Just as she was loading the disc, she heard something. A little animal-like noise, a snuffle or a sniff. She looked around. The door to Flora’s room was open a crack.
‘Flora? Are you in?’ The snuffle again. Georgie forgot her music and went to investigate.
The blinds were down and the room was dim. Flora was curled up on her bed in a foetal ball, her hair spread out on the pillow. Her face was pressed against her teddy bear, an ancient toy plaything with fur that was matted and colourless from so many years of giving comfort.
‘Flora? Are you OK?’
The noise that answered her was more than a snuffle. If Flora’s face hadn’t been buried in the teddy bear, it would have been a sob.
‘Flora?’ Georgie sat on the bed and stroked the amazing hair. Some of it was damp. ‘Flora? You’re not crying?’
A sharper noise, still in the sob area. ‘You are crying. Flora, what’s the matter? What is it, sweetheart?’
Flora heaved herself up, grabbed a tissue, then flopped back on the pillow and sobbed again, several times.
‘Is it us? Me and Dillon? This stupid game?’
Back to the snuffle. Georgie passed her the box of tissues. ‘Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. It wasn’t what we thought. He really loves you, Flora. He thought I was that artist and he wanted to commission something from me for a wedding present for you. That’s all, I swear. There’s nothing for you to worry about, nothing at all. He adores you. He said this mobile thing reminded him of you. Because it was beautiful.’ Steady, she told herself. No more lies, remember?
Flora sat up and crossed her legs, patting her flushed cheeks with a tissue and continuing to sniff.
Again, Georgie explained Dillon’s reason for seeing her. ‘So you see, it was all for your sake,’ she told her friend, hugging her lightly around the upper arms. ‘Nothing to do with me. He doesn’t know that any other woman exists, I promise you.’ Flora whimpered and blew her noise delicately. ‘I feel terrible, you’ve been crying,’ said Georgie helplessly.
The poise of the Degas dancer had gone. Flora’s shoulders slumped with misery and she let her head flop from side to side. ‘Look, we’ve got to stop this,’ Georgie urged her. ‘I’m not happy, either. We should never have let Donna talk us into it. It’s really unfair on the guys. It’s not right, it’s deception, it’s betrayal, it’s dangerous. We must have been crazy to think it would be only a game.’
‘But …’ Flora gulped pathetically, folding over her tissue as if she was hoping to find a dry area in it.
‘Donna will be angry, but that’s her problem. If she makes a fuss about money, I’ll sort it out; I’ve got plenty. What’s it for, after all, if it can’t get what you need? We need to get out of this. Forget it ever happened.’
In a shaking voice, Flora whispered, ‘Really? You really want to stop?’
‘I didn’t want to start, remember?’
Flora did not wish to be reminded and took refuge in another snuffle. ‘You’re sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure. Let’s just stop it. For heaven’s sake, it was just something between friends. Not like a contract or anything. We can stop whenever we want.’
‘Well, if you’re really sure …’
‘I really am sure. It was a terrible mistake. We must stop and put things right. Things between us, as well as with Dillon and Felix.’
‘You’re a wonderful friend,’ Flora told her, hugging her in turn. ‘You always know what to do. Donna’s going to be so disappointed.’
‘I can handle Donna,’ asserted Georgie.
‘So – too tough for you, is it? You want to quit?’ Donna laughed at Georgie, a gloating, buccaneering kind of laugh, and she put her feet on her smudgeless glass table and wiggled her toes in her pink kitten-heeled slingbacks. Donna had always been a sucker for silly shoes. That killer elegance stopped at her ankles.
Georgie refused to be challenged. ‘You know I wasn’t comfortable with the idea.’
‘You were comfortable with it when Dillon was taking the bait,’ Des reproved her. He prepared to loll over the back of the sofa, but Donna frowned at him, so he sank on to the arm, which made her hiss. ‘Oh, all right.‘ He subsided to the floor and sat with his back against the seat and his legs in a half-lotus.
‘That thing cost what you’d make on a penthouse and it’s meant for sitting on.’ Donna attempted to stab his backside with one of her sharp pink heels. ‘So what’s your problem with fucking sitting on it?’
