Gifted and Talented

by Holden, Wendy

  Her mother rang off eventually and the feelings of dissatisfaction that had plagued Isabel through the day returned. Partly this was due to Ellie, although things had started well in that respect. She had knocked on Isabel’s door first thing in the morning, fresh faced and all smiles as a bleary, headachy Isabel, dressed in her bedtime T-shirt, stared through her tangled hair.

  ‘If you’re not doing anything tomorrow,’ Ellie suggested, ‘we could go to the freshers’ fair.’

  Isabel had beamed back. ‘I’d love to,’ she said warmly. But – tomorrow? That was twenty-four hours away. What was Ellie doing today?

  She soon found out. ‘See you later.’ Ellie had danced away down the corridor. ‘Gotta run,’ she had sung over her shoulder.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Isabel called after.

  ‘Seeing some friends in other colleges,’ was the blithe reply.

  Isabel had closed her door feeling crushed. Ellie had never mentioned friends in other colleges. If she had so many, why ask Isabel to be her bestie? Had she not meant it, after all? No doubt all these other friends were from St Mary’s, Isabel thought forlornly. They would know how to snog and avoid hangovers.

  Alone, tired and out of humour, Isabel spent the day getting her bearings round the college. After all the excitement and movement of yesterday, the day seemed flat and dull. She had felt shy and awkward and had scurried back into her room when anyone else appeared in the corridor.

  She went alone to the Incinerator at lunchtime but felt intimidated by the others without Ellie to jolly her along. She stared fixedly at her plate of macaroni cheese and contemplated the disaster that was her date with Olly.

  Oh, what must he think of her? He was the real root cause of her bad mood, Isabel knew. She was furious with herself. He would have waited last night; he would have thought she was not coming; he would think she had stood him up, and after all his kindness too. How appallingly rude and ungrateful she must seem.

  In fact, she had rushed out from Ellie’s room to the college foyer and hurried about the tarmac entrance outside, peering round every sulphurically lit corner. There was no Olly, however. Then she had asked the porter, but no message had been left.

  What could she do to make amends? She had no address for him and he had said he would be leaving town altogether soon – thinking the absolute worst of her. She felt hot with shame.

  Towards the end of the dull, tired, heavy afternoon, Isabel decided to have a bath. The panacea for all ills, Mum always said. A tub of hot water, swirled about with a little scented oil, never failed to lift the spirits and soothe the soul. She collected her towel and washbag and set off.

  There was a figure outside the bathroom door, a short, rather squat one, wearing nothing but a towel and not a particularly large one at that. She looked oddly familiar to Isabel.

  As she got closer, Isabel realised it was Kate, the girl she had met at interview.

  ‘Hey!’ Kate exclaimed, her small face alive with pleasure. ‘Good to see you!’

  A sense of triumphant relief filled Isabel. Here was another potential friend. She need not rely entirely on Ellie, after all.

  ‘Are you queuing for the bathroom?’ she asked.

  Kate reddened with annoyance. ‘I shouldn’t be,’ she grumbled. ‘I’ve been out rowing this afternoon and I was running a bath. I went in my room to get undressed and then I came back. And, guess what? Someone’s in there.’

  She cast an annoyed glance at the bathroom door behind her, behind which could be heard vigorous splashing. ‘My washbag’s in there, my bath stuff, my bath towel and everything,’ Kate complained.

  A loud, throaty female voice could be heard from within. ‘Whaddya mean, you don’t know what happened? I’ll tell you what fucking happened. It was all going like a dream until that guy turned up.’

  Isabel stared at Kate. ‘Who is that?’

  Kate rolled her eyes. ‘Can’t you guess? Amber Piggott, resident celebrity supermodel genius whatever. Something went wrong with her close-up, by the sound of it.’ She hammered on the bathroom door by way of a reply. ‘Hey! You’ve nicked my bath!’

  ‘I don’t care if he was the Master,’ the voice inside yelled. ‘You said it had been green-lighted.’

  ‘Is she talking to you?’ Isabel asked, puzzled. She wondered when Amber had arrived. But, as she had spent the day avoiding people, it was hardly surprising she had missed her.

