch had been simple enough, but getting it done up again was a different matter. I had to half crouch down and sort of lean forward and peer, and then for some reason my fingers wouldn’t work the poppers.
‘Oh come on, come on,’ I whispered urgently, but it was no good. All manual dexterity had deserted me. Not only that, but every time I adopted the obligatory skiing position needed to get to grips with the thing, the blood would rush to my head and I’d cannon forward, hitting my head violently on the loo door. When this had happened more than twice a plummy male voice enquired from without – rather impertinently I thought – ‘Are you all right in there?’
‘Fine, thank you,’ I informed him icily. Christ, can’t a girl even snap her knickers together in peace?
Eventually I gave up and just tucked the tails hastily inside my trousers, thinking that whoever had invented this extraordinary bit of kit had a lot to answer for. I lurched out of the door to a wash basin and steadied myself on the porcelain. More men were wandering around now, giving me the oddest looks, but I expect they just fancied me. I ignored them all disdainfully and studied my reflection. Heavens, I looked terrible. My hair was all over the place and the bloods of my eyes were only slightly whiteshot. I dragged a comb through my hair, added some lipstick which conveniently matched my eyes, then stumbled out again, bursting back into the nightclub like an unguided missile and cannoning straight into warm human flesh.
‘Look out!’
‘Ooops, sorry!’ I steadied myself against the female I’d embraced. She had a beautiful face with large brown eyes and long dark silky hair, and by golly she looked familiar.
Going Too Far Page 16