‘Boring,’ he claimed. The heel struck home. ‘Ow Bitch. Leave me alone. I like the floor.’
‘I never thought you’d crack up so fast,’ Donna returned to Georgie. ‘I thought you’d do the week before you came up with some pathetic excuse to back out.’
‘At least you didn’t put money on me,’ Georgie tried a submissive smile. It got her nowhere.
‘Oh, yes she did,’ Des informed her with satisfaction, holding out his hand, palm upwards, towards Donna. ‘Pay up, madam.’
The pink kitten heels were motionless. Smiling non-specifically at them all, Donna stayed as still as marble. The don’t-move move had won her many a dodgy meeting in the past. Georgie remembered them well. Such was the force of her will that all Donna had to do was indicate the outcome she wanted and sit still and smiling while the underlings found a way to make it happen. The first to crack would be the most emotionally involved. It was Flora.
‘Don’t you get it, Donna? That’s what’s so wrong about this.
It’s like it’s sport, it’s all about competing. Georgie and me, we’re having to fight each other. It just doesn’t feel right.’
‘It just doesn’t feel right!’ Des mimicked her, rolling his eyes. ‘Poor touchy-feely-huggy-kissy Flora. Everything has to feel right for you.’
‘When something feels right it’s because I’m in touch with my intuition,’ Flora informed him crisply. ‘I believe in being guided by the wisdom of the spirit.’
‘Oh really?’ Tauntingly, Des arranged his fingers like flower petals, imitating the carved monk. ‘That’s the spirit which tells you that your relationship is over because Dillon’s splurging all his cash on your secret wedding present? Great wisdom, Flora. Really.’
‘Oh, shut up.’
‘I’m just jealous. I want somebody to buy me a nice piece of art because I’m so deep into negative self-esteem that only a really expensive present will make me believe that he loves me.’
‘It isn’t about my self-esteem.’
‘Everything’s about your self-esteem.’
‘Keep your pathetic left-brain delusions to yourself.’
‘And leave you believing all that right-brain moonshine?’
‘It’s about spiritual energy. Don’t try to understand, you’ll go into integrity overload.’
‘I suppose that means you want me to mix the Martinis again?’ He stretched his legs. ‘God, how’s anyone supposed to meditate sitting like that? All I’d be able to think about would be the pain.’
‘Testosterone, darling. Makes you stiff. Have the change, you know you want to.’
The suggestion threw Des on to his feet immediately. ‘I do not. I’d rather shave than have periods, anyone would. Anyone with any taste. Compare the razor to the tampon – one a design miracle, the other just a wad. Which object of desire would you rather have in your home?’
‘If you had the change, you wouldn’t have to mess with either. No periods and no more shaving. Transsexuals get it all ways.’ And Flora giggled, which displeased Donna. It was not part of her strategy for the conversation to drift away from her target.
She demanded, ‘Are you making those drinks, or what?’
‘I’m making, I’m making.’ He retreated to the refrigerator, while Donna gave an automatic small sigh.
Flora giggled again. ‘When God made man, she was only testing.’
‘Only joking, you mean.’ Donna did not bother to lower her voice. ‘And frankly, I don’t appreciate that sense of humour.’
<
br /> The maenad spirit appeared in their circle and danced between the three of them, bringing sparkle to their eyes and tingle to their blood. Georgie discovered that she was no longer tired. Flora found her own arguments absurd. Donna concealed herself in stillness again, but saw victory coming her way.
‘I suppose I am being insecure about the dear boy,’ Flora mused, rearranging her bracelets on her wrist while she arranged her thoughts. ‘It is rather sweet, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Georgie said bluntly. ‘I’m jealous as well. Felix only buys art for himself.’
‘There isn’t anything for me … for us to worry about, really. Is there? Men would do this, wouldn’t they? Men wouldn’t even think about it. It’s just a laugh, isn’t it?’ She leaned across and patted Georgie’s arm. ‘I just had a little lapse there. I’m fine now. Let’s go on with it, Georgie. We were just starting to enjoy ourselves.’