  ‘To some sort of manager, would you believe,’ Kate said crossly. ‘On her mobile. What sort of student has a manager? Apart from a bank manager?’ She took a deep breath and roared at the door. ‘And you’re not supposed to smoke in college buildings!’

  Isabel now noticed the strong scent of cigarettes.

  ‘Oh, sod it,’ Kate growled. ‘I’m going back to my room. I’m bloody freezing out here. See you in the Incinerator?’ she added to Isabel. ‘We could have supper together.’

  ‘That would be lovely,’ Isabel said eagerly.

  ‘Not sure that’s the word. You’ve seen the food, have you? Anyway, I’ll come and get you. What number room are you?’

  As Kate stomped decisively off, Isabel, about to follow, heard the locks on the bathroom door slide back. A strange, sudden urge to go, to avoid the inevitable meeting, fought with the urge to finally see this creature she had heard so much about. She hesitated. Then, remembering Kate’s scorn and deciding to go after all, she started down the corridor. It was too late, however. The door was open.

  A cloud of scented steam billowed out, its flowery aroma mixed with cigarette smoke. A spectacularly good-looking blonde lounged in the doorframe.

  ‘Hi,’ drawled this vision, flashing Isabel a smile of the same dazzling whiteness as the bathrobe dangling open about her. All traces of her recent fury seemed completely gone. ‘And who are you?’

  ‘Isabel.’

  ‘Amber.’

  She had a very direct, appraising gaze and there was something fidgety and impatient about her. She leant against the lintel, flicked her damp blonde hair and gave another high-wattage beam. Isabel, feeling anxious and somehow trapped, could only stare back.

  ‘Oh, we’re out, are we?’ came an annoyed voice from behind.

  Isabel glanced round to see Kate hurrying up the corridor, still in her towel. Held helplessly in the Piggott force field, Isabel admired the fact Kate seemed just as cross as before.

  ‘That was my bath,’ she said accusingly to Amber.

  Amber took a long drag of her cigarette and exhaled in Kate’s direction. ‘Seriously? That horrible cheap bath stuff was yours?’

  Kate’s mouth opened and shut. She recovered herself quickly, however. ‘Smoking’s banned,’ she snapped. ‘It’ll set the fire alarm off.’

  Amber took another slow, defiant drag. ‘No, it won’t. I’ve deactivated it.’

  She grinned conspiratorially at Isabel, who reddened guiltily. Kate had of course seen her talking to Amber outside the bathroom; did she think they were friends?

  Something pale at floor level shot out of the bathroom and cannoned into Kate’s calves. It was a small, fluffy and rather damp white dog, which began to yap agitatedly. It seized the corner of Kate’s towel in its teeth and started to tug it.

  ‘Coco! Do get off that, darling. You might catch something.’

  Kate glared. ‘Is that your dog? Pets aren’t allowed in college.’

  By way of reply, Amber picked up the animal and held it defiantly to her semi-exposed bosom. ‘Don’t listen to the nasty lady being horrid to Mummy,’ she cooed into its fur. The dog did not look especially abashed, however. It regarded Kate with eyes as glittering and triumphant as Amber’s own.

  ‘I’m going to report you,’ Kate threatened. Ignoring Isabel altogether, she turned on her heel and stomped away. Isabel wanted to follow but Kate’s fury held he
r back.

  Amber, unrepentant, grinned at Isabel, finished the cigarette and, turning with a whirl of hair, threw it expertly into the lavatory bowl in the bathroom behind her. ‘Come for a drink?’ The low-pitched tones clearly did not expect refusal.

  Isabel regarded her uncertainly. Amber was wearing only a bathrobe, after all. Did she normally entertain in towels? All Isabel’s instincts were telling her to put as much distance as possible between herself and this alarming stranger. ‘Er . . .’ she began.

  ‘Come on,’ Amber wheedled. ‘Coco needs cheering up. She hates scenes. Poor darling.’ She nuzzled the dog’s small, bony head.

  ‘Is it a poodle?’ Isabel asked.

  Amber clutched her pet and gasped in horror. ‘Nothing so ten minutes ago. Coco is a Maltese.’