‘You’re sure?’ Caring for another was so easy, so familiar, almost a habit. Georgie slipped back into it like an old horse accepting its bridle. ‘I’d never do anything to hurt you, Flora. I couldn’t.’
‘We should do this, you know. I was thinking that. We should have our fun. While we can. We’re getting married, we might even have children, we’ll have to be sensible and grown-up and all that stuff. I feel like I’ve never really been a girl, you know? I never played enough, and now playtime’s nearly over. Everything’s been so heavy, the work and exams and career and stuff. Don’t you feel that?’
Georgie said what Flora knew she would say. ‘I suppose I do.’
‘So,’ said Donna, wiggling her toes again, ‘does this mean …’
‘I think so,’ replied Flora, looking at Georgie, who said, ‘It’s only a week, isn’t it? What can happen in a week?’
‘We’re on again. Heartswap is go.’
13. April 27–28
‘You have – NO – new messages,’ announced the bright electronic voice of Felix’s mailbox. His thumb crushed the action button on his phone, as if he squeezed the device hard enough a message would be extruded from the remote vastness of its memory. Damn no messages. Fuck no messages. Shit no messages. And the same to she who was not messaging him. Both of them.
Extreme states required extreme remedies. Felix recognised that his emotional condition could become extreme if not managed appropriately as a matter of urgency. He took his own pulse. Yes, it was elevated. Music had been proved to slow the pulse rate. He put on some unchallenging dinner jazz. Alcohol? Also sedative, in reasonable amounts. Perhaps a glass of the Merlot he had just bought. Not strictly ready for drinking just yet, but likely to be more appealing than anything he could buy at the late-night supermarket. He unpacked a bottle and drew its cork. A gratifyingly complex aroma flattered his nose. Felix felt he was gaining control.
Flawed femininity, that was the problem. Why was he always drawn to these Amazons who’d maimed their own womanliness in some kind of struggle? The Amazons of classical mythology had each cut off a breast to be able to draw a bowstring. How apt a metaphor that was! A warrior woman had to disfigure her own femininity to be effective in battle. Perhaps because he loved bright and brilliant women, he would always be attracted to partners who were struggling with their own gender issues.
Felix had clearly defined concepts. His concept of a real woman was a flexible and communicative creature which did not struggle at all, except perhaps a little token resistance to him in the beginning, just to sharpen the appetites. Georgina had struggled promisingly. She had flexibility, she could be quite good at moulding herself to the needs of their relationship. In fact, there were times when he thought she was a little too adaptive. It was necessary to give her the space to find her own balance sometimes.
Communication was where Georgina was lacking. He had felt it from the start. She kept things back from him, she held out, she failed to disclose. His impression was that she had been getting worse in this respect since their return to London. There was too much of Georgina that was reserved to herself. Felix did not like this. It was unreasonable. It was wrong. It was not truly and deeply female. Poor Georgina. It was not her fault that in the scramble to compete in the workplace she had compromised her essential self. When she came home, he would open a dialogue with her about it. She needed a man of his perception to contribute these insights to her life.
He decided to call his intern and talk over the file format she had proposed. He might share his analysis of his relationship with her as well; she was a bright girl, she would be interested. His intern was also not quite beautiful, but arousing, in her way. She was also in Paris for the weekend, according to her voicemail. From his briefcase, Felix extracted his Psion and made a note to review the intern’s salary. After all, she was not much more than a trainee, at this stage in her career.
He poured himself some more wine. Perhaps the Merlot was not really too young at all. With the chance to breathe a little it developed a pleasing complexity. He resolved to start a cellar book in which to jot down these observations. While the Psion was running he opened a new file named CELLAR BOOK and wrote a note to himself: MERLOT ALREADY FINISHING WELL.
The case, the Psion and the wine had all been bought with the rewards of Georgina’s scrambling but this connection was not clear to Felix. Since his first year at medical school, Felix had relied on seven brilliant, achieving, scrambling women, one after another, for financial support. He moved up, in material terms, each time, as it had become clearer what his real needs were as far as housing, décor, food, clothing and a car were concerned. This progression was also not clear to Felix. Nor had he told Georgie his complete relationship history. Disclosure did not sit with Felix’s concept of a man. A man diminished his own masculinity by saying too much. Men had no imperative to talk, quite the reverse. So his silence on the subject of five of his former partners did not compromise his own ideals of personal honesty.
Pensively, he walked the floor. After a while, he chose to estimate the potential represented by Miss Pforza, as he thought of Flora. Staying in touch. Making friends. Capri or Istanbul, which would he prefer? Hah! A lack of sincerity, undeniably. She needed to understand the importance of keeping her word. As for the sexual aggression, it probably indicated promiscuity. Quite irresponsible. Cervical cancer, STDs including HIV although hepatitis was probably more dangerous now, or resistant gonorrhoea … Felix refilled his glass. He could make her aware of the risks she was running. He should also take responsibility for his own protection. As he always did.
Could he actually contemplate a relationship with a woman who worked in the pharmaceutical industry? Perhaps it would not necessarily be ethical suicide. The greatest good, after all, was the work. Funding from the industry would make all the difference. If his research was good enough, nobody would be concerned about who had paid for it. He swilled the wine around in his glass and allowed himself to imagine the conferences, the applause, and the clinic with the ankle-deep carpet and the rustling palms. An irrational thing, imagination. It leaped on to the swish of her silky skin as she crossed her thighs and then in a nano-second it recreated the feathery clutch of her fingertips. Insincere, irresponsible, obviously promiscuous; it could hardly be wrong to objectify a woman like that for a couple of minutes. He allowed his imagination to move upwards from the swishing thighs.
In a while, Felix returned to the kitchen and found one more glass remaining in the bottle. A shame to let a good wine turn sour. As he refilled his glass, the insinuating tones of his phone sounded from the next room.
‘Felix?’ It was Georgina and she was clearly in another bar. He could hardly hear her over the hubbub.
‘Who else would it be?’ he demanded.
The signal failed. Or was cut. In a minute, the phone rang again.
‘Georgina?’ No background noise now, she had gone outside. Unwise. Probably dangerous to use a mobile on the street in Brussels. ‘Where are you?’
‘In my room,’ she told him.
‘I couldn’t
hear you before.’
‘I couldn’t hear you.’
‘So …’ Resentfully, he softened his voice for her. ‘How’s it going?’
‘I nearly gave up today,’ she told him. ‘I’ve been having problems with it.’
‘Problems?’ Anxiety prickled the back of Felix’s neck. He never liked his partners to have problems. Since he counted on their support, a problem affecting their ability to support him would rock his world on its axis. It drained his energy to have to respond to an external stimulus like that. Moving up was effortless if he chose who and when. When the move was forced on him, things could get ugly.
‘It’s me, not the course,’ she explained. ‘Someone else was really quite upset. But they’re over it now. So I’ve decided to press on,’ she told him. He breathed deeply, thinking that she sounded quite positive about the decision.
‘That’s not like you. Picking up on someone else’s problems and letting them slow you down.’
‘I had a weak moment, I suppose. But it passed. Only another week, after all.’
‘Missing you,’ he said. It was not Felix’s way to make a direct statement.
‘I miss you too,’ she said, feeling ashamed that it was her way to hear a direct statement when none had been made.
There seemed to be little more to say. He brought her up to date with his progress at the clinic, then said, ‘Take care of yourself, sweetheart,’ and ended the call.
Georgina was losing it, definitely. Losing it was part of Felix’s concept of a woman. Not to imply any inferiority by that. Nobody could make up thousands of years of conditioning in one generation. Historically, women were always able to leave the workplace for the home without any loss of status. Quite the opposite, until feminism degraded the position of motherhood. So it was understandable that their commitment might falter. That was another subject on which a man’s insights could be valuable. Georgina, however, could be arrogant. She could ask his advice then ignore it. Part of whatever she had going on about communication, no doubt. When they got a dialogue going, he would point that out to her. When a woman lost it, she also lost Felix. The usual pattern was that he got out while the going was good.
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