  As Isabel searched for a reply, something glittering beneath the dog’s fur caught her eye. A white-leather, jewel-festooned collar. ‘Darling, isn’t it?’ Amber beamed. ‘A little present from me for being such a clever dog and going to university.’

  Isabel eyed her uncertainly. Was Amber serious? It was difficult to tell.

  ‘Come on then,’ Amber urged, turning on Isabel the most dazzling of smiles. ‘The champagne’s on ice.’

  Isabel chuckled. This was definitely a joke. Amber meant coffee, had to. No student had champagne in their room. Or fridge.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. She would stay five minutes, Isabel promised herself. Then she would make her escape.

  Amber and Coco were already stalking ahead down the corridor. Feeling slightly hypnotised, Isabel followed in their wake.

  Isabel wondered if she had ever seen so messy a room as Amber’s. The plain college furniture was invisible under the tidal wave of clothes engulfing it. The boutique bags on the floor with their silken rope handles were a roll call of every expensive label Isabel had heard of and many more she had not. One patent ballerina flat lying alone on its side had ‘CHANEL’ printed on the inside of the sole. Coco, having been unceremoniously dumped on the floor, was now scrabbling frantically about in all of this. Looking for something to eat, Isabel suspected.

  Dominating the bed was an enormous oblong trunk covered in leopardskin. Its lid was open and more clothes spilled out of here to join the mass on the floor.

  Isabel looked longingly at the door, wondering if now she could make her escape. But, apparently impervious to Isabel’s presence, Amber had just almost completely shrugged off her bathrobe. It dangled precariously from her shoulders. Opening the door would expose her entirely to anyone passing by.

  Isabel tried to avert her gaze but noticed nonetheless that Amber’s breasts were small but perfect with large dark nipples. What looked like a coat of arms was tattooed on one of her smooth brown shoulder blades. The shield depicted a mediaeval war helmet with the lid down, combined with some bags of money. The motto on the rolling scroll underneath said, ‘Fronti nulla fides’.

  ‘Put no faith in appearances,’ Isabel murmured.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The motto on your tattoo.’

  Amber sniffed. ‘Is that what it means? I thought it was something about full frontals. It’s an old boyfriend of mine’s family crest.’ She shook her head. ‘Silly thing to say though, don’t you think? I always judge by appearances. I’m quite staggeringly shallow.’ Her eyes ran up and down Isabel speculatively. ‘You’re bright, aren’t you?’

  It seemed to Isabel a strange remark. Possibly even a trick one. All the students here were bright, surely. ‘No more than anyone else,’ she parried.

  ‘Brighter than me, definitely,’ Amber grinned. ‘I hate work. I’m here,’ she exclaimed suddenly, whirling nakedly round in the mass of dresses, ‘to have fun!’

  It was obvious by now to Isabel that her idea of fun was different to Amber’s. What with the champagne, the dog, the dresses and all. That, apart from the subject they were studying – the same, she had discovered – they had nothing whatsoever in common, seemed very likely. She longed to leave and took a tentative step towards the door.

  Amber’s sudden euphoria seemed suddenly to have faded and her large brown eyes were flashing angrily about her room. ‘I’ve got shoeboxes bigger than this,’ she said petulantly. ‘I’m thinking of hiring a hotel suite in town to keep my clothes in.’

  Despite her concern for her wardrobe, she seemed not to have noticed her dog ripping it to shreds. It was currently tearing concentratedly into a dress of thick black silk with a Victoria Beckham label in the back.

  Isabel bent and pulled Posh Spice’s handiwork gently away. A pile of bulky brown Amazon packets was exposed. ‘The Hon. A. Piggott, Eaton Square, London SW1’, Isabel read on the topmost one. This had been crossed out and ‘Villa Piggott, Mustique’ written over.

  ‘You’ve bought a lot of books,’ she remarked.

  Amber shot her a white blaze of smile. ‘You know, I’m actually really hopeless on accents. I can’t understand a word you’re saying. Are you Scottish or something?’

  Was this rude? Isabel wondered. It was difficult to say, with that dazzling beam. She repeated her question.

  ‘Oh, the books! That bloody reading list,’ Amber cackled. ‘Haven’t had a second to look at it. And neither has naughty Coco.’ She shot an indulgent glance at the still-scrabbling animal. ‘Have you?’ she asked, swinging her gaze back to Isabel.

  Isabel reddened, to her own irritation. There was no shame in having done the work.

  ‘You’ve read them all?’ Amber’s face was blank with astonishment.

  Just below the sea of dresses, Isabel now noticed, was what looked like a small fridge. It had been dumped at a careless angle and had a glass door through which gold-foil-topped bottles could be seen. Only gold-foil-topped bottles. Her eyes widened. The champagne was on ice, after all.

  Coco, meanwhile, was whining and scrabbling still harder. Amber flung the dog an irritated glance.

  ‘She might be hungry,’ Isabel suggested. ‘Or thirsty.’

  ‘I had something for her somewhere,’ Amber muttered, peeling up a couple of dresses.

  Surely there wasn’t a plate of dog food beneath; Isabel winced.

  Whether there was or not, Amber now abandoned the search. She opened the champagne fridge, grabbed a bottle and twisted the cork with an obviously practised movement. It exploded, sending the dog cringing into the corner. A white surge of bubbles dripped on to some of the clothes on the floor. As Amber did not seem inclined, Isabel lunged to the rescue again, whipping some Chloe and Stella McCartney out of the way just in time.

  Amber had found an ashtray from somewhere, slopped some champagne into it and held it out to the dog. ‘Here, Cokes!’

  ‘She drinks champagne?’ Isabel blurted.

  Amber giggled. ‘She should. She’s Mummy’s pooch de luxe, aren’t you, Coco? Oh well, suit yourself,’ she added carelessly as Coco cautiously dipped the black tip of her nose into the frothing liquid before cringing backwards.

  ‘I’ve got some water in my room,’ Isabel said, grasping the opportunity to escape. She had reached the door when she saw, striding up the corridor in a manner that betokened no nonsense, the burly, T-shirted college porter from the front hall. Behind him, fairly hopping with agitation, came a vengeful-looking Kate, now fully dressed. ‘Which room did you say it was?’ the porter was growling.

  Isabel, remembering what Kate had said about pets not being allowed, shrank back inside. ‘The porter’s coming,’ she gasped. ‘He’s looking for Coco, I think.’

  A kind of panic was filling her. Isabel, who had never been in trouble the whole of her educational life, hated the thought of being caught with someone breaking college rules on her very first full day at university. Being caught by Kate in Amber’s room was hardly less of a disaster.

  Amber, however, just laughed. She picked up the still-trembling Coco
and shoved her under the bed. A heavy fist now sounded on the door. Isabel felt sick with terror. But Amber’s eyes were shining with excitement.

  ‘Your bathrobe!’ gasped Isabel. ‘It’s nearly fallen off!’

  ‘Silly me!’ Amber exclaimed, waggling her tanned shoulders so the towelling slid finally to the floor. ‘Come in!’ she trilled, arranging herself invitingly on the bed as the door swung open.

  The porter now got an eyeful that turned his meaty face pale with horror. He then flushed a violent purple and made a choking sound before fumbling wildly for the handle and slamming the door shut.

  Amber’s lack of embarrassment was absolute, it seemed to Isabel. It was even possible that she was enjoying it. She raised a playful and perfectly plucked eyebrow at Isabel and called out, ‘Can I help you?’

  The porter on the other side of the door was clearly struggling to compose himself. ‘I’ve been told,’ he managed after some seconds, ‘that you may have a dog in there, Miss.’

  ‘Definitely has a dog in there,’ Kate crisply corrected.

  Amber was shrugging on her bathrobe. But it still hung open slightly as she opened the door and beamed at her accusers. ‘Dog?’ she echoed, her eyes stretched wide and her eyelashes batting innocently in the face of Kate’s hostile glower and the porter’s embarrassment. Even the tips of his ears were hot with shame, Isabel saw from her vantage point within the room.

  ‘Yes, dog,’ Kate hissed, as the porter seemed once again incapable of speech.